The Gods' Day to Die

by David Welch

  He pulled back moments before Artemis did. They dashed back down the tunnel. Behind them, rounds ripped into the rock, sending chips flying. They didn’t stop to look. Thirty yards farther on, the tunnel intersected with another that curved sharply. They ducked into the new tunnel just as the first of the mercs reached their previous position.

  He followed Artemis ten yards farther back. This tunnel was no tomb, but one of the thousand natural passages running from tunnel to tunnel or cavern to cavern. They ducked into a hollow, temporarily out of sight of any pursuers.

  “I got at least one,” Artemis whispered. “You?”

  Desmond’s heart raced, and he kept peeking to make sure their attackers hadn’t reached the new tunnel yet.

  “Des?” she repeated.

  He ducked back.

  “Um, one, at least,” he said. “I think they have armor. Don’t know if he’s dead or not.”

  “A few bullets to the chest will put you out of action even if they don’t kill you,” Artemis replied. “Keep shooting.”

  “Wasn’t planning on stopping,” Des replied, glancing out again. He went quiet, instead only pointing down the tunnel and holding up two fingers. Artemis nodded, crouched low, and readied her gun. She nodded once more. He returned the nod and stood above her. As one they ducked around the edge of the hollow and opened fire.

  A handful of mercs had approached the second tunnel. When Des’ and Artemis’ fire rained down, they threw themselves back into the previous tunnel, taking cover. They barely managed to duck away fast enough to save themselves. One took a grazing shot to the shoulder. He swore in Ukrainian loud enough to be heard over the echoing roar of the battle. The man pressed back behind the tunnel mouth, and squeezed off a half-dozen rounds toward Desmond.

  Artemis pointed to a thick stalagmite that obstructed the tunnel ten yards back. Desmond ran for it and she covered him, lacing the mouth of the tunnel with fire. The mercs ducked again. Artemis retreated backward as she went.

  Desmond leapt behind the stalagmite.

  “Ready!” he shouted.

  She turned, pressing herself against the right side of the tunnel and running for him. Behind her the mercs reappeared, guns ready. Desmond squeezed off a short burst of fire, aiming down the side of the tunnel opposite Artemis. The mercs ducked, but one wasn’t quick enough. A round caught him in the chest. He was flung backward, but crawled out of the mouth of the tunnel, saved by his armor.

  Artemis squeezed around the stalagmite, tapped Des on the shoulder, and kept running. Desmond stood up from behind the rock spire, firing as he retreated. Artemis grabbed him by the back of his collar, guiding him as he went so he didn’t trip or smack into a wall. They retreated around a bend in the tunnel, and found themselves momentarily safe.

  “They’re as armored as we are,” Des said, thumping the ceramic plate armor that covered his chest.

  “Almost,” she said, rapping the helmet on her head. They all had helmets, at Ares’ insistence. Their enemies did not.

  “There’s a cavern ahead,” Artemis continued. “A place where we can get elevation. Makes head shots easier.”

  “Lead the way—”

  A deafening roar filled the cavern. A shock wave struck them, hurling them backward but not knocking them over. His equilibrium swimming, Des glanced back toward the curve in the tunnel.

  “Grenade!” Artemis said.

  “Grenade?! They have grenades?” said Desmond, his voice sounding loud and distant as it swam through the haze. “Why don’t we have grenades?!”

  “Never thought we’d need them here,” said Artemis. “Should’ve thought of it when we came up with the plan. Stupid!”

  Des nodded dumbly, Artemis’ words distant as he fought to regain focus. The curve in the rock had deflected most of the blast and all of its shrapnel. But enough of a shock wave had rounded the corner to scramble his inner ear. Focusing intently on the tunnel to try to compensate, he hurried after Artemis. They pressed on for thirty yards or so. As the haze cleared from Desmond’s head, he heard the sound of footsteps echoing behind him.

  Suddenly the narrow tunnel widened into a vast gallery. Egg-shaped, the cavern had a flat floor and a ceiling that arched sixty feet above them. Artemis streaked across the floor, covering the fifteen yards to the other side with remarkable speed. She moved toward a short flight of steps that had been carved into the side of the cavern, no doubt millennia ago. They rose toward another tunnel that entered the cavern twenty feet above the floor. A ledge jutted out from the tunnel, with a small rocky protrusion providing cover. It was a near-perfect defensive position.

  She reached the ledge first, just as feet pounded into the cavern behind them. She didn’t scream at Des to hurry up, or warn him. Instead she spun in a quick pivot, brought her gun up, and opened fire on the mercs.

  One man dodged, ducking back into the tunnel he’d come from. The other jerked violently as a trio of rounds ripped into his exposed neck. Unprotected by armor, the flesh came apart as the bullets tore through it. Desmond leapt up the last two of the steps, sliding onto the ledge behind Artemis.

  “Thanks for that,” he said, his heart pounding painfully against his sternum.

  “Well, you’re up now,” she said. “I’m down to one mag. There’s a stash ten yards back behind us in that tunnel. Hold here until I get back.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. He crouched, getting as much of his body behind the wall as possible. Artemis dashed off, sprinting down the narrow tunnel to one of the dozens of boxes of ammo they had stashed throughout Olympus.

  In front of Desmond three new figures appeared. He took aim and squeezed the trigger.

  Ares waited, crouched behind an antique wooden case. He had taken it from a memorial a few feet down. He and Aphrodite were in Hestia’s tunnel. He was sure his stepmother probably wasn’t too keen on his using a box of her children’s grave goods as a barricade, but he knew she’d forgive him. Circumstances demanded it.

  The box was four feet high and eight feet long. He’d actually emptied the grave goods and filled it to the brim with stones and gravel, making a bulletproof barrier. It spanned the tunnel, and as long as he and Aphrodite crouched behind it, there was little chance they’d be hit.

  So he waited. He could hear gunshots from across the cavern, echoing down the tunnel. Most likely Artemis and Desmond fighting off the enemy. Between the shots he could hear footfalls heading for his tunnel, a good number of them.

  The footsteps grew steadily louder, then abruptly stopped. Whoever was coming for them had reached the mouth of the cave, and had wisely pulled up before charging in.

  “Get ready,” he whispered to Dita in Vesclevi. His wife shifted to a kneeling position, her helmeted head poking up above the crate.

  Ares had fought in tunnels before, numerous times, most recently in Vietnam. He never thought they’d be fighting in these tunnels, though.

  Something flew into the cave, clattering to the ground well short of the barricade. Ares recognized the pineapple shape immediately.

  “Down!” he shouted, grabbing Aphrodite and ducking behind the barricade. In front of them the grenade exploded, throwing shrapnel down the tunnel. Several pieces struck against the crate, splintering the surface wood but insufficient to rip through the stone-filled interior. Other shards flew overhead, landing well behind them. Ares felt something glance off his armor and bounce away, but nothing else.

  Instantly he was back in position, firing before he had taken aim. He needed to slow down the men he knew would be charging toward them. And there were men, two of them. Another pair loitered near the mouth of the cavern. They fired their AK-74s as they ran, their shots skewing high and wild from the motion of their bodies. The rounds missed him by several feet. Beside him Aphrodite let loose, pelting the men with rounds. One lurched back, hit. The man’s body armor held, but the impact stopped h
is charge. Ares took aim and squeezed off a single shot.

  The round drilled between the man’s eyes and out the back of his head. Ares didn’t stop to admire his handiwork. He shifted attention to the still running merc, who came closer, gun blazing away wildly. The jerky sprint of the merc made a head shot too uncertain, so Ares simply squeezed the trigger, sending a half-dozen rounds into the man’s chest. The rounds hit hard and close, the mercenary only twenty yards away. His vest withstood the first two, but the next four broke through the weakened armor and into the soft flesh of the man’s chest. He went down hard, his head making a sickening crack as it struck the rock floor of the tunnel.

  The two figures at the mouth of the tunnel backed up, out of the line of fire. They poked their guns around and fired blindly, sending lead down the tunnel. Most of the rounds missed wildly, striking the walls of the tunnel far in front of Ares’ position.

  He waited, expecting another grenade and a larger rush. But for a long moment nothing came, just blind shots by the mercs at the end of the tunnel. Ares felt uneasy.

  “Stay here,” he said, and retreated to an adjoining tunnel ten yards back. He pressed his ear to the stone floor, listening. He heard soft vibrations, distinct from the roar of gunfire. Somebody was coming up the tunnel.

  “Dita! Fall back!” he bellowed, aiming his gun down the adjoining tunnel. He hadn’t thought it likely the mercs would split up and try to navigate the various tunnels in small numbers, but apparently whoever was commanding this bunch was a risk taker.

  Aphrodite arrived beside him.

  “Next position?” she asked.

  He nodded, and she was off. He saw a figure appear in the adjoining tunnel, and fired to ward him off. The figure ducked back, giving Ares time to retreat. The two tunnels merged into one, so both groups of his pursuing enemy would come this way. He’d prepared numerous fallback positions, some natural, some man-made.

  He found Aphrodite at the next position. A large stalactite descended from the ceiling, nearly touching the floor. It blocked the entire right side of the tunnel, leaving a foot-and-a-half-wide passage as the only way through. Aphrodite was already behind the stalactite, covering him. He slipped through the passage sideways, just as Aphrodite opened fire. Her rounds struck a pursuing man in the thigh, nearly ripping the leg from the man’s body. As Ares turned, he saw blood pour from the wound, too severe for anybody to survive. Another figure appeared immediately behind him.

  The man fired, his rounds peppering the stalactite and bouncing off harmlessly. Ares and Aphrodite opened up on the man, both of their guns letting loose. The man lurched backward, his armor shredded by the combined assault. He fell over the motionless form of his fellow, dead.

  Ares paused, breathing deeply.

  “Nice shooting,” he whispered to his wife.

  “Thanks—” she began, then stopped.

  A grenade bounced off the wall of the tunnel, rolling to within fifteen yards of them.

  “Go!” Ares yelled.

  They sprinted down the tunnel. They’d traveled ten yards when the grenade exploded.

  Zeus waited. He and Hera had taken up a position in the lower tunnels, closer to the floor of the main cavern. He’d watched Lenka split up his party, keeping a third of them for his own protection. That group made its way down the main ramp, guns up and ready. They scanned the dimly illuminated depths of the cavern.

  “Not long now,” Hera signed in an ancient sign language forgotten eons ago.

  Zeus said nothing, but watched from behind the cover of a statue of one of his old children. The depth of the bas-relief carving allowed him to look out on most of the cavern without exposing too much of his large frame, for the moment at least.

  “Ready?” Zeus signed with one hand.

  Hera nodded, inching closer to the mouth of the tunnel. Zeus slipped his finger onto the trigger of his weapon and ducked out from behind the sculpture.

  As one they opened fire, their shots streaking across the void of the cavern to rip into the party working its way down the ramp. Three figures went down quickly. One hit the ground awkwardly and bounced off the edge, plunging forty feet to his death. Another scrambled back to his feet after being hit and fired wildly toward his attackers. The third fell and lay still. Lenka shouted something in Russian, and the party turned as one, tracking Zeus’ muzzle flash.

  “Back!” Hera shouted in Vesclevi.

  They retreated through the tunnel. This particular one curved just beyond its mouth, allowing them to duck out of the line of fire in a heartbeat, just as the return fire came in. Hera moved behind another statue, Zeus close behind her. He headed for a sculpture of a young woman on the wall opposite Hera’s position.

  A loud, hard sound filled the tunnel, something fast bouncing against weak rock. A sharp pain exploded in Zeus’ side. His mind took a moment to realize it was a ricochet.

  “Zeus! Are you hurt?!” Hera said, darting to his side.

  “Fucking hell!” the big man grumbled. “Can you see it?”

  Hera prodded at his side, finding the place where the bullet had hit.

  “It didn’t go all the way through your armor,” she said.

  “Then why the hell does it hurt so damn much?” Zeus swore.

  “Because enough of it went through,” Hera replied. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Anything life-threatening?” he asked.

  “You’ve cut yourself worse shaving,” Hera replied.

  A new clatter of gunfire cut off his response. The rounds didn’t reach around the bend in the tunnel, but they didn’t have to. Lenka’s people would be hurrying down the ramp, working toward this side of the cavern and this tunnel.

  “Gotta keep moving,” he said, getting back to his feet. The wound hurt like hell, but didn’t seem to affect his range of motion. He swallowed back the pain with little effort.

  “Agreed,” Hera replied. “This time you lead.”

  He didn’t argue. He raced down the tunnel, Hera one step behind. Her gun barked as they went, buying them precious seconds.

  Desmond squeezed the trigger. The rounds sped across the cavern, lacing the mouth of the tunnel with fire. Their attackers crowded back, ducking out of the way, waiting.

  “I’m out,” he whispered. From behind him Artemis shifted forward, joining him in position along the low wall of rock atop the ledge. They’d held the location for several minutes, but hadn’t managed to kill any more men.

  When the mercs heard the shuffling of Artemis moving into her spot, they advanced, a trio of guns blasting half-blindly at the rock wall. Desmond dove back to the tunnel behind the ledge, grabbing another magazine and slotting it into his gun. Behind him Artemis fired at the attackers, her shots forcing them back into the cavern. Des let out a breath of relief as he watched them retreat. None of the mercs’ fire came close to hitting her. For their enemies to get a clear shot on this ledge, they would have to either leave the tunnel or stand in the center of its mouth, exposing them to lethal fire. But they seemed patient, and were willing to lace the area with rounds in the hope that one got lucky and hit their foe. And Desmond knew it was only a matter of time until that happened.

  Artemis’ fire stopped. Desmond peeked out onto the ledge. She sat crouched and ready, unmistakably alive. But nobody fired from the cave, so she held back.

  “Did they leave?” he whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Artemis said, worry clear in her voice.

  For a long moment an eerie silence hung over the cavern. The muted sounds of more distant gun battles were the only things Desmond and Artemis could hear.

  Then came the roar. Four guns at once, opened up on full automatic. Desmond braced himself, ready to dive low next to Artemis and join the assault. But Artemis still made no motion to fire. The enemy held back in the tunnel below, firing toward the ceiling.

  Desmond fe
lt something hit his helmet and bounce off, a shard of rock the size of a deck of cards. He glanced upward, seeing thin, spindly stalactites on the curved ceiling of the cavern, some fifty feet above. A cold dread filled him when he saw flashes of impact as bullets struck stone, sparking momentarily then dying. The mercs were aiming for the rock.

  “Back, Arty!” he shouted as chunks of stone began raining down. Artemis’ head jerked toward the ceiling, seeing the danger. The mercs’ rounds tore up the thin stalactites, breaking off larger and larger chunks of rock. One struck Artemis’ shoulder, knocking her off balance. She rolled back toward the stairs, fighting to regain control.

  The mercs chose that moment to rush them. Four dashed out of the tunnel, sprinting for the stairs. They fired wildly as they ran, their guns jostled about by the hectic sprint. Rounds tore into the rock around Des. He grabbed Artemis by the collar, trying to pull her up, firing his gun with his right hand as well as he could. His shots were as wild as those of the men rushing the stairs.

  But Artemis was sitting up and blasting away at the enemy as they neared the stairs. The lead man reached the first step and was rewarded by five direct hits to the head. The man behind him reached for his belt, pulling a grenade and hurling it straight at them.

  Desmond saw the small sphere coming at him, and instinct took over. He batted at it with the butt of the gun, swatting the grenade back into the cavern before it had time to explode. Artemis yanked him down as it flew into the center of the cavern. The men dove toward the wall, covering their heads.

  The grenade clattered onto the floor and exploded. Shrapnel flew in every direction, pelting the walls of the cave. One of the mercs screamed when a piece of shrapnel hit him in the neck. He pawed at it frantically as he bled to death, his chest becoming a sick smear of red. The others moved about, dazed. They were alive, several of them with shards in their body armor. One man plucked a piece from his arm, wincing in pain. He was too disoriented by the blast to do anything other than stare at the bloody shard.