Michael closed his eyes, but it didn’t block out the image.
“I’m worried they’re hurt bad,” Layla said.
Michael didn’t reply.
“We’ve got to get you out of here,” X said to Layla.
Michael took her to the ladder, and she started down, looking up at him and X. It was a long way to the platform below, and several people, including Imulah and another scribe, were below her on the ladder.
Fencing had fallen away and hung loosely over the rooftop to her left. Smoke rose from several levels below, and flames licked at the hull on her right.
A boat with a water cannon was spraying the flames.
A voice came from behind them. Sergeant Wynn, radio handset in hand, tried to catch his breath.
“The skinwalkers have at least three submarines,” he gasped. “That’s… that’s how they got past our defenses.”
“I hope to God Discovery got away,” Michael said. “It’s our only hope to take out those subs.”
“Get Captain Mitchells on the radio,” X said. “And, Michael, get your ass down there.”
With each rung, Michael tried to manage his breathing, but the attack had rattled him. Bernie was dead, and probably Cole, too. The Hive had taken severe damage, and who knew how many civilians and militia soldiers had died.
Layla was halfway down the ladder when voices rang out from the balconies rimming the hull. Militia soldiers had started an evacuation, and civilians had come out of their apartments with their belongings stuffed into bags.
One of the soldiers shouldered a rifle and aimed it at the water.
Michael looked to the surface just as a small submarine surfaced like some massive sea creature. Water dripped off the conning tower. A hatch popped open, and a man emerged wearing armor that looked like bone. He raised a long machine gun.
“Shoot him!” Michael shouted.
The militia soldier on the balcony opened fire, rounds pinging off the sub. Another hatch opened near the stern, and two skinwalkers popped up with rifles.
“Keep moving!” Michael yelled to the scribes who had stopped below Layla.
Several bullets hit the militia guard on the balcony, and he crumpled against the railing, dropping his rifle to the deck.
Layla pushed down below Michael as the skinwalker locked the large machine gun into a turret mount and fed it with a belt of ammo.
“Move it!” Michael yelled.
Layla glanced up at him, their gaze meeting. He flinched at the bark of machine-gun fire.
He looked over his shoulder again, watching in horror as the rounds picked away the people below him and Layla.
Michael unholstered the handgun X had given him. Squinting, he aimed at the shooter. Even from here, he could see the man laughing as he raked the barrel back and forth.
Bullets punched gaping holes in the airship’s hull. The scribe below Imulah jumped to avoid the gunfire. He hit the bottom deck, cartwheeling off it and splashing into the water.
Michael knew that the odds of hitting the shooter from this distance were slim, but he had to try. He locked his feet against the ladder, gripped the side with his robotic hand, and lined up the sights.
The tracers rose toward Imulah and Layla.
Over the crack of gunfire, another noise, like a loud whistle, sounded as he pulled the trigger. The submarine vanished in an explosion that sent shrapnel flying.
Michael holstered the gun as another whistle sounded. This time, he saw the missile from the clouds streak down on the far side of the airship, slamming into a target there.
Layla gripped the ladder, staring up at him with frightened eyes.
“It’s okay,” Michael mouthed. “I love you.”
Smoldering pieces of metal plate and skinwalkers rained down over the water as the submarine sank to the depths. Michael searched the water for more hostiles, but it seemed they were in the clear. Discovery had saved them for now.
Two tugboats with water cannons raced to the rig to help put out the fires. Hoses shot water across the hull of the Hive, but he wasn’t sure it would be enough to save their ancient home. Most of the blasts had come from the opposite side of the ship, which told Michael the damage would be even worse there.
Distant gunfire and another missile from the sky confirmed the battle was far from over.
But how many men did Horn have? From what Michael understood, he had slaughtered half the crew on Raven’s Claw. And where had they found submarines?
Imulah finally got down to the bottom platform, where more medics were waiting. He reached up to help Layla down, and Michael hopped down onto the deck beside them. Dr. Huff had arrived on a speedboat.
“I need tables set up there and there!” Huff yelled.
“No, not here!” a voice called out above Michael.
X jumped off the ladder.
“We need to get all nonemergency personnel and militia off this rig—especially the wounded,” he said. “Everyone not fighting the fires or holding security needs to fall back to the capitol tower.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” Wynn said. He got off the ladder and hurried over with his handset.
“Why?” X asked. “It’s the most defensive place we got.”
Wynn swallowed hard. “Sir, listen to this.”
He turned up the radio to white noise and the screams of terrified people.
He stepped closer, his heart climbing in his throat as he picked up something else amid the din.
“What?” X said. “What am I listening to?”
X grabbed the radio and brought it to his ear, his eyes widening as he listened for several moments.
“I don’t understand,” Layla said. “How is that possible?”
“The skinwalkers must have brought them,” Wynn said.
“Get me a boat now!” X said.
Wynn gave the orders, and X grabbed him before he could walk away. “Where the hell is Lieutenant Sloan?”
“Sir, I’m not sure,” Wynn replied.
“Find out.”
X looked up at the ladders across the hull. Michael did the same thing. A hundred people were abandoning their homes as rescue workers fought to save it.
“Deploy every able man and woman to the capitol tower,” X said. “We’re not letting it fall to the monsters.”
“Roger that, sir,” Wynn said.
“And tell Les and Timothy to keep eyes out for more subs.”
He looked to Michael and Layla. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I need Michael’s help.”
Layla nodded and squeezed Michael’s hand. “Go, Tin,” she said. “Save the capitol.”
Ada opened her eyes to a world so black, she thought she was dead until she heard the boom of thunder.
She tried to move, but something weighed her down. Mustering all her energy, she squirmed just a little in what felt like dirt.
A breath of air through her nostrils carried the scent of wet earth. She remembered the smell from the farms on the Hive, where she had helped her aunt pick produce when she was just a girl.
But this smell was different.
Ada twisted again, freeing one shoulder. She managed to get that arm out and reached up to wipe her visor. She cleared enough sand off it to see lightning flash on the horizon.
With her free hand, she pushed off the sand that half buried her body. Memories of the storm crashed over her like the last wave to hit her boat.
Sitting up, she reached to turn on her helmet lamp, but it was gone. Her wrist monitor still worked, providing a small glow. Radiation levels were low, and the air showed no signs of sulfur dioxide or other noxious gases. That also explained how she was breathing with a depleted air filter and a cracked visor. A little over a day had passed, which explained her growling stomach and parched throat.