He was so focused, he didn’t realize what had happened when his balloon popped. The glider dropped a hundred feet, picking up speed. The tube from the booster to the balloon whipped the sailcloth of the glider’s wing.
He fought to level out his descent, dropping another two hundred feet before he got his rig under control. Fortunately, he had climbed back up to eight hundred feet earlier, or he would be dangerously close to the water.
But with a mile to go to the barrier, and five miles to the capitol tower, he wouldn’t make it to the rooftop before splashing down. And he didn’t have anything that would help slow his descent now the balloon was flopping behind him like a deflated lung.
He was still losing altitude. Looking back, he saw why.
It wasn’t just his balloon that had been damaged. The tube connected to his booster had smacked the wing so hard, it tore the sailcloth.
Pulling the knife from his boot, he twisted around to cut the helium tube at the back of the rig. But the angle was too awkward, and he couldn’t get to the mounted booster.
So he unbuckled it. The wind sent the booster tumbling away, still connected to the deflated balloon.
He sheathed the knife and put both hands on the control bar. The glider was going down, and nothing he could do would stop it.
If he could just get to the barrier, there would be boats to pick him up after he hit the water—if a shark didn’t find him first.
He checked his HUD, seeing the last location of the boat that had dropped him off. The other divers were already breaking through the barrier on their way to the capitol tower, where they would put down. X was closest, but Michael couldn’t see him on the horizon.
At around four hundred feet, a crosswind slammed into the torn sail, pushing him sideways. He pulled back on the control bar to steady the rig, but it was too late.
Closing in on the barrier, he was on a crash course with the surface. He speared through the remaining clouds until they lightened, and he saw the oil rigs in the green hue of his optics.
He chinned the NVGs off as a thin line of molten gold lit the horizon.
The glider had sunk to three hundred feet above the water.
Michael searched for the closest vessel and finally spotted a boat bobbing in the water about a mile away. He sailed toward it, trying to maintain altitude.
Reaching down, he pulled out his flare gun and fired it at the boat.
At fifty feet above the water, Michael said a prayer to the ancient gods and braced for impact.
All he wanted to do was see Layla and their baby boy. Never in his life had he wanted anything more.
Please, he begged. Please don’t let this be the end.
The whitecaps rose up to meet him, and at the last minute, he unbuckled his harness so he wouldn’t be trapped in the glider. He dropped out and crashed into the water.
He skipped like a flat rock thrown across a pond, before a wave slammed into him. The impact knocked his visor open, and water filled his helmet.
All he could do was hold his breath and try to battle his way back up to the surface. But he was so disoriented, he didn’t know which way was up. The salty water stinging his eyes didn’t help. And everything was so dark.
He kicked and stroked, trying not to panic. Far away, a hint of light beckoned. He kicked toward it.
Layla was waiting for him in the capitol tower gardens, in the first rays of light. She had waited for him on so many missions, worrying, wondering whether he would come home.
He stroked upward, but the weight of his armor and prosthetic arm pulled down on him. Fire burned in his lungs.
The glow above him seemed just in reach, but red swarmed his vision. A vision entered his oxygen-deprived brain. It was just one memory, of the time he had nearly drowned in the Florida swamps.
He tried to kick again, but his legs and his arms failed him.
No! Not like this!
His robotic hand sank with him, the fingers the only thing he could still control. He moved them once more toward the surface before they, too, locked up.
TWENTY-TWO
X held Michael’s limp body in his arms on the boat ride back to the capitol tower.
“Hurry!” he shouted.
Victor pushed the throttle down as far as it would go, resulting in a whining motor and plumes of smoke. Dripping wet and chest heaving, X laid Michael down on the deck with Ton’s help.
They had pulled him from the water not long after Michael crash-landed in the ocean. X had watched him go in while he was returning to the capitol tower on his hang glider.
He had known something was wrong when Michael’s altitude plummeted on his HUD. When that happened, X had let most of the helium out of his balloon and glided over toward Michael at full speed, only to brake at the last instant and drop out of his harness into the water.
Several boats had already arrived at the scene, but by the time they pulled Michael out, he wasn’t breathing.
Now X and Ton stripped off his chest armor, and X started pumping his chest and breathing into his mouth.
“Come on, kid,” X growled. “Don’t leave me like this.”
Miles whined and licked Michael’s face.
X pumped, but with his right arm gone, it wasn’t easy. It had almost gotten him killed on the hang glider, but once again he had survived, and others had not.
Immortality seemed more a curse than a blessing.
He kept pumping, trying to bring Michael back before it was too late. Every passing second brought him closer to forever losing the young man who seemed like a son.
My life for yours, kid.
Ton crouched down, making a clicking sound with what remained of his tongue.
“What?” X said.
Ton gently pushed X out of the way and took over.
Miles nudged Michael’s limp body, and X used his left arm to pull the dog back, holding him tight. Instead of feeling comfort from the dog, he felt an overwhelming flood of dread.
As the boat bumped and skidded over the waves, X gripped the commander’s limp hand.
“Come on, kid,” X muttered. He glanced at the orange glow of the sun.
They had lost Alberto and Cricket, and now they were losing Michael. And for what? The skinwalkers were still out there, and so were the defectors.
It was supposed to be safe here. The islands were supposed to be the vanguard for humanity, but X had failed to bring peace to the rigs and failed to protect his people. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, but grief sucked the anger out of him. Ton kept pumping Michael’s chest, but X knew that the chances of his coming back now were slim to none.
He closed his eyes, squeezing out a trickle of tears. He opened them again just as something jumped alongside the boat. A flash of gray hit the water with a splash.
X’s first thought was of submarines, but then he heard dolphins calling. Several more arced up from the water.
Miles barked excitedly as the magnificent creatures followed all the way to the piers, jumping and gamboling in the water.
On the docks, a group of people waited for the boat. One was a woman with a swollen belly.
Layla…
X was in such a trance, he hardly heard the vocal clicking sounds. Turning, he saw Ton grinning as he helped Michael sit up.
Miles nudged up against him, tail whipping.
Michael blinked, then leaned forward and vomited a bellyful of water. He wiped his mouth and then mumbled, “Layla.”
“Kid!” X yelled. He bent down and grabbed Michael, pulling him tight.
Miles brushed up against them, licking the salt off them.
“It’s okay, Tin,” X said. “We’re almost back home.”
“Layla,” he mumbled.