Using the sharp end of his pole, he cut a line around the base and another slightly higher. Peeling the bark off carefully, he rolled it into a tight bundle before repeating the process a few more times. The bundle itself was relatively tight, but he knew that it would fall apart into ashes as it was set alight.
He lifted off his body the loop of wire that held the cutting device. The cutter was still attached, and he inspected it for any damage. Satisfied, he placed the spearhead inside the rolls of bark before wrapping a length of wire tightly around the bundle. The cutter blazed for a moment separating the wire from the loop. Fingers carefully bent the shortened length to hang the tool around his neck next to the tooth.
Spear tightened the metal line on the makeshift light before inspecting his handiwork. The tight bundle looked as though it would hold at least until it burned down far enough to fall off.
Activating the cutter again, Spear ignited the end of the bundle. He watched it smoke for a moment before it settling into a stable orange flame.
Satisfied he smiled at his creation.
Spear turned to face the entrance and hesitated. His confidence faded, but he forced himself to step forward. The dancing yellow light lit a short radius of the darkness beyond. Each movement was a tentative dance between fear and courage.
Turning, Spear realized that no matter what happened, the entrance he had used was just right behind him. If he needed to run back or lost the light, he would at least know where he was and what direction he needed to escape.
Moving more confidently with that idea, he kept the light on the ground in front of him. The breeze had built to a gentle wind. It carried the familiar sound of dripping water. Occasionally he surveyed the roof for the source of the dripping but could not seem to find it.
Lowering the torch to the ground, he checked for tripping hazards and rocks. After a while, he encountered a pile of debris from the collapse of the tunnels roof. It was enough to give him pause and reinforce the feeling that he did not want to be inside for very long. The debris field was easy to cross and after climbing down, he continued.
A straight shadow crossed in front of him, and he stopped abruptly, waiting for the unexpected to lunge at him from the darkness beyond. When it did not, he leaned in closer, waving the torch over the ground. A thin cable ran tightly across the hard packed ground. He would have likely tripped over it had he not been carrying the torch so near the ground.
Spear wondered if he should remove it with the cutter, or leave it be? Others, just like himself, would later need to come through, and they would likely trip in the dark only to lose their own torches and be stranded alone and blind in the dark.
Following the cable to the side, he noticed that it looped through a small metal ring before ascending to the ceiling. Lifting the torch on the end of his long spear, he traced it to directly above him.
A cylinder, covered in metal spikes was affixed to the ceiling, and impaled on those were what looked like parts of other units.
Spear froze as his eyes identified at least three torso's, and at least one head. The mouth was lolled open in a silent scream, capturing the last moment of the units life.
He wanted to run blindly from the cave, but fear kept him firmly planted, and likely saved his life.
It was a trap!
A cruel and obvious trap, and one which had been recently reset. Spear's hands shook with the idea that someone was killing inside the darkness. He contemplated again leaving the way he had come, but the breeze that flickered at his torch promised an escape. The outcome seemed to outweigh the risk, but only barely.
Swinging the torch to the floor again, he carefully stepped over the tripwire before continuing. Each unidentified stone or pile of dirt became a threat. As he rounded a curve, he looked back at the entrance he had come from, and its far away light seemed like an insurmountable distance, and the arc of the wall was beginning to blot out its hopeful sunshine.
Turning back to follow the flow of air, he continued to progress until he encountered a pit. Again his low slung torch highlighted the rough edge of a drop off he would not have noticed in the dark. It was more than likely he could have plummeted over the edge.
Lowering the torch down inside, Spear could see the tips of crude metal spikes rising from the bottom. Most of these were hooked as though to ensure whatever had impaled on them could not be easily extracted. They were as tall as he was and tightly packed. There was little chance of surviving a fall.
Against the middle, a metal support beam sat in the perfect position to cross. Spear imagined that any travelers in the dark, who missed being crushed would have been feeling along the smooth walls. They likely would not have noticed the small bridge in the dark, only to plunge to their death on the rusted spikes.
Pressing on the small metal bridge with his feet, he tested the strength. It looked more than capable of holding his weight, and he could see across, but he was wary that it was another less obvious trap.
Setting his courage, he stepped onto the beam and shuffled across with one foot in front of the other. With each step he expected the trap to be sprung, or to be struck off by something looming in the dark.
Inching towards the opposite side he closed the gap in a glacial dance of fear and apprehension. Eventually, he stepped to the edge of the makeshift bridge, scouring the ground for any more traps or suspect material. Satisfied that there was nothing he stepped off and turned and looked back.
Spear considered the fact that the pit would have taken a lot of effort and time to build. Whatever the builder’s original plans had been they were not to help.
Speak now only had one goal, to get as far away from the Master as possible. These cruel traps would only help him if the guards were still tracking him.
The torch sputtered and coughed and Spear stared at it for a moment judging how much time was left before he was abandoned to the darkness. Most of its material was burned, and he increased his pace carefully, chastising himself for being so cautious and slow.
After stepping around some smaller pitfalls, and finding yet another trip wire he felt the breeze change direction. Watching the flickering light change shape with the wind, he turned to his left, tracking the now steady wind.
The howling air was erupting through a small doorway. Panning the torch around the frame, Spear determined that no trap existed, and stepped through. A short hallway allowed a square of light to poked out from another similar doorway further down on the right side of a long hall.
Hesitantly he crept forward. The short distance to the outside was encouraging, but the tighter space meant less of a probability of escape.
Spear noticed that the floor was perfectly smooth as though made from one piece of flat stone. The fact that the hallway was better lit and was easier to see that there were no traps seemed to lift his courage.
His feet extended carefully, placing each foot down silently. The slow creep forward brought him to the doorway. The burned roll of tree bark disintegrated, dropping to the floor in a shower of silent sparks and ashes.
Spear tensed waiting for something from the darkness to come bounding out, but after a moment, he relaxed letting the light flooding from the door guide him. Approaching the door, he peered out.
Sunlight streamed in, and the calm, bright world outside awaited.
He checked the doorframe again for any traps or tripwires before stepping outside into the sun, relieved to be alive but apprehensive about what lay beyond.
Chapter 19
Spear stepped back into the light of day and sighed with relief. Looking up at the trees he had never been so happy to see the sky. The sound of the flying beasts and wind in the tall trees almost erased the fear he had been suppressing the entire time in the tunnel.
He could see to his right that the complete front of the tunnel had collapsed, and it had only been by luck that the side door, which he had just exited, was not covered by the same rubble.
“What do we have here?” a rough el
ectronic voice taunted.
Spear turned towards the speaker, and could see a group of four units of varying size and form watching him. A partially disassembled body that was tossed to the ground, lifeless and unmoving.
Two of the units looked similar to Spear. Save for the colored markings on their faces, and some damage they seemed like himself. One of the other two was built more box like and heavy. Plated metal had been bolted on and covered most of the unit. It may have once been like the others but it now no longer resembled anything similar other than them both being bipedal.
The fourth was tall; the limbs looked as though they had been cut fused and extended. Multiple types of metal seemed interwoven, and the blue hue of heated and cooled metal highlighted each weld.
Each of them held various tools and implements, but none of them seemed like they would be used in repairs. Just recycling bodies.
Spear stared at them realizing that they were moving in to surround him. He considered for a moment diving back in the hallway. Maybe they would be clumsy enough to set off a trap, but Spear realized that the torch had burned through. He would have been lucky to survive a fight in the dark, let alone a trip back through the tunnel. At the root of it, he knew there was no other direction to go.
“How old are you?” the unit with black face paint asked.
He stood tall and silent, brandishing the spear. They were flanking him now. He stepped towards the middle of the path, keeping the rubble pile to his back. Knowing that there would be a fight he tossed the loops of wire and his cutter to the side.
“Your older than we would prefer, but you will do,” The orange face paint said.
“Come with us,” they motioned to the table, “Let's talk. We will be nice. We can be friends. We won’t hurt you. I promise.” Large wide smiles covered their faces.
Spear could see the table was covered with tools and parts. The most disturbing component is what looked like skulls from other units. He shook his head to decline their offer.
The black painted face motioned with his hand for them to advance, “Keep him alive. Just take the limbs this time.”
The orange one lunged at him from the left with a thick hammer swinging wildly, and Spear jumped backward feeling the heavy weight graze him. The attacking unit spun as the momentum carried it in an arc. Motion to his right brought his arm up instinctively blocking a chopping blow by a heavy edged hatchet. His already bent forearm reverberated with the impact and sparks glanced off. The armored unit had closed the gap with a faster than expected pace and was following up his attack by trying to grab at Spear with thick, powerful hands.
A memory of Three-Seven-One's death flashed across Spear's mind.
Rolling sideways in the dirt, Spear bought himself some space.
He snapped a look to his left seeing the black painted leader and then dropped to a roll to avoid yet another grab.
Spear knew he would have to even the odds quickly if he was to escape this group. Using his momentum, he stood and lunged forward, picking the leader. Spear's sharp pole exploded outwards, glancing off the cheek of the painted units face. It missed its mark but caught the unit's cheek cracking the yellowed plastic.
“My face!” the black body screamed stepping backward for a moment. Metal hands reached up and cupped the flap of plastic before anger welled up. The leader charged forward swinging a hefty wrench at Spear. The metal brushed Spear's shoulder as he rolled again, this time away from the group, searching for more room to maneuver.
Now away from the doorway, he could see the full spectrum of the gang’s damages. Piles of dismembered bodies lay on the side of the trail. Each in a state of disassembly.
No one escaped the traps inside.
Spear realized how outmatched he was, but there was nowhere to go. He could run, but they would only give chase. They wanted him for parts. Parts he was not willing to give up easily.
The four attackers realized that their prey would not be easy captured, hesitated for a moment. Turning they looked at the impossibly tall skinny unit, its substantial modifications whined as the attachments to its arms began projecting blue light.
“Kill him, but try to keep the head this time," the black paint said. His cruel laughter rang out.
Spear stepped forward for momentum, twisted his body, and threw his sharpened pole as hard as he could. The long shaft flexed as it cut the air towards its target.
The sharp point carved into and then through the armor less chest of the tall unit before becoming stuck half of the way out of its back.
The distorted body staggered just as the energy projectors grafted on its arms ignited at full power.
Spear had seen cutters like these before. The Master's tools had been used countless times to fall trees in a single wave of an arm or butcher a resistant unit.
In this case, the lack of direction from the flailing aggressor carved up the nearby armored unit from hip to neck, cleaving it into two pieces. The twin beams swung wide as they continued to project outwards, severing the top of orange face’s head as well as a multitude of trees behind him. The blue tinted fluid from his orange head splashed to the ground steaming in the dirt.
Spear dropped and instantly flattened himself to the ground as the beam passed above him before it veering away burning nearby ground, and cliff wall.
The black painted unit turned and watched in horror as the deformed body fell backward driving the spear back out of the chest in a shower of sparks. The cutting light disappeared fading as quick as it had started.
“Well… I did not expect that when I woke up today,” the painted face looking at Spear. The torn plastic flapped with the motion.
Bending down the leader grasped the hammer from the nearby lobotomised orange face, and stepped forward, “Now you don’t have anything to defend yourself with.”
Spear held his ground. Everything in him told him to run, to hide to escape, but he knew that he would be doing so for the rest of his life if he didn’t save himself today.
The hammer raised, and swung in a downward arc towards Spear's head. Stepping to the side, it passed by his body, thundering into the ground kicking up small stones. Spear lashed out grabbing at his enemy’s face and pulling hard.
The plastic came free as the face underneath it felt the pain of the tearing. Spear did not stay to watch the unit writhe in pain, dropping its hammer. He ran for the fallen deformed unit. Closing the gap, he stepped up onto the fallen's chest and pulled as hard as he could at the spear lodged there.
Keeping a watchful eye on the last unit, Spear grunted and felt the metal slide and groan.
A hand wrapped around his ankle and Spear looked down to notice that the scaffolded bot was no longer out of commission. The horizon shifted.
Spear smashed into the dirt and felt gravity reverse as he landed on his back, only to feel thrown forward again. His arms came up to protect his face.
Each thumping seemed to bend more and more of his body. He could feel each joint rattling with the consecutive impacts. The deformed unit rose to its feet and swung him one more time towards the ground, and for a brief moment, the body of the dead heavy armored unit flashed in his face. Spear grabbed randomly onto the remains, clinging to it. When the distorted bot pulled, the extra weight kept Spear on the ground. Long arms strained, but without leverage, they could not lift him.
The grip came off Spear's leg, and the tall unit stumbled in its efforts to remain standing. It pulled the pipe from its chest and tossed it into the trees before stepping forward.
The tall unit towered over Spear.
Pulling himself to his feet, Spear sprinted towards the tree line, knowing he was beaten. Something heavy hit him from behind. The black face had tackled him, pushing him into the dirt, “Don’t run. We’re just getting started!”
“Cutter! Get his legs!”
Spear struggled, but couldn’t seem to get the leverage to stand; he pressed his arms upwards, but the weight on him had his body pinned.
�
��This is going to be a lot of fun draining you. A hand pressed on the back of his head, grinding the side of his face into the dark stones.
Spear could hear a cutting tool charging. He knew there was no way to get out of this. He continued to struggle, but the practiced captor held him steady.
The whine grew, and Spear could feel the air crackle. He continued to struggle against his captor, but all he could think about was that the sound was wrong.
The whine had increased into an uncontrolled high pitch scream before there was a quiet popping noise. A wave of heat passed over them and bits of metal and fluid scattered across the ground. Black face turned, and Spear could feel the leverage change. Taking advantage of the moment, he too turned, and bucked, twisting his body to wrap an arm around the units defaced head. Metal fists pounded on his body, but Spear tightened his grip under the leader's chin and hooked a leg over a shoulder, blocking the other flailing hand with his knee.
Pulling hard, Spear extended his back and heard the wet suction he was hoping for. The black face’s brain cavity extracted from the connection in the neck. The fighting body immediately went limp.
Spear opened his eye, and could see that the exaggerated unit had been charging the cutting device, but the damage done earlier had caused a small explosion in his chest. The tall unit lay separated into multiple limbs divided by a great deal of space.
Releasing the body of his attacker, Spear looked around guiltily.
He had killed four units!
Four more lives had been taken, and for what? He had no reason other than to defend himself.
Frustrated Spear stood. He wanted to yell and ask the dead units why. Spear wanted to tell them that he hadn't wanted to do it but now had neither the voice nor the opportunity.
He dropped to his knees and sobbed silently, gripping his hands into fists. The world was worse than Spear had ever expected. The fear of the Master harvesting him for a small failure seemed to be so infantile in comparison to fearing everyone he had met so far. For a moment he considered turning around and going back; Going back for her. The Water Carrier was the only one alive who had been kind to him, and he abandoned her only to save himself.
Spear's Journey Page 8