Nicholas Smith - Deliverance

He stared at the tower in the distance. Since his captivity, he had learned much about these people, mostly by watching and studying them from afar. Many years ago, the Cazadores had left their home in the metal islands and used the lighthouses to lure human survivors of the wars. People who had surfaced from bunkers or ITC facilities to repopulate the earth. Later, when stocks ran low, the Cazadores had turned to the next best thing: Sirens. Then to the people and animals still frozen in the cryogenic chambers.

And now Rodger and Magnolia were on the menu, although X had a feeling they would use Magnolia for other purposes. The Cazadores had clearly sacrificed their humanity on the altar of their own survival. Now they were animals, barely more human than the Sirens they hunted.

It was precisely why X had lied to Michael and the other divers. They didn’t come from some utopian society basking under the sun. The pirates came from a dark world where men ate whatever meat they could find, including their own species.

At the next bridge, X twisted the throttle and sped up the ramp, finally getting a view of the beach. The ship was already pulling away from the pier. The speedometer ticked up to ninety miles per hour over an open stretch of road.

The sky was remarkably clear, with not a Siren in sight. Chances were, the Cazadores had captured and killed most of the beasts that were stupid enough to come out of their lairs. But there were always more out there, hiding and waiting.

X steered onto another road at the bottom of the bridge, weaving between charred hulls and melted vehicles. He reached a hundred miles per hour on the final stretch to the beach.

The ruined coastline stretched northward. Tsunamis had leveled this area centuries ago, crushing the buildings and washing away everything but the foundations. Destroyed boats, sheets of metal, amorphous hunks of plastic, and other debris littered the beach.

X parked the bike behind a brick wall and unbuckled Miles. The dog jumped out, and X grabbed the backpack he had designed for carrying the dog in unusually dicey situations. Then he grabbed his assault rifle and a noise-suppressed long rifle, which he slung over his shoulder, flattening the backpack against him. Next, he shouldered the machine gun as he ran out into the junkyard, barrel pointing at the deck.

Several Cazadores manned machine-gun nests on the ship’s deck, keeping an eye out for Sirens in the sky. The junkyard would provide plenty of cover, but he and Miles would have to make it quick. He darted around the mounds of sheet metal and concrete slabs, running faster than he had thought possible, his dog at his heels. Lightning cracked across the sky like muzzle flashes from an automatic rifle.

He eyed a metal ladder running down the side of the ship. A guard manned the nearest turret above the deck, but his eyes were on the clouds. If he looked in X’s direction, he would have him and Miles dead to rights in his kill zone.

X swapped the assault rifle for the long rifle and knelt behind the split hull of a boat. He brought the scope up and centered the crosshairs right between the two almond-shaped lenses in the guard’s helmet.

With the noise-suppressed barrel lined up, he waited for a bolt of lightning and the following thunderclap. A flash speared the sky, nearly a mile away, and he counted four seconds until the thunder boomed, pulling the trigger with the noise.

As soon as the shot was away, X lowered the rifle and started running again. The man slumped over, blood trickling out of his helmet and onto the deck below.

X sprinted from the beach and onto the concrete pier. The ladder wasn’t far, just two hundred feet, but the ship was picking up speed.

X slowed, unslung his weapons, and strapped Miles into the custom pack and onto his back. A moment later, X was running with the weapons hanging over his chest, and Miles high on his back.

The massive ship was slipping out into the dark ocean. Waves slapped the pier behind X, water sloshing over the concrete platform. He reached out and grabbed the ladder, his boot sliding on the metal rung for a heart-skipping moment. Gritting his teeth, he climbed toward the railing fifty feet above. He flattened his body against the ship when a helmeted head appeared to his right.

Had they found their dead comrade?

X waited, straining under the load. Miles was only fifty pounds, but along with the weapons and armor, it was a lot to haul up a ladder. He could feel the blood pulsing in his carotid arteries and his temples.

When he risked looking up again, the man was gone.

Wasting no time, X grabbed another rung and kept climbing. At the top, he whispered to Miles to keep quiet and then peeked over the side, giving the area a quick scan. To the right, several armored soldiers were standing around a barrel while something cooked over a metal grate. Neither of them seemed to be aware of the dead man in the nest above, but X could see the blood striping down the turret. The left side was open deck between the rail and the middle of the ship.

He got over the railing and bent down to let Miles onto the deck. The center of the ship was a metal garage and storage area for containers. He had spent days studying the layout from his apartment after the bastards caught him over a year ago, just in case he ever tangled with them again.

Now was his chance to even the scales.

Hugging the pocked metal wall and keeping low, he moved with the assault rifle shouldered. This weapon had no suppressor, and any gunfire would surely attract every soldier on board, but he was ready for a firefight. He had never been much for sneaking around.

He stopped when he got to the edge of the garage. The doors on the right were open, and inside were more vehicles and the shipping containers. The bow was clear of contacts, but several crates were stashed along the deck, blocking his view.

Just as X was about to move into the garage, Miles nudged him. The dog’s head was pointed at the crates, keying on something that X had apparently missed. Crouching down, X studied the rust-darkened metal before finally glimpsing the silhouettes of two figures strapped between crates.

It had to be Rodger and Magnolia.

He reached down to pat the dog’s head, glad he had lugged him up the ladder .

X pulled a knife from his vest and raised his rifle in his other hand, prepared to make a run for the divers. But he didn’t get the chance. A Klaxon screamed overhead, and the sound of men yelling in Spanish came from all directions. Cursing, he sheathed the knife.

“Stay,” he said to Miles. Then he stepped around the side of the garage with his rifle up and the safety off.

Let’s see if you’ve still got it, old man.

He squeezed the trigger and fired a burst at each of the three men standing outside the shipping containers. Two of them went down right away, but the third staggered until X shot him through the helmet.

X ejected the spent magazine and pulled another from his vest, slapped it in, and did a quick scan of the garage. Two more Cazadores came around the other side of the entrance to see what was happening. He raised the freshly loaded rifle and fired just as one of the men stopped and raised his hands in the air.

A three-round burst sent the man buckling and he collapsed in a limp heap onto the deck. The next burst hit the second soldier. He fell backward over the rail with a muffled scream and a splash.

Return fire ricocheted off the deck beside X, and he rolled for cover. He came up on one knee and fired at the turret on top of the garage. The bullets pinged off the side of the armored wall, and X waited until a helmet popped up again to pull the trigger. This time, the round punched through a visor slot, finishing the job with a small spray of blood.