Nicholas Smith - Ghosts

“You’re the only one dying today.”

Jordan retreated outside the red barrier and shouted for Ty to prep the launch tube. He kept his eyes on Janga. There was sadness there, and pain, but he saw no sign of fear. That didn’t sit right with him. He had beaten her, so why was the old woman looking at him as though she had just won?

She pulled a chain from her robe and kissed the smooth surface of a black stone pendant. “Your time will come, Leon Jordan,” she said. “The man from the surface will lead these people home—but you won’t be among them.”

A voice crackled in his earpiece as he prepared to launch her into hell.

“Captain, do you copy? Over.”

Jordan pulled his hand away from the green button and flipped the minicomm to his lips. “This better be important, Hunt.”

“Yes, sir. I just received an SOS from Weaver. He’s requesting that we move back into position to evacuate the divers.”

“Have they found any power cells?”

“Negative, sir, but they did rescue Magnolia.”

Jordan ran a finger under the collar of his uniform. Magnolia was a tough woman to kill. Good thing he had a contingency plan.

“Weaver said he and the other divers will be ready for evac in less than an hour.”

“Who knows about this?”

Hunt hesitated for a moment. “Just me, sir.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Jordan replied. “I’ll be on the bridge in a few minutes.”

Jordan glanced down at Janga once more and shook his head. He would have liked to stay, but he had more pressing issues to deal with.

He pressed the launch button and strode away without a backward glance.

Michael frowned. He had heard something on the wind. It must have been a Siren, though it did sound a bit strange for one of the beasts. In a way, almost human…

The noise unsettled him, and he squeezed Layla’s hand as they hunkered down in the shell of a bus near the Hilltop Bastion. The distracting beep of an incoming message jolted his attention to his HUD. Finally, the channel was back online. They weren’t alone after all.

Weaver’s voice came over the line. He sounded shaky and short of breath.

“Michael? Magnolia? Does anyone copy? Over.”

Michael kept his voice low on the reply. “Copy that, Weaver. This is Michael. Layla and I are a quarter mile due east of the target. Where’s Magnolia and Rodger?”

“I don’t know. They’re still off comms.” Weaver coughed, the sound rattling deep in his chest.

“You hurt?” Michael asked. “You sound awful.”

There was a short pause. “Do you see the beacon for the supply crate?”

“Yeah, we passed it on the trek in.”

“Good. I lost my rifle and pistol. I’m also going to need a new helmet, a suit repair kit, and a booster. Grab that shit and then get your asses up here. I’ll try to get the windows open.”

Michael peeked around the corner of the bus where he and Layla were sheltering, to look up at the Hilltop Bastion. The concrete bunker rose toward a sky glimmering with lightning.

They were so close, but there was no telling how badly Weaver was hurt. Michael reminded himself that the reason they came down here in the first place was to save the other divers. If that meant backtracking into hostile territory to find the crate, then so be it.

“Michael, do you copy?” Weaver said.

“Copy that. We have hostiles out here. Have to sneak past them to get to the crate.”

“Before you go, there’s something you need to hear.” White noise surged over the channel, and then he heard Weaver addressing someone. “Timothy, can you turn that up?”

Before Michael could ask who the hell Timothy was, a message began playing in the background. Michael recognized the rough voice instantly.

“If anyone’s out there”— crackle —“this is Commander Xavier Rodriguez.” Crackle. “I’m leaving Hades and heading east toward the coast.”

Michael felt his heart catch. “No,” he whispered. “No, it can’t be.”

“Was that X?” Layla asked quietly. “How is that possible?”

“Weaver, I… I don’t understand,” Michael said.

“Sorry, kid, but I thought you should hear it just in case something happens to me before you get here. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but X survived that dive ten years ago.”

“We’re coming, Weaver. Just hang on.”

Michael considered telling Layla to wait here, but she would never follow that order—and to tell the truth, he didn’t want to go out there without her for backup.

“Stay low and hold your fire until I tell you,” he said, pushing away thoughts of X. There would be time for questions later. Right now, he had a mission to complete.

Michael bolted away from the bus and ran for the wall of debris across the road. Bringing the scope to his visor, he glassed the area for contacts. The shadows he had seen earlier were gone.

At his nod, they moved out, hugging the piles of broken asphalt and concrete. Fallen girders covered the path ahead. Farther down the road, one of their chutes flapped over the concrete, the motion attracting a flurry of shadows. A single Siren skittered into view, tilting its head and swiping at the billowing canopy.

Michael made a hand signal, and they recrossed the road to a mound of rubble. A building, toppled from a long-ago blast, was just a pile of rusting metal, shattered glass, broken mortar, and rotted wood. He couldn’t see the supply crate yet, but according to his minimap, it had landed just above them.

Lightning bloomed across the sky, revealing the treacherous path to the top. Shards of glass and ragged ends of metal jutted out between upended foundation slabs and clumps of brick. It was a minefield of hazards.

“Slow and steady,” Michael said quietly.

After a final scan of the road, he led the way across in a low crouch, stepping over the smaller debris skirting the bottom of the toppled building. He slung his rifle over his back and grabbed a flange of channel iron to pull himself up onto a masonry ledge. Layla swung up behind him. From the ledge, they clambered up the incline, boots finding purchase in the shifting scree.

To his left, a gray steel door jutted out of the pile like the fin of a shark. They crouched beside it to listen. Gusting wind stirred up grit on the street below. The cries of hunting Sirens rang down the corridors of the demolished city.

“I hear them out there,” Layla whispered.

“Me, too. Let’s hold here for a few minutes.”

As they waited, Michael’s cluttered mind shifted back to the message from X. He didn’t understand how it was possible. While Captain Ash was alive, Michael had pestered her to send a rescue mission for X just in case he had somehow survived. She had assured him that she was monitoring all transmissions from the surface. Michael had trusted Maria, but now he couldn’t help but wonder whether she, too, had lied.

Layla reached over and put her hand on his forearm. “I love you, Tin. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She always could tell when he was upset, even wearing a visor and a bulky armored suit.

“I have to find him,” he said. “Ten years alone on the surface.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see how he could still be alive.”

“If anyone could survive out here, it’s X.”

Michael stood up and peered over the edgewise door. Unslinging his rifle, he scanned the road below. The eyeless mutants had vanished, the only movement the flicker of the parachute in the distance.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the thunder crack rattled his armor. They were almost to the top of the pile, closer to the storm and more exposed to the elements. They made the final push carefully, Michael selecting each step and looking back every few feet to check Layla’s progress. He squeezed between a pair of beams protruding like horns from the mound. They crunched over loose concrete and sand encrusted with shiny black glass formed by the blast that had leveled most of the city. At the very top, looking strangely whole and symmetrical amid such bent and broken surroundings, was the supply crate.