by John McCuaig
Minco stopped in his tracks. “Leave me alone, Spaniard. Do not push me further or I’ll finish you myself where you stand.” His hand dropped to the well-worn handle of his axe. Pizarro stopped too, glancing back and down at the weapon. Next to the distinct possibility of becoming one of those monsters or simply being eaten alive, what would that fate be? He sighed, frustrated and almost careless with such grim options before him. He turned away and kept on walking.
Pizarro’s continuous show of petulance had finally gone too far. Minco had taken enough nonsense from the Spaniard to last him a lifetime. The Spaniard’s blatant disrespect would not be overlooked again. His hand tightened on his golden axe and he set off down the path after Pizarro. As he got closer, he drew the weapon and raised it above his head, aiming for a thrown strike.
At that moment, he heard her. In a split second, Minco felt a rush of delight. Then the realisation hit him. She was screaming in horror.
He ran as he had never run before, even faster than when he had run for his own life. He heard Pizarro calling after him but the words did not register. All that mattered to him was Inguill.
As Minco bulled through the last of the thick jungle, he came to the ravine called Amuchanto, where at last he saw his love. Four of the undead surrounded her and she was waving a large stick wildly around her in an attempt to keep them at arm’s length. Even as he ran towards them, he could see they were only toying with her. They could easily have taken her at any time they wished. He bared his teeth into a snarl.
Their fun was about to come to an abrupt end.
As he arrived, he sent the first of the beasts; a tall, fat and naked farmer- flying to the ground with a kick to the small of its back. Before it could recover, Minco smashed his spiked truncheon full force into its temple. The squelching thud that accompanied the strike almost brought a satisfied smile to Minco’s face. His temper had been building and these undead soldiers were going to face the full force of his wrath, they were going to pay dearly. Without hesitation, he set about the other three, roaring aloud with every flash and wave of his weapons.
When only one of the creatures was left, it was Minco’s turn to play cat and mouse. The undead girl moved fast, darting in repeatedly to attack, and each time it did, Minco could have easily ended her sad excuse for a life. Each strike he made was aimed carefully at her body, rather than her head.
Broken ribs punctured the lungs, rendering her breathing liquid. Broken arms became useless and she could only charge forward with her body and use her head and teeth to attack. Finally, Minco broke one of her legs, bringing the beast crashing down to the ground close to his feet. As it snarled and groaned at him, squirming towards him, he delivered the fatal blow.
The creature’s head caved in and its face disappeared inside a mass of gore and ooze. Chunks of bone and flesh still clung to Minco’s truncheon, dripping to the dusty earth as he stood over the corpse, breathing heavily.
Inguill ran to her love. She threw her arms around him, not caring that he was covered in gore; a deep, almost black liquid that was the congealed blood the undead held in their bodies. She ripped a piece of fabric from her golden robe and gently cleaned the mess from his stern looking face, taking great care to ensure that none of it went near his mouth. Minco stood silent and stoic while the gore was cleaned away from his skin. His anger was still boiling just below the surface.
“I knew I would see you again,” she whispered in his ear. “I knew it.” She looked down at the lifeless monsters at her feet. “When I saw the undead soldiers, I knew they had me trapped, but Minco, I always knew that my prayer to the gods would be answered.” Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him.
“Well, well,” Pizarro said as he and the others soldiers at last made their arrival. “The great Protector and the High Priestess are back together again.” He could not help but smile. “I cannot say I’m not relieved. We’d best be off, though. More of those things must be nearby.”
His sarcasm, however, fell on deaf ears. Minco and Inguill did not care one iota what he was saying; they only had eyes and minds for each other.
Before another word could be said, one of the Incan soldiers came running at full speed into the little clearing. He was shouting something to Minco over and over again, and though the Spaniards could not understand his words, the panic-stricken expression on his face said it all. Pizarro was right again, they were coming.
“Let’s move,” Minco shouted out in Spanish. “We need to get down to the bridge now. It’s the only way to get over the ravine.” He took Inguill’s hand and set off at pace along the thin, dusty path running parallel to the ravine. As Pizarro and his men ran along the edge, they could not help but look down, noting with unease the depth of the rapidly flowing river below. It was clear that no one could survive a fall down there.
The group continued at its brisk pace for the next half hour and as they got over a slightly raised ridge in the path, they could finally look down and see the famous bridge of Amuchanto. Inguill gasped and everyone could see that there was one big problem with their plan; the bridge was no longer there.
Minco did not falter at this sight. He kept on running; he just needed to get down there to have a closer look. As they arrived in the large clearing, the remains of a few dozen bodies encircled the point where the bridge had once been. They’d all been eaten down to the bone. The Protector could see that the heavy ropes that had once held the bridge aloft had been cut through. Across the large gap, Minco saw the wooden, slat bridge draped down over the opposite face of the ravine.
“What the hell happened here?” Almargo shouted as he too arrived at the scene. He screamed right at the Incan, “Where’s the bloody bridge you promised us?”
Pizarro stepped forward and on surveying the evidence, he turned to Almargo. “Some of the locals must have cut it down, I’d guess to stop the advance of the undead from Huacas.” Brow furrowed, he bent down to examine the human remains. “But it looks like some of the beasts made it across before they could bring it down.”
Everyone in the group looked around, desperate for a solution to this situation. The deep ravine lay to their left, massive cliff faces were to the right and the same, huge wall of impassable rock lay fifty yards ahead. Turning back was no option either. Several hundred of the undead soldiers were only minutes behind them on the path.
“Find me something, my friend,” Pizarro whispered to Almargo. “I need you to find us a way out of here.” This time, the old soldier obeyed him at once, moving off without either hesitation or question.
Pizarro’s gaze found the beautiful Inguill as she gently wrapped her arms around her lover, and he could not help but wonder what his life might have been like if someone had loved him like that.
16- Crossing the River
Soon enough, and just as they all expected, they arrived. Pizarro, Minco and Inguill, along with the rest of their party could hear the creatures coming well before they saw them. There must have been close to a thousand of the undead, charging en-masse down the thin path towards the ridge like wildfire, and they were almost upon them. Minco knew by now that they could smell that their prey was very close. The last of the survivors of Cuzco were trapped. They had nowhere left to go.
The ravine itself may have only been about fifty feet wide but it was always at least a couple hundred feet deep, and then there was the raging river below. With no bridge left, there seemed no way across and in turn, no chance of getting past the advancing horde.
“Over there,” Almargo shouted, pointing far to his right; he pulled his sword out and ran in that direction. “That’ll do it. Come on...move!” No one knew but Pizarro knew what he was shouting about.
“You wily old fox,” he muttered away to himself. “I always knew that I could rely on you, my friend.” Pizarro saw exactly where Almargo was pointing and running to, and broke into a little smile. He looked up and saw that the tree his man had picked would definitely be long enough to breach the gap. They jus
t needed to cut it down, and be done with it quickly.
“Let’s go! Use you axes, Minco, get your men to cut it right here,” Almargo shouted, using his rapier to mark a semi-circle in the thick, dark bark. “Cut it deep enough and this thing will topple right over to the other side. And tell them I need them to cut exactly where I’ve marked.”
Minco did not need to be asked twice. He set a half dozen men straight to work on felling the mighty tree. In the meantime, Pizarro got the rest of the soldiers together as he attempted to get together some kind of defensive formation. It would be weak at best, with only twenty men left; the line was going to be too thinly spread out to be very effective. Pizarro knew it would not last for more than a few seconds before they were overrun, and of course, then devoured alive. His uncertain glance at Minco relayed their urgency better than any words could convey.
“Faster...faster!” the Protector shouted at his men. “Keep going, we need to keep going!” The swings of the axes became almost a blur as the men swung with all their strength and speed, biting deeper and deeper into the thick trunk of the ancient tree. Even the axe men could hear the impending arrival of the undead above the hefty thumps into the hard wood.
“Don’t look at them,” Minco shouted at his men, to prevent their concentration from wavering from the task in hand. “Keep your eyes on the tree alone. We need get it down now!” Minco felt compelled to glance backwards every few moments to gauge the progress of the beast’s approach along the pathway.
A cold shiver raced up his spine. Although they were still a fair way off, it was clear even in the narrow pathway they numbered almost a hundred across, a number far too vast for their small party to handle.
Minco spun back and saw that although the cuts were getting deeper, the tree was never going to fall in time. The flood of the undead would wash over them well before they could finish. He needed somehow to help it along. Tapping the shoulders of the last three men left guarding the cutters; Minco ordered them to follow him as he started to scale the tall and mighty tree.
“We need to get right to the very top,” he shouted to the men behind him, ignoring the slapping branches and scraping bark as he climbed in haste. “Come on, we’ve got to help it topple.”
*****
Pizarro walked along the line, telling his men they had to hold steady, come what may, anything he could think off to keep them in place. He also let them know anyone who tried to run away would feel the steel of his own blade long before the teeth of the beasts. Their fear was a palpable thing as they watched the inevitable approach of death, the might of Supay’s army was rushing towards them. He glanced back to check on the progress of the felling of the tree and saw Minco and some of his men crawling up its branches, and quickly disappearing into the deep, green leaves. The Spaniard angrily spat on the ground.
“Coward,” he muttered under his breath in disgust. “So much for all those speeches about you saving your King,” he continued. “First chance you get, you go and run away, hiding like a rat.” He turned his back in anger. He was prepared to die like a man with his sword in his hand, not cowering in fear like Minco.
In a matter of seconds, Pizarro’s temper lessened as it dawned on him that something was not as it seemed. Turning around once more, he looked up at the tree again. He had known Minco long enough that he would have bet his own life on this Incan not being a coward. Once he heard the mighty tree crack, he realised just what the Incans had been up to. This time, a smile appeared on Pizarro’s lips as the tree let out another loud crack and at last started to move.
Minco and his men were near the top now and working their way along one side of the thick branches that pointed towards the ravine. Their extra weight might just be enough to tip the balance in time.
“This way, now, all of you! Come on, move it!” he yelled to the men before him as he pointed away from the horde. “We can forget about holding the line now- the tree is about to fall! We can get across!” Without hesitating, they turned and ran towards the others. Even so, Pizarro knew it was going to be a narrow escape.
One final, thunderous crack sent the tree on its way, falling across the ravine. It was not however landing as straight as they planned. Instead, it had fallen at a slightly acute angle, one that would take them even closer to the oncoming beasts. Pizarro heard a scream from one of the men in the branches. As the tree had started to fall, he’d attempted to jump back down to the side where he had started. Instead, all he managed was to fall to his death, down into the ravine to be swallowed completely by the river.
The tree had only just made its landing, due to the acute angle; barely two feet of it had made it to land on the far side. As the dust settled, Minco and his remaining two men appeared from out of the tangle of branches and leaves. They at least, had made it across in one piece. Waving, and shouting encouragements, they called for the others to join them.
Pizarro was the second only to Inguill to clamber up onto the trunk of the tree. He was in no mood to let any of his men precede him. Now that the monsters were almost upon them, it was every man for himself. He had urged Inguill to climb up ahead of him, but this was with no sense of chivalry. The priestess was not expendable, but the rest of them certainly were. The shape of the tree made their progress slow, the curved surface and the various shapes and sizes of the branches kept his speed to barely a walking pace. Behind him, the soldiers of Supay were coming...and they were far quicker than that.
Due to their lack of speed, not all of the men from Cuzco made it across the ravine. An undead girl in the ensuing deadly struggle seized one. He tried to push her away and they both fell away from the tree. Even as the evil beast tumbled towards its own destruction, it fed heartily on its victim. The urge to eat was, as always it seemed, far stronger than anything else did.
Once the rest of the survivors made it to the opposite side of the river, they could at least better defend this point. Because the beasts were only able to cross the tree in single file, this part of the plan was proving successful. Still, it was not going to be enough. The sheer numbers of the soldiers of the Ukhu Pacha were too much for them to handle. There were just too many of them to handle. No matter how hard they tried to stem the flow of the undead, they kept on coming.
“Over here,” Almargo screamed. “Somebody, anybody, get the hell over here and help me!” He was attempting to lift a sizeable length of heavy, timber pole. “We can use this to lever the tree off the edge. Come on...for God’s sake, will someone please come over here and help me!”
Two of his fellow Spaniards joined him and together, they carted the pole over towards the large tree; they jammed it in as hard as they could, deep into the branches near the peak. Another four of Pizarro’s men left their defensive positions to help them push up the pole to its apex. Even with their combined might, it still only groaned and scraped along the ground but it did move, inching its way slowly closer and closer to the edge.
Just as the undead fought their way onto the living side of the ravine, the tree slipped away from its feeble hold. Almost in a slow motion movement, the tree slid branches first from its precarious perch. The heavy trunk was sent skyward as it fell vertically into the rapid water below. The monsters that had still been clambering along its length joined it on its rapid plunge to oblivion.
Only five of the undead were left alone on the living side of the ravine. They did not last long. Incan and Spaniard alike attacked. They wanted, at long last, to take some revenge for the lives the creatures had destroyed and they took the opportunity to take it out on the beasts with their own version of snarling savagery. Even once they were dead and destroyed the blows kept raining down, over and over again they were pummelled until all that was left of them was just a mushy pulp.
“Yes!” Almargo screamed, punching his fist in the air. “We’ve done it!” All around him, the other soldiers cheered and joined in on the long awaited and welcome celebrations. A few of them even shouted across the ravine to the scores of undead t
rapped on the other side. It somehow felt good to goad the beasts.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Pizarro said, losing his patience. “This isn’t finished yet; not by a long shot. We’ve still got to reach the city of Huacas.” He moved amongst the group of men in an attempt to rally their attention. “Let’s move now!” Obediently, they moved along...all, that was, apart from the still smiling Almargo.
“You did well once again, my friend,” Pizarro said, taking a moment to his oldest friend a true smile as he patted him on the shoulder. “How many times is that you’ve saved us now?”
“More than a few, Colonel, I’d say that it was more than a few.” For the first time in an age, the old soldier looked happy. His friend took a moment to chuckle.
Just as they were about to leave, Almargo looked over the edge of the ravine, taking one last look at his handy work. With his hands on his knees, he carefully peered over to get himself a good look at the remains of the tree below. Instead, in his shock, all he saw was the face of one undead soldier, just below the edge and holding on tight to a long, dirt-encrusted root.
Before Almargo could move away, its arm reached up and grasped onto his right hand in an iron strong grip. Almargo struggled to break free but no matter how hard he tried; the monster would not be shaken loose. Adrenaline soaring, Almargo’s free hand reached for his dagger. At the same time, the beast pulled itself up and sank its teeth into the fleshy pad between his wrist and thumb. Almargo roared in indignant fury and plunged the blade into the creature’s temple. Its grip was immediately released and it fell, now limp and in true death, to join the rest of the bodies below.
The damage had already been done. Pizarro was already standing at his old friend’s side. They both looked at the wound, at Almargo’s still shaking hand. A chunk of his palm and blood was sluicing over the rest of his hand and falling in a freshet onto the vibrantly green jungle floor.