The scouts had also confirmed that the Hell Divers would be on their way back in boats, but X still didn’t know about the airship’s condition or whether anyone had been injured on board.
X had waited anxiously to meet the bastard who nearly destroyed the airship, but that wasn’t going to happen now. The doors at the end of the chamber finally opened, and the man who had killed the escaping skinwalker entered the room.
Wet hair hung to Sergeant Wynn’s armored shoulders. He shambled forward woodenly, his face bruised and bloody. The soldiers with him looked equally beat up and exhausted.
X stood to greet them. He knew each face and name, knew their painful pasts, and their fears for the future. And tonight, he felt responsible for everything they had endured.
No, this was not a victory by any stretch of the imagination. He should have seen the trap, should have guarded the islands better. He had failed his people.
So much for the fucking prophecy.
“How bad is it?” X asked.
“Very bad, King Xavier,” Wynn said.
“Have you found Lieutenant Sloan?”
Wynn shook his head. “All we know is, she was last seen in a boat with two other militia soldiers, pursuing a submarine.”
X closed his eyes for a second. The news could mean only one thing. Sloan was fish food.
The pounding of boots on the tile floor pulled him from the gruesome image. Michael, Rodger, Edgar, Sofia, and Arlo entered, still in their suits. The rookie Hell Divers followed.
Missing from the group was Magnolia, who, the last X heard, was being treated for burns. He was glad she was actually resting—probably only because they had sedated her.
“Close the doors,” X said.
“Wait,” said Michael.
The team of divers parted as one more person walked into the great hall. The tall man wore a jumpsuit that looked as if it had been washed with ash. The doors clanked shut behind Captain Les Mitchells.
The Hell Divers and militia soldiers followed him on the short walk down the empty rows, to stand in front of Ton and Victor.
As X watched, it struck him that every person in the room had been injured in the attack or was still recovering from the mission to Rio de Janeiro. They had been through so much, and Les looked like hell.
X gestured for everyone to sit but remained standing.
“I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. “Everything is going to get worse before it gets better, but you’re all prepared for that.”
He waited a moment to let that sink in and then said, “I’m sorry. Sorry for letting you all down. I should have done more—”
Michael spoke up before X could finish. “Sir, we all knew an attack was possible, but you couldn’t know that the skinwalkers had submarines.”
“Now that we do, we’re locking down the borders,” Wynn said. “Our troops are working with Colonel Forge to patrol for the skinwalkers, but we have a major problem.”
“Fuel,” X said.
“Precisely, sir.”
“How about the rest of the Cazador forces?”
“From what I’ve heard, almost all of Colonel Moreto’s forces have joined Colonel Forge,” Wynn replied. “Those who haven’t are in the brig.”
“The Barracudas have joined our ranks,” said another militia soldier.
X hesitated, not wanting to ask his next question. But he had to know. “And the total body count?”
Wynn seemed as hesitant to reply as X had been to ask. The sergeant said, “King Xavier, we lost sixteen militia men and women, and another twenty are injured. With Sloan and five other soldiers missing, we’re down almost a third of our forces.”
X cursed under his breath. “What about civilians?” he asked.
“Twenty-one people were killed on the Hive,” Wynn said gravely. “Twenty more on the capitol tower, from the Sirens.”
X tensed at the numbers. Still, it could have been much worse.
“And Discovery, Captain Mitchells?” X asked.
“The damage is severe,” Les replied. “And even with all hands working on it, the ship isn’t going to be airworthy for some time.”
“How long is ‘some time’?”
“I… I’m not sure, sir. Samson and every mechanic and technician we can spare are already at the ship or on their way, but the main issue is going to be finding parts. Most of the bow is destroyed, but the good news is, the nuclear engines weren’t damaged, and almost all the thrusters and turbofans are operational.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Michael said.
“I have Timothy to thank for that,” Les said. “He didn’t just save the ship; he saved Eevi and me. He acted fast to turn on the sprinklers after the explosion.”
X wanted to hear the story, but not now. He crouched beside Miles, scratching his chest while he thought about how to move forward. They needed Discovery more than anything. It was their best weapon.
The airship was at the coordinates he had given Michael—safe, but for how long?
“Rodger, how about the Hive?” X asked. “How bad is it?”
Rodger wiped his eye and stepped up beside Les and Michael. He had lost both his parents in the attack, but he had still reported to the airship rig to survey the damage.
“I hope getting her back into the air isn’t your Plan B,” Rodger said. “Chances of the Hive sailing again are pretty much zippo.” He wiped his nose. “Sir, if you’re done with me, I’d like to go see Magnolia.”
X nodded. “Tell her to keep resting.”
“I will, sir.”
X stood, his old bones creaking like a wind-blasted tree in the wastes. He was dizzy, but this time not from being hungover. The alcohol was out of his system, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t even want a drink. What he wanted was to fight.
“Has Cricket found anything beyond the barrier?” X asked.
“Not yet,” Michael said. “I’m monitoring his progress.”
“We have people on the grounded airship ready with speedboats to relay messages if Timothy receives intel on their location,” Les said.
“Can’t we use some sort of code over the radio?” X asked.
Les shook his head. “The airship’s radio is damaged, and handhelds won’t reach that far.”
X cursed again at the bleak situation. It would take a speedboat a half hour at top speed to get a message back and forth—plenty of time for Raven’s Claw to destroy the drone and then move.
“If anyone has any bright ideas on how we find Moreto and her bastard, I’m all ears,” he said. “But with both airships grounded and limited fuel for our boats, I’m low on ideas.”
Les and Michael exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. Several moments passed before a voice broke the silence.
“What about hang gliders?”
Someone at the back of the group limped through to the front. It was Arlo, and he looked serious.
“Hang gliders?” X asked.
“Yes, sir. Since we don’t have an airship right now, why not paint some hang gliders and send out a bunch of Hell Divers wearing camouflage to search for Raven’s Claw and subs? It will be dangerous in the storms, and we can’t go very far past the boundary, because that’s where the thermals end, but if we find the warship or their subs, it’s over for those mutant freaks that stuck me like a pig in Rio.”
Arlo rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, and I’m pretty sure we could design a submarine-detection system by using those underwater sensors the trawlers use to find schools of fish.”
Everyone stared at Arlo for a moment—especially X, who didn’t know how to respond. The kid with an attitude had grown up a lot since Rio de Janeiro, and he had some damn good ideas.