Nicholas Smith - Wolves

Had X heard correctly? El Pulpo wasn’t born here and was the descendant of people that lived on an airship?

Not that it mattered now. Not really.

X looked at the other Hell Divers and his dog with sadness. Joining the Cazadores meant enslavement. It meant losing their humanity.

But it also meant life.

Just as he was about to lower the gun, one of the guards thrust his spear into the boy’s chest, impaling him and plucking him away, leaving X exposed.

“No!” el Pulpo yelled, his gravelly voice barely audible over X’s gunshots.

Three neat holes appeared in the warrior’s armor, leaking blood like a punctured water bag. The man crashed to the dirt, choking and gurgling next to the dying boy.

A moment of uncertainty passed, the warriors looking at one another or at X, not knowing what to do. Even their king, who had walked several steps, stood still as if waiting to see what might happen next.

X made the choice simple by raking the submachine gun back and forth across the ranks of Cazador soldiers.

The close phalanx of armored bodies made it easy to cut them down, and difficult for the armed warriors surrounding el Pulpo to take a shot without killing their comrades. They all aimed their weapons, but none fired.

“Leave him alone!” Magnolia shouted.

A man hurled his spear, but X moved just in time, the blade cutting the air where his neck had been. He shot down two more soldiers behind him, and a spearman who lunged from the side.

The tip cut into his shoulder, and another nicked the skin over his ribs. Without his Hell Divers armor, he was vulnerable to their archaic weapons.

X smashed another soldier in the face with the butt of the submachine gun and grabbed the dropped spear in midair. Swinging it in a wide arc, he hamstrung one man and disemboweled another, forcing the others back.

Bringing up his submachine gun, he finished the magazine and drew the blaster from its thigh holster. The first shotgun round blew through the front of a soldier’s helmet. The second opened a gaping hole in a female warrior’s thigh. He squeezed the trigger again, firing a flare into the tattooed chest of another man, who let out a long howl of agony before his lungs melted.

X ran the next soldier’s neck through with the spear, leaving it there when he couldn’t pull it free. He fired his second shotgun shell into the belly of an axman, who dropped the weapon, severing part of his foot.

A boot to the back knocked X out of the path of a spear thrust that would have impaled him like the dead boy on the ground. Using the momentum to his advantage, he made for the gardens while a half-dozen screaming soldiers gave chase.

Gunfire cracked from the throne platform, the rounds lancing into trees and dirt. And as suddenly as it had started, the firing stopped.

A voice screeched over the noise. “ ¡Alto! ”

X holstered the blaster and drew both pistols. He ducked behind a tree and leveled them at the half-dozen men running toward him. At this distance, he didn’t need to aim as he fired round after round, knocking them down as they came. A hurled spear sailed through his open stance, just below the groin.

He removed the threat with a .45 round that unhinged the spearman’s jaw. When the pistols clicked dry, he dropped them in the dirt and unslung his final weapon: the carbine across his back. He fired, and a crazed warrior with a machete fell at his feet.

Chambering another round, he looked around him for the man he had come to kill. Maybe if he could take down the king, it all would end. The thought that he might actually win this fight crossed his mind.

A blow from behind knocked the rifle free and sent him crashing facedown in the dirt. He looked up as they formed a circle around him once again.

X tried to push himself up, but a heavy foot against his back forced him back into the dirt.

He gasped for air, trying to look over his shoulder. But the soldier holding him down was strong and big, and X was out of steam.

Even his friends’ shouts and Miles’ frantic barking couldn’t incite him to his feet. He had finally met his match and couldn’t continue the fight. All he could do was shield his face from the blows and kicks raining down.

The pummeling suddenly stopped, and a boot in his gut flipped him onto his back. His blurry eyes stared up at the airship atop the fortress, and for a fleeting moment he thought it was his friends, coming to rescue him.

His focus narrowed to a scarred face with a hollow eye socket, looming over him. El Pulpo grinned and spoke as his slave Imulah translated.

“You have proven yourself as a great warrior, Xavier Rodriguez,” Imulah said. “One of the best el Pulpo has ever seen. He understands now why your friends call you ‘the Immortal,’ and believes it would be a waste of talent to eat you, especially now that you have killed so many of his soldiers. So you have one choice…”

X spat a stream of blood. “Let me make it easy. I chose death.”

“Death is not a choice for you, Immortal,” Imulah said. “You are a Cazador soldier now, and your friends are slaves.”

“You Cazador,” el Pulpo said, thumping his chest with his fist. With a clank of armor, the other guards repeated the motion as X looked around him and considered the odds.

This time there was truly nothing X could do. No good options remained—not even death.

He glanced past the servant and his king to the airship above. The aluminum skin glistened in the sun. He could almost picture passengers of the Hive peering out behind the grubby portholes.

No, you’re wrong. There is one good option left. You wait. You survive. You keep your friends alive.

His fate and the fate of his friends were in the hands of the sky people. Their only hope rested with Katrina and the remaining Hell Divers. Yet again those brave women and men would determine the future of humanity.

X had dived through countless storms, he had trekked across the poisoned surface, and he had sailed across a sea filled with monsters to find this place. Now he would serve so humanity could survive, and then he would kill every last one of these bastards.

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Nicholas Sansbury Smithis the USA Today bestselling author of the Hell Divers series, the Orbs series, the Trackers series, and the Extinction Cycle series. He worked for Iowa Homeland Security and Emergency Management in disaster mitigation before switching careers to focus on his one true passion—writing. When he isn’t writing or daydreaming about the apocalypse, he enjoys running, biking, spending time with his family, and traveling the world. He is an Ironman triathlete and lives in Iowa with his wife, their dogs, and a house full of books.