His HUD showed an altitude of four thousand feet. They had to be getting close.
All at once, the city bloomed into view, outlined in green by his night-vision optics. He brought his arms out to his sides and bent his knees to pull up out of the nosedive and slow his descent.
The coordinates for the Hilltop Bastion were two miles east of here. Two miles of uncharted terrain in the middle of a red zone—a trek that didn’t exactly buoy him up with confidence.
At two thousand feet, he pulled his rip cord. The suspension lines tightened as the chute inflated and slowed his fall.
He licked the bottom of his handlebar mustache—a nervous habit he had developed over the years. He switched off his night vision to study the city with unaided eyes. He instantly saw something he had missed with the optics.
Andrew’s deep voice boomed over the comms. “Angel One, do you see what I’m seeing?”
Weaver blinked just to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks.
“Angel One?”
“Roger that, Pipe,” Weaver muttered. He blinked twice more. To the east, waves slapped against a rocky shoreline, but it wasn’t the ocean that Weaver was staring at. It was a tower not far from the water. A scraper pulsed red from the inside, as if it had a massive battery unit for a heart.
“What the hell is that?” Rodger said.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Andrew replied.
The numbers on Weaver’s HUD ticked down. They were at one thousand feet now.
“We’re two miles off course,” he said. “Follow me.”
He grabbed the toggles and headed west, away from the ocean, but he couldn’t force his gaze away from the tower. The groves of glowing bushes were the only thing even remotely close to what he was witnessing, but even those didn’t compare to this.
“Commander, you think we should check that out?” Rodger asked. “What if it’s some kind of settlement?”
“Aw, hell no, man,” Andrew said. “That scraper may be a settlement, but it sure as shit ain’t humans.”
“Sir?” Rodger repeated.
“Negative. We proceed to the coordinates.”
The three divers came together in a V formation as they sailed over the ruined city. Weaver finally pulled his gaze away from the tower and did what he had promised he would do. Bumping his chin pad, he selected the open frequency. If Magnolia was out there, she would have her set tuned to the channel.
“Raptor 3, this is Angel One. Do you copy?”
Weaver raised his wrist-mounted monitor to check the coordinates again as a wave of static crackled inside his helmet. The noise didn’t surprise him. He had already resigned himself to the idea that Magnolia was dead. It was easier that way. Hope hurt.
“Princess, you out there?” he said, trying one last time.
White noise was the only reply.
“Magnolia,” Rodger said over the comms. “Please.”
They sailed over girders and piles of debris. Vehicles littered the streets below like the carapaces of dead insects. It was a sight all too familiar to Weaver. There was no way humans could have survived down there for centuries among the monsters and bombarded by all those rads.
There was no one to rescue down here. If they were lucky, they might find some salvage or a couple of fuel cells, but Weaver had already written this dive off as a waste of resources.
A wave of static broke, and a voice rang out over the channel.
“I’m here!”
Heavy breathing sounds filled the speakers, as if the person on the other side of the comms was running.
Weaver’s heart skipped.
“Princess, that you?”
“My name,” the voice panted, “is Magnolia Katib.”
There was a pause, and before Weaver could reply, she said, “I hope you brought me my two hundred credits, Angel One.”
He felt the smile crack below his mustache. “You’ll get a chance to win ’em back,” he said. “Relay your coordinates, and we’ll rendezvous.”
Several agonizing seconds passed before she replied, her words garbled by static.
“Vines are everywhere… I can’t get away…”
“Magnolia!” Rodger shouted. “We’re coming. Just hang on!”
Weaver snapped out of his trance. They were halfway to the coordinates of the Hilltop Bastion. He could see the raised earth in the distance, but Magnolia’s beacon wasn’t showing up on his minimap.
Weaver dipped his finger and thumb into his vest pocket and rubbed the old-world coin. He couldn’t very well flip it in the air right now, and it wasn’t going to help him decide what came next, but he found massaging the smooth surface with a gloved finger and thumb calming.
“Magnolia, relay your position,” Weaver said.
“I’m in a tower, but my monitor isn’t working!”
“What do you see? Give us something.”
“Vines. All I see are vines… and… the ocean. I can see the waves.”
Weaver’s eyes flitted from his HUD to the ground. Forced to make a decision, he said, “Pipe, you and Rodger head to the target. I’ll go find her.”
“Yes sir,” Andrew replied.
Another silent pause over the comms.
Rodger spoke next. “Bring her back, Commander, or I’m coming for you!”
Weaver pulled his right toggle and turned east toward the glowing tower. Magnolia didn’t need to respond with her coordinates. He had a feeling he was already looking at her position.
TEN
Michael and Layla walked through the hallways of the Hive in silence. She didn’t ask where they were going, and he didn’t tell her. They passed through the wing where most of the upper-deckers lived. Intricate drawings marked the floor and the bulkheads, providing a glimpse into the lives of those who had lived here over the centuries.
Utility pipes snaked along the ceiling, carrying helium, water, and sewage. Ahead, an engineer stood on a ladder, working to seal a leaking joint in a red helium pipe. Michael nodded at him as they passed underneath.
Open hatches allowed a glimpse into life on the Hive. Inside the first quarters, a stained couch missing all but one of its pillows was nestled against a wall. Deborah, a staffer who worked on the bridge, sat on it reading a book with no front cover. She looked up and smiled at them. Layla waved back.
Next was the room where Michael had spent many of his younger years. Layla picked up her pace as they neared the hatch marked with a drawing of the sun.
“You don’t want to stop?” Michael asked.
“For what?”
He shrugged even though he wanted to encourage her to stop. Ever since her parents died, she had avoided this place. She didn’t even look at the smiling yellow sun that she had drawn when she was a little girl.
They had reached an understanding that certain areas of the ship were no-go zones. For Michael, it was the farm. That place triggered too many painful memories. The sight of the room Layla had grown up in was her trigger. She dropped Michael’s hand and hurried down the hall, clearly unhappy that he had brought her this way.
Ahead, a sign for the water treatment plant hung from the bulkhead. Layla waited for him at the junction. He jerked his chin to the right, and they continued past two militia soldiers guarding the upper-decker wing. Two more stood outside the entrance to the plant.
Michael kept moving. They were almost there. He felt for the sealed envelope in his pocket and tried not to think about anything but what he needed to do.
Raised voices echoed down the hall as they approached the trading post. Several civilians loitered in the open space outside. A thin man with a sharp jawline and a shaved head approached Layla. He wore a brown coat, and black trousers that were two sizes too big.