Into the Wild

by Larry Correia

  Even wounded, the human was an incredible fighter. It took all of Caradoc’s might and skill to keep him in check. It was rare for him to find an equal in battle.

  A beastly roar filled the tunnel, so loud it caused Acosta to flinch. Caradoc immediately kicked the man in the stomach, pushing him across the car, but the stubborn human refused to fall. Behind Acosta, Blood Drinker had knocked down the human’s warjack and was now on top of it, furiously ripping handfuls of its metal guts out.

  Caradoc let out a triumphant howl. With that metallic obstacle out of the way, this hunt was all but over.

  But the human’s machine was as obstinate as the humans. One giant metal hand reached up, grabbed hold of Blood Drinker’s mane, and pulled hard to the side. The beast’s head scraped along the wall and violently struck a passing support beam. The beam shattered, and Blood Drinker’s blood splashed against the wall. He wailed and thrashed, but the warjack held him there, painting the walls with his blood and hair. Another beam flashed past, smashing into Blood Drinker’s skull. The ghastly impact left Blood Drinker dazed as he was struck by another passing beam, and then another. His body went limp, but the machine simply shoved more of the beast’s body out to drag against the unyielding stone wall.

  “No!” Caradoc rushed forward save his beast.

  But this time, it was Acosta who shoved the logs and set the whole pile tumbling down again.

  Their blades met. Chips and blue sparks flew. Caradoc’s technique surrendered to pure killing rage, but he could only watch in horror as the warjack let go of Blood Drinker. The magnificent beast fell over the edge of the train to float gracelessly for a moment, Trapped between the rail car and the wall, waiting for their car to reach it a heartbeat later. When the two collided, his thick bones were smashed against the steel wheels, which set him spinning, lifting him up to slam into the bottoms of the loose logs and shoving them violently to the side. Caradoc was sent sprawling as Blood Drinker’s battered corpse dropped again into the gap between the rail car and the tunnel wall, this time to disappear beneath the wheels.

  Acosta slipped. Bark scrapped off beneath him, and his boot wedged down between two logs. As Blood Drinker flopped and rolled down the tracks behind them, the logs crushed together. Acosta roared in pain as they smashed his foot between them. He pulled against the unyielding weight, but his foot would not budge. He was trapped.

  Caradoc slowly rose as Acosta tugged futilely once more at his trapped limb. The human was desperate—it reminded Caradoc of a wolf in a snare, ready to chew off its own paw in order to escape. It had been the smallest of mistakes, but it would be sufficient to end the man’s life.

  Acosta flipped one glaive around in his hand and drove it straight down between the logs, trying to lever them apart, but Caradoc moved in for the kill. Acosta swung for the skinwalker’s legs with the other flashing glaive, but Caradoc leaped over it. The steel embedded itself into a log. Acosta tugged. It would not come free.

  Caradoc struck him with the blade hard across the chest, but the human’s breastplate held. Acosta abandoned one of his glowing blades and went for his sheathed knife, but Caradoc swung his other fist into the human’s head. Despite being struck by a blow that would have felled most humans, Acosta roared and swung back. He then blocked Caradoc’s next knife strike with the back of his gauntlet. Finally, Caradoc latched onto a joint in the man’s armor and shoved his claw through the gap into the flesh beneath. The human bellowed in pain, and Caradoc slammed his forehead against Acosta’s face.

  Acosta fell. Caradoc would have finished him immediately, but a blast of lightning flashed past, close enough to singe the hair on his arm. The skinwalker chief crouched next to his fallen prey. Concealed behind the logs, he knew they no longer had a shot at him. He lifted his head enough to see the blast had come from a Storm Knight several cars ahead. The bolt had only saved the warrior’s life for a moment. It would not be enough.

  Cleasby stood at the rear platform of a passenger car. Even from his distance, Cleasby could see there was nothing else he could do beyond the blast he’d just leveled so ineffectively at the skinwalker. Frustrated, he pushed on. Caradoc understood all too well how a leader felt in such circumstances; he, too, had been unable to save his own. Truly, it was a heavy thing. Caradoc turned his attention back to his current opponent.

  Acosta had landed on his back with his leg still trapped. He’d been stunned by the blow, but he’d already recovered enough to reach for the lightning sword next to him. It was futile, but he grabbed the hilt and found the sword was still wedged uselessly between the heavy logs.

  The skinwalker chief knelt over Acosta and placed his blade against the human’s throat. Blood streamed down Acosta’s face. His eyes were wide and swelling with excitement. Despite facing death, the human was giving Caradoc a red-toothed grin. This one was happy to die.

  “Our duel was interrupted, but it seems you’ve already defeated me.”

  “It was a good battle,” Caradoc snarled.

  Acosta laughed. “Among the best. I’d already be dead if not for my friends. One mistake, one misstep, was all it took. In a way, I am glad this happened. Sometimes, failure is the best teacher. It shows I still have so much to learn. It has been an honor to duel you, Caradoc.”

  It was a noble sentiment. As a warrior who was also condemned to die this day, he too was thankful for this battle.

  “Die, blue soldier.”

  “Blue isn’t my color,” Acosta said as he released the lightning caged inside his trapped sword.

  The logs exploded and sent thousands of splinters tearing through Caradoc’s body. Like Blood Drinker, his body went limp as he was flung from the speeding train.

  The skinwalkers would target the engine, Cleasby knew. If they stopped the train, they could easily swarm the cars and kill everyone on board—including the passengers who blocked his way now. He pushed his way through the final passenger car, racing to reach the engine car before the enemy did. But the car was crowded with confused people who seemed too disoriented by all the commotion to move aside, despite his commands. The sudden darkness outside and the stifling roar of the cars on the tracks indicated they were passing through another tunnel. Good, Cleasby thought. A tunnel and its darkness would temporarily bring their enemies to a halt, he hoped; the skinwalkers who’d climbed atop the roofs would be forced to lie prone to avoid losing their heads.

  There was a sudden crack as one of the passengers fired a hand cannon into the roof. “I heard a bump!” the old woman declared. A nearby gentleman seemed to think this was a splendid idea, and he fired a shot into the roof as well. The weak round from his pocket pistol bounced off the sheet metal and ricocheted around the compartment as passengers dove for safety.

  “Stop that!” Cleasby shouted. A window shattered as a skinwalker tried to clamber through the side. It was too important that he secure the engine; he couldn’t afford the time to deal with it himself. “Thorny, repel the beasts boarding us!”

  “On it,” Thornbury said as he took a swing at the claws.

  Cleasby reached the end of the passenger car and threw open the door to cross into the next car, the storage car, and was hit in the face with wind and coal smoke. But at least there were no Skinwalkers waiting to greet him, he noted with some satisfaction. Novak was right behind him. He rushed across the rocking platform above the coal storage and leaped from it onto the platform at the back of the engine car. The heavy door there had been torn open and the cabin within was dark. Knowing that he was too late, Cleasby rushed in.

  He could make out one engineer was face down on the floor in a puddle of blood. Cleasby stepped over his body, glaive raised and pointing forward. It was a terrible weapon to use in such close confines. The lights were out and until they emerged from the tunnel, no sunlight came through the windows, but Cleasby moved forward cautiously using the blue glow of the glaive as his guide.

  The other engineer must have jumped overboard rather than face the skinwalkers becau
se there was no sign of him. A distracted creature was at the controls, erratically chopping at the delicate instruments with a hatchet, presumably trying to make the train stop. The beast saw the blue reflection against the polished brass and began to turn, just as Cleasby moved forward and drove his glaive deep into the skinwalker’s body. He slammed the monster against the wall, triggered the galvanic blast while the blade was lodged inside the skinwalker’s body, and fried its guts. As it thrashed and kicked against the electricity, the skinwalker flung Cleasby all around the small compartment, battering him against the metal fixtures.

  It was still alive, and with no room to swing his glaive, Cleasby picked up the rough hatchet from the floor and violently hacked at the creature. Novak came up behind him and smashed the butt of her rifle against the thing’s head. Then the two of them stood there, chopping and bashing until they could barely lift their arms. It stopped moving, but they battered it just the same.

  “I think that’ll do,” Cleasby gasped.

  “We’re slowing. It broke something.”

  Cleasby looked at the instruments. Most of the gauges were so cracked or so bloodstained that he couldn’t read them, but Novak was right. The skinwalker had accomplished its mission. If the engine lost power, they’d be sitting ducks. “I’ll try to figure it out.” He’d never driven a train before, but how hard could it be? “Look for the instruction manual.”

  “The manual?” Novak asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, the manual. There’s always an instruction manual!” Cleasby took in the multitude of levers and tried to reason out what they might do. There were a lot of them. “This has to be the throttle.” He pushed it all the way forward; following a whistle from the steam engine, they began to pick up speed again.

  “Excellent,” He said. “I can do this.”

  “Cleasby, look!” Novak was gesturing out the window. “Stop the train!”

  “What?” He’d just figured out how to make it go faster, and she wanted him to stop? He looked out the window. The powerful front light illuminated the last stretch of the tunnel. What is that? Cleasby couldn’t figure it out. It was far away and hard to tell, but it appeared to be a pile of rocks. But in the shape of a man…except the rocks were moving.

  A giant rock man was trying to rip up the tracks.

  “It’s a wold!” Novak shouted.

  He pulled back the throttle. But the train only slowed minutely Brake? Where would I put the brake? He found a red lever and cranked it back. Below them, steel wheels screamed in protest, and the entire train jerked unexpectedly. Both of them stumbled forward, tripping over the dead skinwalker.

  As they passed the support beams, Cleasby estimated their speed by noting how quickly they passed the support beams and the remaining distance to the rock monster.

  “We’ll not stop in time. Brace for impact,” he said.

  The magically animated rock man, or wold, as Novak had called it, was at least as big as Headhunter. Even if it didn’t rip up the track in time, for all Cleasby knew, hitting that thing would derail them anyway. The iron walls of the engine room had been shaped to provide seats, and there were even straps to hold onto for just this kind of situation, but his armor would never fit into one in time. There was nowhere to go. “At least we’ll get to run over that monster.”

  “You’re insane,” Novak said as she climbed into the engineer’s seat and hooked her arm through one of the cords. “You’d have made a great ranger.”

  “Thank you, corporal.”

  With its two glowing green eyes, the rock man looked up at the oncoming train. It seemed unmoved, almost disinterested in the impending disaster racing toward it. As they closed, Cleasby could see stone blocks made up its body, covered in glowing runes similar to those he’d seen at the ruins. The animated stones were connected by thick logs and tied together with hundreds of ropes to form a powerful-looking makeshift golem. He’d never seen anything like it before and would have liked the chance to study the thing, but as it was holding a pried up chunk of steel rail line in its hands, Cleasby imagined he could do without understanding it.

  “We’re going to crash, he whispered.

  The impact flung Novak into the controls. The thick windows shattered as they were pelted with great chunks of gravel. As the train went off the rails, a terrible racket rose as the cars tore through wooden ties and steel beams. Cleasby was tossed across the floor, smashing into a hard metal wall, and then the entire room tilted as they went onto their side. Dirt sprayed through the bottom window as Cleasby momentarily lost his sense of up or down, tumbling into what had just been the ceiling. His bearings scattered, he reached out for anything to hold onto.

  The moment of blackness was blissful. There was no danger, no risk, no death. And then it was gone. As he regained consciousness again, he coughed, his eyes burning; the inside of the compartment was completely filled with dust and steam. The train had come to a full stop. Blood was everywhere, and he was in so much pain that he thought it had to be his. But as his senses slowly returned, he realized he was lying on top of sticky, matted fur and broken bones instead of gravel and steel; it was the skinwalker he and Novak had hacked and beaten to death and likely the source of all the blood.

  “Novak?” No answer. He could barely see anything. With a growing sense of alarm, Cleasby realized he could smell smoke. The engine had caught fire. “Novak?”

  Nearly drowned out by the whistle of escaping steam, the crackle of burning coal, and the snapping of twisted metal, Cleasby heard a groan. He stumbled toward the sound. Novak was dazed but alive. He lifted the ranger into his arms, desperate to get her outside before the fire spread.

  He squeezed them through the hole that had been one of the front windows. Tripping over bits of carved stone, Cleasby staggered outside. Novak coughed. By some miracle, the bright yellow alchemical light on the front of the train was still functioning, and its angle was such that it cut a path through the smoke. Stumbling, Cleasby alternately dragged and carried Novak clear of the wreckage, following the dimming path of the yellow light until he could see true daylight. Brain addled from the impact, Cleasby went toward the sun. Novak neither helped nor hindered him; she simply held onto him as they escaped the derailed train car and the tunnel where it had crashed.

  A tall bald man in intricately detailed robes was waiting for them at the end of the tunnel. He was leaning on an ornate spear and seemed so calm, so unmoved by the scene, so supremely confident that he was entirely out of place amid the smoke and chaos.

  “Who are you?” Cleasby asked, bewildered.

  “I am Krueger, the Stormlord.”

  That name was familiar, and if it wasn’t for the fact he’d just been bounced about the insides of a crashing train, Cleasby suspected he’d be able to remembered where he’d heard it before “What do you want?”

  “I want to end a remarkably persistent nuisance.” The stranger seemed either amused by or detached from the battles that had just preceded this confrontation. Several skinwalkers rushed up behind him. They filled the entire exit and more piled up behind them. Krueger turned to the monsters. “Finish this.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud.” Cleasby turned and limped back into the smoke. This just kept getting worse. “Wake up, Novak.”

  “Oh, my head. What happened?”

  He jerked his head back toward Krueger. “Them.”

  She looked over his shoulder. The skinwalkers were walking after them. Their nonchalant approach somehow made it worse. “Are you serious? More?”

  He set Novak down next to the overturned engine. “Can you walk?”

  “Sort of.” Novak seemed extremely disoriented. The side of her head was bruised and swollen, but she found handholds on the metal and pulled herself up. Cleasby held his breath and went back through the window. He yanked his glaive out of the dead skinwalker.

  Novak called to him. “Get my backpack. I’ve got an idea.”

  It was hard to see through the smoke stinging his eyes, but
Cleasby spotted the canvas bag wedged against the controls and pulled it free. When he went outside, the skinwalkers were only twenty feet away.

  “Threaten to blow up the pack,” Novak commanded.

  He had no idea what was going on, but Cleasby pressed the point of his glaive against the canvas.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  It seemed to work. The skinwalkers hesitated, turning their lupine heads toward each other, uncertain. They stopped in front of the engine and held their ground.

  Cleasby kept backing away. “What’s in the pack?” he whispered.

  “Their tablet.”

  “Well played,” he said under his breath. He looked around: the engine wasn’t blocking the entire tunnel,. So he supposed they could fall back past it. He raised his voice and shouted at the skinwalkers as they began to advance once more. “Come one step closer, and I’ll turn this thing to dust.”

  The mob froze again, unsure what to do. A sudden, cold gust of wind, pushed the skinwalkers apart, creating a path for the man called Krueger between them. It struck Cleasby as almost surreal to see a normal man pass between the savage creatures. He stopped in their midst.

  “This tribe has pushed my patience too far. You would let your past hold your future hostage?”

  But still the skinwalkers hesitated. They were obviously afraid of Krueger but torn by their desire to protect the stone. One of them let out a keening whine.

  “Then I’ll do it myself.” Krueger pointed his spear at Novak’s chest. The skinwalkers hurried out of his way.

  Without any conscious thought of the danger, Cleasby put his body between the spear and the ranger. It was pure reflex; he would have done the same for any of his soldiers. And Novak was part of his team now.

  A blinding arc appeared between them.

  The lightning blast that came from the spear made his storm glaive look like a toy. It was like being in the middle of a pillar of blue fire, brought down by forces beyond his wildest imaginings. It bore no resemblance to any fire, any electrical storm, any man-made charge he’d ever encountered. He’d been blasted before on many occasions, but it was nothing compared to this. There was so much energy washing over him that he could feel it in his blood. This was the pure fury of nature.