He fought the urge to bring his hands to his helmet. The horrid wail transported him back to his childhood, when he would hide under his bunk and hold his ears to block out the emergency siren warning of disaster aboard Ares.
The wailing, the darkness, and the thought of Andrew’s corpse hanging from the wall was all too much. He couldn’t wait in here an instant longer. He pivoted toward the exit—at least, he thought the exit was this way. With each step, he half expected to splash into another pool of water.
Holding the bone and his other hand out in front lest he crash into something, he ran on his toes to keep the sound of his boots low. The water-slick soles of his boots made it tricky. Along with being wet, they had collected some of the red gunk from the pool. Each step made a wet squelch that drew the attention of the beasts behind him.
He flinched as something clanked on the ground in front of him. It was the same sound the skull had made. Could that be possible? Had the beasts thrown it back at him?
Weaver ran harder. Never mind the noise. Wailing and the skittering of claws over concrete followed him. He had to be near the exit now.
Another sound joined the racket—the whoosh of wings.
Run, old man! Run!
The wingbeats grew louder, reminding him of the turbofans on the Hive. A strong wind nearly knocked him to the floor as the creature sailed overhead. Weaver couldn’t hold out any longer. He jammed the battery unit back in his chest socket and bumped on his night vision.
Nothing. His HUD wouldn’t activate, either. The water must have short-circuited his electronics.
Weaver reached up and turned on his headlamp. The beam captured a sinewy figure crouching in the open doorway not ten feet away. A piece of meat hung from its beak. Not just meat—a tattered swatch of a Hell Diver uniform.
The scavenger reached up with its single webbed hand to shield its huge eyeball from Weaver’s beam. It let out a squawk that attracted the attention of the winged Siren. But instead of turning to grab Weaver, it changed course and snatched up the smaller creature in its talons.
Weaver plucked his battery unit out a second later and lay flat on the floor as the Siren returned to its nest. A flurry of wails sounded as the rest of the pack retreated.
For several moments, he worked on calming his heart. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, but whatever the strange little beast was, it had likely saved him from a terrible death.
As the Sirens plastered the creature up next to Andrew on the wall and began plucking off limbs, Weaver made a run for the staircase to the operations center. He wasn’t sure what had prompted Jordan to send Michael and Layla down here, but he was happy they had come. Getting out of this place was going to be harder than getting in.
“Commander Everhart and Raptor Diver Brower have jumped ship,” Jordan announced from the top level of the bridge. “This is a betrayal of the worst kind, and it will not be tolerated!”
Below, every officer on the bridge avoided his enraged glare. Even the apprentices stationed in navigation took a sudden interest in their boots.
Jordan stepped up to the railing, flanked by Sergeant Jenkins. The sergeant had been instrumental in quelling a riot five years ago, and in taking back the farm a decade earlier, but that didn’t make him invaluable. Jenkins hadn’t said anything when Jordan was plucking out Janga’s fingernails for information, but his eyes had showed his disapproval. The old soldier’s leadership style had served the Hive well for decades, but if he wouldn’t follow Jordan’s orders, plenty of younger soldiers would happily take his place.
Jordan grabbed the railing and looked out over the tiered floors of the bridge. One officer didn’t shy away from his eyes. Katrina, gripping the spokes of the oaken wheel, looked right at him.
He could find no hint of affection left in her eyes. Over the past twenty-four hours, the last of her love had drained away.
But he would get it back; he was confident. She would learn to trust him again. She would learn to love him again. Confidence and patience were key. He couldn’t afford to trip up now. The divers on the surface would all be dead soon. If they somehow made it back with supplies, he would figure out what to do with them later.
For now, he had to cleanse the ship before someone else betrayed him.
“Sir, I have a sitrep,” Ensign Hunt announced, stepping away from his station.
No matter how many extra rations Jordan allowed, the young ensign was still rail thin—and soon he was going to get even skinnier. For he had joined the ranks of people Jordan didn’t trust.
“We’re coasting through clear skies ten miles due east of the storm over Charleston, sir,” Hunt said. “Still no word from the surface.”
Jordan replied with a nod, then stepped away from the railing and walked down the stairs. He replayed the launch in his mind again and again as he walked. The militia guards had confirmed Ty’s story: Michael had held a gun to his head. But Jordan still wasn’t sure he believed the technician. He did have an easy way to test his loyalty, however. The Hive was about to lose five divers—six, if you counted Magnolia—and Ty knew a lot about diving. He would be a good replacement.
“Captain,” Katrina said. She eyed the blood on his hands with disgust.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” he said.
“A woman,” she sneered. “An old woman.”
“An old woman who put every life on this ship in jeopardy, and don’t forget that, Lieutenant. We can’t be soft just because someone is old.”
“She sold herbs, Captain, and everyone knew she was crazy.”
“Not everyone, sadly. She convinced Commander Everhart to jump ship.”
Jordan looked at the wall-mounted monitor. On it was a map of the area surrounding the Hilltop Bastion. He still wasn’t sure what Janga had told the divers before her arrest. Despite his best efforts, she had revealed little in their “interview” after Michael and Layla jumped.
But now he realized that Janga had actually done him a favor. Even if she had revealed secrets such as the SOS from X, those secrets would now die with the divers on the surface. The cost was high; their valuable experience would be hard to replace. Fortunately, there were always lower-deckers who would jump at the chance to risk their lives if it meant eating well.
“Launch bay is ready, Captain,” Sergeant Jenkins said.
“I’ll be right there,” Jordan said.
Katrina reached out for his arm. “Please don’t do this, Leon.”
Jordan hesitated. She pulled on his sleeve—an act of desperation and disobedience that annoyed him. Her lack of professionalism on the bridge was testing his patience. He was starting to wonder whether he could still trust her.
“You can be merciful,” she said.
He pulled his bloody cuff away and frowned. “That’s where you’re wrong, Katrina. There is no room for mercy in the sky.”
EIGHTEEN
Magnolia was going to kill Jordan when she got back to the ship. Trying to murder her was one thing, but getting Andrew killed and risking the lives of the other divers to prove a point? That was psychotic. She wasn’t sure how she would kill him, only that it would be up close and involve her hands.