As he looked out over the waves, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
X turned, expecting to see Rhino, but it was Wendig.
Rhino finished his speech and jumped down off the boulder. The other men dispersed, and he joined X and Wendig. “You did good today, Immortal,” he said. “Wendig agrees and would be proud to fight with you another day.”
X snorted. “Just because I helped you fight those monsters doesn’t mean I don’t think you guys are assholes.”
Rhino laughed, and Wendig tilted his helmet slightly in confusion as Rhino explained.
“We still think you’re an asshole, too,” Rhino said. “Now, come on, let’s get back to the ship.”
The Barracudas walked to their boat, and X helped them drag it back down to the water. It didn’t take long to load the boats and push them out into the surf, but several were left behind on the beaches—another reminder of the great losses the Cazadores had suffered here—wherever this was. To X, the island was just another nameless wasteland full of things that wanted to kill him.
He helped Rhino launch the boat through the surf and then pulled himself in to join Wendig and several other soldiers who would help row back to the main vessel.
A lone Siren’s shriek pierced the air as X pulled the oars through the rough water. The Cazadores had conquered this place, but if X knew anything about the wastes, it was that life would find a way.
Katrina climbed the ladder into the container ship, wincing with each step. Her eyes were on the water below. The sharks were still out there, but they were the least of her worries now.
Vish waited at the top of the ladder and bent down to help her up.
“Are you okay, Captain?” he asked.
She nodded and unslung the laser rifle. With her injuries, it was easier to handle than an assault rifle, and it didn’t need reloading.
Turning on a flashlight, she followed Vish across the cargo hold of the Cazador vessel. She felt naked without her armor and helmet, but she couldn’t get the chest piece on without cutting off her breath, and she didn’t need her helmet here in this green zone.
The clean air filled her lungs as she walked through the open space. She swept the light over rusted barrels, plastic crates, and several old-world vehicles. Vish, holding a submachine gun, was waiting for her near an open hatch.
“This way,” he said.
She followed him into a passage where several bodies lay, their naked flesh covered in tattoos. The beam from her flashlight confirmed they were Cazador soldiers.
A laser bolt had opened a hole the size of an apple in the chest of a male, melting his insides away. She stepped over him and saw the dead eyes staring at the ceiling. Her heart pounded at her first up-close view of another human being who wasn’t from the sky—something she had never thought she would see.
“You okay, Cap?” Vish asked.
She nodded and pushed on, trying to keep her breathing and heart rate under control.
As she took a ladder down to the next level, she couldn’t help noticing an eerie similarity. Just like the Hive, this area reeked of despair. The stink of shit cans, body odor, and the scent of cooking meat filled her nostrils.
Open hatches provided glimpses into quarters previously occupied by the Cazador warriors. Trays with half-eaten meals sat on tables, and mugs of liquid sat where they were abandoned.
The Hell Divers had caught the enemy in the middle of the last meal they would ever eat.
“Almost there,” Vish said.
Katrina readied her blaster as they made their way deeper into the bowels of the ship. Playing cards were spread out across a metal table in the next quarters, the chairs all pulled away, one of them on its side. The common area even had a flat-screen television mounted on the rusted bulkhead.
In the next space, hundreds of boxes were stacked, all of them marked with symbols that appeared to be painted on by the Cazadores. Vish opened a hatch and gestured for Katrina to go inside. She stepped out onto a metal vestibule overlooking a long room that smelled of moldy fruit and decaying flesh. She covered her nose with her sleeve. Boxes, crates, and two massive containers rested on the deck below.
“Down the ladder, ma’am,” Vish said.
She led the way, her boots clanking on the metal. One of the rungs near the bottom was missing. She stepped carefully past it and raked her flashlight over the deck.
“Let me go first, Cap,” Vish said. He moved out in front, his rifle cradled across his blue battery unit. The young diver continued to impress Katrina. So did his brother. Maybe they would live up to the standard of divers after all.
They walked through a maze of boxes ten feet high, and more stacks of crates marked with faded letters.
“Alexander, you over here?” Vish asked.
“Yeah.”
Coughing followed, and then what sounded like sobbing. Katrina hurried around the large brown container, where Alexander and Trey guarded a group of ten Cazadores.
The men and women wore black suits and didn’t appear to be soldiers, but they didn’t look friendly.
Grease covered the features of a heavyset male who reminded her of Chief Engineer Samson. She walked over and looked down at the guy. He avoided her gaze, keeping his head down.
“We cleared the ship and took these people prisoner,” Alexander said. “But when we were finishing our sweep, we found this…”
He motioned away from the group of prisoners, toward the open doors of a long storage unit. Katrina made her way around one of the doors to find bars covering the entrance. She brought up her flashlight, and the filthy faces of over a dozen men, women, and children looked back at her.
Blankets, sleeping bags, and other filthy garments were spread out across the deck. Her light illuminated metal dishes and a row of buckets near the bars.
Now she knew where the shit-can stench was coming from.
“They don’t speak Spanish,” Alexander said. “Or English.”
Katrina held her light on the prisoners. One of the men moved away from the huddled group at the far end and approached the buckets as if immune to the smell.
He held his hand up to shield his eyes as she moved the beam over his dark skin. Salt-and-pepper black hair and a mostly gray beard clung to his emaciated features. A torn shirt hung from his bony frame.
The man tried to speak, but all that came out were noises. When the other divers directed their beams at his mouth, she saw why.
Someone had cut his tongue from his mouth.
Katrina swallowed hard at the gruesome sight. She moved the light to check the other people, focusing it on several young girls and a middle-aged woman, all with dark complexions. They all were rail thin and looked as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Both girls looked away, but the woman glared back at her.
Katrina could only imagine what these people had gone through. She holstered the blaster in an effort to seem less threatening. No need to terrorize these people any further.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” she said, holding up a hand. “We’re going to get you out of there.”
Several voices responded, all in the same foreign tongue. Nothing she recognized.
“Ma’am, there’s something else you should see,” Trey said quietly, as if he didn’t want to show her.
She stepped away from the barred gate and ordered Vish to stand guard. What could they possibly have found that was any worse than the sorry state of these prisoners?
“Steel yourself,” Alexander said. “This ain’t pretty.” He walked to another container, and with a shriek of metal, Trey opened one of the doors.
The sleeve over Katrina’s nostrils did nothing to keep out the rancid smell coming from the container. She shined her beam inside. On a table lay a rusty saw and a bloody hatchet right next to a hunk of…