“Get Cricket out of there and have it return to the launch bay,” Les said.
Michael nodded and tapped his screen again.
“Not too fast,” Timothy said. “You don’t want the thrusters to give away…”
It was already too late.
Several red streaks darted into the sky. Not cannon rounds—these were lasers.
One of them struck Cricket, and the view went topsy-turvy as the drone fell.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Michael said.
“Turn the hover mode back on,” Timothy said calmly.
“I’m trying!” Michael snapped.
The drone continued to plummet, the view of the sky and ground spinning. One of its arms had sheared off. The divers crowded around Michael. He tried to regain control of the drone, but time was running out. In just seconds, it would hit the dirt.
“Eevi, any sign of hostiles in the sky?” Les asked over the internal comms.
“Negative, Captain,” she replied. “What’s going on out there?”
“No, please, come on…” Michael said. He kept tapping the monitor, trying to activate hover mode. “Cricket, come on. Please, buddy, don’t do this to me again.”
The nodes finally switched back on around a hundred feet from the surface, but it wasn’t enough to prevent the drone from crashing. Dust bloomed out around the feed on their subscreens.
The divers stood watching as if in a trance. Like Les, they were staring at their HUDs, waiting for the dust to clear. When it finally did, a view of the desert came into focus. Spindly foliage protruded from the cracked earth. Somehow, the camera feed continued.
“Can you move Cricket?” Les asked.
Michael’s helmet shook. “I’ve lost control of all motion systems. The only thing I can move is the camera.”
“Sir, can you zoom in?” Arlo said.
“On what?” Michael said.
“Those skeletal tanks. I think…”
“This isn’t just a desert,” Sofia said.
Michael zoomed the camera in on white bones sticking out of the ground.
“It’s a graveyard,” she said.
The launch bay fell into silence as the drone’s cameras provided a panoramic view of a battlefield. Hundreds of bones, some of them still in helmets and armor, littered the sand-colored dirt. Les saw several weapons with rusted barrels strewn about.
The remains of thousands littered this one dry field alone. And for every ten human skeletons, there was one destroyed machine.
Les broke the silence that hung like humidity in the launch bay.
“If they didn’t know we’re here before, they do now,” he said. “Get us out of here, Timothy. We’ll be diving in after all.”
THIRTY-ONE
X stood with Miles on the platform outside Renegade’s command center, watching the dark water. He pictured Ada out there, trying to row across the rough sea to Florida. If she was even still alive.
Hang in there, kid.
She would still be a long way from his old apartment, but he hoped the survival gear and the note—if she found it—would help get her there safely. It would take a miracle, but he hoped to see her again someday.
A light rain drizzled down, dripping off the overhang that shielded X and his dog. Here they were together again, out in the wastes.
“Just like old times, buddy,” X said.
Miles wagged his tail in his hazard suit, but only for a few half-hearted strokes.
“About how I feel, too,” X said. He glassed the horizon with binoculars and his NVGs.
Clanking sounded from the hatch that opened onto the platform. Ton and Victor turned from their post, but seeing only Magnolia and Rodger, they relaxed.
“Sir, we’re closing in on the location General Forge selected for anchorage,” Magnolia said. “Sonar and radar look clear for subs and surface vessels. We’re ready to go when you are.”
“You sure you’re up for this?” X asked. “Your head—”
“Is fine,” she interrupted.
“You know I’m ready,” Rodger said.
Miles looked up at them both, then nudged X as if he could understand what they were talking about.
On the deck below, the Barracudas were moving about. Most wore full protection from radiation, even though historical records put the outpost in a green zone.
The militia soldiers hung out on the opposite side of the deck, watching and not helping. As long as the two sides didn’t fight, X didn’t really care.
He glanced west. At Shadow’s bow stood the silhouette of a Cazador soldier in full armor. X turned off his optics. Lightning illuminated the orange cape flapping behind the man’s armored shoulders.
Forge stared into the distance. X had met with him several times on the journey and had grown to respect him more each time.
Like X, the general had no wife or kids. He had given his life to the Cazador military. But he wasn’t savage like so many others. He was strategic and intelligent.
And while he wasn’t Rhino, X was starting to trust him. After all, he had kept the secret that could have caused a war, and he had given up the precious nanotech gel to help X heal. Not to mention helping save the capitol tower from the Sirens.
X turned his NVGs back on, searching the ocean for a glimpse of what awaited them. Being in the dark both literally and figuratively was gnawing on his sour stomach. He had no idea what was happening in Africa. The team would have arrived by now.
He also had no clue whether Horn—or his evil mother—was even on Aruba.
He doubted that Moreto was still back at the Vanguard Islands, though. If she had somehow swum to another rig after jumping off the Hive, they would have found her during their sweeps after the attack. If X had to guess, she had made it to a submarine and was now hiding in a bunker.
When X found her, it would be a nice surprise.
He was distracted by the sound of someone shouting in Spanish. It was coming from the deck. At the rail, a pair of Cazadores looked over the side as a clanking sound rang out.
They were anchoring.
The Barracuda soldier switched to English. “Launch the boats!”
X patted Miles on the head, then went to the lower deck with his team.
Mac greeted them there. He wore his armor and had a helmet tucked under his arm.
“I guess you’re coming with us,” Mac said.
“You guessed right,” X said. “And Rodger and Mags are coming, too.”
Victor and Ton stepped forward.
“Oh, and my friends Ton and Victor,” X said. “We’re all coming on the recon mission.”
All around them, the deck hands, sailors, and soldiers went into action. The anchors went over the side of the warship, splashing into the choppy seas. Pulley systems dropped the black fiberglass boats into the water.
The militia soldiers continued to watch the Barracudas without offering to help. One of them, Brett, seemed to be laughing.
X had heard in passing about a problem between Brett and Rodger.
He walked over to the militia guards, Miles at his side.
“Brett,” X called out.
The young soldier turned.
“I’ve got a job for you.”
“Yes, sir,” Brett said. He stood ramrod straight, showing X respect that he had lacked with Rodger and Magnolia.
“Watch my dog, and make sure he doesn’t get a scratch while I’m gone,” X said. “Anything happens to him, you’ll have worse things to worry about than the skinwalkers.”
Brett looked down at Miles.
“Got it?” X said.
“Yes, King Xavier, sir,” Brett replied.
X patted him on an armored shoulder pad with the blade of his spear. “Good man.”
He returned to the rail, where the Barracudas were preparing to climb down to the boats already lowered to the water. The strike team was twelve strong, with Felipe and Mac leading.