The building was getting closer. He could see that it was little more than a gatehouse built into the side of a hill. The tower was a spindly stone thing, maybe only five feet wide. If there was anything more to the structure, it was hidden underground.
Maybe it hides a passage that leads to where Tamara had wanted to take us.
Only that wouldn’t do them any good now since Tamara couldn’t guide them.
“I thought you said they’d thin out!” Aaron shouted.
“It’s different than before,” Galen answered. “There have never been so many dead here.”
“Nephysis,” Kelly shouted, “he’s been busy.”
But why did the corpses attack the dyitzu? Can Nephysis really control them?
Another corpse drew near enough to grab him. Arturus expected his father to shoot it down, but instead he heard a click.
Oh shit.
Arturus kicked it backwards.
The building still looked awfully far away, and if anything, the corpses were thicker around it.
“We’re all out!” Galen shouted. “Everyone run! As fast as you can.”
Arturus heard Avery give out a shout of pain. A grim faced Johnny sprinted by him. Arturus sped up, passing back by Johnny, dodging in and out of the groups of undead. He tried to lead the corpses away from Johnny, but he wasn’t sure if he was helping. Galen rushed ahead, a blur of motion. Arturus knew his father was fast, but to see the man’s speed now was breathtaking. Galen barreled through the undead, knocking them off their feet as he passed with his head and shoulder lowered.
Johnny was lagging behind. Kelly passed him, her long black hair streaming back behind her. A corpse reached out. She dodged it, but stumbled.
Jesus!
She regained her balance and continued running.
The building was just ahead. Galen had stopped at its iron gated door.
“Locked!” Galen shouted. “Defend me!”
“We’ve got no weapons,” Aaron shouted back.
“I need time.”
“Defend you with what?” Aaron asked.
“Your hands if you have to!” Galen yelled.
Arturus knew what needed to be done. “Form up around me,” he ordered.
It was the first order he could remember giving to the group. They obeyed.
The gate was in a slight alcove. Arturus took up a stance where he hoped their human wall would allow his father time to work the lock. Aaron stood at his left and Johnny took up his right. Avery joined the left wing and Kelly came in on the far right.
Then the undead were upon them.
Martin had never felt so gloriously tired in his life. The Carrion-side wall had been completed, and the near-side wall was about halfway finished.
And I feel safe. Time for another break, I think.
He’d never paid much attention to the Carrion barriers before. He’d known what the purple cubic marker stones meant, but even so, the barriers had meant little more to him than any other wall. Now he had the horrible premonition that he was going to start seeing them as thin and breakable eggshells on which his life depended.
Ignorance is indeed bliss. But then, so is sleep.
His sore muscles relaxed as he leaned up against a wall and slid down it. He closed his eyes.
“You going to sleep there, sir?” Huxley asked.
Martin opened one eye. “You’re damn straight I am.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Didn’t you know?” Martin asked, closing his open eye. “I’m the God damned acting Lead Hunter. I say what is safe and what is not, and I’m telling you, Hux, that this spot is safe. And I’m going to rest my ass here until ya’ll springy fuckers are finished.”
A few of the men working on the let out a round of tired laughter.
“Then again,” Martin said. “It might be a good time to call it a day.”
“Should we sleep here or head back to Harpsborough?” Huxley asked.
Here, because I’ll be fucked before I move my ass.
Stone had never felt so comfortable.
“Here,” Martin said. “Gather up the boys. Tell ‘em four hours sleep, then we finish the barrier and head back.”
“Aye, sir,” Huxley said, his own voice weary.
Martin opened his one eye again. “And you’re not eligible for watch, Hux. You’ve been working too hard.”
“I think I’m the most—”
“Who’s in fucking charge here?” Martin asked.
“You are.”
“Then I say you fucking sleep. Make Graham do it. He’s good for watches.”
Graham cleared his throat. “You know I’m right here.”
Huxley laughed. “Yes, sir.”
Martin heard shouting.
Christ. Well at least it’s not coming from the Carrion.
He opened both of his eyes. Constance was sprinting across the cobbled room.
“Martin!” he was shouting.
As beleaguered as he could ever remember being, Martin pulled his aching body to its feet. “This had better be God damned important.”
Constance stopped, panting. “Molly. She’s got the key. The Golden Door key. We think she’s headed there right now.”
Holy shit.
“Hunters,” he ordered, “form up. Follow me.”
Arturus bludgeoned one corpse with his pistol, but the weapon made for a poor club.
Hell.
He threw the pistol aside and let his inhibitions go. Galen’s training spewed forth from him as he let his fists fly. The corpses were too slow to defend against his assault, so his punches sent them back a few steps. Even so, their mass was building. Johnny was beating one in the face with Avery’s shotgun. Aaron was holding two back.
“Father!” Arturus shouted.
Arturus grabbed the corpse in front of him by putting both of his forearms on the thing’s shoulders and his hands on the back of the thing’s neck. He kept his elbows in tight.
The corpse tried to come forward, but Arturus forced it to bend down at the waist by pulling down on its neck. Then he shifted his hips back and started throwing knees towards the thing’s head. His first couple of blows knocked the corpse back into an upright stance. Arturus pulled it down again and gave it a couple more. He heard a crunch as his knee crushed bone, breaking the rotten skull.
He kicked the thing away. Another corpse was clawing at him with rotting broken nails. It cut him across his face, and Arturus tasted his own blood as it poured into the corner of his mouth.
He had to step back because his friends were losing ground. Arturus caught the hand of the attacking corpse in front of him. It was a monstrous thing, surely, but it had human anatomy. Arturus tried a wristlock on it. On a person, the hold would have been almost impossible to execute, and if he’d managed to get it, his opponent would have dropped to his knees as his joint was locked and his tendons were pulled taut. The corpse, however, was too slow to avoid it, and its joint and tendons snapped. Arturus let go and took another step back. The corpse’s arm hung loosely at its side. Arturus hit it with a couple of punches and then kicked it away.
Another corpse stepped forward. It was dressed as some sort of ancient soldier. The helmet on top of its head sported a ruddy Mohawk of bristles. It had a large square shield which covered its body on one arm, and it brandished a short sword with its other.
A gladius.
Galen had taught him how to fight a man armed in this way, but he had only gone over it once, and Arturus couldn’t remember much of the lesson. It struck out at him, its technique surprisingly crisp. Arturus hated to think how long a corpse would have to be dead to move so smoothly—or to be wearing such outdated equipment—but something in its motion awakened Arturus’ instincts. The strike was linear, heading straight for his body. Arturus pivoted to one side on his right foot, letting the strike go by. With his left hand he caught the corpse’s sword arm at its wrist and then threw his right shoulder into the large square shield—knoc
king the corpse backwards even while he kept the creature’s sword arm close. Then he turned his back on his foe, wrapping his right arm around the corpse’s sword arm. He kept a firm grip with his left hand and then grabbed his own wrist, his limbs intertwining with the corpse’s as he completed the hold. He spun back around, pivoting as hard as he could. All his body weight and momentum was applied to the corpse’s arm. The hold was supposed to be a shoulder lock, but the arm broke at the elbow. Arturus moved his hold further down the arm, grabbing the wrist at the end of the limp appendage. He broke that too, spinning back around—and then took the sword out of its undead hand.
He looked to the undead mass.
Now you all fall.
Arturus struck out with the gladius again and again, his father’s training guiding his blade. The corpses before him fell, one after the other, helpless before his sword. He started slicing at the ones in front of Aaron and Johnny. Suddenly Arturus and his friends weren’t being pushed back anymore. They were gaining ground. Arturus’ heart beat as he continued the slaughter. Hope and adrenalin filled his veins.
Then he looked up.
The corpses were coming towards them like a tide. He had thought there might be hundreds of thousands in the Deadlands, but he had obviously underestimated their number. No amount of killing would save them. He would simply drop from exhaustion before the dead stopped coming.
“Father!” Arturus shouted.
“Almost,” Galen answered.
He could hear the sound of metal on metal. Arturus had no idea what his father was using to try and pry the lock open. However, he did notice when his father stopped prying and switched to bashing.
Arturus turned his attention back to the tide.
Come on then.
Arturus renewed his efforts. He struck straight forward to make sure he didn’t hurt his friends beside him. He stabbed the corpses in the face, in the chest, in the gut, all with quick snaking strikes.
“In,” Galen finally ordered. “Everyone in.”
The gate had been opened. Arturus ran through it. Johnny hopped in behind Avery. Aaron and Kelly followed.
Galen slammed the gate into the mass of corpses. “Use your weight!”
Arturus reached out, pushing forward. Aaron was beside him. The corpses’ hands were on Arturus, reaching in through the gate. Their mouths tried to bite at his fingers. Frantically, Arturus slid his hand up and down the bars to keep them safe while he stabbed at the corpses with his sword.
Aaron gave out a painful shout and pulled back, one of his fingers bloodied.
Galen tied his MP5’s shoulder strap around the center of the gate. Any fool could undo the knot, or cut it, but the corpses were less than fools. They simply pushed forward.
“Their weight will be too much.” Galen warned. “Farther back. We have to leave their sight so they stop pressing.”
Arturus ran down a tight stone corridor. The gate’s tunnel had been dug into the hill. It turned to the right and emptied out into a room. The room was full of sarcophagi and what looked to Arturus like iron maidens. Hooks, most covered with dried, black blood, lined the walls and hung from the ceiling. Rusted tools, cutting implements mostly, lay about.
From the thick layers of dust, Arturus guessed that whatever this place had been, it had stopped being it long ago.
There were two doorways leading out of that room. Galen ran through one, and they followed him. The room it led to had no exits. Galen ran back and tried the other. Also a dead end.
No way to get back to the vyn tunnels.
Galen ran to one of the contraptions on the wall. They looked like shackles. With a heave, Galen ripped a pair down.
“Wait here,” he ordered. “I’m going to secure the door.”
Martin and Graham slowed to a jog, rifles raised as they entered the chamber with the Golden Door. They stopped in the middle of the room. The Harpsborough hunters entered in their wake, spreading out all around them. Half blinded from sweat, Martin ran a hand over his forehead and eyes to clear his vision. He had never expected to see this.
A crew of Infidel Friend were standing there, decked out in their armor, M-16 assault rifles pointed at his men. Molly was there, her face a mask of confidence. Martin had never seen that look on her before. But Ellen was there too, that nice little girl that lived with Rick and spent time with Turi. And Rick himself, and Massan. Shit, even Alice.
Holy hell. What have I gotten myself into?
It wasn’t just that he knew that the Infidel Friend could probably slaughter his men, it was that he didn’t even know if he could bring himself to shoot at Alice, Rick, Massan or Ellen.
What the hell are they doing with Infidel Friend?
“No one moves!” Martin shouted.
“You,” Graham’s voice was filled with hate.
He had spotted Molly.
“Hold your fire!” Martin’s voice cracked as he shouted. “No one moves, and no one shoots.”
He took stock of his men. They looked nervous. Worse than nervous—they were scared shitless. One of them could accidently fire at any moment.
I can’t let that happen.
The Infidel Friend seemed completely unfazed. Martin didn’t have to worry about his enemies starting this—unless they actually wanted blood.
Please, we don’t want a fight.
“Stay calm,” Martin tried to keep his voice from cracking this time, but it cracked anyway. “We’re going to talk this out. No one shoots. You hear me, Graham? No one shoots.”
Graham’s eyes were fixed on Molly.
Guy’s losing it.
“That’s our key,” Martin said, pointing to the golden item in the diminutive infidel’s hand.
The smaller of the two female infidels nodded, her green eyes focusing on Martin. “It is.”
She held the key up before her, then placed it in the keyhole . . . and turned it. Martin heard the Golden Doors unlock. The woman made no move to open them though.
She removed the key and tossed it to him. Graham jerked, but the man managed to stop himself from firing. Martin caught the key and pocketed it. When he looked back at the infidels he noticed that their demeanor had not changed—it was just that two of them were now pointing their assault rifles straight at Graham.
God damn we’re outmatched. But we outnumber them four to one, maybe. We should win. Right?
The infidels were covered in body armor, and they were notoriously quick shots. His men were protected by little more than hoodies. They’d have to get head shots to win, probably. Worse than that, his men were armed with 700 bolt action Remington rifles. The infidels were carrying semi-automatics.
Push better not come to shove.
“No one moves,” Martin ordered. “Ellen, Rick, Massan—Alice. I want you to come over here.”
They didn’t obey him. They drew closer together around Rick.
“We’re going to lock that door,” Graham said. “And then we’re going to take our people into custody. If you don’t comply—”
“Quiet, Graham!” Martin shouted.
Graham kept his rifle trained on Molly. His nostrils flared with his anger.
“She’s an outlaw,” Graham said. “She needs to be tried. And these people,” he motioned towards Rick and his huddle of former Harpsborough people. “They should be tried too, to determine if they’re guilty.”
“Stand down, Graham.” Martin shouted.
“You’re breaking the law of the Fore!” Graham insisted. “These are infidels. They’re evil, and our people are with them. This must be stopped.”
The small female infidel was watching them with a cruel detachment.
Well they sure as hell ain’t afraid of us now. Nice united front there, Graham.
“I’m the acting Lead Hunter,” Martin told him, “so my word is the Fore’s law. Now stand the fuck down.”
“You stand down,” Graham shouted, and suddenly the rifle was pointed at Martin. “It’s clear what’s to be done. Hux, take his
weapon.”
The infidel woman cocked her head to one side.
Huxley drew his pistol and pointed it at Graham. “Martin’s going to run this show.”
Thank you, Hux. Jesus fucking Christ, thank you.
Graham slowly lowered his rifle.
There was the sound of stone grating on stone, and then Martin thought he could hear metal gears, or a winch, or something of that sort.
“I said no one moves!” Martin screamed.
But no one was moving. Everyone had frozen still. Even the infidels seemed confused.
It’s the grate. There is a grate behind the Golden Door. It’s being raised. But how?
Martin looked at the chain which the Harpsborough people used to open the grate. It was still, and no one was standing near it.
The noise stopped.
The Golden Doors burst open.
Martin heard Ellen’s gasp.
Cris stood there, in as arrogant a posture as Martin thought a man could hold, dressed in full body armor like the other infidels. Like his compatriots, he had an M-16, though it was slung across his back. Whatever wounds he’d had before appeared to have healed. Cris crossed his arms over his chest and leaned up against the doorway.
Martin felt dumbstruck. “You.”
A grin spread across Cris’ face as he looked over Martin and the Harpsborough hunters. “Ya’ll fuckers miss me?”
“Don’t go down that hallway,” Arturus warned Kelly. “The corpses will see you and try to break in.” He knelt down by Johnny and inspected the man’s foot. “There are some tables in here. Some of their wood isn’t rotten. We’ll be able to make a splint.”
Johnny nodded, his breath labored. The man was obviously in some pain.
“I can’t believe you ran on that,” Aaron said.
“It didn’t hurt at the time,” Johnny replied through clenched teeth.
“Adrenalin.” Avery’s voice was also strained. “Brought me through it too.”
Johnny’s swelling was coming up over the top of the boot.
Arturus shook his head. “I’m going to have to cut the boot off. I’ll show you how to sew it up like Galen did to mine when you can get it back on.”
March till Death (Hellsong Book 3) Page 11