Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

Weaver contemplated taking out his battery unit and hiding. He had survived too long by himself to let some rookies get him killed.

He turned to run, then stopped. Something in him, even more powerful than the adrenaline, stopped him. If he left these people here, he would be alone because they would surely die. He couldn’t bear the thought of being down here by himself for another second. It would be even worse than dying.

Weaver twisted, aimed, and fired his rifle. The burst found a Siren, spattering gore across the concrete wall behind it. He swung to his right, taking out two more. Then a third.

More Sirens streamed out of the empty windows and slid down to the street, screeching as they came.

Weaver finished off his magazine and yelled, “We have to get out of here. We’re attracting every one of these things in Hades!”

But again gunfire drowned his words. Taking another magazine from a cargo pocket, he caught a glimpse of motion on their right. Two Sirens had crept up behind Tony, who was busy firing in the opposite direction.

“Watch out! They’re flanking us!” Weaver shouted.

Everyone seemed too busy dealing with immediate threats to hear him. The other divers were firing on their own targets. Weaver aimed and squeezed off a shot. The bullet hit the skull of the first creature, and brains exploded into the air.

He tracked the second with his sights and pulled the trigger. The Siren shuddered from the impacts as a jagged chunk of its spinal column blew out behind it. Somehow, it kept moving, pulling itself along by its hands at alarming speed. A moment later, it was lunging at Tony.

Weaver centered the sights on the abomination’s skull and squeezed the trigger.

Click.

“Shit!” he shouted. He slapped the bottom of the magazine, then worked the bolt to free the jammed round. But he wasn’t fast enough. The thing grabbed Tony, spun him around, and ripped at his suit. A scream of agony rang out as talons found human flesh.

Weaver continued working the bolt on his weapon, knowing that every second was time Tony didn’t have to spare. The jammed round finally popped out, and Weaver unloaded a three-round burst into the creature.

Tony had dropped to his knees, catching something that fell from his suit. Weaver laid down covering fire and backed over to where Tony knelt. Only then did he see the rising steam and realize that the ropy cords in Tony’s hands were his intestines.

“What the fuck happened!” X yelled.

“Oh, my God, oh, my God!” Magnolia cried out.

“I have the medical kit,” Murph said. He lowered his weapon and pulled the small box out of a cargo pocket.

Weaver grabbed it, knowing that nothing inside the box would patch up these wounds. Tony stared up at them from behind a cracked visor.

The other divers formed a perimeter around the fallen man and kept firing. Weaver wanted to cover his ears against the ghastly screams of the dying Sirens and the crack of gunfire, amplified and echoed by the buildings’ walls. But instead, he held Tony in his arms, helpless to do any more than keep his guts from spilling onto the snow. He lost track of time as the battle raged around him.

At some point, the guns went silent, and he looked up at the retreating Sirens. Their intermittent squawks faded as they shambled away, trailing blood into the darkness.

“We need to get out of here,” Weaver said. “They’ll be back.”

X bent down and grabbed Tony under his armpit. He screamed in agony and pulled away.

“I’m hurt, X,” he said. “Hurt bad.” He tilted his visor toward his stomach and let out another strangled cry. “I’m done. Ya gotta leave me.”

“No,” X said, shaking his head.

Weaver saw a flash of movement behind them. “We have to go. NOW!” He pointed to a dozen Sirens, perched like gargoyles, on a ruined parapet.

“It’s okay,” Tony said, wincing. “I’ll hold ’em off. Help me sit up.” He grabbed Katrina’s hands, and she hoisted him to a sitting position. Tony looked over at X and said, “Please…” He coughed, spraying blood inside his visor. “X, you gotta save the Hive .”

“I will,” X said. He placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Weaver knew what they were thinking, because he was thinking it, too. Life was precious, and it could end quickly and violently. X lingered there for a moment—perhaps to console Tony, or maybe just from the shock of seeing another friend mortally wounded. Weaver wasn’t sure, but they had run out of time.

“We have to go,” Weaver urged.

X stood up, looking unsure what to do. “Come on,” he finally said.

Magnolia, whimpering, staggered after the others, her eyes still on Tony as they left him to die.

Weaver felt a strange mix of emotions: sadness at the death of a fellow diver, and elation that he wasn’t the one dying. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, repeating it like a mantra as he began to run, unsure whether he was apologizing for his thoughts or for leaving Tony behind. Maybe it was a little of both.

Eventually, the burning in his muscles made him forget his mantra. They rounded the next block and made it to the end of the street before the report of Tony’s rifle echoed behind them.

Weaver didn’t slow until he cleared the next corner. He skidded on his knees across an icy stretch of concrete. When he came to a stop, he was staring at the sagging remains of Ares. Panting, he cocked his chin toward the ship and said, “We’re here. That’s… that’s my home.”

The Hive rocked gently. Tin could barely feel the sporadic shudders, but he knew what they meant: the ship was struggling to stay in the air. That realization made up his mind for him. He was going to patch the gas bladder. All he had to do was wait for the right opportunity to escape.

He looked for the armed men. Travis waited at the comm link with Ren. Alex patrolled on a catwalk above, but Brad was out of sight. He had gone inside the stairwell minutes earlier and hadn’t come back. Silver and Lilly were quiet now. They lay in the dirt, only their eyes active, roving and watching.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Angelo whispered.

“What’s your name, kid?” Travis said.

Tin glanced up. “Me?”

“No, the other kid,” Alex sneered.

“My name’s Tin.”

Travis walked over to the wall and punched the comm button. “Captain Ash, have you had time to reconsider my offer?”

A youthful male voice answered him. “This is Lieutenant Jordan, interim captain. Captain Ash is currently in engineering with Chief Engineer Samson, trying to keep us in the air.”

Travis glanced over at Ren, who stabbed the dirt with his rusty blade. “Told you, Trav. The bitch didn’t take us seriously.”

Travis punched the comm button a second time. “I’d like to make a new offer. A trade: Tin for my brother, Raphael.”

White noise crackled from the speakers for several seconds.

Tin’s heart was pounding now. He couldn’t let them trade him. He had to stay here, had to fix the gas bladder.

Jordan’s reply came a few seconds later. “I’ll need to speak with Capt—”

The transmission was interrupted by a violent tremor that vibrated through the room. The walls groaned, and the chickens behind Tin squawked and scurried.

Travis looked at the ceiling. “What the hell was that?”

Ren pulled his blade from the dirt and sheathed it. “I don’t know. Haven’t felt one of those in a long time. Maybe something really is wrong.”

Tin wanted to scream, to tell Ren that yes, he was right, and that he needed to let an engineer inside. But his throbbing head reminded him what had happened the last time he tried that.