The guard retreated into the hallway, where a second militia soldier held security with an automatic rifle. The passage outside was empty; most of the upper-deckers were still asleep. That would soon change when Jordan ordered his crew back to their stations.
Katrina frowned. “I guess I’d better get dressed.”
While she put on her uniform, Jordan sat back down and typed a message to Hunt:
I will deal with the security breach. Get me the coordinates for the Hilltop Bastion.
Jordan turned slightly to watch Katrina. She had made a damn fine Hell Diver, which was exactly why he had appointed her his second-in-command shortly after they started sleeping together. In doing so, he had saved her. He knew what was down there on the surface. The fate of every diver was always the same… except for one man.
Somehow, Commander Xavier Rodriguez had survived on the surface all these years. There were other messages from X, noting his trek across the wastelands, but the most common was the recurring dispatch from Hades.
Jordan had made the decision to keep the information a secret, despite the nightmares and the guilt that tore at him daily. He knew he was condemning a man to death—or at the very least, the worst kind of life imaginable, for however long X could survive it. A man who, of all people, certainly didn’t deserve that fate. But he couldn’t risk the cost in lives and fuel to return to Hades for one man. Plus, Katrina had loved X once, and it had taken her a long time to move past her grief. How could he tell her X had survived all these years? He couldn’t. She could never find out. He would do whatever it took to maintain order on his ship and protect his people from the truths they couldn’t handle.
Looking over his shoulder, he checked to make sure Katrina wasn’t watching. Her deep-brown eyes, the color of his coffee, focused on him.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.
Jordan shook his head. “No, everything’s fine.”
“I’ll meet you on the bridge,” she said. “I need to stop by engineering first.”
As soon as she had gone, Jordan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and turned back to the screen. He selected the SOS from X, tapped the message twice with his finger, and held it for a moment to delete it.
The voice on the transmission was nothing more than an echo.
A ghost.
Standing with his back to the wall in the launch bay of the Hive, Commander Michael Everhart watched the portholes on the starboard side of the ship. Rays of crimson shot through the filthy glass, filling the room with a warm light that showed every scratch, ding, and shoddy patch job. The ship was falling apart everywhere. It wasn’t that the occupants didn’t care. They just didn’t have the resources, and every time they fixed a problem, another would pop up. Hell Divers continued to scavenge the Earth below, and the engineers on the ship continued to recycle and repurpose, but there was only so much they could do.
Michael remained in the shadows, away from the warmth of the sunlight—not because he liked the darkness, but because it hid the worry on his face. His Hell Diver team needed a heroic leader. Someone like X. Michael hadn’t always liked or respected X growing up, but during the short time the man was his guardian following his father’s death, he had learned some important lessons about honor, sacrifice, and courage.
Now, ten years later, a lot had changed. Michael had traded in his tinfoil hat for a Hell Diver’s helmet, and the skinny kid was now muscular from countless hours working in engineering and training as a Hell Diver. With thirty successful jumps under his belt, he had quickly risen through the ranks to lead Team Raptor. His father had been a Raptor, and so had X. Could he live up to their legacy? At times like this, when the ship seemed to be hanging on by a thread, he wasn’t sure.
The screech of metal doors pulled him back from the darkness, and a woman’s voice reminded him that there was still light in the world.
“Sorry I’m late, Tin.”
Michael turned to face the one person he truly trusted on this godforsaken ship.
“I told you not to call me that anymore,” he said, grinning.
Across the room, past the rows of plastic domes covering the drop tubes, stood Layla Brower. She heaved the strap of a duffel bag higher on her shoulder and then closed the double doors to the hallway. They squeaked shut, sealing the room in shadows once again.
“The name’s endearing,” she said, dropping her bag and striding over to him. “As your girlfriend, I’m allowed to call you what I want, right?”
“Right,” Michael said. “Except ‘Tin.’ You can’t call me that.” He stepped away from the wall and met Layla in the center of the vaulted launch bay. They stood under a small pool of red light from the emergency bulb overhead. He held her gaze, staring into her curious brown eyes. He had fallen in love with those eyes when he was just a kid, and sometimes he still couldn’t believe that she felt the same about him. He never forgot how lucky he was, even when she was teasing him. Especially when she was teasing him.
“Fine, Michael,” Layla said. She wrapped her arms around him and pecked his cheek.
“That’s my good-morning kiss?” he asked. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. When he pulled away, her smile broadened and her cheeks glowed. She reached out to touch his shoulder-length blond hair.
“You really need a haircut, Tin,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah.” Michael rolled his eyes. No matter what he did, she was never going to stop calling him that stupid nickname. But that was okay, as long as the other divers kept calling him “Commander.”
They walked together to the drop tubes. Layla stubbed her toe on the lip of a tube hidden in the dim light, and began muttering.
“I really wish they would extend the working hours,” she said. “Can’t get anything done with this stupid energy curtailment. I was hoping to cook us dinner tonight. I used our rations on some really nice squash, and now we probably won’t even get to eat it before it goes bad.”
“I’m not going to be home until late anyway,” Michael said.
Layla halted and let out an exasperated sigh. “Why not?”
“Samson wants me to pull another shift.”
“Again?”
“I’m sorry. You know how much I look forward to our dinners.”
“We only get one night a week together, Michael. Just one.”
He looked at his boots. He hated letting her down, but they both had duties they couldn’t neglect. He wasn’t the only one with two jobs. Layla doubled as an engineer in the water treatment plant when they weren’t diving to the surface.
Glancing up, he met her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to sneak away for dinner. Things will calm down soon.”
“Maybe, but before they do, we’re going back down there.” She stalked over to her launch tube and looked through the plastic dome. Clouds hid the surface, but they both knew the dangers awaiting them below.
They stood for a few moments in silence, both of them likely thinking the same thing. The ship was running low on fuel cells again. There were never enough. For over a year now, Michael and the other Hell Diver teams had been scouring every known green-zone location for the ITC-manufactured cells, but they had come back empty-handed more often than not—those who had come back at all.
Something had to give. There weren’t many green-zone locations left, and Jordan was going to have to start making some tough choices.
A sharp jolt rocked the Hive, throwing both of them against the side of Layla’s drop tube. He steadied himself and helped her back to her feet.
“What the hell was that?” Layla huffed.
The room lit up with a cool blue radiance that answered her question. Outside the porthole windows, lightning jagged across the sky. A massive storm was brewing.