Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

“Let’s go,” Tin said.

She grabbed his hand and worked her way back into the flow of traffic. They walked that way all the way to trading post.

“Which merchant?” he asked.

Layla shook her head. “I don’t know. My mom said some noodle vendor made cookies and was selling them for three credits apiece.”

“I bet I know who it is.”

Vendors touted their wares as they walked by. Some customers stopped to barter, handing over soap or homemade goods. Tin blocked them out until he saw the woman from the food ration line and her little girls again.

The girl with the lump over her eye tugged on her mom’s sleeve, whining, “Mama, I’m hungry.”

Her mother didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled her kids toward a booth. Reaching into her bag, she handed one of the merchants a potato in exchange for a tiny bag. Tin stopped, and Layla’s hand slipped from his. It wasn’t the first time he had seen someone trade their rations for drugs, but he had never seen a mother do it.

“What’s wrong?” Layla asked.

Tin didn’t reply. He spied the painted dragon on the booth, walked over, and tapped the countertop.

The shop owner turned and looked out over the crowd.

“Down here,” Tin said, tapping again on the counter.

Dom glanced down and smiled. “Ah, Tin. Good to see you, my little friend. I was just about to close for the curfew. Shouldn’t you kids be in your bunks?”

“We were on our way,” Tin said. He put his hands on the counter and whispered, “But we heard you might have some cookies.”

“Ah, you heard that, did you?”

Tin nodded.

“I did have cookies,” Dom finally replied. “But they went fast.”

Tin sighed. “Oh, well, maybe next time.”

“Wait,” Dom said, holding up a hand. He disappeared inside his shack and returned, holding out both fists. “Maybe I have some left, but you have to play the game.”

Layla stepped up to the counter. She studied both hands, eyes shifting left to right.

“I pick…”

“Choose wisely,” Dom said with a grin.

“Left.” She paused as he began to open his left hand. “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “Right.”

Dom opened his right hand to reveal two triangular cookies.

“How much?” she asked.

He looked over his shoulder, then quickly handed her the cookies. “Free, but don’t tell my wife.”

Tin cocked an eyebrow and looked up at Dom. Nothing was ever free. The word had almost lost its meaning over the years.

“Are you sure ?” Layla asked.

“Yes. Now, please, take ’em before my wife comes back.”

“Thanks!” She took the cookies and handed one to Tin.

“You’re the best, Dom,” Tin said. Smiling, he closed his fingers around the warm cookie.

“Be safe!” Dom shouted as they left.

Tin looked over his shoulder and nodded as Layla pulled him to a small common area with a dozen tables.

“How about here?” she said. She took a seat several chairs away from a mother and her small boy.

Tin examined them from a distance. They both wore the same threadbare brown clothes as other lower-deckers. An empty bowl sat in front of them. The boy’s face was grimy, and his wild hair spiked out in all directions. Tin could smell them from where he stood.

“Come on,” Layla said, “I’m hungry!”

“Shouldn’t we get to our bunks?”

She rolled her eyes. “We have plenty of time. Look around. There’s still a lot of people in here.”

Tin reluctantly sat down beside her. He eyed the mother and child a second time. This time, she caught his gaze and quickly shied away.

“These aren’t normal cookies,” Tin said. “They’re fortune cookies. Go on, crack it open.”

Layla looked confused, but she broke the cookie in half. The little boy at the other table watched curiously, his eyes locked onto the two pieces she had laid on the table.

Tin broke his open over the table and pulled out the sliver of yellow paper. The last time X had brought the cookies home, Tin could hardly read Dom’s handwriting, but this fortune was surprisingly legible.

Accept your past without regrets. Handle your present with confidence. Face your future without fear.

“What’s yours say?” Layla asked.

“I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”

Layla held her paper in front of her and said, “Oh.” Then she scooped up the pieces of the cookie and popped them in her mouth.

Tin tucked the fortune into his shirt pocket and cupped the cookie parts in his hand. He thought about the words. They made a lot of sense. He had treated X like crap since the day his dad died. And he had let his fear of the future rule him. Well, all that was about to change.

“Ready?” he asked.

Layla was still chewing her cookie. She smiled, revealing small chunks stuck in her teeth. Tin led the way this time, stopping at the end of the table. “Here,” he said, offering the two halves of broken cookie to the boy. The child’s eyes brightened, and he let out a coo of excitement as his grubby little fingers reached out.

“Go ahead, Jed,” his mother said. She looked up at Tin and said, “Thank you so much.”

The young boy took the pieces and stuffed them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving Tin.

“You’re most welcome,” Tin said.

He grabbed Layla’s hand and led her out of the warehouse. At the exit, he looked back to see the boy waving at them. Tin waved back, wishing he could also have given cookies to the two girls he’d seen earlier. Layla stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Her smile was gone. “I should have given him mine, too, huh?”

Before Tin could reply, someone plowed into him, knocking him to the floor, where he banged his elbow.

“Hey!” Tin shouted. He looked up to see four men. The one who had run into him had long black dreadlocks hanging over his shoulders. Tin recognized him instantly. He had seen him loitering outside the farm, with the same men. He wore the shabby clothes of a lower-decker but had the build of someone from the upper decks.

A bearded bald man with him said, “Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’, little man.” He chuckled and said, “Let’s go, Trav.”

Travis glanced down at Tin and Layla. “You kids better get to your shelter, where it’s safe.”

Travis had felt something inside him break when he left his brother in the brig. Seeing Raphael like that was unbearable, and then when Captain Ash announced the new power shortage, it was the last straw. All the pain and heartbreak over the years had stewed inside him and was about to boil over. It was finally time to act—finally time to force some changes.

He waited with his back to the wall, outside the trading post entrance, and watched the boy with the funny hat and his friend with cookie crumbs on her shirt walk down the hallway. Both were upper-deckers. He could tell by their skin. It wasn’t filthy and pallid like most of the kids living below his feet. One day long ago, he had walked in their shoes, oblivious to the plight of those belowdecks. He hardly remembered those days now.

When he looked back at the trading post, Alex, Brad, and Ren had vanished into the thinning crowd. They were headed to the booth that Ren’s family ran. For years, they had sold odds and ends to both lower- and upper-deckers. Nuts and bolts, scrap metal, and glass—stuff that was always in short supply. It was the perfect place to hide the weapon that would change the fortunes of those suffering in the lower reaches of the Hive .

The Militia never searched the shops. In one of her failed attempts to keep the lower-deckers happy, Captain Ash had doomed her command. She just didn’t know it yet.