Weaver exploded out of the open warehouse doorway with such force that he tripped and crashed to the ground. He landed helmet first in the snow and bit his tongue. Ignoring the pain, he pushed himself back up and spun around to see shadowed shapes darting like lizards across the interior walls of the building.
Pounding through calf-deep snow, he reached into his vest pocket, fingering through the extra bullets until he had one between gloved fingers. A loud thunderclap overhead startled him, and he dropped the bullet in the snow.
Lighting rippled across the skyline—a brief display of blue against a bleak, dark horizon. The cries of the creatures followed Weaver through the maze of buildings. He had to find a place to hide before they found him.
He tried the door of the closest warehouse. Locked. The next was the same. As he bolted from building to building, the shrieks of the Sirens grew steadily louder behind him. The final structure had caved in like a crushed can. It was the same one he and Jones had escaped from earlier.
With nowhere to go, Weaver dashed out into the open industrial zone, searching frantically for shelter. In the distance, he could see a snow-covered road and the rounded bulky shapes of vehicles buried by the snow. Not the ideal place to hide, but he was out of options.
Panting hard, he pushed on, the coppery-salty taste of blood on his tongue. Every dozen yards, he would turn and scan for his pursuers which hadn’t yet come into view, then pound ahead toward the oblique white mounds that hid Old World cars beneath them. Tripping over some hidden obstacle beneath the snow, he lost his balance and tumbled. He leaped back up to his feet and made a final dash toward the vehicles and away from the horrifying shrieks.
His only wisp of a chance was to lure the Sirens away from the buildings, find a vehicle to hide in, and then double back to grab some heavy weapons. That would give him a chance to fight his way into the warehouses and get the cells and pressure valves. If he survived that, he could deploy them—and himself—back to Ares in the crate.
It was a plan—admittedly, a crazy one, but it was the best he could come up with. A half-baked plan, adrenaline, and the desperation of a father trying to get home to his family were all he had, in this moment, to keep him moving.
Hazy lightning bloomed through the clouds, and the roar of thunder gave a brief reprieve from the shrieks behind him. He darted another glance over his shoulder, and this time he saw them. They came bounding over the snow on all fours, heads tucked down between bony shoulders, dorsal fins waving back and forth as they hurtled forward.
They were fast, and they were gaining. He had to get away from those awful teeth and talons.
Swiping away the grit that had collected on his visor, he pounded toward the snow-covered vehicles. Most of them were completely buried, but the wind had eaten away the drifts on a few, exposing doors and broken windows.
In the fifty yards, the boom of thunder seemed to come from all directions, as if the storm itself, swirling above Hades, were alive. He flinched at the raucous boom and the horrible squalls that followed.
Reaching the road, he found firmer footing, then slid on both knees to a half-buried vehicle. He pawed through an open window framed with crusted snow, climbed inside, and flattened out on the seat.
A barrage of thunder rang out over Hades. The reverberations shook the rusted vehicle, and flakes of snow rained down from the roof. But meanwhile, the sounds of the monsters grew strangely fainter. At first, Weaver thought it was the storm masking their cries, but when he slowly raised his helmet to peek out the window, he saw them galloping away from the road, kicking up a plume of snow in their wake.
Another thunderbolt cracked overhead, drawing Weaver’s attention to the sky. A brilliant web of lightning, with a dozen arms, flashed across the horizon. Two blue tendrils licked the top of the highest tower in the distance, and sparks showered down on the frozen streets. The storm was intensifying. The Sirens, as if sensing it, vanished in the maze of domed ITC buildings a moment later.
Weaver lowered his helmet, breathing a sigh of relief. He could deal with the storm now that he was safe from the Sirens.
A sudden tremor shook the ground, causing the rusted metal to rattle around him. He poked his head back up and checked again to make sure the creatures were really gone. Seeing no sign of them, he climbed through the window and dropped to the snow. He had been given a reprieve, and he wasn’t going to waste it hiding.
As soon as he pushed himself to his feet, another explosion shook him. He surveyed the storm clouds roiling above the abandoned city to the east. It was hard to believe that this had once been a thriving metropolis, with more people than Weaver had ever seen in one place. Now only Sirens occupied this cursed ground.
Another resounding crash of thunder exploded somewhere deep in the clouds. The roar rattled his senses, forcing every thought from his mind but one: he couldn’t stay here any longer. If he did, he risked being hit by lightning. And so he ran until he thought he would vomit.
The compact snow shook under his feet as the thunder amplified, but something didn’t add up: the sky was dark. There was no lightning.
He was halfway back to the ITC warehouses when he finally stopped and stared up into the storm. Explosions continued to boom, but without one trace of lightning.
Weaver’s chest thumped with the concussion of each blast. The sky suddenly blossomed with a blast of red so bright, he had to shut off his night vision. As he blinked away the light blindness, a deafening whistle shrilled louder and louder.
Up in the clouds, a glowing shape split through the storm. Weaver froze and watched as red tendrils streaked away from the flaming hulk that arced toward Hades at a forty-five-degree angle.
“No,” he whispered. “Please, God, no.”
Part of him still didn’t believe it was possible, until he saw the curved outline of Ares break through the clouds. Flames trailed the airship as it screamed toward the city. The sound morphed into a screech louder than all the Sirens combined. Weaver watched in shock.
He was too late. He had failed his family—failed every soul aboard Ares. For one deluded moment, he held on to the hope that Captain Willis could land her still—that maybe they could salvage the ship and find a way to launch her back into the air.
Then the ship smashed into one of the skyscrapers, shearing off the spire with a hollow crack. It hit another and another, taking the tops off cleanly.
Fire exploded out of the sides of the damaged craft as it came crashing to earth. The shattered bow of Ares collided with the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt and dust into the sky. A crimson bubble expanded and popped, bathing the dead city in fire. The explosion engulfed the entire ship, leaving no question that every soul on board had perished.
With a whimper, Weaver fell to both knees and watched as a thousand-foot fireball consumed his family and the only home he had ever known.
* * * * *
Tin studied the flickering bank of LEDs, rocking gently with the motion of the ship, above Professor Lana’s desk. He counted the seconds between blinks: three this time. Something was wrong. Last time, they had flickered for two seconds.
He leaned over to Layla and tapped her desk. Her elbow slipped, and the palm holding up her head up fell away.
“Hey!” she whispered. “I was trying to work.” Her sleepy eyes said otherwise.
“Right,” Tin whispered, grinning as he settled back in his seat. He concentrated on the lights again. The panel hanging in the front of the room was no more interesting than Professor Lana’s lecture on how the Hive’s massive internal gas bladders worked, but he had already finished reading the training manual. He knew how to patch one if it failed.
“Why do you think we changed course?” Layla whispered.
He shrugged. “Probably to avoid an electrical storm.”
“Aren’t the engineers still fixing the wires that got fried in the last power surge?”
“Yup. They’re probably in the crawl space below us right now. That’ll be me someday, you know.”
“The gas bladders are the most fragile part of the Hive,” Professor Lana said. “Like a living creature losing too much blood, if the ship loses too much helium, it will die.” She looked at the red oval clock behind her desk and stood. “Looks like it’s time for our next class, everyone. Finish your lessons and pack up. Oh, and don’t forget to read lesson three-point-one tonight on helium and how we keep a steady supply. It’s very important.”
Tin shot out of his chair. His next class wasn’t a class. It was a field trip! He stuffed his books into his bag and followed the other kids into the hallway, where two senior engineers in light-blue coveralls were waiting.
Professor Lana approached them and murmured softly, “Is it safe to leave the classroom right now? The ship’s been rocking a lot lately.”
The older of the two said, “Safe as safe can be. I’ll keep ’em close. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” He was probably too thick in the middle to maneuver in the crawl spaces anymore.
The other engineer was short and wiry—the ideal body type for someone who had to spend most of his time in cramped spaces. He had a thick silver beard with a mustache that curled at the ends. The bent bill of a ball cap covered his eyes.
Professor Lana smiled and said, “Kids, this is Eli, and this is …” She looked to the larger engineer.
“Ned.” He grinned and took it from there. “So you kids want to be engineers?”
“That is why we’re here,” Andrew quipped.
Lana shot him a disapproving look. “Yes, everyone here has enrolled in the engineering program. I was teaching them how to fix the internal gas bladders just today.”
“Is that right?” Eli said, scratching at his beard. “Gas bladders are very important, but today, we’re showing you something else. Who’s ready to see the water treatment plant? Some of you might end up working there someday.”
Tin raised his hand. He looked around him. It appeared that the others kids didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm for water reclamation technology. They all wore the same bored look. For them, this was just an opportunity to get out of class, nothing more. Andrew smirked at Tin’s obvious eagerness and whispered something. Several of the other boys chuckled.
But Tin wasn’t going to let them ruin his mood. Not today. He snugged the tinfoil hat down on his head as the two engineers led the class through the passages, to a three-way intersection. A sentry holding a big rifle stood at a door across the hallway. It led to the second and third floors—off limits to most residents, except today. Touring the water reclamation plant was a rite of passage for students in the engineering program.
Eli pulled a key card and his identification from his pocket. The soldier gave a brusque nod, pulled out his own key card, and waved it over the security panel. The door clicked open.
“Stay in single file,” said the soldier. “And don’t touch anything.”
“Did everybody hear that?” Professor Lana asked.
Tin fell in behind the other ten kids. Unable to see over the heads in front of him, he edged his way around to the side and waited impatiently as the other students slowly filed into the stairwell. As he was about to enter, he spied a man with long black hair and a trench coat across the hall. He seemed to be watching them. Another man, wearing a scarf pulled up to his nose, ambled by and nodded at the lower-decker in the black coat. Tin hovered outside the doorway, scrutinizing the two men from a distance. It wasn’t all that cold in the passage, so why would anyone wear a scarf?
“Let’s go, kid,” the soldier said.
Tin continued into the stairwell and glanced over his shoulder as the guard was closing the door. Then it occurred to him that the two men were interested in the security checkpoint, not in Tin’s class.
This was strange, and it gave Tin an uneasy feeling, but he wasn’t going to let anything distract him from the tour. He looked back up at the other kids. The glow of a single red light spilled over the group as they shuffled noisily up the rungs.
Halfway up the stairs, they stopped. Tin stood on his tiptoes and put his hand on Layla’s back. The two engineers were standing on the second-floor landing, outside the farms, where Eli was talking to another soldier.
“What’s going on?” Tin whispered.
Layla shook her head.
Eli stepped away from the soldier and looked down the stairs. “Today, we have a special treat for you,” he said. “Today, you also get to see the farms. You all can thank Hell Diver Xavier Rodriguez for that. He managed to convince Command to let you sneak a peek.”
Tin couldn’t believe his ears. X had done that? For him? Tin removed his hand from Layla’s back and saw that Andrew was staring down at him. He had an odd look on his face, as if he was sorting something out. He flashed Tin a smile. A real smile, not a cocky I’m-going-to-kick-your-ass-later smile.
The soldier pulled the rusted door open and waved the group forward. The brilliant white glow of the grow lights blasted Tin’s eyes, and he shielded his face. Grow lights were ten times brighter than any other lights on the ship.
He followed the kids in front of him into a plastic bubble room, where his eyes adjusted to the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
“You’re standing inside the vestibule to the clean room,” Ned said. “All farmers are required to go through a rigorous cleansing process before entering the farm.” He turned and looked through the translucent sides of the bubble. “For two hundred and fifty years, this massive space has provided the Hive with the nutrients to keep our species alive, as it will for the next two hundred and fifty.”
“Feel free to take a look around,” Eli said.
“But remember, don’t touch anything,” Professor Lana added.
The translucent plastic box was the size of their classroom, with sinks set up in the east corner. Tin walked to the northern wall, where the other kids had gathered to look out over the fields.
Ned crowded behind them, and Tin could feel his hot breath on his neck. It stank of ’shine and coffee.
“Pretty great, isn’t it?” Ned said.
Tin nodded and worked his way up to the front of the group, squeezing next to Layla. His eyes swept over the farm. Rows of mature corn, taller than he was, ran from stern to bow. A plot of green beans and spinach grew in the field to the east. The different shades of green practically glowed under the full-spectrum light.
For the first time in his life, he felt the tightness lifting around him, as if he had shed a garment that was too tight. He no longer felt so trapped or isolated.
“The farms are six hundred feet at their longest point and two hundred and twenty feet wide,” Eli said. “We cultivate twenty different vegetables and ten different fruits, all genetically modified to grow in the conditions here. The lights are attached to the ceiling with steel wires that can be lowered and retracted. Somewhere in the central control center, a technician is monitoring exactly how much light the crops have received over the past twenty-four hours. A program will indicate whether they need to be dimmed, brightened, or shut off.”
He pointed to the other end of the room. “Over there is where we raise our livestock.”
Tin followed the man’s finger toward dozens of pens and several long sheds with low roofs. They shifted to the other side of the room, which put him in the back once again. He stood on his toes, trying to see over the other kids’ heads.
“We have chickens, cows, sheep, pigs, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, and turkeys,” Eli continued.
“How do you keep healthy populations?” Lana asked.
“The livestock are also genetically engineered. We’ve lost quite a few populations over the years. Needless to say, every single animal in this room is on the endangered-species list.”
Layla nudged Tin in the side. “Makes you wonder what other animals used to live down there, huh?”
Tin nodded and looked into the animal pens, where a dog stared back at them. It had a silver coat, with a dash of chocolate brown circling one of its blue eyes.
The animal stood at the gate, looking directly at the plastic room. A smaller dog with a mane of black fur strolled up beside it, tilting its head and studying their observers.
“That’s Silver and Lilly,” Eli said. “They’re both huskies.”
“But why dogs?” Andrew asked. “It’s not like we eat ’em.”
“Good question,” Eli replied. “Ever heard the saying ‘a dog is man’s best friend’?”
Most of the kids around Tin shook their head or just gave him a blank look.
Eli frowned and said, “Someone must have really loved them back in the day. They come from a long line of huskies that have lived on the ship. Those are the last two, though. And the male is sterile—another example of where genetic engineering failed.”
“Why continue to feed them?” Lana asked. “That’s food that could be used for more productive purposes.”
Silver gave a low, throaty growl, as if he understood her. A farmer inside the pen knelt to calm him, but the dog took off running. He circled the enclosed area, barking as he ran. In the blink of an eye, Lilly started barking excitedly and went chasing after Silver.
“What the hell?” Ned muttered.
Tin saw flashes of motion in the other fenced-in areas. The turkeys were squawking, the cows were pawing and bawling, and the hogs were slamming into their metal barriers. Everywhere he looked, the animals were frantic.
The ship suddenly shook violently, knocking Tin and several of the other kids to the deck. Screams filled the plastic room. Tin reached for something to hold on to as the floor tilted. Sliding across the cold floor, he felt a sharp pain in his forehead as it whacked against the exposed pipe underneath a sink.
A strong tremor rippled through the ship as it leveled back out. Tin sat up and touched the drip of blood from his forehead. The sound of crunching plastic pulled his attention to the entrance of the room. Two farmers unzipped the front door and hurried inside. The woman on the left ripped a white mask away from her mouth and yelled, “Everyone out! Get to the emergency shelters!”
Tin could see the others scrambling to their feet around him, but he couldn’t get up. The sweet scent of the harvested fruit lingered. The majesty of the dogs, and the breathtaking feat of engineering, mingled somehow with the terror he felt from the lurching ship. It was as if his brain couldn’t separate the beauty from the horror.
Tin closed his eyes and felt powerful hands pulling him to his feet. Someone carried him into a stairwell. When he opened his eyes again the lights were flickering. His blurred vision cleared enough that he could distinguish Eli’s silver beard in front of him.
“Hold on tight, kid,” he said. “I’m taking you to the med ward.”
Over the discord of the groaning ship and emergency sirens, Tin heard Silver and Lilly barking. A moment later, a hollow thud reverberated through the Hive, and he was shrouded in darkness.
* * * * *
Red light flooded the bridge, and the wail of an emergency siren echoed through the room. Captain Ash cupped her throbbing forehead and pulled away from the medic trying to assist her. There were more important things to worry about than a minor bang on the head.
“What the hell happened?” Ash yelled, making her way down the aisle of monitors to navigation. Jordan was already at Ensign Hunt’s station.
Ryan, the skinny nav ensign, hovered behind them. He met Ash’s searching gaze with a rueful look.
“Captain, the storm—it grew before we could react,” Hunt said. “We were on the border when it swallowed us, like that. He shook his head and looked at his screen.
“How bad’s the damage?” Ash said.
“Not sure, Captain,” Jordan replied. “Engineering hasn’t given me a Sitrep yet.”
“Hunt, how far are we from the storm?”
“Three miles, ma’am.”
“Double that margin,” she ordered.
“Aye, Captain.”
Ash could hardly hear the ensign’s reply over the wail of the sirens, but she could see his strained face in the red glow of the emergency lights.
“Someone get me a goddamn Sitrep from engineering!” Ash shouted. She was furious at herself and everyone else on her team. The storms were unpredictable, but Ryan and Hunt should have seen this coming. And she should never have left the bridge. It was the second disastrous mistake in a week.
“I’m getting a report from Medical,” Jordan said, cupping his palm over his earpiece to listen. “So far, we have four dead, from engineering. They must have been killed belowdecks.”
Ash shuddered at the thought. She had seen only images of the dark, hot, cramped passages, but Mark had been inside them during his training when they were newlyweds. He had said the tunnels were barely large enough to squirm through—and he was not a big man.
What an awful place to die.
“Medical’s reporting multiple injuries, too,” Jordan added.
“How many?”
“I don’t know, Captain. They don’t have an accurate count yet.”
“Video coming back online,” Ryan said.
Ash glanced at the screen. The cams on the Hive’s stern flickered back to life, capturing a live feed of the horizon. Lightning flashes split the darkness, lighting up the billowing cumulus from within. The purple edges of the storm swelled, reaching out as if it were giving chase, and Ash finally saw why it had caught her nav team by surprise. The men hadn’t been asleep at the helm; the storm was expanding faster than any they had ever seen.
“Captain, I’m picking up beacon,” Hunt said. “I think it’s … Wait, that can’t be right.”
“What?” Ash’s hoarse voice barked.
Hunt squinted at his screen and then glanced up at Ash, his eyes wide. “I think it’s Ares’ beacon,” he said.
“Where?” said Ash. “How far?” She hurried down the ramp to the bottom floor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the airship onscreen.
Hunt’s response sounded distant. “From the surface, Captain. The ship is …” His voice trailed off, drowned out by the wailing sirens.
Ash closed her eyes. Her entire body went numb, as if it no longer belonged to her. Her worst fear had finally come true. They were Earth’s last ship.
The Hive was alone.