Bullets zipped over the rock wall and broke through branches of the trees just beyond the barrier. One bullet hit an orange hanging from a branch just above Michael’s head. Citrus exploded all over his visor. He crouched down and checked on Les.
“We have to get out of here,” he said.
Les nodded.
Michael waited for a respite in the gunfire chipping into the rock wall and popped up to knock down another soldier running at them. Trey did the same thing, dropping his man with a single round to the neck.
“Push ’em back!” Michael yelled.
Trey and Les continued to pick off any warriors who dared cross the stretch between the trees and the open door leading back into the tower. Alexander, with a bullet hole in his thigh, remained sitting with his back to the rock wall, helping reload weapons.
There were only three ways off this platform: over the railing to splatter on the dock below, down in the elevator cage, or through the very door where the Cazadores were coming out of the tower’s interior.
He looked through his binos at the wakes of boats on their way to the capitol tower. Three long, narrow craft led the group, outpacing the others. He couldn’t see the sailors clearly, but he could see the octopus on the shiny side of one of the boats.
“El Pulpo, you sack of shark shit,” he muttered. Zooming in as far as he could, he saw two figures tied to the windshield posts.
That couldn’t be X and Mags… could it?
He stuffed the binos back into his vest.
“Team Raptor, we have to move!” he said. “Can’t stay here any longer. I’ll lay down suppressing fire with whatever laser bolts I have left.”
Michael checked the battery by pushing a button under the barrel, ejecting the unit. It had 21 percent remaining. Maybe fifty or sixty shots. He popped the battery back into the gun and glanced over the wall. Bullets chewed into bark and chipped the stonework.
In that split-second glance, he identified four shooters lying in the dirt between the trees and the entrance back into the tower. They were crawling in the weak moonlight. More were behind them, and even more were inside the open door leading into the tower.
“Behind us!” Les shouted.
Grappling hooks fired over the railing, where reclining chairs were spread out on the platform. Les hunched down and moved toward the hooks but was forced back as rounds peppered the deck.
“Dad!” Trey yelled.
Michael grabbed Les and pulled him back. “You two lay down covering fire. I’ll dislodge those grapnels. Alexander, shoot anything that comes over the rail.”
Michael waited a beat, then sprinted for the railing. Halfway there, a head popped up, and he fired a laser bolt on the run, burning an apple-size hole where the man’s nose and eyes had been. Alexander took down the next climber with his pistol.
Gunfire cracked behind them as Trey and his father picked out targets.
Michael knew he had to do something drastic to get them out of here. But what? They would soon be taking fire on all sides.
There seemed only one option: use the ropes the Cazadores had shot up over the railing, and climb or rappel to a lower floor.
Just as he reached the grappling irons, another head popped up. With his robotic fist, he punched the soldier so hard that his face caved in. He fell away, dead before he hit the docks.
Looking down, Michael saw boats docked, and soldiers streaming out of a cargo ship. Fifty men, maybe more.
There was no escaping that way.
He took the grappling hook in his robotic fingers and yanked it loose. The men using ascenders to climb the rope screamed the entire thirty floors down.
As Michael grabbed the next hook, the highest climber looked up at him in terror. This man was no older than he. His mechanical fingers paused, resting on the hook.
“¡No, por Dios!” the man yelled.
Bullets slammed into the deck around him, and Michael ducked, seeing more Cazador soldiers rappelling down from the tower’s airship rooftop. Some had already hit the deck and were running for the cover of the gardens.
Alexander popped up, but heavy fire forced him back down, one round nicking his shoulder armor.
“Alexand—” A powerful wind almost knocked Michael down. Above him, Deliverance lowered toward the dead airship mounted atop the capitol tower. A bright flash dazzled his eyes as a missile streaked away from Deliverance and into the water.
An explosion sounded, and Michael crawled over to the railing. A billowing fireball enveloped the dock thirty floors beneath the platform. The climbers on the rope fell away, some of them ablaze.
Michael retreated to the momentary safety of the rock wall.
Ropes dropped in the space between him and the other Hell Divers, and he hunkered down as militia soldiers and civilians in armor rappelled from the cargo hold of Deliverance.
One of them descended too fast and hit the deck hard, yowling in pain. Gusting wind slammed into Michael as the turbofans whipped vortices of wind across the platform, swaying the tree branches wildly. He vaulted the wall and checked on Alexander.
“I’m good!” he shouted over the noise.
Many boots hit the deck behind them. Sergeant Sloan led the militia soldiers, and Cole Mintel led the civilians.
A score of Cazadores ran toward them, brandishing spears, swords, and guns.
“For Rodger!” Cole yelled.
The two forces clashed, filling the garden with screams of pain and the clang of steel. Michael tried to pick targets, but he couldn’t risk firing into the scrum. So he slung his rifle and ran into the skirmish. It was time to put his robotic arm to use.
A Cazador in full armor raised a sword over Michael’s head. Titanium-alloy knuckles shot out and punched him in the throat, breaking his windpipe. The soldier let out a gagging noise and dropped to the dirt. Another took his place, jabbing with a spear.
Michael moved to the side and wrested the shaft from the warrior’s grip. Then he broke it in half in his robotic hand and plunged the blade through the man’s eye and into the tree behind him, pinning him there.
A female warrior swung a cutlass at his chest. She clicked her teeth together, taunting him. He had never hit a woman before, and in his hesitation, she swung low, glancing the blade off his shin armor.
Then she tilted forward, and he saw exposed brain tissue where hair had been.
He backed away as Sergeant Sloan lowered her blaster.
“Mustn’t hesitate, Commander—” She screamed out in pain as a sword bit into her side armor. Michael pulled his handgun and shot the Cazador soldier twice in the chest, knocking him off his feet.
An explosion sounded behind them as he helped Sloan stand.
Deliverance had pulled away and was moving east over the water, firing more missiles at remaining boats. It didn’t get far before taking return fire. Two explosions bloomed across the hull, and a third under the stern.
Michael raced back toward the railing, yelling into the comm.
“Layla!”
The airship fought for altitude, trailing smoke.
“We’re going down,” Layla said over the open channel. “Brace for impact.”
The fear in her voice made his breath catch.
“Michael, I can’t…”
Her voice cut off, replaced by white noise on the comm channel. He grabbed the railing, clenching it so hard, the metal bent like taffy in his robotic hand.
The airship crashed into the water, pushing out a high, rippling wave in all directions. The speedboats turned, arcing toward the downed airship. The rocket launcher that had brought the airship down rotated on the gleaming black boat with the octopus logo.