Ghosts

TWENTY-ONE

Weaver bumped off his comm channel as he half-limped, half-ran down the passage. His body was running on fumes. He had lost a fair amount of blood and breathed in more toxic shit than he wanted to think about. Michael had come through with the new helmet, but Weaver had to wonder whether it was already too late. His lungs burned as he held back a cough.

Loping toward the water treatment plant, he found his thoughts turning to his wife and daughters. Something about the darkness brought the painful memories to the front of his thoughts, but he quickly shook them away.

Right now his mission was to do what he hadn’t been able to do for X and Pipe. He was going to save Rodger. But first, he had to find that scrawny engineer. Timothy had given him directions to the treatment plant where the Sirens nested two floors below.

If he could beat them there, he might have a chance.

He moved as fast as his wounded legs would carry him. The sight of a door at the end of the concrete tunnel pushed him even harder.

Ten feet away, he slowed and raised his carbine. No movement, but he had learned to scope the shadows for those tricky little vultures. He cautiously reached out and opened the door. This was a different route from the one he had taken earlier. According to Timothy, it was the back door to the treatment plant.

Weaver loped up the stairs beyond the door, leaning on the rail for support. At the next landing, he shouldered his rifle. Seeing no sign of tubes or openings in the walls, he continued up the next flight. At the top, he stopped to catch his breath outside a door marked, sure enough,

WATER TREATMENT PLANT

He pulled the coin from his pocket, but instead of flipping it, he just rubbed the surface for good luck and tucked it away. He was as ready as he would ever be. Clicking off his night-vision optics, he turned the door handle and stepped inside.

The sound of monsters hit his ears: crunching and squawking and the flapping of those hideous wings. Crouching low, he moved toward the first of the pools.

Rodger’s anguished shout stopped him in mid stride.

“Please, please, I’ll do anything! I’ll build you better nests!”

Weaver almost laughed at that. He couldn’t see how badly Rodger was hurt, but somehow, his sense of humor was still intact.

Pressing the scope to his visor, Weaver spotted two of the beasts, dragging Rodger toward a gaggle of their young. The little ghouls darted back and forth, some of them circling and jumping excitedly at the prospect of a fresh meal.

Weaver swallowed hard and counted the targets. On his first sweep, he saw fifteen adult hostiles, plus the adolescents. He didn’t know whether a distraction would work again, but it was his only gambit.

This time, he didn’t wait for the “right” moment. The only moment he had was now. He grabbed a flare, struck the end, and tossed it as far as he could. It plopped into a pool, and the light flickered out.

Cursing, he grabbed another, this time tossing it at a wall. All but three of the beasts guarding Rodger darted away toward the heat and noise.

Weaver was already moving. He ducked under a bridge bisecting two of the pools and peered at the flurry of motion under the wall.

Rodger was flailing, trying to take on the remaining Sirens with his bare hands.

Keep still, you idiot.

Weaver stopped at a hundred yards out and picked his targets. The screeching across the room broke his concentration, and the first shot pinged off a wall. This, however, provided another distraction. The sentries around Rodger fanned out. Weaver’s next shot was true, dropping one of them with a round through the throat. He swung the rifle to a second target and shot it through the chest.

Rodger kicked the other beast away.

“I told you ugly fucks my friends would come for me!” he shouted.

“Run, Rodge!” Weaver shouted. “This way!”

The shrieks of the monsters answered, but Weaver kept his gun on Rodger’s position. He squeezed off a shot as an adolescent Siren sprang at Rodger. The round ricocheted off the floor, scaring the beast off, and Rodger limped away, gripping his side.

“Weaver, izzat you?” Rodger shouted. “Where are you?”

“Over here,” Weaver shouted. He turned on his headlamp and laid down more suppressing fire.

Rodger stumbled and fell, groaning. Weaver lowered his rifle and hurried over, squeezing off shots every few steps. The beasts were already closing in again as the flare petered out. When he got to Rodger, he bent down and grabbed him under the arm.

“On your feet, diver,” Weaver said. He gave Rodger the pistol Michael had retrieved from the supply crate.

A quick scan of the room told Weaver there was only one option.

“We make our stand here,” he said.

Rodger managed a nod and raised the gun.

Standing side by side, they fired at the beasts crossing the room. Their helmet beams captured pallid, leathery skin as the mutant creatures darted back and forth to avoid the barrage of bullets. High above the melee, Weaver spotted the hulking monster that had nearly killed him earlier.

“Kill that big son of a bitch!” he shouted.

Weaver fired a burst that punched into the ceiling, then squeezed off another shot that hit a wing bone. The creature corkscrewed, and Weaver trained the crosshairs on its midsection to deal the finishing shot. He squeezed the trigger and… nothing. The action was half closed on a jammed round.

“Shit,” Weaver muttered. He pulled back the action to clear the round as the Siren sailed toward them, talons reaching.

“Shoot it, Rodger!” Weaver said.

Rodger fired, and the Siren veered off course, shrieking angrily. Weaver worked to free the round, but it was jammed diagonally against the bore. Across the plant, the winged giant was wheeling to make another pass at them. Below, a dozen beasts were running across the floor and climbing over the platforms.

Rodger’s gun went silent, and he pulled the blade from Weaver’s sheath. “I’m out!” he yelled.

The jammed round finally popped out of the carbine, and Weaver took down two more of the approaching pack with body shots and maimed a third before training the gun back on the creature in the air.

Ejecting the spent magazine, he dropped to one knee, slapped in the fresh magazine, and fired off a burst. All three shots hit the ceiling. He had to lead the beast more.

He squeezed the trigger again, hitting a wing, but the rounds weren’t enough to bring this one down. And this time there was no escaping.

More Sirens were charging toward them. In seconds, their claws and teeth would tear both Weaver and Rodger into confetti.

“Get down!” a voice shouted.

Weaver turned to see three figures race into the room. Muzzle flashes dazzled his eyes. He bumped off the optics and hit the deck.

Rounds cut through the humid air, punching through mutant flesh and bone. In seconds, the remaining monsters were retreating. Weaver could even hear the beast in the air flapping madly for the exit.

“Rodger!” Magnolia shouted. She ran over and embraced him, her helmet clacking against his.

“Oh, sorry,” she said when he yelped. “Oh, shit, are you hurt?”

“It’s okay. I’m happy to see you, too, Mags.”

“Thanks for the save,” Weaver said, “but we don’t have time for a reunion. We need to beat it before those things go get some friends.”

Michael hesitated even as the others moved, and Weaver quickly saw why. The beam of his headlamp had captured the remains of the diver they had been too late to save. Weaver put a hand on the young commander’s shoulder and said a silent goodbye to Andrew before they turned and ran for the stairs.

Michael was more than ready to leave the Hilltop Bastion behind. Maybe there was a facility somewhere deep underground that wasn’t inhabited by monsters—a place that could safely house the people of the Hive for generations until the surface was habitable again. But ITC Communal 13 was not that place.

“Man, you guys should’ve heard Rodger,” Weaver was saying. “He offered to build those things a better nest!”

Magnolia let out a cross between a laugh and a snort.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Layla said. “He once offered to build me a better boyfriend.”

Michael grinned, but it didn’t last. They were still alive, but with no real plan for what came next.

Handle your present with confidence. Face your future without fear.

The divers hurried down the passage, gear clanking and lights cutting through the darkness.

“You said Jordan put Janga in the stockade?” Weaver asked Layla.

She nodded solemnly. “He had her arrested earlier. I just hope he didn’t hurt her.”

“I guess her gift of prophecy wasn’t real after all, or she would have seen it coming. She said a man from the surface would lead us to the promised land. A place that’s under water, or something. I can’t believe I actually bought into—”

“That’s it,” Michael said, interrupting Weaver. “She was talking about X, don’t you see? We have to go find him.”

“What do you mean, kid?”

“Janga knew about X all along. She hid that information inside some crazy prophecy, both to protect it and to get people to pass it on. She knew that if he could survive down here, then maybe he could show us how to survive, too.”

“Shit, he’s got a point,” Magnolia said.

Weaver shook his head. “Have I ever told you you’re all nuts?”

“It’s a job requirement,” Rodger said.

“Fair enough,” Weaver said. He stopped just outside the hangar door and lowered his rifle. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

Weaver grabbed the door handle, and as he opened it, an orange glow flooded the hallway.

“Watch out!” Magnolia shouted a moment too late.

On the other side of the door stood a giant skinless beast out of a fever dream. Swollen muscles flashed orange across a body as wide as the doorframe. Looming a good two feet over Weaver, it tilted its nightmarish face down at him, snuffling and opening a bony jaw rimmed with yellow teeth the size of sheath knives.

Weaver staggered backward as the other divers screamed a warning. But before he could bring up his rifle, the creature reached out an enormous, black-taloned hand and clamped it around the commander’s helmet. He dropped his gun and grabbed the beast’s wrists as it plucked him off the ground, feet kicking.

Michael moved to the side and fired a shot into the monster’s chest. It let out a frenzied roar and squeezed its hands together. Every muscle flashed and flexed as it pushed in on Weaver’s helmet.

There was no scream or cry—just the crack of metal, glass, and bone as the diver’s helmet caved in like a tin can in a vice.

It all happened so fast that the world seemed to grind to an agonizing halt as Weaver’s limp body collapsed to the floor in a heap. Michael could hear Magnolia’s screams, and he could see the rounds cutting through the monster’s flesh, but the bullets weren’t from his rifle. He seemed unable to move.

Layla fired her carbine, and Magnolia was emptying her magazine into the beast. Shell casings fell into the puddle of Weaver’s blood that spread across the floor.

The abomination slapped Magnolia’s gun away and picked her up by the throat with one paw. Michael finally snapped out of his trance and reached for his blaster.

Rodger had the same idea. He pulled Weaver’s blaster from his holster and pushed it to the bony head of the monster.

The buckshot slammed into the creature’s skull, cracking through bone and into brain. It dropped Magnolia and stumbled back into the wall, a wedge of its head missing. Letting out a final grunt, the beast crashed to the floor with a thud that shook the corridor.

Rodger hurried over to Magnolia as she scooted away on her butt.

“Weaver,” she choked. “Where…?”

“He’s gone,” Michael said. He grabbed Layla’s hand, and Rodger helped Magnolia to her feet. They ran past the monster, and all looked down as they walked through the blood surrounding Weaver’s crushed helmet. There was nothing they could do for him now but honor his memory.

As soon as they were inside the room, Timothy’s hologram appeared.

“Why didn’t you warn us?” Magnolia shouted.

“I am sorry, but I had transferred my program to the ship. When I detected the gunshots, I—”

“Just get us the hell out of here!” Michael shouted.

They ran up the metal platform into the ship. This craft was perhaps a third smaller than the Hive, but the most striking difference was that everything here was new. Dusty plastic covered the upholstery, and nothing was patched or dinged.

Timothy sealed the door behind them.

“Is there anything on board that we need to be aware of?” Layla asked. “Any monsters you’ve forgotten to mention?”

“There are only four life forms present,” Timothy said. “Follow this light strip to the bridge. I will join you there.”

They ran down a long hallway that ended at a circular steel door. Timothy was already waiting there. He raised a hand as the doors parted, revealing a bridge fitted with more advanced computer technology and control panels than Michael had ever seen. The operations room was furnished with metal stations and a single steering wheel. Control panels were already flashing, and a mounted monitor taking up an entire wall came online with the view above them.

Heart pounding, he staggered inside. Blood sang in his ears, and a wave of vertigo passed over him.

Michael blinked and drew in a long breath as he followed the other divers onto the bridge. A distant thud rang out, and the ship trembled.

“Stand by for launch,” Timothy said. “The air is safe and clear of toxins, by the way. Feel free to take off your helmets and settle into your seats.”

He sat at a station and watched the monitor as the other divers stripped off their gear. The doors above them opened slowly. Lightning zigzagged across the storm clouds over the Hilltop Bastion. The floor rattled, and the bulkheads groaned.

Michael removed his helmet and inhaled his first breath of unfiltered air outside the Hive.

“Engines online,” Timothy said. “Now activating the turbofans. Please fasten your harnesses.”

“Hold on, Timothy,” Rodger said. He looked at Magnolia, his eyes bright with unshed tears. “Weaver gave his life to save mine, so I’m not going to waste any more time.” The ship vibrated as Timothy activated the turbofans, and they rose off the platforms.

Rodger steadied himself and reached into his vest. He pulled out a small wood figurine and handed it to Magnolia.

“I made this for you,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you how I feel, but now… well, if you don’t already know, there’s no point in saying it.”

“It’s an elephant,” she said. “You remembered!”

She held it in her palm and began to sob.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away the tears with her sleeve. “It’s just, I’ve never had anyone be so nice to me.”

Rodger put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay now. You can trust me. Trust is the only thing that’s going to keep us alive.”

“He’s right,” Michael said. He grabbed Layla’s hand as the ship slowly rose out of the hangar. The frame creaked and groaned like a beast coming out of hibernation.

“Please fasten your harnesses,” Timothy said again. “This could be a bit rough.”

The divers all strapped in to watch the ship rise out of the Hilltop Bastion. On-screen, the ruined city stretched around them, a gray and brown halo of devastation.

As soon as they were hovering over the ITC facility, Timothy turned from the screen to look at Michael. The other divers all looked at him as well. With Weaver gone, Michael now held rank.

“What heading should I set, Commander Everhart?” Timothy asked.

There was no hesitation in Michael’s reply. “To the last known coordinates for Commander Xavier Rodriguez.”

Timothy nodded, and the ship slowly rotated to change course, giving them a view of the ocean to the east, and the red lighthouse they all had seen on the dive.

“Guess I won’t be dipping my feet in the ocean anytime soon,” Magnolia said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Timothy said. “It appears the last known location of Commander Rodriguez is in southern Florida.”

“Florida,” Layla said. “I think I’ve heard of that place in the archives. There was a magical kingdom there once, according to the old stories.”

Michael felt a smile coming on, but he didn’t let it. Instead, he gripped her hand tighter. They had lost Weaver and Pipe, and Jordan had forsaken them, but they were going to find X. If he was still alive, he was their best hope of saving the human race.

Magnolia put the elephant on her lap and waved at Timothy. “Hey, I forgot to ask you something. What’s this ship called?”

“Deliverance,” Michael said. “We’re calling her Deliverance.”

Will the heroic Hell Divers locate the man that can lead them to a new home, or is humanity doomed forever?

While you’re waiting for Hell Divers III: Deliverance, dive into Nicholas Sansbury Smith’s other series, Trackers. Ripped from the headlines, the explosive new saga is a hard-hitting and realistic depiction of what a North Korean EMP attack might look like at a time when the threat has never been more real. Grab your copy today by clicking here!

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