March till Death (Hellsong Book 3)

by Shaun O. McCoy

  “They ran through here!” Marcus reported, pointing at the riverbed. “Fresh blood. Fighting’s got to be hot.”

  “After me,” Martin ordered, and he led his men forward into the grove. “I know where that riverbed goes.”

  Then he heard the sounds of gunfire.

  “A round in every chamber,” Martin ordered, “safeties off. We’re coming in hot.”

  Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Hux, I hope you’re winning.

  Despite how tired he was, Martin had to stop himself from breaking into a sprint. They would be there soon enough, and he didn’t want his men exhausted for the upcoming battle. The sweat of his palms made his rifle feel slippery in his hands. He rocked it back and forth like a baby as he ran.

  Unlike the path through the riverbed, these halls had not been burnt into his memory from battle. Even so, he led them correctly to the temple chamber where the corpsemen had lived. He stopped at the entrance. There the battle raged. Hux had six of his men hunkered down behind the temple. Two lay on the ground, their rifles pointed towards their enemy.

  The hell is he fighting here for?

  Muzzle flashes lit up several of the entrances to the chamber on the far side. That’s where Maab’s men were. It would be possible to hit them from this distance, but damn hard.

  “Hux must be low on ammo, sir,” Marcus said. “They ain’t firing often.”

  Marcus was right. Hux’s men weren’t firing very often at all. They only seemed to when one of the darkly dressed men emerged from the corridor.

  “He’s smart though, that Hux.” Tucker was bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard.

  “How’s that?” Martin asked.

  “They’ve got shotguns. In this chamber the rifle’s range is going to beat ‘em. In the halls back there, the shotguns are going to be better.”

  Damn, Hux, good move.

  “Give me some ammo,” Martin ordered.

  He held out his hand and started pocketing the rounds they handed him into his hoodie.

  “Marcus, you’re with me,” Martin said after he’d collected what he figured was around a hundred bullets. “Tucker, I want you to run back and lead the rest of our guys to those tunnels there.” He pointed across the chamber to a group of entrances to the temple room about halfway towards where Maab’s men were. “That should still give us range advantage and you’ll get a better shot. As soon as you start firing, Marcus and I are going to make the run to Hux and give ‘em the ammo. Then we’ll have them beat. They’ll have to try and pull back into the halls.”

  “And then?” Tucker asked.

  “We head back to Harpsborough via the Kingsriver. All those chambers are large. Now go!”

  Tucker stood up, taking his hands off of his knees and wiping the sweat from his brow. “Alright, gents, you heard him.”

  Tucker led his men back into the wilds.

  Martin was breathing hard. He felt his hamstrings starting to tense, so he began pacing back and forth.

  It’s just me and Marcus now.

  Marcus was bouncing up and down on his toes, probably to keep his own muscles loose. “What if Tucker’s fire don’t distract ‘em?”

  “Then hopefully the range will keep us safe.”

  “They got pistols, too,” Marcus said, peering out across the chamber.

  Shit. But you can’t let Marcus think you’re afraid.

  Martin felt his balls pulling up tightly to his body. “Well if they hit us, then at least we won’t have to run so far.”

  Marcus leaned over, putting one hand in front of him and leaning forward like a sprinter.

  One of Hux’s men stood and fired. He dropped suddenly.

  “You okay?” Martin could hear Hux call from across the chamber.

  “I think so. Bleeding.”

  Got some shot in him. Oh, hell.

  Then more rifles could be heard, firing all together. Across the way, Martin saw muzzle flashes lighting up a fresh set of tunnel entrances.

  “Now!” Martin shouted over the gunfire.

  He and Marcus ran.

  “Here. The plan is that she was supposed to come to this level,” Calista whispered as they hid in the stairwell.

  “Thank you,” Arturus whispered back.

  They crept through the dark halls. This part of the complex had purple ironglass overhead, but the light was noticeably dimmer than when he had explored it before. There was a firefight going on to his right. Slaves and soldiers alike stood together, shooting down dyitzu.

  At least they were bright enough to give the slaves guns.

  Down one long hallway, wights were packed in shoulder to shoulder. Calimay’s men fought them as best they could. They were using stones since old world stuff could not hurt these wights.

  In places the ceiling had cracked. Droplets of water were pouring down, some landing on the bodies of claw-torn humans and others on bullet ridden dyitzu. To his right an entire section of the ceiling had collapsed. The water had poured out over the stones there, and he could see up into the empty ceiling.

  The water must be separated into tanks.

  Gunfire started up behind them. Then there was the sound of dyitzu fireballs.

  Too many.

  “Hide!” Arturus ordered.

  Calista ran towards the collapsed ceiling. She stumbled, and Arturus pulled her back to her feet. She moved around a chest high pile of rubble and broken glass. He was about to follow her but he heard claws clicking on stone. Looking back, he saw the shadows of dyitzu coming into their corridor.

  He collapsed into one corner, lying amidst the rubble.

  A moment later, dyitzu, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, started running through the corridor. Arturus lay as still as he could. He kept his eyes locked in a blank stare hoping it would help him blend in with the other dead bodies.

  The dyitzu were crossing over him, their clawed feet landing only inches away from his face. One stepped on Arturus’ leg. The dyitzu’s weight was partially distributed on the stones around it, but the pressure was enough to hurt. Arturus couldn’t see it, but it had stopped for some reason.

  Does it know I’m alive?

  For the first time, he was happy that his body was half rotten.

  The dyitzu pack had stopped moving. There was another distant cry, and then a flurry of distant gunshots

  If Calimay had two hundred men, probably half of them are dead already. More dying every moment. This will be over soon, unless . . .

  There were two more footsteps, as if one of the dyitzu was repositioning itself.

  Have they sensed Calista?

  Hot breath touched his cheek.

  Oh, God.

  One dyitzu must be bending down to smell him. His heart started to beat faster.

  Stop! Please stop.

  He felt the warmth of the creature only inches away from his own body. Surely it could hear the rhythm of his heart. Surely it could sense the blood that was rushing through his veins. Its hand set itself down in the gravel next to his eyes. The claw on its thumb was longer than the rest, and wickedly curved. The claw on its pinky had broken off, perhaps in the body of one of Calimay’s men. It crawled by him, its muscular, oddly human-looking torso, passed over his head. This dyitzu was redder than most that he’d seen. He watched its nippleless pectorals flex as it shifted its weight from one arm to the next. It started smelling the next dead body.

  Behind him, Arturus heard rubble shift under the clicking steps of the dyitzu’s clawed feet. The dyitzu that had just crawled over him cocked its head to one side, stood, and then stepped over him. The sounds of the devils slowly became more and more distant.

  Arturus realized he’d been holding his breath. He gasped for air.

  Calista was at his side in a second. She hugged him fiercely as he sat up.

  Close. That was close.

  He stood.

  Maybe we should make a run for an exit. If I got Calista to the others, we could take her with us into the wilds.

  Bu
t Calista would never survive the Carrion.

  “Come on,” Arturus whispered.

  Calista pushed herself up to her feet. Her eyes were wide, frightened.

  Together they crept as quietly as they could through the halls.

  “There,” she said, pointing to a corridor where men and wights were fighting. “Mother should be on the other side of that.”

  Well how are we supposed to get to there?

  “Is there a way around?” Arturus asked.

  Calista shook her head.

  Arturus looked to the ceiling. The glass had been shattered here, and the water had emptied out. He led Calista up to one of the walls. He scaled it, and was about to enter into the ceiling when he noticed how sharp the ironglass was. He dropped back down and took off his shirt. He climbed up again and used the shirt to cover the edge of the glass.

  It took him some effort to get any traction on the slippery substance, but he managed to drag himself up.

  The tank that had held the water was only about four feet tall, but it was about a hundred yards long and maybe half that in width. The next tank over on his right was still fully illuminated, and it covered the right side of his body with its purple light. Arturus watched his shadow, a long black stain in the surreal glow, as he turned around and offered Calista a hand. She took it, but her weight started pulling Arturus back down.

  She let go. “I got it.”

  Arturus nodded and moved away from the hole. Calista scrambled over. She tossed him his shirt. Arturus struggled into it from where he sat, and they started crawling along through the ceiling tank. The floor of the tank was full of cracks, and Arturus was worried that it might not support their weight for long.

  “This looks big enough,” Calista said. “It should take us there.”

  I hope to Hell they’re following the plan that Calista thinks they are.

  The water on the smooth floor soaked through Arturus’ pants, and loose bits of glass cut his hands. He saw some dyitzu passing through the halls beneath him. They were being chased by a group of Calimay’s slaves.

  “Wait!” Calista warned.

  Arturus froze. Cracks were spreading out from under his knees.

  “Don’t move,” she said. “I’ll pull back, lessen the weight.”

  Arturus saw a few dead bodies through the cracked glass in the rubble below. Two humans, three dyitzu, and what could have been either a human or a wight. In the darkness, Arturus couldn’t tell. Arturus heard some distant shouting, then the cry of a man in agony.

  Calista’s slow movement backwards seemed to have helped. The cracks were no longer spreading.

  The sound of hooves reverberated up from the hallway beneath him.

  Arturus felt his heart quicken.

  Below him he saw One Horn. The Minotaur walked through the corridor, his hooves crushing bodies and rubble alike. Just behind him were a pair of dyitzu and, following them, a pack of wights.

  Arturus wanted to scramble away, but he feared that would call attention to himself. He looked over to Calista. She was on her knees, holding both of her hands over her mouth.

  The cracks under him spread a little more.

  The Minotaur stopped as a wight walked up to him from the other direction. Arturus could not hear what the wight was saying, but the Minotaur’s voice came through clearly.

  MORE IN THE RED PLACE. THEY ARE WINNING THERE.

  Well that’s good news, at least.

  The cracks spread farther.

  One Horn was covered in blood and dust, but as far as Arturus could tell, he had not yet been wounded.

  Has no one even managed to shoot him?

  But there, there was a wound. The bullman’s left forearm was bleeding a little. That blood was brighter than the rest, still showing as red even in the dark purple light.

  The wight had said something else.

  THEIR LEADER IS UNIMPORTANT. FIND THE WARRIOR.

  One Horn walked forward—and stopped. Arturus feared that if the glass gave way, he would be impaled by the thing’s single remaining horn.

  Just . . .

  The Minotaur looked back behind it and waved the dyitzu forward.

  . . . don’t . . .

  The dyitzu passed around One Horn, jogging ahead into the tunnels.

  . . . look . . .

  The wights came next, their smooth, deliberate gait bringing them through the rubble.

  . . . up . . .

  The bull’s head turned back and forth, scanning the hallway he was in—then, ever so slowly, it tilted back.

  Their eyes met through the glass.

  No.

  But there was no moment of recognition. One Horn’s eyes kept roving as if he was still trying to make out what he was looking at.

  It’s brighter up here. It can’t see me. It can only see . . .

  One horn turned and looked back along the ceiling.

  . . . my shadow.

  He heard Calista as she started to creep around.

  Stop!

  But he could do nothing. If he waved her back, surely One Horn would notice. And if he tried to whisper, surely One Horn would hear him. Slowly, she came into his view. She froze, suddenly, seeing his expression.

  Without turning his head, Arturus moved his eyes to look down at One Horn. The Minotaur must have recognized his shape.

  A small crack, as thin as a hair, crept away from where his hand was resting. It wandered, moving in lightning quick darts from one point to another, pausing for half seconds between each leap. Blood was pooling onto the glass from his cut hand. It started to run along that crack.

  Arturus couldn’t see the end of his shadow now because it was to his left, and his head was tilted slightly to his right. He could, however, remember the area.

  One Horn can’t see the end of my shadow! He’ll be looking right into a wall. Maybe he didn’t see my shape. Maybe he only saw movement. Maybe he’ll think the cracks are what he noticed.

  One Horn was still looking at the ceiling intently. It was then that Arturus realized Calista’s shadow might also be in the Minotaur’s field of view.

  Please stay still.

  One Horn looked away from the ceiling, took a few steps forward, then a few more, then he walked away.

  Arturus shook his head, breathing heavily. Calista collapsed with relief, sending more cracks through the ceiling. She got back up to her hands and knees and they crawled along in silence.

  When they were on more solid ground, Arturus started heading towards the far edge of the tank. Before he got there, though, Calista stopped him.

  “There!” she said, her voice echoing in the tank. “There’s Mother!”

  The ironglass was so cracked and cloudy here, Arturus could see only the blurred figures of the people beneath him.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m sure,” Calista said, crawling onwards.

  Arturus followed.

  “Dyitzu! Coming from the ceiling!” Calimay’s voice came up from below.

  Calista knocked on the glass twelve even times.

  “No!” said a soldier. “They’re ours.”

  “Break through the glass!” Calista yelled.

  But Arturus had nothing to do that with except his pistol. He looked for a weak point in the glass. He crawled over it and started hitting it with his gun. Soldiers came over from below and starting beating at it with the butts of their guns.

  The ceiling gave way.

  Shit.

  Arturus fell through the air, Calista at his side, amidst a shower of broken glass.

  It had not been an easy fall.

  Arturus rose, cut in dozens of places. Blood dripped down from his eyebrow, splattering across his cheek. Calista was regaining consciousness. She looked blankly, eyes wide and blinking, at the wall.

  The distant sound of singing reached his ears.

  “Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose, will I ever see thee wed?”

  Arturus smiled.

  The slaves sing a
s they fight.

  Blood ran down his left arm, falling from his middle finger to land amidst the scattered pieces of purple-lit glass. He offered that hand to Calista. With his help, she struggled to her feet.

  Calimay, as if she was recovering from shock at the same moment as her daughter, rushed over to Calista, embracing her. The Queen breathed in deeply and buried her face into Calista’s brown curly hair. In the distance a man was yelling in rage. Calimay rocked her child back and forth.

  The group of soldiers, along with the other priestess in the room, stepped backwards away from the pair.

  “I have brought her back to you,” Arturus said.

  “Thank you,” Calimay let go of her daughter and brushed pieces of glass off the young woman’s robe. “Thank you, Turi.”

  The ironglass bounced along the stones. The dim light around them flickered on and off.

  A soldier came rushing in, his grey shirt torn open at the chest. He was bearded, and sported a huge gash on the left side of his face. His skin, and the hair attached to it, hung loosely, peeling away from his chin.

  He paused before Calimay.

  “Jessie’s trying to hold them off in the tunnel. We haven’t heard from Alexandra at all, but a soldier joined us who said Carlotta is gathering people on the red level.”

  Calimay nodded. “We’ve got to break free and go down. There are secret ways out I know of in the depths.”

  “My Queen,” the soldier said, putting a hand up to cover his wound. “I do not think that we can make it. Safer to go up.”

  Calimay shook her head. “It’s five levels up before we reach an exit.”

  “Five levels or fifty,” said the other lavender robed priestess, “it doesn’t make a difference if we can’t break free.”

  The soldier’s brow furrowed. “The wights aren’t hurt by our shells. We have to fight them with rocks and our fists, and they fill up some of those corridors. A Minotaur is roaming the halls. If he sees too much resistance here, he may come to destroy us.”

  “Come back when you’ve broken free,” Calimay ordered.

  There was a moment of hesitation. Arturus wondered if the soldier was considering rebellion. He must have decided against it because he turned around and began jogging back to the fray.