Nicholas Smith - Deliverance

As X looked for the next target, Miles barked, but not at him—he was barking at the two men flanking them from the bow. They had been hidden by the crates, and now they were slinking toward Magnolia and Rodger with machetes.

The men both darted for cover as X brought up his gun. He ran after them, firing as he moved and hitting one in the back. The second vanished in the maze of crates. X stopped to pull out his blade again and cut Rodger free.

“Thank God you found us,” Rodger said. “They were going to ea—”

“Shut up and call Michael for evac,” X said. He looked over at Magnolia. “You okay?”

She managed a nod, but the two dents in her helmet told X she had taken a beating. At least, she was still in one piece.

“Go!” X shouted as soon as they were free.

Keeping his rifle tight, X moved toward the crates, sweeping for contacts. He pivoted around the first crate with Miles on his heels, wondering whether they should abandon the hunt. He wasn’t sure how many of the ghouls were still left on the ship. It might be better to get Mags and Rodger to safety while he had the chance, but he also didn’t like the idea of turning his back on someone armed with at least a machete.

“Bark when you see ’em, Miles,” X ordered. He jumped up, grabbed the lip of the crate, and then hauled himself to the top. From his new vantage point, he saw movement around the next crate. The man had his machete up and was moving directly for Miles. Cords hung over his shoulders like metal dreadlocks, connecting his helmet with the tanks on his armored back.

X whistled from above, and the man looked up in time to catch two rounds to his helmet and a third in the tank on his back. One of the cords disconnected, hissing and jettisoning air.

“Help!” came a scream. He whirled back to the center of the ship, where a hulking Cazador held a saw-toothed blade pressed to Rodger’s throat. Magnolia was backed against the gunwale, eyes wide behind her visor.

“Let him go!” she snarled.

Two more Cazadores were moving on her. One of them unslung a shotgun.

“Drop it,” shouted the man holding Rodger captive. It was then that X noticed the crushed Siren skulls on his shoulders.

El Pulpo.

The scar on his neck itched as he looked at the leader of the Cazadores . The bastard wouldn’t hesitate this time; he would kill all three of them and barbecue them right alongside the Siren still grilling over the oil drum. X steeled himself to make a call that would haunt him for the rest of his life. There just wasn’t enough time to save them both.

His heart ached when he made his decision.

Bringing his rifle up, he fired several bursts at the two men approaching Magnolia, hitting the one with the shotgun first. He dropped from a head shot, but the second man took a round to the chest and kept moving with his cutlass raised, apparently determined to take Magnolia with him.

Maybe if X had dispatched them both with head shots, he would have had a chance to save Rodger, but he was forced to spend another second killing the man with the blade.

Three bullets sent him crashing into the railing.

Magnolia was already running toward el Pulpo as X pivoted, finger on the side of the trigger.

They both were too late.

El Pulpo loosened his grip on Rodger and then thrust the blade into Rodger’s back, lifting him off the ground. Magnolia screamed, holding up her hands and freezing, as if she might fix what had happened if she could just hold still enough.

Rodger squirmed, his feet kicking. “Help!” he croaked. “Someone help me!”

El Pulpo pulled the blade free from Rodger and unslung his machine gun as Rodger toppled onto the deck. X fired first, aiming for the eye he had destroyed with a needle nearly two years ago. But his labored breathing threw off his aim, and the bullets punched into armor below the elbow. The machine gun clattered onto the deck.

El Pulpo let out a muffled roar and ran for cover as X continued firing until his magazine went dry. Miles barked ferociously and gave chase, with his master right behind him. X dropped the empty machine gun and unslung the long rifle as he ran. Bringing it up, he fired two rounds at the escaping cannibal leader. A window shattered and a tire went flat, but El Pulpo disappeared before X could take him down for good.

“Miles, back!” X shouted.

The dog returned, and X hurried over to Magnolia. She was on her knees next to Rodger, cradling his helmet. X scanned for contacts again, keeping his barrel on the garage.

“We gotta move,” he said, his voice even gruffer than usual.

Rodger wheezed, peppering the inside of his helmet with blood. He held up a gloved hand to Magnolia and said, “Sorry I never…” His words trailed off in a coughing fit.

Magnolia grabbed Rodger by his chest plate, trying to lift him up. “You’re going to be fine. Come on, get up.”

“We got to go, Mags,” X said. He looked down at Rodger. How could he apologize to the man for choosing Magnolia?

Rodger coughed again, more blood flecking the inside of his cracked visor. His suit had been compromised, and the rads here were off the graph. Rodger seemed to understand this. “Too late for me. Could already feel myself getting sick.”

Miles nudged up alongside Rodger, nuzzling his arm and whining softly.

Rodger looked up at X, his eyes clear and steady. “Tell my parents that the good chisel set is in my footlocker. And… Magnolia, I always…” His eyelids fluttered, and his hand fell away from Miles’ head as his body went limp.

X grabbed Magnolia and pulled her away, though she fought him at first. They moved to the railing. The ship had left the pier, and they were in the open ocean now. More shouts came from the bow as Cazador soldiers streamed up from the lower decks in response to the gunfire.

A voice that had to be el Pulpo’s roared behind X. He grabbed Miles under one arm and took Magnolia’s hand with the other.

“C’mon, Mags. Let’s dive.”

Michael stood next to Layla’s bed in the medical ward. She was sedated and sleeping peacefully, but she had lost a lot of blood. As soon as they reached the Hive , she would need surgery, assuming she made it that long.

Michael was still struggling to understand what had happened on the ship. X had brought Miles and Magnolia back, all of them dripping wet, but Rodger wasn’t with them.

Magnolia sat in a chair nearby with her battered head cupped in her hands, spiky black and blue hair like a storm cloud around her head. Timothy was there, too, monitoring Layla’s vitals.

“Where’s X?” Michael asked.

Timothy paused a moment, apparently tapping into the ships video system.

“He’s watching Samson, Erin, and Les make their final repairs in the engine room.”

“Final repairs?” Michael asked. “They’re almost done?”

“It would be more accurate to call them the final repairs before the ship is airworthy. More work will need to be done once we get clear of the storm.”

Michael looked at Layla, his mind in a fog. He ran his finger along the back of her hand, but she remained unconscious, unmoved by his touch.

“Mags, are you okay?” he asked.

Her pale face was blotchy with dried blood from the head injuries she had received and the tears she had shed over Rodger. But it was the radiation exposure that worried Michael the most. But for the medical supplies X had brought in his bike trailer, she would likely have died from it, and Layla would have never made it this long. Neither woman was out of danger yet, though.

A voice came over the PA system. “Timothy, this is Samson. I’ve fixed our biggest problem, which was a venting issue. Engine should be good to fire up now.”