Condemned (Death Planet Book 1)

by Grant, Edward M.

He'd just wanted an easy day, find one newbie with no idea of what they'd gotten themselves into, eager for someone to show them the ropes. Now, those not already captured or dead were scattering in front of the hunters as fast as they could. More pods floated through the sky to the south-west, gliding toward the mountains beneath orange and white parachutes. Even more of them burned long trails of smoke across the sky, still decelerating high in the atmosphere, and heading toward the sea, or the land of Over The Sea, if there really was one. No way was he trekking through the mountains, fighting his way through a hundred kilometres or more of bandit country.

  Hunters jumped onto a pod about a hundred metres away. One of them peered in for a second, before a muscular arm covered in brown fur reached out, and a furry paw wrapped long fingers around his neck. Guy targeted the pod with his skulltop, and a drone hovering above the plain twisted down toward it, sending video back, straight into his brain. The hunter's face turned red as the fingers squeezed, and his own fingers grabbed the arm that held him. Then he rose into the air as a hairy brown face peered out of the pod at the men and beasts around him. Some kind of human/animal hybrid, and a big one. Body mods, especially for strength and speed, weren't uncommon among the types who ended up on Hades.

  The hunters poked spears at the hybrid, and the hounds howled and lunged at the sides of the pod. The hunter in the newbie's hand struggled for a few seconds more, then his head flopped down as the hybrid's arm snapped his neck, before it tossed the limp body aside.

  The hybrid smiled, exposing sharp teeth. “Come on, then,” he said with a low growl, and raised a clawed paw, motioning the hunters toward him.

  No, not a he. As the hybrid rose from the pod, it had all the right bumps in all the wrong places. A she, not a he, built like a tank and shaped like a bear. This could be entertaining.

  The hunters crept forward, swinging their knives and spears. Better them than me. She just smiled at them. Two archers at the rear of the mob pulled back their bowstrings, and aimed their arrows her way. Her eyes watched them, without turning her face from the rest of the mob.

  One of the hounds jumped toward her, and tried to grab her forearm. She pulled her arm aside, grabbed the hound by the neck and one back leg, and twisted. He could hear the grinding of bone on bone, and the snap of the creature’s back breaking, even from that distance. She continued twisting, until the head came away in her hand, and the neck sprayed hot, steaming blood down the side of the pod.

  The other hounds backed away, and the men followed. She motioned for them to come closer, but they just looked at each other. Then one pulled his spear back, aimed, and threw.

  She tossed the creature's dead body toward the archers. Their arrows flew uselessly into the sky as it smashed them down. Then she grabbed the spear in mid air, and jumped from the pod. A hound lunged toward her legs, but she kicked it in the face, and it tumbled backward across the mud, sliding to a stop in a whining lump beside the moaning archers.

  The hunter who had attacked her backed away, but she yelled and lunged for him. The others dodged aside, and she rammed the spear up into the hunter’s belly, then pushed until it burst from his mouth in a fountain of blood.

  She raised the spear, and held the man off the ground. His eyes bulged wide, then went blank. His intestines slid down the shaft of the spear, and steamed where they slipped from her hand and dangled down toward the ground.

  “Any more of you with bigger balls than brains?” she yelled, her eyes scanning the mob. “Brunhilde's waiting.”

  The men turned and ran, the hounds close behind them. Brunhilde tossed the dead hunter aside, then strode off across the plain. Now there was a girl who could take care of herself.

  Guy swung the telescope across the carnage. A tall blonde newbie was swinging a spear at a bull-headed hybrid, while three other hunters approached her from all sides, whips in their hands, and hounds howling and straining against their leashes.

  The hunters who had just run from Brunhilde now swarmed toward the blonde. Not much hope for her. Two hounds chased a fat newbie as he hobbled across the plain, and they knocked him to the ground as hunters strolled behind them with leather cords in their hands. A bearded, dark-haired man with muscles the size of tree trunks had two hunters at his feet, their heads smashed in pools of blood, while he dodged their hounds’ attacks.

  A high-pitched scream brought Guy's attention back to the job at hand. He swung the telescope. The kid he'd seen earlier leading a girl toward the woods had disappeared. The girl lay naked in the mud, surrounded by hunters. Far too late for her.

  Where was the boy? The scope swung past an orange suit moving toward the woods. Guy swung it back until he could see the boy’s face, and follow his movements.

  Ah, he left the girl to save his own skin. Dumb enough to try to save her, smart enough to leave her to the hunters, not brave enough to jump into an impossible fight.

  He'd do.

  “I thought I smelled your ugly stench.”

  Guy turned at the words, dropped the telescope, and pulled the flintlock revolver from his belt. A grey paw wrapped around his wrist, pushing the gun back down. Dark brown eyes above a wet nose stared down into his from a furry face.

  “What are you doing here, boy?” the hybrid said.

  The day was just getting worse. How had Sparky managed to sneak up without him hearing? The asshole was half-dog, not half-cat. And his leg never healed right after Guy broke it.

  “It's not what you think.”

  “Here to catch some fresh meat for yourself? This is Meat Packers' territory. You know that.”

  The girl screamed again.

  “Sounds like you boys got your meat already.”

  “Good hunting this year. We'll be partying tonight.”

  “I should be going.”

  Sparky leaned closer. “I should rip your throat out, and have you for supper.”

  “I wouldn't taste good.”

  Sparky grabbed the lapels of Guy's fur-trimmed leather jacket, and pulled him to his feet. “And that's the only reason you're still alive. Not worth selling, not worth eating, not worth killing.”

  “See. I'm not all bad.”

  The drone buzzed through the branches above them as it scanned the area. No-one else nearby. Good.

  Sparky raised a paw and extended his claws. “Maybe I should rip out that other eye, then you wouldn’t be coming back here to bother us no more.”

  Guy smiled as he slid his hand slowly down to his belt.

  “Oh, I won’t be back again. Trust me.”

  A bemused frown crossed Sparky’s face as Guy’s dagger slammed into his chest. The blade slid between the ribs, then the handle twitched as the knife stabbed his heart.

  “Fuck,” Sparky gasped, then slumped to the ground.

  The handle was no longer twitching when Guy pulled the dagger free, then wiped it clean on Sparky’s fur.

  CHAPTER 4

  Then Daniel was in the woods, running, with his hands still tied behind his back. He twisted his wrists against the cord, but it held tight. He hunched down to protect his face as his body smashed through branches, and his legs and feet tore through the tall, thin, spiky plants that made up the undergrowth. He dodged between tree trunks, then zigzagged left to right around them. His foot slipped on the fresh mud, and pain stabbed his shoulders as he tried to grab a branch to support himself, forgetting his hands were tied. He grunted as he slumped down on his ass, and rolled to a stop.

  The hairy hunter was still coming, two hound creatures still with him, howling. They must still smell Daniel’s scent. He leaned back until his hands touched the ground, pushed himself up, then lunged forward until he could stand upright.

  He couldn’t keep going straight ahead, or they’d know where he was. Left or right?

  Crunch. Something crashed through the undergrowth to the left. He swung right, and threw himself on top of a fallen tree, pushed himself over with his legs, and slid down the far side. He panted for a second as mor
e feet crunched through the plants behind him, then pushed away from the tree trunk and raced onward as fast as his rubbery legs could still carry him. He had to lose them soon, or he never would.

  The hounds howled from the left. Keep going right.

  But what if they were trying to herd him that way?

  The howling was louder, and branches cracked. They were closer, and getting closer all the time. This was their territory, not his, they knew where to go, where the woods went, how to travel through them. And, if that wasn't bad enough, a drone buzzed above his head, dodging between branches and trunks. The noise and movement gave them another way to track him down. He was doomed.

  Up ahead, waves crashed against rocks, the sound deadened by the leaves. He was going the wrong way, toward the sea. A few more minutes, and he could be facing the water, with nowhere else to go. If he could even run that far.

  If he'd lived in a barracks for commissars' kids, he might have known what to do, after watching past recordings, eager for his next fix of death and violence. But, then, he wouldn’t be there. They weren't Condemned, if they even reached a trial. A few words in the right ear, and the case would be dropped or bargained down, with no recourse for their victims.

  If he had watched those recordings, he’d have known what to expect, and where to run to escape. But what fun would that be for the viewers? Better for the new prisoners to be run down like animals by men who looked like animals, and had probably acted like animals back home.

  He jogged on. Sweat stung his eyes, plants crunched all around him, and leaves and branches jerked as creatures pushed past them. The hounds were so close he could almost smell their sickly scent over the stench of sea water and rotting vegetation. He tried to lift his legs, but they would barely move. He was done. He might as well just lie down, and let them kill him.

  Then a hound burst from the trees, six eyes staring at him, and the long claws on its front paws slashing through the air. Daniel dodged out of the way as it howled and twisted before it hit the ground, its claws tearing deep gouges in the dirt. He slid to the right, just as another hound burst through on that side. Its claws slashed across his jumpsuit, drawing blood, and leaving deep welts in his side.

  The shock of the cuts gave him a second wind, and he plunged on through the woods. The hunter yelled behind him, and Daniel’s feet moved faster still. If the hunter was trying to scare him into giving up, he was doing it the wrong way.

  But how long could he run? Not so long as the hounds, that was for sure. He needed a plan, but he was too hot, sweaty and tired to think of one. Climb a tree? Even if he could get up there with his hands tied, the hunters would just knock him down with their spears. Turn and face them? Yeah, right.

  The hounds lunged toward his feet, and he dodged left and right, barely missing a tree trunk as one hound passed on the far side of the trunk while the other attacked from his. He glanced back. He couldn’t see the hunter, but the man must be back there somewhere. Daniel pushed the last of his energy into his legs, and charged on. At least he would make them chase him until he could run no further.

  Then the trees disappeared.

  His feet slipped as the ground fell away. The trees were no longer in front of him, but far below, stretching out toward the distant sea. He fell on his ass, his boots scrabbled for grip as he slid toward the edge of the cliff, and his fingers dug into the mud beneath him until he came to a stop.

  The hounds yelped as they went over the edge, then bounced on the rocky cliff as they fell toward the trees below. The first smashed through branches, bounced from the ground, and writhed in the undergrowth.

  Until the other slammed down on top of it, with a bone-breaking crunch. Neither of them moved after that.

  Daniel dug his fingers into the ground behind him, and pulled himself back until his boots found some grip. Then he pushed himself up onto safe ground, and collapsed as he gasped for breath. His heart was thumping so fast, it would have burst if he’d run any further. His guts ached, and his stomach churned, from hunger as well as exertion.

  He pushed himself to a crouch, leaned on the tree trunk, and took a slow step back toward the plain. Which way had he come, anyway, with all those twists and turns in the chase?

  Trails of crushed undergrowth led in many directions where they had dodged and chased their way through it. The hunter was still out there somewhere. Daniel couldn’t go back toward the pods. He should follow the edge of the cliff, instead, and find some way to get his hands untied. With the look of the cuts he'd accumulated from the plants, it couldn't be too hard.

  Now he'd stopped running, he could finally see the trees in detail, close up. The leaves weren't actually black, just such a dark green that it was barely visible from a distance. The leaves on the branch in front of him moved, and a tiny face peered out, with dark, staring eyes between eight fat, spider-like legs. It leaned forward through the gap between the leaves, the legs whirring as they moved, and tilted its bulbous body until the eyes stared at him.

  He leaned closer. The body was smooth, like plastic, the legs hinged. It wasn't a real spider, just another drone, watching him and recording. Was nowhere safe from them? Something dark and round caught his eye on the tree trunk. Another camera, built into the tree? Was the forest even real, or something they'd built to torment the new arrivals?

  Leaves swished against each other as plants moved behind him. The battered point of a spear poked out between two bushes. A hairy face peered out above it, and a leather-clad body appeared below the face as the hunter stepped out, and swung the spear toward him.

  The hunter smirked as he approached. “Come on, boy. A cock in the ass must beat a spear in the guts.”

  “Comrade...”

  “There’s none of that comrade shit here, boy. It’s every man for himself.”

  Daniel stared into his eyes. Even if he got his hands free and grabbed the spear, could he stab the man? Shove the point into his body until it tore through vital organs, veins and arteries, and the hunter died, slowly, gagging on his own blood?

  If it was that or die himself, he would. Maybe.

  He backed toward the cliff. Perhaps he could lead the hunter over it, as he had unwittingly done with the hounds?

  “Don’t even think it, boy,” the hunter said. “I saw what you did back there.”

  “I give up,” Daniel sighed. “I can't run any more.”

  The hunter chuckled. He stepped forward, swinging the spear with one hand, and reaching for the leather cords wrapped around his belt with the other.

  Daniel lunged at him, shoulder forward, trying to knock him over. The hunter sidestepped, pulled the spear aside, and smacked Daniel on the ass with the side of the blade. A drone buzzed down from the sky, and circled around them as the hunter prodded the spear toward him, always pulling the blade back before it could cut.

  “Think you can take me, do you? I could ram this through your guts before you even noticed.”

  He probably could, too. He controlled the spear so easily and accurately, he must have fought with it before.

  But there was one thing on Daniel’s side. The hunter didn’t want to kill him. If that was the aim, he'd already be dead.

  The drone buzzed down toward them, its cameras pointed at Daniel's face. The hunter's eyes flicked toward it for a split second, distracting him just long enough. Daniel swung his head forward, and headbutted the drone. It buzzed angrily as it flew backwards, and smacked into the hunter's face, the fans smacking against skin, and stunning him for a second.

  “Ah, shit,” the hunter muttered as he backed away, and the drone rocketed into the sky. As Daniel jumped into the bushes, the hunter reached up to his forehead, and wiped away blood dripping from cuts where the drone's propellers had slashed his face. “Guess you want it the hard way.”

  The hunter charged after him. Daniel dodged between the trees, keeping the cliff to his right, running away from the sea. Somewhere, there'd be a place he could descend, without killing himself. If
he could make it that far.

  Something whacked against his leg, and he stumbled as the hunter pushed the spear between his knees. He winced as the blade drew blood from his calf, then his shoulder smacked into a tree trunk as he tried to regain his balance.

  His foot slipped toward the edge of the cliff, and the hunter grabbed him, wrapping his arm around Daniel's neck, and pulling tighter until he was left gasping for air that would never come. His feet scrabbled for grip as they slid out into open air. A drone buzzed in for a closeup on his face as he tried to push the hunter away with the last of his strength.

  The hunter's face grew red as he squeezed harder. The world around Daniel grew dark. So this was it. The way his life ended. Recorded for all the sick bastards to watch.

  There was a loud bang.

  Then they both went over.

  CHAPTER 5

  Cocksucking, motherfucking assholes. Brunhilde trudged along the steeply descending dirt track between the woods. Not even awake five minutes, and the shitmunchers had set their weird, alien dogs on her, tried to stab her, and shoot her.

  Still, breaking bones and ripping off heads had relieved some tension. It was all she had wanted to do after the cocksucking troika handed down their decision, just before they put her to sleep. If they weren't just holograms, she'd have done it, too.

  Not that Brunhilde was her real name. It just sounded good, and somehow seemed to suit her brown fur. When Icepick had first suggested it, she'd thought he was trying to insult her, but, as he hung upside down from her paw, staring into her open mouth ringed with big, sharp teeth that ached to rip off his balls, he told her it was really the name of some ancient warrior woman. So he got to keep his favourite body parts, and she got a name she could live with.

  The nurses called her Alison, after the hospital dumped her at the barracks. What kind of name was that for a gangster? Icepick, now that's a real gangster name. Skullcrusher, another one, if a little unrefined for her taste. Ballbreaker, damn right. But 'hand over the eCreds or you'll answer to Alison'? Who'd be crapping their pants when you said that? 'Hand it over, or you'll answer to Brunhilde'... that worked.