Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

He lost his footing before he reached the window, and only a quick two-handed thrust of the knife into the hardened snow saved him from sliding back down to the street. Punching knees and toes and elbows into the snow, he carefully worked his way up, jammed the blade in with each incremental gain. At the top, he grabbed the twisted window frame and peered inside. The hallway was a foot deep in windblown snow, but he could see all the way through to the other side. He stood there for a moment, listening to the building’s whispers and creaks.

“See anything?” Katrina asked over the channel.

“Negative. I’m going in.” X pulled himself through the window frame and crouched on the other side. The only sound was the hiss of the wind and the soft breathing of his team over the comm.

With his blaster out, he moved cautiously down the hallway. Pausing at every doorway, he peered into each room. In the final room, the top of a boxy machine rose above a deep drift of snow. The faded round red, white, and blue logo bore the letters “PEPSI”—an acronym for some ancient make of ’shine, judging by the image of a bottle below the logo.

X pushed on, working his way down the passage. The rusted legs of several office chairs formed a barrier a few feet from the window at the far end of the hall. Careful not to disturb anything, he navigated his way around them.

Reaching the window, he set the blaster down on the snow-covered floor and pulled out his binos. The street below was still except for the white flurry carried by a gust of wind. Drifting snow was already covering the crate, but whoever or whatever had been there earlier was gone now.

“All clear,” X said. “Get up here. I’ve got eyes on the supplies.”

Magnolia was first through the window at the opposite end of the hallway. He could hear her crunching over the snow at a brisk pace.

“Slow down,” he whispered over the comm.

She kept coming fast until she reached the end of the hallway, where she tripped over the first chair leg, snapping it free and crashing into the wall.

The loud clatter reverberated through the building.

X muttered an oath and scrambled over to her. “God damn it, Magnolia, tell the Sirens where we are, why don’t you!”

She stood up and brushed off her armor. “I’m fine. And… I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying—”

A distant high wail cut her off. A second call answered, echoing through the frozen ghost city. X plucked the blaster off the floor and hissed, “Quiet, everyone!”

Tony, Murph, and Katrina stopped at the other end of the hallway.

“What is that?” Katrina whispered.

“Trouble,” X said. “You have better eyes than mine. Check it out.”

She continued down the hall, stepped around the upended chair, and took his binos. She raked them back and forth over the street. “I don’t see anythi… Wait, did you see that the crate’s open?”

X nudged closer to the window and took the binos back. Sure enough, the crate’s lid was popped open. Whatever had beaten them to the supply box had also found a way inside.

“Kid, you still want a chance to show how fast you are?” X asked.

Magnolia started to nod, then froze as another wail came on the wind.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.” He examined his blaster, hoping it wasn’t too frozen and praying he wouldn’t have to use it.

Tin awoke to the worst headache of his life, and the overwhelming stench of chicken manure. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t manage to crack them more than a sliver. He tried to move his hands, but they were bound behind his back.

He could hear human voices—faint but close. There were animal noises, too. Barking dogs and… Then he remembered the ruptured gas bladder.

His heavy eyelids popped open to the sight of dirt. Using his head to push against the ground, he got his knees under him. He gagged and spat out a mouthful of dirt and manure.

“Kid’s awake!” shouted the man who had hit him. He sauntered over.

Tin wiped his mouth against his chest and looked around. The hostage farmers were sitting to his right. They were all just outside the entrance to the plastic clean room.

Alex stopped in front of him. “You left a nice bruise on my ankle, kid. Looks like I left you with a bigger one, though.” He chuckled and made a fist. “Want a matching set?”

“Hitting a kid,” one of the farmers said. “That’s makes you a real sack of shit in my book.”

Alex walked over to the farmer and kicked him in the gut. The man rolled on his side. Between gasps, he yelled, “You son of a bitch!”

“You don’t know when to shut your mouth,” Alex said.

“Enough!” Travis shouted. He and the other two men emerged from the plastic door of the clean room. Alex kicked the farmer a second time, then walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Tin whispered.

The man groaned. “It’s okay, kid. Better me than you.”

Tin struggled with the bindings, working his wrists back and forth until he felt them tighten into his flesh.

“What’s your name?” the farmer asked.

“Tin.”

“I’m Angelo. Do me a favor, okay?”

Tin nodded.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

The squeak of the plastic door pulled Tin’s attention back to the four men. They were talking in hushed voices by the entrance, but he could hear most of the conversation.

“Trav already told you we aren’t killing hostages,” said Ren.

“Ash isn’t going to take us seriously until we put a bullet in someone,” Alex said.

Travis spat in the dirt near Alex’s boots as another warning. “You already did that.”

“I’m talking about hostages,” Alex replied, his tone more reserved.

Travis shook his head. “Get the captain back on the comm one more time,” he said. “Now that the kid’s awake, I have a new offer to make.”

Alex shook his head. “Kill the little shit. Then she’ll listen.”

Travis glared at Alex. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Scowling, Alex followed Ren to the comm while Travis and Brad remained at the door to the clean room.

Tin clicked his tongue to get Angelo’s attention. When the men weren’t looking, he whispered, “I have to get to that gas bladder.”

Angelo gave him a stern look. “No,” he whispered. “Didn’t I just say not to do anything stupid?”

“I have to,” Tin said. “The ship’s going to crash if I don’t.”

Angelo seemed to consider Tin’s words. After a pause, he whispered, “You’re going to get killed.”

Tin wiggled his wrists again, wincing as the plastic ties cut into his flesh. “Maybe, but if I don’t do it, everybody’s going to die.”

X hugged the snow barriers around the buildings, with Magnolia close on his heels. Flurries swept across the road, blurring his line of sight. According to his sensors, it was negative thirty degrees Fahrenheit.

“Stick right behind me,” he said. “When we get to the end of the street, you’re going to work.” He didn’t know that he was making the right call, but she was faster than he.

“Roger that,” she replied.

Halfway to the crate, he paused and listened. There it was, faint and blending in with the whistling wind: the distant keening of the Sirens. The creatures were out there, prowling the city for their next meal, and it was only a matter of time before they found X and the other divers.

He waved Magnolia forward and broke into a hunched-over trot, keeping as low as he could. At the intersection, he dropped to one knee and waited, eyes scanning. Searching.

“Okay, you’re up, kid. Get to the box and check it for weapons. I’ll cover you from here.”