by Chris Turner
Jingin unlocked a side gate and pulled back a set of steel-plated doors. Eyes glinted in greedy anticipation at the racks of weapons.
His henchmen trained air rifles on the restless mob. “Wait your turn, greedy guts,” said Jingin. Several prodded the dozen or so prisoners toward stacked weaponry.
There came a mad rush of unwanteds from the pit side to the shelves, on which stood scores of clubs, knives, daggers, truncheons, twisted and beat-up scimitars, every grisly hand weapon imaginable.
Miko elbowed his way through the throng and hefted a short flat sword with a ball-shaped tommyknocker on the end and a heavy handle, good for clubbing. He selected a compact javelin with triangular spearhead, pocketing a light but wicked-edged poniard. Fenli grabbed up a sturdy truncheon and mace and machete. Usk, recognizing his opportunity, snatched two daggers, which were light and easy for him to clutch in his pincer.
Miko saw rapt eyes gleaming in the dimness. How long would these deviants, like those from the prison cell, stay loyal to their cause given new weapons and new parameters in this forced service?
“To make things more interesting,” began Drek, “everything will be recorded, so that my sister and I can revisit hours of entertainment. You will be immortalized. Heroes on film! First one brings down the utility barrier wins.”
Miko cried, “You expect primitive weapons to take on modern tech?” Dragar and Murlag cried in agreement.
“The fish speaks true,” claimed Myx, Dragar’s surly, ugly, bronze-helmed captain.
“Easy as pie,” said Fenli.
Drek sneered and tossed his head in annoyance. “Not that I’m giving you rascals any ideas or strategies. But best to kill your opposition.”
“Bazrad killed eight men before the Torox got him,” roared a two-toothed man with blackened cheeks and a bloody scarf wrapped around his head.
“What’s a Torox?” demanded Miko.
“You’ll see. Let’s just say, it’s why they call this place ‘Skull Rocks’.” Beardly gave a sinister laugh.
“You are too macabre, sister,” grunted Drek. He cleared his throat. “The things I do for entertainment amongst the rats and filth. So, how do you like it, fish? Many men have met their destiny here. I have shown them the way!”
There came a chorus of crazy, ecstatic shouts.
Drek lifted a hand. “Look around you, Miko. Men, and even some women—though you would never know it, with all the womanliness crushed out of them—have nothing to lose, or live for, but everything to gain.
“Dragar, for example, murdered my deputy and stuffed his head down a Skullrox drain. I caught up with him and had him punished. Since then he has become my local champion, rivalling even Murlag.” Murlag’s already horrible facial scars and twisted lips stitched up by crude tools contorted in a fiercer grimace. “Nevertheless, I have use for such men, men of cunning and depravity. Victus here who defiled and killed a virgin, then went for the mother. Tsk. Such debauchery, such degeneracy. I scratch my chin, wondering if there is no end to it, if they are not the army of vandals that will win me this war against the Skullroxers! The Skullrox pigs will fall!”
Sket leaned over and sighed. “A nutcase.”
Miko nodded in accord.
Drek’s eyes grew solemn. “I am humbled and indebted to all of you. Without you, I could not exist. In celebration of our victory, I will take my new acquisition, the Jakru queen, at my leisure. Beardly will not mind, will you Beardly?”
“Not at all, Drek. I am always amused at your rompings in the dark.”
Miko shuddered, deploring the fate of the Empress. He vowed he would see to the Empress’s safety, even if he must die in the attempt. His heart quivered on a faint hope. Enough to survive this ordeal, but what were the chances of returning to his own time—a man time-lost?
“Miko, you are not pleased with the situation. That’s easy to remedy, as things will right themselves in short order. I don’t hazard a doubt you will be occupied enough to take your mind off the injustice. You shall die, or learn to become a reprobate like myself—and the rest of my hoodlums.” He raised a bitter laugh, like a hyena’s cackle that was answered by the mob at the pit. “I see Fenli grinning out of the corner of his mouth like some cocksure jackal. Hurrah! He is already well on the way to becoming a killer.”
“What of the women of our company?” demanded Miko angrily. “The ones you speak so sordidly of?”
“Jingin, bring her.” Drek snapped a finger.
Miko saw a grimy figure, a grim-faced wretch being dragged out from a side passage—the girl who had once been Star. The street temptress was bruised, dishevelled and cut. Jagged scratches ran the length of her face and arms. She was dressed in scuffed brown leathers, ripped at the knees, thrust in beat-up boots, looking less lively than when he had last seen her. Miko’s heart skipped a beat. But it did not sink completely when he saw the fierce defiance shining in her golden eyes in a grimace of sneering hate. Fire was a good thing to have in this beasts’ den. He remembered such fires in his own eyes at one time long past, when he was bullied and kept alive like an animal by the creature Audra.
Beardly uttered an unlady-like growl, twisting her unkempt, tangled goatee. “What are we going to do with her?” She jabbed a jealous claw of a hand at the girl.
Drek twiddled his beard. “The Skullrox woman, I could take or leave. She’s a skinny witch. Better that she joins the ranks of these pathetic outlanders than make our lives miserable. She scratches too much.”
“And the crab?”
“The crab can join in the race!” bellowed Drek. “I’m betting the creature won’t last longer than an hour before being ripped apart, pincer by pincer.”
“You’re on!” croaked Beardly. “The lobster’s more mettlesome than he looks.”
“It’s your money, Beardly, if you wish to lose it. But I like your optimism. That’s why I enjoy your company, even if you are a wretched she-devil.”
Star snarled, wrestling in Jingin’s cruel grip.
Drek thrust out a finger.
Jingin tossed the girl into the prisoners’ ranks, scratching and yowling.
Miko caught her and her thin body shuddered in response.
“Long live the Unwanteds!” cried a rasping voice from the crowd.
A bellowing chorus erupted from the gathered wretches. “Unwanteds! The Unwanteds rule!”
Drek nodded in macabre acknowledgment.
Miko watched appalled as the motley crew of lowlifes raised their voices in the chant with two teeth glinting, eye patches and tattered rags, some leaping, jumping, dancing barefoot in the dirt.
Miko’s voice rose over the din. “What of the other woman, the Jakru in the tank?”
Drek called for silence. “Ah, the Jakru...” he frowned and gave a whimsical shrug. “She is something else. She stays in her water reserve for now...but not for long.” He toyed idly with his chin. “I do not want to arouse Beardly’s jealousy.”
Beardly snorted, a high squealing sound. “Dream on, Drek. So long as you leave some of the choice licking for me.” She clucked lasciviously.
“Enough already,” growled Dragar impatiently, drawing his wicked, gleaming blade. “Are we to trade quips here all night, or fight some Skullroxers? Let’s get on with this.”
Drek laughed, his head thrown back. “To the fight then...Head west, rogues. Fan out. You start in the catacombs. The fresh fish get a head start. Sket, go! You nursemaid these goons. I don’t want them dying in the first five minutes. Go now!”
His air pistol lifted, then a pellet ricocheted off the ceiling, bringing dust and pebbles with it.
VII
As B & D’s men gave way, Sket motioned Miko to the shadowy exit tunnel where the enforcers were waving their pistols. Star stumbled after him. Usk looked bewildered, understanding little of what was going on. Fenli pushed past the locust and made for the indicated tunnel.
The fugitives bolted down a dim passageway, Usk struggling to keep up. Miko tossed Star hi
s javelin and she snatched at it, grunting in satisfaction. Sket’s breath came in rapid gusts; the man was obviously unused to the sudden sprinting. Rough-hewn walls with more metal pipes flashed by and still more snaking overhead. Random bulbs hung from twisted wire in the rocky ceiling. Miko scowled, knowing hidden cameras recorded his movements and a horde of savages would soon be at their heels.
Within moments, howls and shouts echoed like the cry of demons, and then the clacking of iron blades, bouncing off the walls.
“They’re closing in!” growled Fenli. “Faster.”
“Turn right!” Sket cried.
They fled down a gloomy passage, devoid of bulbs. The mob of glory-hungry outcasts ran hollering down the rock-cut tunnel like a pack of wolves. Miko stumbled on, feeling his left thigh and ribs aching. Sket gripped a small, sharp axe in hand. A silent understanding passed between them. “Let those fools blunder into traps,” he jeered. “I’ve done this circuit before. Watch the girl. Make sure none of these dirty scum lay hands on her.”
Star hissed fiercely, “I can take care of myself!”
“We’ll see.” Sket’s face was grim.
He led them down another shadowy side corridor that smelled of rat dung. “In here,” he grunted.
“What happened to us getting ahead of them?” muttered Fenli.
“There they are!” yelled a familiar voice—the chief, Murlag. “You—Myx, Spade. Finish off those numbskulls. We needn’t have competition, as B & D has suggested.”
Sket swayed and snarled, motioning the others deeper into the tunnel.
“Sod that,” cried Fenli. “I’ll stand and fight! Not run like a coward.” He charged back down the tunnel, twirling his mace in Fenli kamikaze style, a fierce yell on his lips.
With a sulphurous oath, Sket surged after him. He caught a blade on his hatchet, while Miko leaped forward and raised his sword to deflect a flashing blade.
Usk sprang past Star with his powerful hind legs and knocked one of the ragged assailants sideways, sinking pincers deep into an exposed arm. A howl erupted and the man convulsed in pain. Five others moved in to surround Star and Sket.
Star thrust with her javelin, missing a man’s groin by inches. More savage shouts erupted; new attackers arrived like rats, hearing the cry for battle action and the clink of weapons.
Fenli ran straight at the largest man—a top-knotted bravo with oiled leathers—and swung the mace into the brute’s ribs with a single strike. A dagger flashed which Fenli parried and countered, slicing hard with his machete. The man wheezed, skipping back, but Fenli gutted him with a deadly stroke. The attacker fell to his knees, choking in a pool of blood.
A familiar voice cackled over a hidden loudspeaker. “Ouch, that smarts, Fenli! No mercy, eh? I like your style.”
“Beardly, you encourage these rogues too much,” came Drek’s chiding voice. “Let’s see what the recruits plan next.”
Star thrust her spear and left a man cursing, holding a bleeding hand. A truncheon came arching out of nowhere and caught Fenli a glancing blow to the skull, but he scuttled sideways like a crab, grunting in anguish, avoiding the bulk of the hit. Sket edged in, knocking the weapon out of his enemy’s hand and sent him flying, only to have a knife dig into his hip. Fenli kicked the fallen man in the face. He gave a victorious cry, swinging the mace with all his strength, steel caving in the aggressor’s skull.
A snarling outcast closed with Miko. Miko identified the oily leer of Myx. Twisting at the last minute, he slammed his tommyknocker down on an exposed elbow, snapping bone. He pushed the man back into another of the raging foes.
“There’s too many of the weasels. Fall back!” cried Miko.
Fenli glared, his forearms and face splattered with blood. Sket hunched, gasping.
“Ha, ha, ha,” came the voice from the speaker. “Marvellous show!” Then the sound of clapping and Beardly’s mewls of pleasure floated in the background. “Good shot, Miko. Land’s sakes, things are getting off to a good start! Many more tunnels to go.”
Miko swore as Drek’s and Beardly’s cackles faded in the murk to the sounds of injured men’s groans and the stumbling of feet and echoing curses. More enemies, realizing their initial party had failed, came charging down the tunnel.
“Back!” cried Sket. “Follow me!”
They scrambled back down through the cramped tunnel where a pale oval light shone some distance ahead. The tramp of booted feet pounded behind them.
Onward the five fugitives surged through the gloom. Miko kept pace with Sket helping Star along, encouraged by the distinct scent of warmer, drier air.
They were suddenly out in the twilight on a barren slope, overlooking the endless desert. Boots scuffing on dry dirt, they plunged down a crumbling descent to squat on a ledge. Sket motioned them out of view behind a clutch of chalky boulders.
Hunched, ragged and dispirited, the blood-smeared troop saw tiny fires winking in the spaces below—the movement of dark-robed figures about a central area. Miko poked his head higher out of a gap between two boulders to get a better look.
It was the first natural light that the prisoners had seen for days. Bleak and thin, it brought hope.
Fenli nudged Sket out of the way and hung his bristly face over Miko’s shoulder, his eyes roving over the terrain with greedy intent. “We can make our way overland. Screw these tunnels.”
“Quiet!” hissed Sket. “You’ll tip off our location.”
Sure enough, wolfish shapes slipped out of the gap past them in the mauve shadows, feet padding rhythmically. There was a rustling of a metal fence being drawn back, then several muted grumbles in the gathering dusk.
“Are you sure, Kinsel?” hissed a voice. “I’ve heard there’s mines—”
“Shut up, halfwit. Follow my lead, and if ever—” A smack of a palm on skull came.
Kaboom!
An explosion racked the air and flesh and body parts flew everywhere. Miko felt blood on his skin. He caught a glimpse of stringy limbs flying from a cloud of smoke. Flesh smacked against the cliff behind them.
He grimaced as a boot rolled in front of them in the dusty soil with a mangled foot in it.
Star wrinkled her nose. Fenli blinked.
“As I was about to say,” scoffed Sket. “You wouldn’t have made it a hundred yards before being blown to a thousand pieces.”
There was a fierce scrambling and yelling of men where the tunnel gaped out into the desert.
Sket hissed, “Nor would you have gotten far past the desert rats and snakes that vie for territory with the jackals.”
“This sounds like a pleasant place,” grumbled Miko.
“The rats’re vicious,” said Star. “You saw what those young boars did in the pit. They’re—”
More rustling came from below. Spare figures in dark, loose pigskins came edging out of the shadows.
“Outcasts,” breathed Sket. “They suffered the worst of the mutations.”
“Doesn’t your precious B & D take care of them?” muttered Fenli sardonically.
Miko’s eyes strained in the mauve shadows below. An encampment dotted the desert floor with low tents, fires lit by flickering lamps. Wafting to his nostrils came the smell of smoke and roasting meat.
“They use natural gas for light and gas vents to cook what food and meat they find,” Sket said to Miko’s unasked question. He turned to Fenli. “B & D is the rebel leader who controls the tunnel. Even he cannot govern these independent nomads. Nor does he venture here. Contamination.” He paused, seeing the fearful looks on their faces. “It’s a shortcut we must take. If we’re careful, we’ll beat those fools to the intake pipe.”
“Then what?” snorted Fenli.
“Beasilmus knows....”
“You talk in riddles!”
“Beasilmus is—god of the hunt—the desert prince and saviour hero of the wretches who live here.” Sket winced from the tingling agony of his cut. He pressed on his bicep.
Star stirred and moved in to help hi
m, but was knocked aside by advancing outcasts in robes and cowls.
Miko drew his weapon. Figures materialized out of the shadows like ghosts. Not even a crunch of pebble announced their presence. Soon a ring of bodies, no taller than shoulder height, surrounded them offering no chance of escape.
Fenli brandished his machete, challenging them with a feint.
“That will be useless against them,” said Sket.
“Says who?”
“Where come ye?” A grizzled old man croaked in an ancient voice. He lifted his hand that held a curved stave with a sharp, gleaming end.
He had an eye slanted askew, nearly sewn shut, giving him the appearance of a cyclops.
Miko saw desert folk and lepers wrapped in woollen robes and hides crowd around them, bearing various knives and wooden clubs with stones tied with tongs on the ends. Cowls hid their deformed faces. Their garb ran from neck to toe.
“From the tunnels,” murmured Sket.
“And ye were fool enough to cross the barbed fence? What ails you?”
Sket shook his head. “Wasn’t us.”
“They’re hurt, Iasan,” cried an older woman dressed in a grey cowl, motioning to Miko and Usk and Sket.
The elder frowned, grunting, his tone softening. “Come! No doubt victims of B & D’s sordid tricks. The bearded lady strikes again—and her debauched brother. We’ll take you to our shelters.”
“We have other things of priority, old man—”
Sket silenced Fenli with a sharp slap to the back and a warning glare. Fenli fumed, allowing himself to be trundled along, as the desert folk closed in, like leprous gnomes. Fenli gave them wide berth, to avoid possible contamination.
More came filtering in out of the darkness and staring in wonder.
The mismatched group moved toward the smoky settlement, avoiding the line of curled barbed wire that ran down into the desert. The crunch of pebbles underfoot echoed in the gathering dusk. Miko saw hovels, battered yurts, low, blunt-topped tents and listless packbeasts. The animals hung their three-horned heads but otherwise looked similar to the shaggy yaks from old Earth.