Condemned (Death Planet Book 1)

by Grant, Edward M.

  Dirt trickled down his neck. The walls were closing in. They were going to collapse. He’d survived the King’s tortures and Brunhilde’s claws, just to die slowly, buried alive in the dark, suffocated by the weight of the dirt above him. His heart raced, sweat ran down his sides, he half-opened his mouth, ready to scream.

  Then a hand touched his face. It ran along his cheek, then down his neck, and along his shoulder. Then it flicked up again, and the fingers pressed dirt against his face.

  No, the dirt was falling. She was digging the tunnel wider.

  Daniel pushed himself back a few centimetres, then reached up to try to help. He pulled dirt from the walls, and pushed it beneath him, throwing it as far back as he could, and pushing it further behind him with his feet. He moved on like a mole, digging out the earth and piling it behind.

  Now he was really screwed if there was no way out.

  The walls grew narrower still, and every step came slowly as he dug forward centimetre by centimetre. She dug into the roof, and his hands ripped up the floor.

  He really needed a piss. His body shook with the strain of fighting for his life in the dark, and his bladder wouldn’t hold much longer.

  “How far is it?” he hissed between gasping breaths.

  She just squeaked in return.

  It was as far as it had to be. He’d either see the light again, or he’d die trying. Just dig, centimetre by centimetre, and, sooner or later, there’d be a way out.

  Resigned to his fate, his heart slowed a little, the shakes stopped, and he dug faster into the dirt. The stones tore into his fingers, but they were no more broken than the rest of his body, and they’d heal eventually. He had little choice.

  He looked up as he crawled along the tunnel. Was that light up ahead, or just a hallucination?

  No, it shone around Rat-Girl’s hair as she worked on the roof. There was definitely light coming into the tunnel.

  He pushed his fingers deeper into the dirt, and ripped it out in larger chunks as he pushed onward. He tossed it behind, and kicked it away with renewed vigour. Just dig deep enough to get through this stretch, and he’d be breathing fresh air again in a few minutes.

  The ground twisted beneath his knees as he dug into it. He glanced toward Rat-Girl, who was still pulling dirt down from the roof. Something dangled around her neck, on a cord. Was that really his missing tooth? Freaky.

  He pushed his fingers into the tunnel floor once more. The dirt resisted them for a couple of centimetres, then his hand suddenly slid right through.

  His leg twisted as the dirt gave way beneath him.

  And he yelled as he fell.

  CHAPTER 59

  Brunhilde clung to her end of the flagpole. She’d caught it when the King swung, and now he tried to pull it from her paws. She slammed her feet into the debris, and dug her toes into the soft ground, raking it with her claws. They barely went in a centimetre, but she needed all the help she could get.

  She stared into his red eyes. Steam rose from the slits in his helmet, but was it coming from his steam engine, or his head? He scowled at her, and he sweated as his metal arms pushed the pole against her paws, then pulled it back, trying to shake her loose. She strained until her muscles bulged under her furry skin, trying to hold the pole steady.

  But he was going to win, sooner or later, if she didn’t do something. Not to mention that Pig-Face and half a dozen Guards were heading their way, climbing over the dead, and pushing the wounded aside. And others pointed rifles and bows at her from the walls. If she wasn’t so close to the King, they’d probably be shooting at her by now.

  He pulled the pole again, and her muscles strained. Fuck this motherfucker. She dug her claws deeper into the dirt, and pushed the pole. With the King’s steam-powered arms pulling, and her muscles pushing, it swung back at a speed neither could control. It smashed into the King’s chest with a thunk that echoed back from the walls, then toppled from his hands.

  Brunhilde grabbed it, and swung it fast. The pole smacked into his legs, and she ducked as his hand grabbed for her neck. Then she raised the pole high, to swing at his head.

  She brought it down hard, and the King’s engine belched smoke as he tried to twist away. Then pain stabbed through Brunhilde’s leg. She glanced down, and kicked her foot, trying to dislodge Princess as she bit into Brunhilde’s ankle.

  “Fuck off,” Brunhilde yelled, then looked up again.

  The King’s metal hands slammed together around the pole. It stopped suddenly with a metallic smack, and the vibration shook Brunhilde’s arms until her elbows ached.

  Then he pulled his hands up. The pole slid from her paws. The rough metal scraped against her skin as she tried to stop it, but the steel pistons in his arms pumped hard against her grip. Steam hissed from the pipes over his shoulders as they struggled, then he pulled the end of the pole from her paws.

  He spun his whole body, in a cloud of smoke and steam. The flag streamed out behind the pole as it rotated around him. Brunhilde dodged back. The slipstream fluttered the hair on her chest, and the flag smacked against her face as it passed by.

  The Guards weren’t so lucky. The pole smashed into them, knocking two of them onto their backs in the debris. Pig-Face ducked, and the others jumped aside as it swung their way.

  Princess jumped for Brunhilde’s face as the King swung the pole again. The flag waved, and the metal end swung toward Princess’ head. Brunhilde grabbed her, bent over, and tossed her safely aside before the pole could hit her.

  A Guard lunged at Brunhilde with his sword. The pole smashed into him and knocked him away. Brunhilde looked up, too late to dodge the pole. It slammed into her back.

  Although the Guard had taken the worst of the blow, the impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she fell to her knees as she gasped in air. She tried to stand. Her legs gave way.

  The King raised the pole, ready to swing it down in a killing blow. His scowl changed to a smile, and the pistons in his arms pumped in and out. Brunhilde swung a paw toward his leg, but he kicked it aside.

  Then steam exploded from the pipes on the King’s back. White streamers erupted into the sky, and a hot, wet cloud spread across the courtyard around him, thick enough that Brunhilde could barely see anything beyond the nearest pile of wreckage. The King’s elbows ground as he tried to swing his arms. The pipe jerked a few centimetres closer to Brunhilde’s head, and stopped.

  “Get her,” he yelled.

  The Guards stumbled through the steam, Pig-Face in the lead as the clambered over wreckage. Brunhilde took a deep breath, and pushed herself up. Her legs held this time.

  She grabbed Princess, swung the girl over her shoulder, and held her there with one hand. Pig-Face swung his sword, and she punched him in the face with the free hand. He toppled back, and his sword flew through the air behind him. Wood cracked as he slumped down into the debris.

  “Put me down,” Princess yelled.

  “Shut up while you're being rescued.”

  “I don't want to be rescued.”

  “Well you're fucking being rescued.”

  Princess wriggled in Brunhilde's grip, and smacked her hands against Brunhilde's back. Couldn't she just accept her good luck? There had to be a better place for a girl on this shit-stain of a planet than whore to that... thing.

  Liam ducked and dodged in front of her, swinging his sword, but not coming close enough to attack. Brunhilde snarled at him, and he backed away. She grabbed the remains of the table, now with only one leg attached, and lunged past him. She swung the table as she moved, to discourage any other Guards who might want to look brave for the King.

  She stomped across the dirt, through the fading steam cloud, toward the steps at the outer wall. The steam hid them from the Guards on the wall, but not for long. Spectators, many smeared with streaks of blood, were still climbing to their feet after the blast. None looked eager to take Brunhilde on, but she swung the table randomly in their direction anyway.

  “Put me down,”
Princess yelled again.

  An arrow flew toward them. Brunhilde twisted aside, and it barely missed Princess' ass as it passed over Brunhilde's shoulder.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to shoot the girl, you stupid bastards?” the King yelled.

  Brunhilde raced up the steps, swinging the table in one hand, and holding Princess with the other. One Guard swung a sword, until the table smashed into his face. He flipped over the side of the steps, screaming as he fell. The Guards above him stared at Brunhilde, then glanced down at the courtyard. As she swung the table toward them, they ducked, and jumped over the side.

  Brunhilde’s feet stormed up the stone steps. The Guards on the top of the wall backed away. Good.

  Princess shrieked as Brunhilde turned, swinging her out over the edge of the wall. Her legs kicked in the open air. Brunhilde stared down over the battlements. She was well above the wooden city wall, and the muddy scrubland stretched out around her. That was a heck of a drop, and who knows how soft the ground was down there?

  Splinters exploded from the table as another bullet smacked into the wood. Slowed by the impact, the bullet skimmed across Brunhilde’s shoulder, ripping through the fur and skin.

  Fuck it.

  She tossed the table at the nearest Guard, then leaned out.

  Princess yelled as Brunhilde stepped into space.

  CHAPTER 60

  The cry of fear echoed back for what seemed like the rest of Daniel's life, as he fell, screaming, into the dark abyss below the tunnel. Then he smacked down into something cold and soft.

  The water closed above his head, and he sank, arms flailing despite the pain from his ribs. Then his knees smacked into the stone bed of the stream. He pushed himself up, and gasped for breath as his head burst from the water. He floundered at the surface, until his hand found a rough stone wall. He clung to it, and panted until his heart began to slow.

  He peered around the abyss. Faint light reached him from the right, and the water was heading that way. He must be somewhere under the castle. He reached out a foot, and felt for the bottom. His toes slid across slippery rocks, slowly moving deeper with each centimetre, then the ground fell away.

  He sniffed again. The place stank like shit. Something soft banged against his face, then twisted in the water and floated away downstream. Don’t even want to know what that was.

  The world was silent, other than the stream gently tapping against the stone walls. Somewhere above him was the hole he fell from, but how would he climb back up, even if he could find it? He shivered at the thought of going back into that tiny, cramped tunnel, in any case. Better to take his chances with the stream than suffer another minute of claustrophobia up above.

  He held onto the wall as he slowly crept along the edge of the stream. The water pulled against his legs, and his feet slipped on the muddy rocks below. After each step, he felt with his toes for the next foothold, before he moved his foot again.

  The closer he came to the light, the more noise he could hear. People were still shouting up above in the castle. They knew he’d escaped, and the King wouldn’t just let him go, would he? They’d be following, soon enough.

  Something squeaked behind him. He glanced back. Light reflected from Rat-Girl’s eyes as she dangled her head through the hole where Daniel had fallen. Her hand cast a shadow on the wall behind as she waved for him to go to her. His tooth swung on the end of the cord around her neck.

  He stumbled back toward her, pushing against the flow of water. It splashed against the wall as he dragged himself slowly onward. And rose higher as the bed of the stream descended.

  She squeaked repeatedly as she dangled there. She was the only decent person he'd met since he arrived on Hades. And he couldn't even understand what she was trying to say.

  But there was no way to climb back into the hole. By the time he got there, the water would be too deep for him to reach the roof, and she couldn’t lift him. Even if he could handle the claustrophobic tunnel, he couldn’t reach it from the stream.

  “I'll be back,” he said. Then turned away. She squeaked at him, then pulled herself back up into the hole.

  Now what? He had to get out of there. Far from the city. Somewhere he could find time to stop and think about what he’d done, and what he should do now.

  If only Guy was there. He’d know what to do.

  He crept toward the light, and paused as he approached it. A low arch crossed the stream at the base of the castle wall, and, beyond it, the stream ran between grassy banks, behind some of Kingston’s scrappy wooden buildings. Then on, toward the river. It had to leave the city somehow, didn’t it?

  He was naked. Every Guard in the city would be looking for him. He’d never learned to swim. The water was damn cold, and his balls were already freezing. Great.

  What choice did he have? Night was hours away, and he couldn’t wait that long. They’d find him if he did. His heart thudded as he imagined himself drowning out in the middle of the river, the water filling his lungs as he tried to scream.

  He had to try. The water was running out of the city. He just had to keep calm, and let it take him with it.

  He leaned forward until his chest was floating on the water, and pushed off with his feet. He bobbed up and down on the ripples and waves as the water carried him toward the light. His eyes had grown so accustomed to the darkness in the tunnel, and in this cavern beneath the walls, that they burned with pain as the bright daylight flooded in.

  He closed them for a few seconds. He could hear the yells, rattles and curses of the city, and see a red glow through his eyelids. He opened them again.

  Something flew through the air toward him. A man stood on a balcony at the back of one of the buildings, with a wooden bucket in his hands. Yellow liquid and dark blobs flew from the bucket as the man swung it into the air. Daniel closed his eyes as the piss and shit fell toward him, and splashed into the water just ahead. But he couldn’t close his nose to the stench.

  He floated on. The stream meandered along a zigzag path behind the buildings, until it approached the log wall.

  Head down, as the stream passed beneath. He winced as one of the logs scraped his shoulder on the way through, leaving a long, red scratch on his skin. Just another one to add to the many he’d already accumulated. At least the cool water soothed his wounds, and gave his ribs a chance to relax.

  Then he was through. Out of Kingston. On his way to... wherever the river would take him. His eyelids drooped for a second. Now that no-one was actively trying to kill him, his body wanted to sleep for a week.

  Days of getting little sleep as he waited for his tribunal, months of suspension in the pod, and two nights on Hades with little rest. Perhaps death would be a relief. He could forget all the things he’d done, all the dead back in the castle because of him, the failed Revolution that was all his fault.

  A drone buzzed above his ass, then along the side of his body, and hovered over his head. No, he couldn’t do that. What if his comrades back at the barracks saw this? What a failure he’d look. He was going to do something with his life to make amends for the destruction he’d caused. He’d free the people of Hades, somehow.

  Where was he now? He lifted his head. Crap. He still had at least ten metres to go, and Guards stood outside the wall, near the gates. The stream passed beneath a narrow, wooden bridge, and emerged only a metre or two from their feet.

  Andy was speaking to a pair of Guards beside the bridge, but Daniel couldn’t make out his words over the noise of the stream and city. Andy leaned closer to one of the Guards, who leaned back, then turned his face away. Andy thumped the Guard’s chest, then turned. He strode over the bridge, heading toward the city, with half a dozen more Guards following close behind. The bridge shook beneath them as their boots thumped down on the logs.

  Daniel gulped. If just one of them looked his way...

  CHAPTER 61

  Well, that was a Royal fucking disaster. So much for catching the little shit’s acco
mplices. Should have tortured the fucker after all. It would have been more fun than this mess. Of all the things the King had learned since arriving on Hades, he should have known his lousy excuses for Guards would fuck up.

  He sat, slumped over, in the wreckage of the grandstand. The steam belching from his back had finally died away, and, as the pressure in the boiler decreased from the red zone on the gauge in his helmet, he could move his arms and legs again. Just not very much. Every time he tried to stand, his legs wobbled until they gave way beneath him.

  “Sir,” Pig-Face said. His face was still bruised from where he’d smacked into the ground when that shitty bear-thing kicked him. That would be the least of the creature’s worries, when the King was done with her.

  “What, you worthless maggot?”

  “The Princess, sir...”

  “What about...?”

  Pig-Face nodded toward the edge of the pile of planks, cushions, and dead bodies around them. The King climbed to his feet. This time, he stayed upright, with only a slight wobble. Steam hissed from the holes the nails had made in the pipes on his back. The Brain better fix those fuckers.

  Bones crunched beneath his feet as he stepped through the debris, following Pig-Face to where two more Guards crouched beside a small body, lying face-up on the ground.

  A small body wrapped in a silky dress, with long white hair around its head.

  He stomped across the debris as fast as his legs could still move, ignoring the moans from the spectators trapped beneath.

  Bianca’s eyes opened wide, bulging from her skull as she twisted on the ground. Blood oozed out around the nails that protruded from her head. Her arms and legs jerked, and her mouth moved, but only hissing came out.

  Smoke puffed from the engine as he turned to Pig-Face. “Take her to the tower. And find the doctor. Now.”

  Pig-Face grabbed two planks, and pulled the flag from the flagpole. He lay the planks beside each other on top of the torn flag, and wrapped the cloth around them. He tied it around the wood, then grabbed Bianca’s shoulders and gently lifted her from the ground. The other Guards took her legs, and slid her onto the makeshift stretcher.