Nicholas Smith - Allegiance

Michael “Tin” Everhart stood behind the red line on the deck of the launch bay as he armored up for his sixty-fourth jump. He had officially passed the threshold that earned him a spot as one of the most successful Hell Divers in history, and he was the youngest ever to reach the milestone.

It had cost him—and more than just an arm. He had watched friends and his own father lose their lives in the deadly task of jumping into the wastes. Not many veteran divers remained, but back at their new home, renamed the Vanguard Islands, a new generation had stepped up to meet the challenge. Between missions to find human survivors in the wastes, Michael was helping train them.

But today was not a training day in the sunny skies of the islands. Today, Team Raptor was diving back into the postapocalyptic hell world beyond the barriers.

Joining Michael in the launch bay were veteran divers Magnolia Katib and Trey Mitchells, along with a half-dozen support specialists. The divers watched the maelstrom of swirling black clouds outside while the technicians finished their diagnostic tests.

Alfred, the new lead tech who had replaced Ty, worked on Michael’s wrist computer. The middle-aged engineer was a former computer technician on the Hive , with a wife and a newborn at home.

Michael thought of Layla, now pregnant with their son, Bray. In a few months, he would join their little family.

“Looks good,” Alfred said. “Dive safely, Commander.”

“Always,” Michael said.

The technicians retreated as they finished their checks. Michael tabbed his wrist monitor, bringing the new drone online. A flurry of chirping came from across the room, where the robot was secured to the bulkhead.

Michael unlocked the safety bars, and the drone hovered over.

“Hey, there, Cricket,” Michael said. “How you feeling, buddy?”

The former ITC utility robot chirped again. Alfred, the only technician left in the launch bay, walked over and confirmed that all systems were operational.

“Be careful with him out there,” he said. “The new software might be a bit buggy.”

Michael smiled at his new creation. The three-foot-tall robot flew across the space, its advanced hover nodes glowing red. Team Raptor had discovered the machine in a junk pile at an ITC facility four dives ago, and Michael and Trey had spent many days putting it back together.

Only three of the four arms attached to the base were functioning, but they would come in handy on the dive—from opening doors to hacking systems, to providing medical support. Michael had even managed to install a blowtorch on one mechanical hand, and a blaster on another. The smooth outer armor sported a freshly painted Raptor logo.

The drone didn’t have the only fresh paint. On the port side of the launch bay, “ Discovery ” had been stenciled in glossy black .

Formerly the ITC Deliverance , the nuclear-powered airship had been completely gutted and rebuilt after a punishing battle with the Cazadores months earlier. This was her first journey back to the wastes, but it was Michael’s twentieth dive since the fight that had cost the lives of so many.

Since then, the Hive had carried Team Raptor to locations to search for survivors, but so far, the only thing the divers had found, other than some much-needed fuel cells, was Cricket. Michael wasn’t giving up hope on finding humans, though. If the Cazadores had found inhabited bunkers, then so could his divers.

The airship continued to transmit a message of hope over the radio waves: “If you’re listening, don’t be afraid. We are the last humans, and we are in the skies, looking for you. If you’re out there, respond to this message. We will never stop diving for humanity.”

Until a few days ago, they had heard nothing. It wasn’t until they transferred from the Hive to the repaired and refitted Discovery that they had detected a signal, coming from an island called Jamaica. It wasn’t a message or even an SOS—just garbled noises in response to their own transmission.

According to Cazador records, their navy had never raided the location, which meant there could be survivors. But it was also dangerously close to Red Sphere—not even two hundred miles from where they had dropped the nuke on the facility.

The techs closed the launch bay’s hatch to the hallway. As soon as it was sealed, a message came over the public address system from the airship’s new captain, Les Mitchells.

“Green light to dive, Team Raptor,” he said in a voice tinged with worry. “Good luck, and stay sharp.”

Trey Mitchells seemed confident as ever. On the past few dives, he had taken some unnecessary risks to prove himself, which was probably why his dad sounded concerned.

“Keep tight once we land,” Michael said. “There’s nobody to impress down there, and anyway, the most impressive thing you can do is stay alive.”

“I know,” Trey said. “Don’t worry, Commander.”

Michael nodded and hit a button. The launch-bay doors opened to a dark sky. The platform extended away from the ship as the divers walked out into the wind.

He didn’t waste a second studying the drop zone—just gave a nod to Magnolia. This time, she could yell the motto, but he was still the first to step off the extended platform, into the clouds.

For a moment, he felt the sensation of pure weightlessness, like a feather caught in a gale. The forces of wind and gravity seemed caught in a struggle over his body.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the other two divers had followed him out of the belly of the airship. Cricket, still hovering in the launch bay, would wait a few moments before joining them in the darkness.

Michael studied the cloud cover and surrendered to the pull of forces on his suit. Anxious to get a view of the ground, he stretched his arms and legs out into a hard arch, then broke into a stable free-fall position.

Could this really be the location of more survivors—a place where people had managed to scratch out a living from the toxic earth over the past two and a half centuries?

A wind shear slammed him, and the sky went topsy-turvy.

At the first dazzling flash of lightning, habit took over, and he straightened his legs and drew his arms in against his body, pulling himself into a nosedive. The electrical storm appeared to be a safe distance away, but he wasn’t taking any chances in this turbulence.

Wind whistled over his armor as he broke through the mattress of cold air pushing up on him. Two beacons blinked on the translucent subscreen of his heads-up display, or HUD.

Magnolia and Trey were still above him but closing fast. After Michael, Mags was the most experienced diver in the world, but Trey was learning fast.

Over the past few months, the two young men had bonded, becoming closer than ever, and after protesting long and loud, the captain had at last agreed to let his son dive on this risky mission.