Nicholas Smith - Ghosts

Jordan expected Katrina to shout again, or maybe even cry, but to his surprise, she remained calm and grimly silent.

“Now play that transmission from Weaver,” Jordan said. Hunt hurried to comply, not daring to meet the captain’s eyes.

“Command, this is Angel One requesting evacuation,” Weaver’s voice said. “The facility is compromised. Apollo One is dead, and there is no sign of survivors here. Rodger and Magnolia might still be alive, so please send help as soon as possible.”

Katrina curled one hand protectively over her belly. “We have to send down another team and help them,” she said, her voice rising to a maddened shout. “We can’t leave them down there like you left X. I won’t do it!”

Jordan shook his head incredulously. “Were you not listening? The divers want to kill me, and there is nothing on the surface for them—or us—but death. Now, I’m the goddamn father of the child growing in your womb, Katrina, and I will not have you harming it by getting hysterical over a handful of traitors. You will calm down, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what ?” she snarled. “You don’t get to tell me what to do ever again. I can’t believe I ever loved such a coward.”

The words stabbed Jordan’s fast-beating heart, but his pain quickly turned to anger. Blinded by rage, he turned to Sergeant Jenkins. The old soldier looked back at him uncertainly.

“Sergeant,” Jordan said. He paused, but there was no turning back. He could no longer trust Katrina and there was no gaining back her trust. “Sergeant, escort Lieutenant DaVita to her quarters and post a guard.”

“Yes sir,” Jenkins said. Katrina glared poison at Jordan as the soldier grabbed her upper arm and started half-dragging her from the bridge. She swore at Jenkins and jerked her arm away.

Jordan let out a sigh through his nostrils and released the tension in his jaw. The anger began to subside as he drew in a new breath. He chose to view this as a fresh beginning.

“Ensign, plot a new course to the closest green zone,” Jordan said. “We’re leaving.”

Magnolia led the divers through the utility tunnel. Every movement hurt her shoulder, but she was too full of questions to pay much attention to the pain.

“Why would Jordan keep the fact X is still alive a secret?” she whispered.

“Katrina.” Michael’s one-word reply told the whole story.

Magnolia shook her head. She should have figured that out. Of course Jordan wouldn’t want to rescue X. Katrina had loved the diver once, and anything that threatened the thin-skinned captain was dealt with swiftly—fatally, if necessary.

“I’m going to enjoy plucking his eyeballs out,” she muttered.

“Nope,” Weaver said. “Jordan’s mine.”

“Quiet, or you may not get the chance,” Michael snapped.

Magnolia continued squirming through the narrow passage. Weaver was right behind her, then Layla, Michael, and finally Rodger. She stopped at the next junction and tried to remember Timothy’s directions. The AI couldn’t travel places where there was no power, but she sure wished they had him along now.

“Right,” Rodger said over the comms. “Take a right.”

It was the first time he had spoken since they left the operations room. Jordan’s betrayal had hit him hard. Rodger loved his parents more than anything, and he was nearly frantic to get back to the ship. Magnolia couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to have someone waiting for her back up in the sky. She had been alone for a long time.

“Hold on,” Magnolia whispered. She wiped vulture blood off the edge of her visor so she could see around the next corner. The birdlike mutants had put up a decent fight, but the five divers had killed so many of them that she doubted the survivors would be coming out of their burrows for a while. Those things were seriously weird. Next time she had the chance, she would ask Timothy what in God’s name the ITC scientists had been thinking when they mashed up the DNA of so many different species. What had the vultures even evolved from ?

A distant screech reverberated through the tunnels, reminding her that the surface creatures’ ancestry didn’t matter—they were all monsters now.

“That’s a Siren,” Weaver whispered.

Magnolia maneuvered onto her stomach and crawled around the corner. She stopped to raise her rifle, searching for a target, but the beam from her helmet showed a clear passage. As soon as she was moving again, the sound of claws on metal raised the hair on the nape of her neck. She wiggled forward using her elbows. The faster she crawled, the worse her shoulder hurt, but fear was rapidly eclipsing the pain.

Another screech rang out ahead. Or was it behind them? She stopped at the next junction and listened.

“I thought you knew where we were going,” Weaver growled.

“Keep going,” Rodger said. “Then take the next left!”

Magnolia followed his instructions—and came face-to-face with a Siren at the next junction. An impossibly wide grin opened across its leathery face, revealing the tips of barbed teeth. It gnashed them together, flattened its dorsal spikes as it clambered toward her.

“Come on,” Weaver said, bumping into her from behind. “What’s the holdup?”

She choked out a cry and fired a burst.

A yelp came from behind her even as she pumped more rounds into the monster.

“Help me!” Rodger screamed. “Somebody!”

More gunfire broke out, filling the duct with deafening noise. The creature in front of her dragged its body forward on a broken limb, blood spurting from holes in its torso. She fired two shots into its head, and it finally collapsed, providing a view of the other end of the passage, and the open window over the hangar.

“Almost there!” Magnolia shouted.

She scooted around to look over her shoulder. Helmet beams were dancing wildly over the passage, capturing a flurry of motion. At the end of the line, Michael was gripping Rodger’s hand. She could just see the claws wrapped around Rodger’s left boot.

“Somebody shoot it!” Michael yelled.

Layla moved her pistol back and forth, trying to get a clear shot, as a second beast emerged and grabbed Rodger’s other leg.

“Shit!” he screamed.

Magnolia lost sight of him in the chaos. By the time she got her light back on their position, Rodger was gone and Michael was crawling off into the darkness. Layla grabbed Michael around the waist and hauled him back.

“Rodger!” Michael shouted.

Screeching voices answered him, and Michael pushed himself to his knees, blocking Magnolia’s view.

“Rodger’s gone!” Layla cried. “We have to get out of here.”

Feeling sick, Magnolia turned back to the hangar. The passage was clear of hostiles, and she squirmed up to the fallen Siren. This time, she stopped to make sure it was dead before crawling over it.

At the opening, she pulled a rope from her cargo pocket. It was actually a collection of lengths from the other divers, knotted together. She fastened one end to the spidery-looking contraption Rodger had rigged up back in the control room. The stake was designed to be placed in dirt, but he had said it would work in just about any material. She jammed it into the metal and deployed the claws that secured it to the wall. After testing it with a yank, she picked up the coil of rope and tossed it through the window. Next, she pulled two extra flares she had snagged from Michael. She struck the ends and tossed them into the room below. By the time she was finished, Weaver, Layla, and Michael had caught up.

“We can’t leave him,” Michael kept saying. “He’s not dead.”

Rodger’s distant shouts confirmed it. Magnolia flinched at each one, tears streaming down her cheeks.