by RW Krpoun
“Probably,” the Ronin conceded. “Well, my chances of making Regional Manager are zero so we might as well give it a try. Shad, how long?”
The warder didn’t look up from the glowing lines he was drawing. “Ten minutes. Get the non-combatants prepped.”
“You sure your wards will work?”
“Sure enough that I’m betting my life on them.”
“Staying here is no prize,” Fred agreed. “The zed population is growing fast; either we get out now, or we pick a spot for a stand.”
It took two hours of cursing, carpentry modifications, and re-organizing the work force before the Black Talon’s carpet-covered vehicle was in place five city blocks from the wall.
“This has to be our dumbest idea yet,” Jeff kicked the nearest handcart.
“You built the damn thing,” Derek pointed out.
“I need to start drinking in the field because obviously I can’t be trusted when I’m sober.”
“This is a bigger cluster than the French Army on the offensive,” Shad agreed. “But we’re committed.”
“We should be committed,” Jeff shook his head. “My only hope is that this is just a sedative-based dream I’m having while I’m in the loony bin.”
“That only happens to lucky people,” Fred pointed out. “How many non-combatants have we got?”
“About thirty adults and a dozen kids. They keep turning up,” Derek shrugged.
“Great.”
“Let’s get this going before more zeds show up,” Shad decided. “I suspect it is going to be more complicated than advanced physics and less rewarding than helping the homeless, but standing around here is just going to draw attention.”
“You offer great insights into your personality when you make comparisons like that,” Jeff observed.
“Have I told you to shut up lately? Get the dead weight in position to push and let’s go. Fred covers left, Derek right.”
Inside the contraption, which Derek had dubbed the Ark, it smelled of too many people overlaid with the stench of acidic dyes. Jeff had forbidden lanterns because of the fear of fire, so Shad had sent a light ball into a bucket nailed to the lead hand cart, creating the effect of a spotlight shining on the ceiling, illuminating the interior without putting out too much light.
As the civilians dug in their feet and leaned into the push-bars the contraption gave a wooden groan and lurched into motion with a somber flapping of the carpets.
“All right, steady pace, it’s six blocks to go and it’s easier to keep this thing moving than to start it after it stops,” Jeff encouraged them. “A short walk and then we are all safe on the wall.”
Nightwing’s blunt back edge resting against his shoulder, Derek kept pace with the rumbling Ark, watching the four places where individual carpets overlapped; according to Shad the wards should stop most zombies, but if any did get past the wards those would be the points where they got through. As Jeff moved between the carts encouraging the pushers the Ronin walked and watched.
They had crossed three intersections when the first zombies attacked the Ark, crashing bodily into the front and side carpets. Except that instead of forcing the woven fabric aside the Undead simply bulged the coverings in a few inches as the wards’ glow brightened. A chorus of shrieks rose from the pushers and Jeff hustled back and forth calming them as Shad hurried from ward to ward, checking and adjusting the glowing runes.
A zombie forced its way through the overlapping carpets, which moved stiffly at its passage; Derek stepped up and split its skull from crown to chin even as it came through, kicking it in the chest to free his blade. Soon zombies were hammering on all four sides of the Ark, but Jeff managed to keep the pushers at their tasks.
Shad trotted to the wards nearest Derek and studied them, chalk ready in its gold holder. “Are they holding?” the Ronin asked, lopping off the hand from a zombie trying to fumble its way between the overlapping carpets.
“Not perfectly, but they should suffice for our purposes. At least the zeds can’t harm the physical structure.” Shad added a couple glowing strokes and moved to the next set. “Expect more company,” he advised over his shoulder.
As they crossed the next intersection Derek had to move from one overlap point to another, cutting down zombies as they struggled through the weak places in the Ark’s defenses. The zombies were smoking and trailing sparks as they forced themselves between the woven fabric, and it was clearly hard work for them, so with a bit of running Derek was able to confront each before it got fully inside. But each one he cut down was replaced by another, as losses did not bother the Undead in the slightest.
Fred bashed in the skull of a zombie trying to extract its torso and legs from a carpet overlap and checked the other weak points: clear for the moment. “How are we doing?” he asked Shad, who was nearby touching up runes.
“OK so long as you keep them out and we keep moving,” the warder said absently. “The wards are holding, mostly.”
“So we’re good?”
“On the short term. On the somewhat longer term the interaction of zombie and ward is going to set this whole thing on fire, but we’re only two blocks away, so no worries.”
“Great.”
“Look, research into the application of wards on carpet-based assault vehicles is gravely lacking. Turns out we would have been better advised to use lighter cloth.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It surprised me, too.” Shad hurried off.
“I really didn’t expect that,” Fred advised the next zombie struggling through an overlap. “I figured the heavier material would offer a better defense.” His dragonbone club pulped the unlistening creature’s skull and he moved briskly to the next overlap where another zed was forcing its way through.
“Keep pushing, steady as she goes,” Jeff called as the Ark rumbled across the uneven cobblestones. The noises of stressed wood overhead were taking on an alarming tone as the hastily-built structure lurched forward. They had only travelled about five blocks in total but it was clear that the Ark was rapidly approaching the end of its service life. “Only a few more yards!”
Yard-long arrows suddenly punched through the Ark’s roof at a steep angle and the structure shuddered to a halt as pain-filled screams filled the carpeted confines.
Cursing, Jeff ripped his swords from their scabbards as he raced to Fred’s side. “Keep them alive!” he shouted at the Healer. “Don’t let them turn! I’ll cover.”
Shad trotted up through the confusion. “What the hell?”
“Welcome to the receiving end of your style of warning shot,” Jeff snarled as he cut down a zombie. “How close are we?”
“About a hundred feet or so, but we’re sort of at an angle to the wall.”
“Look, I don’t think the roof frame will survive another start-up,” Jeff glanced upwards as he headed towards another intruding zombie. “We need another plan, and fast. At least they quit shooting.”
“Crap.” Shad rubbed his scar. “We only have a few minutes until the wards turn this into a bonfire.”
“So now what?” Fred hurried up. “I’ve got one guy who has an arrow transfixing his torso from the top down. He’s about to check out.”
“The Ark isn’t up to more movement, and the wards are about to overload,” Jeff hacked down another zombie.
“OK,” Shad began pulling sticks of chalk from his knapsack. “Get the camp followers ready to run. I am going to try to focus all the wards onto just this side. That should create a sizeable fire-based pyrotechnic; I’ll create a back-shield to protect us. The instant it goes everyone beats feet to the wall. I’ll clear as many of the zeds away as I can, and try to hold their interest. They hate warders with the same passion as the rest.”
“Not a great plan,” Fred pointed out. “But I’ve got nothin’.”
“Be ready to move.” Shad knelt and started drawing lines of light on the filthy cobblestones. “Make sure Derek knows.”
“Everyone down
,” Shad called, and added a simple rune in bold strokes of red neon at the end of the string of glowing symbols on the road.
For a second nothing happened, and then the left side of the Ark dissolved into a fiery blast of heat and noise that peeled off the carpet roof and the coverings on the narrow ends, and set the overhead beams ablaze.
Burning zombies staggered and stumbled about, helplessly waving their arms as their hair and clothing blazed and their skin bubbled and blackened.
“Son of a bitch!” Jeff beat out the fire consuming his left sleeve. “Everyone out the front! Head for the wall!”
Derek sprang into the knot of zombies who hadn’t been flattened by the carpet ripped from the front of the Ark by the force of the blast, moving from hassan high guard into a yokoman to the left and then right, sending heads falling free, then a nuki swirl and cut, and a skull-splitting shomen. He cursed when a long knife-blade sliced across his ribs, spinning away to decapitate another zombie, ignoring the pain and the hot blood running down his side.
Fred beat down the zeds trapped under the carpet before they could extract themselves, his black club pulping flesh and shattering bone with ease. The big Texan was sweating from the night’s exertions, but the vastly lighter club kept him in the fight longer that his previous weapon would have allowed.
Decapitating a smoldering zombie, Jeff activated his turtle shell to heal a nasty gash on his left calf inflicted by a downed but still game zed. Lopping off another’s weapon-arm, he shouted encouragement to the stampede of civilian passing him on their way to the wall, whose length was illuminated by evenly spaced fire baskets.
“Keep going,” Fred yelled at the running, limping, and hobbling civilians as they charged across the carpet and the inert zombies below it. Fishing a disk from a pouch he flipped it towards Derek, who was blazing through a group of zombies like a combine cutting wheat, healing the Ronin’s wound. The archers on the wall were firing at the zombies now, not getting many head hits but at least knocking down most of those they hit, which helped.
He saw Shad cover the civilian’s left flank by walking into a group of zombies, who were immediately blasted out of existence by the warder’s purple-edged sphere of power.
A cleaver-wielding Undead rushed the healer, who bashed it off its feet with a short strike of his club and then finished with a brutal heel-stomp. “Fall back!” he bellowed. “To the wall!”
The civilians had bunched up at the barricade protecting the entrance into the thick wall as the soldiers checked them for life and wounds; a couple were decapitated due to life-threatening injuries, but the rest were allowed in. The Black Talons brought up the rear, Jeff and Derek plying their bows while Fred and Shad dealt with any who got to melee range. Most zombies did not approach the wall too closely as the archers’ accuracy improved drastically in the last fifty feet.
Finally it was their turn, and after a practiced check from two ashigaru they were inside the wall, the doors slamming behind them.
“Well, that sucked out loud,” Jeff gasped, fumbling open his waterskin with shaking hands. “What the hell happened with the Ark? It went up like an air strike.”
“Like a tank of napalm,” Fred agreed, healing a cut on the warder’s arm.
“It was an improvisation to an ad hoc arrangement,” Shad slid down the wall to a sitting position. “Apparently we were a lot closer to going up in flames than I had realized.”
“It worked,” Derek accepted the waterskin from the Shop teacher. “I think about twenty zeds were burnt to death.”
“Did the serving girl make it?” Shad asked, trying to scan the crowd in the narrow, dark stairwell. “The one whose hair I fried?”
“Yeah, I saw her getting admitted,” Jeff nodded tiredly. “Carrying two little kids.”
“Good.”
“Now what?” Derek leaned against the wall, carefully wiping down Nightwing’s blade with rice paper.
“Now we go over the other side of the wall and beat feet to the boat,” Fred sighed. “The longer we wait the more zombies there are.”
“And the greater the chance we get press-ganged into the military,” Shad agreed. “We’ve got rope. We’ll just make an unannounced departure.”
“I was hoping to get some rest,” Jeff admitted.
“Plenty of rest when we’re in a grave.” Shad struggled to his feet. “Let’s get moving before I fall over.”
“Have I mentioned that this sucks?” Jeff asked as they started to push their way up the steps.
“I think it came up,” Fred nodded. “The back-blast got most of my goatee, by the way. Thanks, Shad.”
“In retrospect I’m surprised it didn’t kill us all.”
Pushing their way up the stairs, the Black Talons emerged onto the wall’s fighting platform. The garrison troops were spread thin so it was not much effort for the Talons to find a spot to fasten their ropes, Derek and Jeff plying their bows at zombies as a distraction while the knots were tied and Fred and Shad climbed down the outside of the wall. Jeff went next, and then Derek. When the Ronin was safely on the ground Shad cut the top of the rope with a volley of arcane bolts, Jeff coiled the remainder and the Talons set off.
They trotted directly away from the wall until they had reached cover outside bow range, both to extract themselves from the area of greatest risk quickly, and because zombies did not run all that well. A running man was less likely to be mistaken as an Undead.
“Shit,” Fred flopped down behind a tree and slid out of his pack. “I am getting old, and my knee is killing me.”
“I am running low on hoorah myself,” Shad admitted. “But we need to get to the boat before we shut down. This area is only going to get more violent over the next few days. The Fang is fully charged, even if we aren’t. Ten minutes or so and then we’re on the move.”
“What did you learn when you fried that zombie, Shad?” Derek asked as he dusted his feet with powder and put on clean socks.
“Huh? Oh,” the warder took another drink from his canteen. “That. Well, what you’re seeing here is the Wind of Souls.”
“The Wind of Souls is a zombie outbreak?” Fred went to stroke his goatee and scowled at its absence.
“Worse. The Rift is a portal to another sphere, created almost by accident centuries ago. That sphere is dead, and I mean really badly dead. It apparently was an escape attempt by some really horrible types, truly exceptional. Keep in mind that I’m working off some pretty fragmentary impressions here. Anyway, everyone there is physically dead, but stored somehow. Remember how I told you that necromancy is planting sentience into a suitable construct? Well, those minds are drawn through the Rift from the dead sphere.”
“Oh, crap,” Derek said softly.
“Yeah. What the World Stone does is create an effect known as the Wind of Souls, which we are seeing: it allows the denizens of the dead sphere to travel here and seize their own housings. The effect is limited for now: the Wind stops at dawn. But if the Stone progresses far enough the Rift is opened permanently and the Isle faces a tidal wave of zombie spirits.”
“So are the zombies still zombies after dawn?” Jeff asked.
“Yeah, but they don’t get new ones until sundown.”
“So we have to knock out the World Stone or it is game over for the Isle,” Derek sighed.
“Probably. If they burn bodies and fight well it is possible the locals could survive until all the inhabitants of the dead sphere fade away, but the odds are against them.”
“Damn,” Fred fidgeted with his rat-tail. “I see why the Death Lords didn’t care about us: we were just four more bodies for their invasion.”
“Yeah. The people who prepped the Lance made sure that their counter-plan couldn’t be faked out. The Fang had to be exposed to the Wind before anything else happened.”
“So where does Midori fall within this?” Derek wondered. “I’m not buying that they were expecting us.”
“Useful tools who could not be tracked,” Jeff sugge
sted. “Tough enough to charge the Fang and get it out.”
“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “We’re errand boys.”
“So is she true to the cause?” Shad asked. “If she is, I don’t mind handing over the Lance and going Death Lord hunting.”
“I don’t think so,” Derek said slowly. “Not just because she is pretty bitchy. She lied to us about the storage of the Fang when there was absolutely no reason to, except that if we had known the truth our plan would have been different and we would have pulled a lot more stuff out of the chamber. She didn’t want us getting too powerful.”
“Point,” Shad nodded. “Getting too much equipment would have made it more difficult to take either the Fang or the Lance from us.”
“We’re going to have to do the heavy lifting ourselves,” Fred sighed. “As usual.”
Shad renewed their night vision and the Black Talons trudged through the night, each weary member lost in his own thoughts.
Fred concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The scarred knee was talking to him in jolting stabs of pain every few feet, and for the thousandth time he wondered if the Army doctors had really gotten all the shrapnel out of his leg. He was twenty pounds lighter than he had been when his daughter had been kidnapped, and that didn’t account for the build-up of muscle; beer guts are difficult to lose but his had burned away in the hard travels in the Realm and here. Tired, battered, and sore, he was ready for all this nonsense to be over with. He wanted to get home and see his wife and child, to forget all this terminal weirdness, just sit in his recliner and crack a cold beer. If he made it back he would never complain about boredom ever again, he promised. In fact, he would aggressively seek out boredom. He was going to make boredom his way of life.
Derek moved with Nightwing, sheathed, cradled in the crook of his left arm. His back hurt and he felt light-headed from the blood loss sustained in the fight and the many exertions of the night. Once the adrenaline of a fight wore off it always left him wrung out and dull of thought, used up. The knowledge that they had saved a bunch of people put a touch of a spring in his step despite his fatigue, and a faint smile tugged at the slender man’s features.