by CW Tickner
‘Be careful though, sir,’ another guard said to Damen as he and Harl ducked under a carved archway into the next room. ‘Been a scuttler roaming those parts. Could be a nest near the door. Ain’t had no luck trying to locate and block its burrow hole yet though.’
‘What’s a scuttler?’ Harl asked.
‘A nasty brute,’ Damen said. ‘Long, armoured beastie. Difficult to hunt. They move low to the ground and have got more legs than a pack of hivers.’ He indicated the height just above his knees with a hand. ‘They’ve tough segmented armour and can take a great deal of punishment before dying. Let us hope we don’t come across it.’
Harl wasn’t sure he liked the idea of meeting something Damen didn’t want to hunt.
The weather turned when they left the scout post. Rain began to fall and the landscape was soon masked by the thunderous deluge. As the storm grew in intensity the sound of hammering raindrops on rocks and soil drowned out everything. The ground became treacherous and moss turned into a slippery hazard as it absorbed the water.
Harl thought only of Sonora and the baby as he tried to fight off the biting cold that threatened to freeze him. He’d been soaked through plenty of times in his own world. When the dark cycle had come, he often used to step out into the blanket of dark and walk along enjoying the feel of the water coursing down over him. Out here it was different, though. The temperature varied day by day. He shivered as the wind whipped around him and rain lashed against his face. He found himself desperate to reach the doorway and slip back into the Aylen’s lair, if only to get out of the rain. He laughed at the idea. How long ago had it been that he was desperate to leave? Not long. And now here he was longing for that grey world once again. It was a strange thing to realise.
After a time the forest came to an end and the giant door stretched up ahead of them into sky. Rain whipped down around them and clouds churned above the Aylen’s lair. It made for grim forebodings.
Reaching the base of the door, Damen raised his hand to signal a stop and they craned their necks to take in the unnatural sight. It was a dull grey colour similar to the rest of the building, as if hewn from a single block. Stretching far on either side of them, it formed a sheer cliff the height of five hundred men one atop the other. Rain flooded down its surface until it almost looked like a waterfall.
A cracking rustle from behind made them all spin around. Some of the group must have known the sound as they spun and levelled their rifles before Damen could call out the order. Rain dripped from the rifle barrels as the men slowly shuffled into a line.
‘Form up,’ Damen ordered.
Harl didn’t have long to wonder what was making the crackling sound.
‘Scuttler!’ Damen cursed as the group tightened up around Harl who, standing next to Kane, didn’t miss the look of worry that crossed his face.
A long, sinuous body emerged from a clump of moss across the clearing and thrashed its way out between the last thick grass stalks of the forest. It was jet black and the height of a man’s knee joint, with segmented armour plates running along the length of its body and then down its tail, which stretched back ten paces behind it. Dozens of stumpy legs scurried beneath the body, but the armour wrapped down so close to the ground that the creature’s legs hardly showed. It wound its way out into the open and Harl noticed the serrated pincers at its mouth that curved like jagged sickles. The cracking noise had come from the pincers grinding against each other.
‘Can you hold it?’ Kane asked Damen, grabbing his pistol with shaking hands.
‘I hope so. Depends how long it takes to cut through the door.’ Damen looked meaningfully at two men with lances strapped across their backs. They dropped their rifles, unslung one lance, and then set to work on the door. ‘The rest of you, slowly back up towards the door, eyes front.’
The scuttler didn’t rush forwards, it weaved around in front of them as if probing for weakness from another angle.
Harl glanced behind. The lancers were levering the point under the door. They drew the lance upwards to carve a vertical line up from the base of the door. As they began to pull the lance sideways, Harl’s attention whipped back to the front.
‘Fire on! Damen called and the men unleashed a torrent of non-stop fire.
The scuttler reacted to the voice, somehow sensing peril. It dashed forward, low to the ground, and wound directly for the men surrounding the lancers. Blue shots flickered towards the creature, but each impact left only burnt patches on the creature’s dark armour plates. One or two hit its legs, causing it to stumble, but with so many feet to support it there was little effect.
In a burst of speed the scuttler raced forwards. It moved so swiftly along the rank of men that they had little time to react. Pincers snapped at their legs as they stumbled back to avoid it. The scuttler caught one man’s leg in its jaws and dragged him screaming from the line. His fingers clawed at the ground, leaving scratch marks in the boggy soil as the creature thrashed him from side to side.
‘We’re through!’ one of the lancers yelled.
Harl glanced back at the door and saw the two men throwing their packs through into the shop. He had to buy them time.
Dropping his pistol, he pulled out his sword, activated it and shouted, ‘Hold fire!’ To his surprise the men obeyed, even as their comrade was flung left and right in the scuttler’s pincers.
Harl ran out from the ragged line as the scuttler was busy with its prey. He slid past the creature’s head as it swung its victim around. The soldier screamed as the scuttler’s jaws tore into skin and bone.
Harl side-stepped the creature’s head as it whipped past and then swung the blade down into its plated back. The weapon bit deep, melting through the armour plating as the beast screeched and thrashed around looking for the source of pain.
Damen pulled his short sword out and broke formation to join Harl.
Thinking the mouth was occupied, Harl had not accounted for the tail end. It whipped round after his blow and knocked him sprawling to the floor. The scuttler wasted no time in turning on Harl. It thrashed its head to send the mangled soldier flying and then reared up above Harl, its pincers clicking in rage.
He threw his arms up in a feeble effort to stop the razored mandibles, but, as the scuttler’s head thrust down towards him, Damen swept his short sword in front, severing both pincers. Thick black liquid sprayed out, putrid droplets coating Harl, as the thing writhed away from him seeking safety.
Damen shouted again for “fire on”, and blasts of bright blue trailed the scuttler back into the undergrowth.
‘Cease fire,’ Damen ordered and a silence descended. He moved over to inspect the broken, lifeless body of the soldier, before turning back to Harl. ‘Quick thinking,’ was all he said.
Kane moved to the fallen man, knelt and closed the eyelids. ‘We should bury him.’
‘Bury him?’ Harl said, perplexed. ‘Why? The scuttler will just sniff him out and dig him up, plus we need to get inside before it returns. We can’t risk losing any more of us.’
Uman spoke up when Kane said nothing.
‘It’s our way,’ he said, ‘We bury the dead to honour them.’
Harl walked a few paces away while they went to work, sword clutched in hand. He didn’t want anyone else to die, but he knew that it was an impossible dream. They were fighting an enemy far more powerful than they were.
Death was inevitable.
Chapter 54
They have societal tendencies and have organised into a structure of leaders and workers. They are not like queens and drone workers, instead they have much deeper individual traits.
After the man had been buried, they strode through the newly cut hole at the base of the Aylen door, while two guards kept watch for the scuttler’s return. It was much dimmer inside the shop than Harl remembered. Perhaps he’d just got used to how bright the sunlight was outside? But whether that was true or not, the dim light made the place feel sinister and cold. The only light came from the l
ong bulb high up in the ceiling. It was the same as the lights in Delta but on a scale a hundred times bigger.
Looking up at the distant roof, he felt a sudden sense of compression, as if the roof could fall on him at any moment. It was strange that after living under a roof for so long, he now felt oppressed by it. He couldn’t understand it. All his life he’d been bound by walls and a roof, but now stepping into the shop had brought the weight and magnitude of those walls crushing down on him. His breath became laboured and he had to make an effort to calm himself.
They were standing in a short corridor to the side of the tanks. A bare wall ran ahead on their right to a corner that cut back in front. Harl couldn’t see the archway from where he was standing, but the light from the tanks glowed from around the corner, like an eerie hint of the horrors they were about to discover.
The side walls of the tanks to their left were dark, the same black, featureless barriers as he had grown up with on the inside. He found it horrifying that people on the inside of those barriers had no idea what lay beyond them. They had no way of telling that life existed anywhere else and that there was someone on the outside trying to save them.
He craned his head back to look up at the tanks. How many lives were contained in those worlds? How much pain? How much suffering? He shook his head and lowered his eyes. He was here now though and if he could help those inside find freedom then it would not be a wasted journey.
Damen led the way along the base of the tank wall. There wasn’t an overhang along this side of the tanks because the plinth came right down to the ground, so they had to jog along in plain sight and hope that they weren’t spotted. Damen raised his fist when they reached the corner, signalling a stop. He stood with his back to the tanks and peered around the corner into the corridor beyond. Harl crept forward until he was beside the hunter and then inched his head out into the open.
The wall of worlds rose at their side like a giant cliff made from light. The archway opposite was a cavern of darkness in comparison. An Aylen stood at the far end of the passageway. It was impossible for it to see them in their current position, but just knowing it was there sent shivers down Harl’s spine. The giant was staring into one of the tanks as it tapped a finger against the thick glass front.
Harl stared up at the tanks. There was no sign of movement up there, not that he’d expected any. The threat came from the Aylen. Everything depended on the creature staying out of their way until they were safely inside the tank.
Damen stepped away from the corner and signalled for the men to gather round.
‘Safe for now,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s get moving.’
Uman nodded and then tapped the nearest tank with his knuckle as if testing it for strength. He would be the first to scale the sheer wall. The idea was to climb up and plunge a melting-dagger into the side of the tank. He’d then attach a rope and drop the free end down so that the next man could climb up and repeat the process.
Harl watched as the scout dropped his pack and took out two blades. He then eyed the climb for a moment before selecting a length of rope from his pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Craning his neck, Uman took another look at the smooth black cliff, then shrugged and stepped up to the sheer face.
He turned the blades on and plunged one low down to use as a foothold. Stepping onto it, he reached up and dug a second blade in. He used it to grip and pull himself high enough to stick a third blade in before leaning down to retrieve the foothold.
He repeated the movements, getting more economical as each blade was pulled out and pushed in. After a time, Uman had scaled so high up the vast black barrier that Harl had to strain his neck to see him. A rope dropped down to where he’d set off, and a moment later Uman came sliding down to the base.
‘Ouch,’ he said, tearing off his leather gloves and blowing on his hands. ‘It’s in. Careful on coming down. It gets a bit hot.’ This last remark was to another man who was about to make the climb.
Once all the ropes were set, the lancers climbed up. Harl and Damen followed close behind them to oversee cutting the hole. Harl tried not to look down. The drop was disorientating and, with only ropes to hold him up, he felt that any simple error would plunge him to his death. He doggedly clasped one hand over the other until the swinging lessened nearer the top.
He looked up and saw that the lancers were struggling to get the lance in at the right angle. They had to place a couple of knives higher up the wall and attach more ropes so that they could swing further out to add their weight to the lance. It slid in easily after that and they cut a small hole into the tank. It was barely big enough for a man to fit through, but the lancers were shaking with exhaustion by the time they had finished the rough circle. They strained at an awkward angle, but eventually the block slid through.
’Urgh!’ the closest lancer complained as the block fell inwards, landing with a thud inside.
‘What is it?’ Damen asked, levelling himself with the hole. By now most of the team were at the top of the ropes, eagerly anticipating what lay inside. The hole had been cut a stride above head height and where the ground should have been was a mass of white and black. Thousands of cattle were spread between the walls, creating a sea of animal backs. There was barely any space between them. He poked his head through and gagged at the putrid smell. The ground was a foot deep with cow waste. He yanked his head out and gulped fresh air into his lungs before steeling himself and lowering himself down into the tank.
His feet squelched down into the muck as he landed. Cattle shied away from him, but there was little space for them to move around in as the tank seemed far smaller than his own world had been. The cows were packed around him so tightly that there was barely any space to move.
‘Worse than a dead body,’ Kane said as he dropped down into the tank. ‘Food for the main product, I assume. There must be thousands in here. I wonder how they feed...’ He stopped short, looking towards the back of the tank.
Harl followed his gaze and saw an enormous metal funnel clamped to the back wall. Its widest opening was close to the roof, while it narrowed towards the base before splitting into pipelines that ran along the floor of the tank towards the glass front. The pipes had their tops cut out to form huge troughs, and each trough was split into two lanes, one holding water, the other a few scattered slops of what Kane, after boldly dipping a hand in, identified as grain.
‘Let’s get through this nightmare,’Damen urged. ‘We’re too easy to spot among all these cattle.’
They barged their way through the narrow gaps between the cows, pushing against the distraught animals as they made their way across the tank. It was difficult and dangerous progress. The cattle were strong and skittish. Any sudden move and they shoved back or kicked out with a leg.
‘So, if they have worlds full of cows,’ Harl said, ‘does that mean there are worlds full of corn?’
Kane looked thoughtful for a moment, but when he opened his mouth to answer Damen’s gruff voice cut him off.
‘What’s the noise?’
‘Cows,’ Kane said, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
Damen ignored the reply and turned to face the funnel at the back of the tank. A rumbling noise grew from the metal construction and the cows shifted round to stare at it. Movement rippled through the herd as they bumped and jostled against each other. At first it was a gentle heave then the press got tighter and the animals snorted in desperation to reach the nearest trough. Lowing erupted around Harl and the men, as the cattle struggled to move. A cow barrelled into Harl as they began to stampede. He tumbled into the muck and slid head first along the ground as hooves stomped around him. He scrambled to his feet, just dodging another cow as it charged him.
Damen yelled something to his men, but his words were overwhelmed by the lowing cattle. Harl spun in place, knocked and jostled as the animals rushed to get to their feed.
‘Go,’ Damen shouted as Harl was knocked to the ground again. He cried out as a cow’s hooves cr
ushed down on his legs, but all he could do was slip in the sludge as he tried to stand.
A hand gripped his bag by the strap and hauled him up from the muck. Harl found himself looking into Damen’s dirty beard, but then Damen turned away as another man disappeared under the press of warm furry bodies.
Damen raised his rifle.
‘Fire!’ he shouted ‘Clear a path.’
Someone must have heard him among the screams and lows as blue flashes lit up the space between the animals.
It worked fast. The cows raced out of their way, tripping in panic as Damen hurdled over one of the troughs and led the men towards the front of the tank. When they reached the glass, they turned and sprinted towards the far barrier. Kane slipped and went down under the cattle, but Damen fought his way back a few paces to haul him up as the last of the cattle fled.
‘Thanks,’ Kane said, wiping the grime off his once white coat.
Exhausted, they collapsed against the black barrier separating the worlds. Harl tried to clean himself as best he could while two men wrestled with the melting lance to push it through the thick wall. The lance kept slipping in their filth-covered hands, so it was slow going, but it lurched through, suddenly, as the tip reached the other side, and they began the careful process of cutting the hole that would allow them to escape the putrid smell of manure.
It was an anxious wait. When the circle was complete, Damen nodded to the two men and they pushed on the free section of wall to shove it through to the other side.
Nothing happened.
‘It ain’t going through,’ one of them said. He braced his feet and heaved at the circle.
More men joined the struggle, putting all their weight into it but to no avail.
‘Pull it towards us?’ Kane suggested.
The lancers melted their way to a point in the centre of the circle and switched off the lance. They braced themselves and then tugged backwards. The block shifted in place and then slid towards them and dropped down into the muck with a sloppy boom.