“You…” X panted. “You see anything, Mags?”
“If you mean that shark, no, I don’t see it.”
She panned the rifle scope over the water, back and forth, up and down, looking for a dorsal fin in the dark low swells. There was no sign of movement, but she couldn’t see beneath the surface. She shuddered at the thought of swimming through pitch-black water, knowing that the next stroke could be her last.
When she brought the sights back to X’s location, she couldn’t find him in the open water.
“X…” she said, lowering the rifle for an unaided look. Miles trotted up beside her, letting out a whine.
“X,” Magnolia said again, trying her best to keep her voice low.
A screech answered, and she whirled about to see a vulture flying low over the bamboo forest. She hunched down and told Miles to do the same.
The massive bird soared just over the bamboo forest, fiery red wings beating the air. The curved beak opened, releasing another screech as it scanned the terrain with shiny black eyes that looked like curved beetle shells.
Magnolia led the monster with the rifle, prepared to blast it from the sky, but it flapped on.
Heart still pounding, she turned back to the bay, and Miles stood up. She searched again for X, but there was no sign of his black suit.
The blue glow of his battery unit shone through the duffel bag, where she had stuffed it along with his armor and the radio. If he had worn it, tracking him would be a lot easier, but then, swimming would be impossible.
A grumble finally broke over the channel.
“Stern of the second ship from the Sea Wolf,” X said.
Magnolia zoomed in to find him climbing onto the rusted hull of a half-submerged fishing boat. The water below his feet rippled, and a dorsal fin sliced the surface.
“The shark’s back,” she whispered.
“No shit, Mags. Why the hell didn’t you warn me?”
“I couldn’t see…”
“Well, now that you can, do you think you can manage shooting it?”
Magnolia raised the rifle and zoomed in on the dorsal fin as it cut an arc around the ship, then disappeared into the murk.
X climbed to the top of the stern and perched there, watching over the side for the beast. “I lost it,” he said. “You see it?”
The fishing boat suddenly rocked. X grabbed a railing as he fell over the side. The rattling sound carried across the silent bay, and another vulture called out in the distance.
X slipped and swung left, hanging by one hand. “My arm… I can’t hold on.”
“Climb, X!”
The dorsal fin rose out of the water again. Gritting his teeth against the pain, X managed to get his other hand back on the rail. Then he hauled himself upward just enough that he could kick against the hull above the high-water mark, missing the encrustation of barnacles that would have shredded the soles of his bare feet. Only about ten feet separated him from the waves.
“X!” Magnolia shouted, unable to keep her voice down.
The shark drove upward through the surface, exposing a thick, muscular body. She fired several three-round bursts into the pale belly and side. The jaw snapped mere inches away from X’s feet, and he let out a scream over the comms.
The shark crashed back into the water, splashing the side of the boat.
Magnolia scanned the waves, searching for another shot.
“Get back topside!” she said.
X was already climbing, both feet scrabbling against the hull.
“Keep it off me!” he said.
Magnolia trained the rifle back on the water directly below him, just in case the shark decided to jump again. But instead of jumping, it rammed the boat a second time. This time, X lost his grip and fell back into the water.
“No!” Magnolia shouted. She moved closer to the cliff edge, with Miles beside her. After checking the load in the grenade launcher, she swung the rifle back up to her shoulder.
The shark had rounded the stern, and the fin once again broke the surface, a couple hundred feet from X.
“Swim, X!” Magnolia shouted. She held her breath in her chest and fired a grenade just in front of the fin. The projectile streaked into the water, where it detonated, sending a plume of water into the sky.
X flailed and fought his way back to the side of the boat. Miles growled, and Magnolia kept her aim on the water just in case. The thing had to be dead, right? Not even a prehistoric monster could survive a blast like that.
“Did you get it?” X panted.
Magnolia zoomed in on the frothy water where the grenade had exploded. Even with her night-vision goggles, she could see the blood darkening the surface.
“I… I think so,” she replied.
Miles growled again and nudged her leg. She turned just as a vulture appeared over the top of the bamboo forest, its shiny beetle-shell eyes on her.
There was no time to duck or jump out of the way—only enough to curse and fire her rifle at the beast. Rounds punched through the red plumage, and the bird’s downward trajectory steepened.
Before she could move, it slammed into her and sent her stumbling backward. She reached for something—anything—but her hands came up empty. Miles barked as she windmilled her arms. Two more of the birds were sailing toward the exposed bluff.
“Hide, Miles!” she managed to cry out as she fell over the edge.
TEN
The bartender glanced up as Michael opened the hatch and entered the Wingman. Some of the passengers called this place a hole-in-the-wall, but to Michael, even that seemed generous. The bar generally reeked like swamp water, and today it was worse than usual.
He saw why when he took a stool at the counter. Marv, the owner and sole bartender, was still cleaning up vomit from last night. A song featuring a talented guitarist from the Old World played quietly from a record player behind the bar.
“You open yet?” Michael asked.
“I am for a Hell Diver,” Marv replied. He put the mop away, wiped his hands on a dingy rag, and turned off the music. Then he grabbed a yellowish plastic jug and placed it on the grimy bar.
“What time is it?” Marv asked, looking over his shoulder at a clock.
“It’s time for a drink,” Michael said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt the pull of regret. This was the first time in over a year that he had visited one of the few drinking establishments on the Hive, but he needed something to help ease his anxiety.
“Sure thing, Commander,” Marv said. He set in front of Michael a glass that looked even dirtier than the bar, and half filled it with shine from the jug.
“Thanks.” Michael picked the drink up off the table and held it to the weak light of the orange bulb hanging from a cord.
“It’s an old batch, Commander,” Marv said. He grabbed the rag again and started wiping down the glasses from the night before. “Shine helps kill bacteria. Good for your gut. You don’t see me going to Dr. Huff, do ya? I’m almost sixty years old. Haven’t been sick in years.”
“That’s pretty remarkable,” Michael said. He downed the liquid in a gulp and welcomed the burn sliding down his throat and into his stomach.
“Another,” he said, putting the glass down.
“Kind of early for that kinda drinking, don’t you think, Commander?”
Michael tapped the bar top with the glass. “You going to turn down a Hell Diver?”
“Never have and never will.” The old militia soldier seemed to scrutinize Michael in the light as he poured another glass. Shine sloshed out of the jug, and he wiped it away with the rag, his eye on Michael the whole time.
“Go ahead and say it,” Michael said.
“Commander?”
“I know you want to say something.”