Nicholas Smith - Deliverance

There were also pages dedicated to the people he had some serious questions for. People such as Captain Maria Ash and Lieutenant Leon Jordan—the people who had left him behind.

After recording a note to himself about the spider’s venom, he set the book on the bench, next to the candle, and reached into his pack. He took out a power pack and set it by the radio, then connected them with the attached cord. He then used a second cord to patch his wrist monitor into the power pack.

Miles watched curiously as X jabbed at the cracked touch screen of his wrist computer. As the radio equipment charged, he tapped into the system that would allow him to transmit on any open channels.

“Maybe Captain Ash will hear this one,” he mumbled to himself.

Miles wagged his tail at the sound of X’s voice. X reached out and stroked the dog’s soft fur. If he didn’t have Miles, he wasn’t sure what he would do. He looked up, trying to remember how old his dog was now. They had been together since Hades. For an entire year, he had resisted the temptation to break into the cryogenic chambers and choose a companion for himself, and then he and Miles had stayed another year in Hades. They had left that city around four years ago. That put Miles at about five years old. Had it really been that long since X last saw another human? Six entire years?

He went back to petting his dog, hoping that the genetic modifications ITC had made to his DNA would keep him healthy for many years to come.

A deep wistfulness passed over him. X had no such modifications, and every day that passed, he grew older and weaker. The radiation exposure and injuries had taken their toll. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going.

You have to keep going. You can’t ever stop.

If he died, Miles wouldn’t be able to survive in the wasteland. X had selfishly chosen to break the dog out of his cryogenic sleep, so it was his responsibility to take care of him.

The radio equipment suddenly crackled, and the screen flashed blue. Data began scrolling across it.

“We’re in business, Miles,” he said with a satisfied nod. Using his wrist computer, he pulled up their current coordinates. The database revealed they were in the foothills of a place that had been called Asheville, North Carolina. The name meant nothing to him, but he scribbled it down in his book so he could remember it later.

“Asheville. Asheville, North Carolina,” he said. “A town made of ash.”

The dog wagged his tail again. He didn’t care about the words; he was just happy to hear his friend’s voice.

Reaching for the radio receiver, X repeated the ritual he had performed at dozens of locations over the years, relaying the same starting message. “If anyone’s out there, this is Xavier Rodriguez, currently broadcasting from Asheville, North Carolina. I’m heading toward the coast.”

From time to time, he also added the coordinates of locations he had raided that yielded food, water, weapons, or fuel cells, just in case someone was listening—someone like Magnolia, Weaver, or Katrina. If X could help them, he would, even if it also helped the bastards who left him for dead.

He lowered the receiver and waited, listening to the hiss of white noise from the ancient speakers. They crackled loudly, sparking Miles’ attention. The dog tilted his head at the radio, then let out a low whine.

X tuned to a different frequency, repeated the same message, and continued the process. On the fifth try, a sound answered. It started as a high-pitched wail that X almost mistook for the radio. Almost, but he knew better by now.

He shut off the device and scrambled out of the command center, into the front seat. Just as he opened the hatch to look outside, a boom of thunder sent a tremor through the metal bulkheads.

Miles followed him, tail between his hind legs.

“Keep quiet, boy,” X said.

He pressed his visor up to the hatch and held in a breath as a brilliant flash of lightning captured the shapes of long-limbed beasts racing through the streets. Darkness once again reclaimed the land, and X waited for another flash.

The next strike was even more vibrant than the last, illuminating the debris field directly below the bluff—and more Sirens, skittering over the foundations of old buildings near the bottom of the hill. Eyeless leathery faces searched the darkness for prey. Most had already homed in on the vehicle.

Each flash of electricity showed the beasts advancing. It wouldn’t be long until they reached the slope and began to climb.

X swallowed and looked away, taking a moment to think.

He could make a run for it with Miles, but they wouldn’t likely get very far. Perhaps it was safer to stay here, sealed inside. He returned to the command center and checked that the hatches were secure. Both were rusted thin, but they would hold.

A second later, the bone-chilling screech of the beasts cut through the rumble of thunder. The fur on Miles’ back stood straight up, like the spines along the creatures’ backs. X slowed and deepened his breathing, preparing for the attack.

The wait wasn’t long. A Siren smashed into the side of the Stryker, the clank of bone on metal echoing inside. Another jumped on top, claws scratching over the armor. Two more slammed into the side.

The sound of a beast pulling on the hatch handle above froze X to the core. He pulled the blaster from his thigh holster and pointed it overhead. His other hand grabbed the rifle and propped it against the bulkhead. Then he unsheathed his blade. If the beasts somehow found a way to open the hatches, he would make them work for their dinner.

For the next hour, the creatures crashed into the Stryker and pounded against the rusty armor. Their angry cries rose into an electronic howl that made X’s ears ache as they became more desperate to get inside. Miles hunkered on the floor, blue eyes wide with fear. X wanted to comfort the dog, but he dare not say a word. Maybe the beasts would leave.

But that was wishful thinking, and he knew it. The Sirens knew they were here, could sense them somehow, whether by scent or by sound. Whatever the case, they weren’t going to give up easily.

Maybe this was what the soldiers had felt like years ago. Trapped, at the mercy of a threat they could not see.

As the minutes ticked by, X lowered his blaster and knife to ease the strain on his shaking hands and arms. He had stopped flinching each time the Sirens knocked against the vehicle.

Just as he was about to whisper words of encouragement to Miles, the onslaught stopped.

The silence was short-lived. Several squawks sounded, short and sharp. X had heard them act this way only a few times before. One would cry out, and another would answer in their otherworldly language.

The Sirens were planning something.

A heavy body crashed into the back hatch, sending a vibration through the vehicle. X nearly fell off the bench. He raised his rifle at the metal door.

Another jolt hit from the rear, rocking the entire truck. Two more Sirens and then a third slammed into the hatch all at once, and this time X did fall onto the floor.

Before he could get up, the vehicle rocked again from the impact of more bodies. The force pushed the vehicle several feet.

“Oh, shit,” X whispered.

Flipping open an armored peephole, he could see the monsters working together to push the Stryker over the cliff. One stood on its hind legs, extending its wings. Its black lips opened and released a high-pitched wail.

As if on cue, a half-dozen Sirens charged from a hundred feet away. They came running all at once, their bony heads angled downward, fins cutting through the air. Several more swooped in from above. They smashed into the back of the Stryker.