Nicholas Smith - Hell Divers

“We’re not far,” Weaver said. “Follow me.”

The green-hued darkness brightened around the next passage, and X could see another gate, this one wide open. The divers weren’t the only ones trying to escape the storm. Now the attack made sense: not an ambush, but an inconvenient meeting between two species just trying to survive.

As he helped Murph down the final stretch, X checked the blue numbers ticking down on his mission clock. Sixteen hours and ten minutes remained.

“I know we don’t have time to sightsee, but check this out,” Weaver said from a few paces ahead.

He stopped and bent down next to two bodies on the floor. “I found these guys before but didn’t have time for a closer look.”

Both wore some sort of spacesuit, not so different from those the Hell Divers wore. The face inside the first helmet was completely decomposed, with only thin strands of hair and patches of skin clinging to its skull.

These divers had been dead for years, maybe decades, and if not for Murph, X and his team would have joined them in their concrete tomb.

The Hive breached the clouds, rising at a forty-five degree angle. Warning sirens blared over the bridge, and from speakers throughout the ship, a pleasant female voice reminded all aboard to please stay calm and report to their assigned shelters.

Turbulence rattled the airship as it fought for altitude. Captain Ash put Tin, Mark, the Hell Divers, and every other concern out of her mind. All that mattered in this moment was getting the ship above the storm. She felt every rattle, heard every groan, as if it were her own body, and not the ship, in extremis. Beneath her feet, the last survivors of the human race waited in their shelters, their fate pinned to her success.

She held the wooden spokes, feeling the burden but trusting her own aviation skills over the autopilot system. Drowning out every voice and sensor around her, she kept her eyes on the main display, analyzing, calculating, and responding to the data. She spun the wheel to compensate for a change in the storm’s speed and continued to steer the Hive higher, farther from the storm. With only one reactor online, she had limited power, and running it at full capacity, she risked a surge that could knock out the turbofans. If that happened, they would suffer Ares’ fate.

Samson had warned her “not to push the old tub,” but the storm was closing in. If it swallowed them, they wouldn’t survive long. She had no choice. If the turbofans blew, they blew.

“Eighteen thousand feet, Captain,” Jordan said.

“We’re two miles from the storm’s edge,” Ryan added.

“We’re going to make it,” she said. She imagined Captain Willis offering the same reassuring words to his crew, right before he lost control of Ares .

“Nineteen thousand feet,” Ryan called out.

Ash glanced at the data. She had put some room between them and the storm. It would buy them time—maybe just enough for the divers on the surface to complete their mission. She leveled the ship out and took a long, relieved breath, even though the real battle was likely occurring nineteen thousand feet below. She could only imagine what X and the other divers were facing down there.

Tin woke up screaming. He sat up and clawed at the icy water streaming over his head. An emergency alarm whined, and a calm female voice repeated the same message over and over again.

He opened his eyes to find Travis towering over him. Tin scrambled across the dirt and searched for an escape. Alex, Ren, and Brad had formed a perimeter around him and the other hostages. There was nowhere to run.

“Calm down,” Travis said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He tossed the bucket on the ground and crouched down next to Tin. “You’re one hell of a brave kid; I’ll give you that.”

Tin wrapped his arms around himself, his soaked sleeves providing little warmth. He shivered, and his teeth chattered. “I patched the bladder,” he said defiantly.

“Yeah,” Travis replied. “You sure as hell did.” The Hive rocked slightly, and he looked up at the ceiling. “So Captain Ash was telling the truth the entire time.”

“You’re really going to let the kid go ?” Alex asked. “Without even trying to negotiate again?”

The coldness in Travis’ eyes thawed a little. “Yeah,” he said. “He saved us, and he needs a doctor.”

Alex snorted. “We lose him and we lose a prime bargaining chip.”

Travis stared at him as if at some strange life form. “After all this, you still don’t get it, do you? We lost all our fucking chips after your shooting spree.”

“Don’t do this, Trav,” Alex said, his voice low and stern. “Don’t let the kid go.”

“It’s over, man,” Travis said. “It’s fucking over.”

Alex gripped the handle of his knife, hesitated, then drew it from its sheath. “Like hell it is. We’re still in control.”

“Have you not been paying attention to anything ?” Travis said, eyeing the blade. “The ship is coming apart. If Tin hadn’t patched that bladder, we would have already crashed to the surface.”

“Bullshit. I don’t believe a damn word Ash or anyone on her crew says.” Alex tucked his scarf into the top of his shirt and flipped the knife end-over-end in the air.

Brad and Ren took half a step closer, their eyes roving uneasily back and forth between Travis and Alex.

“I knew I never should have followed your plan,” Alex said. “I knew this would never work. You’re weak, Travis. You always were—just like your brother.”

Travis lunged forward and tackled Alex so quickly that Tin flinched. They crashed to the dirt in a heap. Ren and Brad, their backs to the clean room, followed the brawl anxiously, neither one interfering.

“You son of a…!” Travis yelled. He climbed on top of Alex and started punching. The blows were audible even above the emergency sirens and the excited barks from Silver and Lilly.

“I told you not to shoot anyone!” Travis yelled, swinging again. “We were never… never supposed to hurt anyone!”

Alex kicked under the weight of Travis’ body, struggling to knock him off, holding up his arms in an effort to deflect the blows, but Travis continued the barrage.

Two sharp whistles cut through the other sounds, and Tin saw the silver flash of the arrows streaking through the air. They caught Brad and Ren, one each in the back. The two men slumped to the ground holding the arrow tips protruding through their hearts.

Behind the livestock fence, a fuss erupted among the hens as Militia soldiers aimed their crossbows. The armored men and women hurdled the fence one by one.

“Secure the hostages!” a guard shouted.

By the time Tin looked back to the fight, it was already over. Travis remained on top, looking in Tin’s direction and grasping the slimy red shaft of a knife sticking through his side.

“I’m sorry,” Travis mouthed. Blood trickled from his mouth, and his eyes had that resigned gaze Tin remembered seeing on so many lower-deckers.

“I never meant for this to…”

Alex pushed the body off him and staggered to his feet, blinking rapidly as if trying to comprehend the reality of Brad’s and Ren’s corpses.

“No!” Alex shouted. He pulled his blade from Travis’ side and spun toward the squad of Militia soldiers still rushing across the farm with the weapon out front.

“Drop the knife!” one of the soldiers yelled.

Alex raised it in the air, shouting, “You fucking assholes!”

Those were the last words that left his mouth before two arrows ripped into his chest. Looking astonished, he staggered a couple of feet before toppling face-first into the dirt. The sharp steel arrowheads sticking out of his back glistened under the bright LEDs.