Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

“What the hell are they doing there ?” Cruise asked.

Ash reached forward and activated the table’s built-in console. The SOS video from Ares emerged on the individual screens in front of the divers. She waited for them to digest the information.

“Willis is a bigger fool than I thought,” Cruise said. “He would’ve been better off trying to make it to another location than attempting a dive over Hades.”

Ash took a deep breath and said, “Whatever desperation drove him to attempt a dive at Hades doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that we help them.”

Cruise muttered something profane. “You have got to be kidding me. We can’t risk our ship for theirs. They made their decision, they have to live with it.”

“Team Raptor has just provided us with enough nuclear fuel cells to keep us in the air for years,” Ash said. “We have the juice to get to Hades—”

Cruise cut her off. “And X’s men paid the full price to make sure we don’t end up in the same position as Ares . I can’t believe you would risk that!”

Before Ash could respond, X rose from his seat and loomed over Cruise. “Excuse me, Commander , but your superior officer was speaking. I’m with Captain Ash on this. If we have the ability to aid Ares, then why not do it? If we get to Hades and can’t provide support, then we pull back.”

Cruise snorted. “Am I the only one that thinks this is a crazy idea? Tony? Jordan?”

No one spoke, and X sat back down. Ash let Cruise fidget for a moment. It was the best way to defuse the situation. Dressing him down in front of the other team leaders would only infuriate him more.

“God only knows what’s down there,” Cruise said under his breath.

“God isn’t the only one,” Ash replied. She punched in another command. “We received another transmission about an hour ago. Only a chunk came through.”

After entering in her credentials, she pulled up the confidential file. Static crackled from the PA system. Ash crossed her arms across her chest and listened to the message for the fourth time.

“Commander, I just reached the second warehouse. Shit, this place is a fucking gold mine, sir! There’s got to be hundreds of cases of fuel cells!”

“What about the pressure valves?”

“Still searching.”

“Stand by, Jones. I’m on my way.”

The audio cut in and out, only to return a few seconds later.

“Our father in heaven, hallowed be your name…” [Static.] “Forgive us our debts…” [Static.] “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

“What the hell is he yammering about?” Cruise asked.

“Lord’s Prayer,” Tony replied. “My mom used to recite it when I was a kid.” He flinched at the sound of gunfire that followed the words.

“Commander…” Hiss of static. “The Sirens—they’re inside!”

“Get out of there, Jones!”

There was a flurry of gunshots, followed by a piercing screech. The sound sent a chill through Ash. She recalled her conversation with X. Were these the same creatures he had stumbled onto?

“Jones, come in. Jones, where are you?”

White noise.

“Oh, Jesus! They’re coming!”

Labored breathing broke over the channel, then the crack of more gunshots.

“Jones, do you copy? Where are you? Where the hell are you?”

A throaty gurgle came next, then a barely decipherable answer. Ash could make out only three syllables. It sounded like “God help me.”

A high-pitched screech—a sound that could not have come from human vocal cords—ended the transmission.

For several minutes, the three divers sat in silence. Ash studied them one by one and stopped on X. His features were tight, his jaw clenched, as if he was trying to forget a nightmare.

“Those sounds were familiar, weren’t they?” she asked.

X nodded. “Yes, Captain. The things they are calling ‘Sirens’ sound exactly like the creatures I encountered on my last dive.”

Cruise twisted in his chair to glare at X. “You saw something down there and didn’t tell us?”

Ash intervened. “He told me, and now we’re telling you.”

“Excellent,” Cruise replied. He put his hands behind his shaved head and leaned back in his chair. “Am I always the last one to hear about stuff that could get us killed?”

Ash resisted the urge to take Cruise down a peg in front of his peers.

“We don’t know the status of Ares, but we’re going to find out in…” She looked down at her wristwatch. “In five hours. Oh, and, gentleman, you’d better get your teams ready just in case we have to mount a rescue operation.”

Cruise stood, and his eyes flitted from X to Captain Ash. “You’re going to get us all killed.”

“Dismissed,” Jordan said sternly.

Cruise stalked out of the room. Tony and X followed him out, but X paused in the doorway. “Wait for me to tell my new divers,” he shouted after Cruise and Tony. Then he turned and met Ash’s gaze.

“Captain,” he said, “I hope you got a plan when we get to Hades, because after seeing what I saw down there—those things, the Sirens—chances are, Captain Willis’ divers are already dead.”

The beam from Commander Weaver’s headlamp cut through the inky darkness of the warehouse. He clambered up the stairs and raced over the skeletal platform, the light bouncing across his path.

“Jones, do you copy?” Weaver repeated for the hundredth time.

The maddening crackle of static was the only response. He ran up another staircase and across a second mezzanine, which ended at a steel door connecting the two warehouses. Weaver approached cautiously, pistol up.

Snippets of Jones’ last words repeated in his mind: The Sirens. They’re everywhere!

Weaver cursed himself for not making the arduous trek to the crate and loading up on weapons. The allure of the buildings, close by and full of supplies for the taking, had clouded his judgment. He would trade the rest of his water for a blaster or an assault rifle.

It was too late now. There was no turning back to the crate unless he had the cells and valves. His eyes flitted to his minimap. He had set a nav marker on Jones’ last known location. If the computer was correct, Jones—and the Sirens—were in the next building.

He eased into a cautious trot across the catwalk. The ancient metal shook and groaned. He grabbed on to a railing with one hand and glanced over the other side. It was farther down than he had thought. Even with the armor shielding his vital parts, he would likely break something if the catwalk gave out. The sturdy warehouses had been built to last, but two and a half centuries was a long time.

Walking across the final stretch to the door, he crouched down and shined the headlamp over the rusted frame. Long gashes ran down the length of the metal. He crab-walked closer, examining the door under the glow. The abrasions were deep and looked recent. Rust hadn’t worked its way into the deep crevices yet, but something else had. A jagged piece of what looked almost like bone stuck out of one of the incisions. He pulled it and held it under the light. It looked like the broken-off end of a long, curved talon from something big—something the size of a Siren.

He rotated it under the light. The jagged, yellow claw was rough, but when he tried to bend it, it wouldn’t budge. It had the strength of steel and the coarseness of sandpaper.

The wind outside beat the sides of the building, rising into a howl that sounded alive. Weaver swallowed and looked at the crevices again. He forced himself to think of his wife, his kids, and the mission. The nuclear fuel cells were on the other side, and the pressure valves could be there, too.