Delta-Six surveyed the beach and lake from his vantage point up a tall, evenly branched tree. What he had assumed were silver gates, during his flight from the obelisk hill, was an illusion created by whatever lay on the other side of the lake. Even from here, it was difficult to see what lay beyond.
‘Start log,’ he said. ‘My sixth day here and still no sign of the silver gates.’ He climbed down as he spoke, relaying his recent thoughts. ‘I’ve been thinking about the mutations I witnessed in the soldiers: Althorn’s speed, the Maori soaking water throughhis feet and John Greene’s arm andmachine gun. The changes echo how my suit has merged with my body. Is this a glitch in the virtual prison or are these changes actually taking place?’
Delta-Sixtook a last look at the soldiers building rafts further down the beach then jumped down from the lowest branch.
‘ Not all of the changes are physical ,’ he continued . ‘ Mihran, in the night troop , has developed an incredible ability to process data. After sampling his speech, my analysis suggests he is reciting and amending an algorithm of great complexity as he builds and rewrites a multilayered equation. But what for? W hy are any of these changes taking place? Are these others just creations for my sake or ha ve they have been imprisoned by the Guevarians as well? ’
D uring his training , Delta-Six had been told that a prisoner of a virtual prison would experience time at a slowed- down rate of two to one . E ven with the body kept at an optimum rate, a VR system could only contain a mind for a maximum of three days.
‘I’ve been here six days . ’ Delta-Six recorded his log a few hours later as he watched the combined D ay and Night Watch es build and supply their rafts. ‘There are no signs of scen ery degradation or data glitches, so o ne more day without anomalies and I will have to accept this land is real.’
Keeping o ut of sight of the other soldiers, Delta-Six crossed the beach and slipped into the water to test his mech-gills, which, with his jetpack, aligned with the thi cker aquatic environment, allowing him to swim and, he hoped, hitch a ride under one of the rafts .
John lay on the gently bobbing raft, leaning against his ammunition bag and watching the distant mauve horizon merge with the green-tinged sky. It was good to be sailing away from a land full of danger, he thought. The trenches may have been horrific, but at least he’d been able to escape to relative safety every four days. In this land, John and his comrades had been surrounded by life-threatening events day and night.
‘And you had no idea Li was a woman?’ John heard Crossley tease Olan.
‘No! She was… dominant. She was in charge.’
John turned to see the Viking blush.
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Crossley asked.
Olan shook his head and laughed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a strong woman.’
John thought of Rosie and sighed. What sort of woman would she have become? She would have made a great mother, he thought, and one day they would have taken over running his parents’ shop. He watched the hypnotic shapes of the sea and pictured Joe with his parents. What would they make of his adventures when he got home? Joe would believe every word, but his parents? No, he would have to hold back and just tell them the dull parts: the bits they expected to hear. He just had to get through these two weeks and he’d be back in England.
John took in a lungful of sea air to calm his speeding heart. The last time he’d been at sea was at the beginning of the war, when he’d crossed the Channel. He gripped a vine and turned to watch the other rafts. There were twenty bobbing across the sea, pulled by an unseen tide. Each raft carried ten or twelve soldiers – all eyeing the waters around them suspiciously. Samas and Mihran were in deep discussion on one raft, while Lavalle and Euryleia sat together on another. Randeep’s raft was bobbing awkwardly, as though the weight was distributed unevenly.
‘They’ll drift away if they stay like that,’ John said.
‘Who?’ Crossley asked.
John pointed. ‘Look how it lists.’
Crossley squinted and shook his head. ‘We balanced the weight. Something must have shifted.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ll use the paddles if they have to.’
John cast a glance at Mataon the other side of theirraft andswore he sawa fingerstretchand twirl a loop before twisting back down again.
‘Mata?’ John asked. ‘Are you alright?’
Mata looked up, like a child playing with a knife. ‘Yes.’ the word came too quickly and he shook his head. ‘Well, I feel better, I just…’
Mata slid across the raft to sit next to John.
‘Hey, watch it!’ Crossley shouted. ‘Move a box back if you’re going to do that.’
Mata shoved a box so hard it nearly knocked Crossley off the raft then looked at John. ‘Like you, it’s hard to accept, this new… change.’
John rubbed his gun-arm and nodded.
‘Only, I don’t carry it on the outside like you… and I fear my emotions taking over again.’
John pictured the broken bodies of the wolves: the vines, the blood and the sound of snapping bones.
‘So you try to control it?’
‘I will train myself to use it.’ Mata nodded as though he’d just made his mind up.
‘Good idea. It’s best to face these things,’ John said and remembered the day he’d left for war, when he had kept a smile on his face, for Joe more than anyone.
‘Face the enemy square on, John,’ his father had said, showing some rare emotion. ‘And come back in one piece, eh?’
Fear had been John’s real enemy. His stomach tightened as memories from the crater came back. He’d been able to control his fear then, hadn’t he? Alone in the mud. He knew he was going to die but he kept fighting: firing and reloading. He’d been strong fighting the wasps as well, hadn’t he?
John looked back to Randeep’s raft, which had caught up with the group.
‘What in Odin’s name is that?’ Olan pointed.
John followed the Viking’s finger to what he had assumed was an orange sunset.
‘It must be land!’ Mata stood up to get a better look.
‘Don’t rock the raft,’ Crossley shouted. ‘Come on!’
On a neighbouring raft, Bowman cupped his eyes and stared at the horizon.
‘Bowman!’ Olan called out. ‘What do you see?’
‘It’s land,’ the archer shouted back, ‘but not a beach. A cliff maybe?’
John found himself holding his breath as the rafts drifted closer to one another, pulled together by a rip current at increasing speed. Then an immense set of red cliffs revealed themselves, towering from sea to cloud, with a shimmering light emanating from within.
‘What’s that?’ John pointed to a dark line running down the wall.
‘Is it a waterfall?’ Mata asked.
‘God knows.’ Crossley sat down next to John. ‘But we’re heading straight for it, so we’d better get ready for a rough ride!’
John could see the other rafts had their oars ready.
‘Everyone – hold fast!’ Crossley shouted as the current pulled them in.
‘It’s a gap!’ Bowman shouted. ‘And we’re going through!’
John wound his arm tight in the vines as they were pulled through the gap in the cliffs like bath toys drawn to a plughole. With a rush of hot air, the rafts flew in on a mass of roiling water. The open sound of the sea was cut off and the turbulence jostled the boats where currents fought with one another.
The water calmed and the long line of rafts cruised through a red ravine in silence. Some hundred paces wide, the current kept the rafts away from the walls and, looking deep into the clear water, John was sure he could see the red stone continue beneath for several leagues.
‘Of all the things I’ve seen,’ Crossley said with a shake of the head.
‘It doesn’t look natural, that’s for sure.’ Li could be heard three rafts behind. ‘And it must have some purpose.’
They cruised on, their every sound echoing down the long gulley, until Mihran shouted from the front raft. ‘It’s opening up!’
John squinted to see a white line ahead.
‘And it’s speeding up.’ Mata pointed to the widening gap between each raft.
The fleet rushed through the last stretch of the chasm on a bed of white water and, when they popped out the other side, John found himself staring at a huge, mist-shrouded lake.
‘Look, another entrance over there.’ Bowman pointed to a dark line in the cliffs.
‘And another.’ Althorn pointed to the other side.
The rafts rocked rhythmically as they traversed the vast lake, revealing their skirt of purple bladders with each bob. They spotted more potential entrances or exits along the way, each one disappearing behind a blanket of mist.
‘They’re identical,’ Bowman shouted from his raft, ‘and all flowing into the lake.’
‘Where’s the current taking us then?’ Crossley asked, looking ahead into the mist.
‘There must be a river leading from the lake,’ Mata said. ‘Look, there are no cliffs over there.’
‘Hey, did you see–’ John said, sure he’d seen a flash of light under the water.
The others turned to him.
‘I saw lights,’ John said, keeping his eyes on the water.
‘There!’ Mata pointed off to starboard. ‘Two flashes.’
‘Did you see that shadow?’ John said. ‘Deep down.’
Crossley was rapidly unstrapping the bamboo paddles and handing them out. ‘Yeah, I saw it. We need to move!’
‘I don’t like ships without sides!’ Olan started working his oar like a professional.
Unable to row, John stared into the waters, searching for shapes among the waves and ripples. ‘Another flash!’ he pointed. ‘Whatever’s down there must have weapons.’
As he spoke, a smooth, snake-like tail curled out of the water five metres away and splashed a nearby raft.
‘Hold tight!’ Bowman yelled and they gripped boxes as the wave rocked the raft.
John heard an explosion and spun around to see Li firing red-hot beams into the water, sending up plumes of steam where each pulse hit.
‘Loose!’ A call came from another raft, where archers were firing at the water.
Smoke from rifles was mixing with the haze of the lake, clouding everyone’s view.
‘Where is it?’ Crossley asked.
‘There’s more than one.’ Mata pointed to the raft where Mihran and other soldiers frantically rowed away from a bulge in the lake, which rose to reveal a scaly mass of flesh, covered in sharp barbs.
Crossley turned to paddle, missing the moment the creature fired a cloud of darts at the soldiers, but John saw a swordsman struck in the neck and topple off his raft.
‘Shit!’ John scrambled backwards, kicking his ammo bag off the side. ‘No!’ He lunged forward to grab the handle but it slipped under.
‘Keep back!’ Mata grabbed John and pulled him to the centre of the raft.
‘But my–’ John saw bubbles where his bag had been.
‘It’s not worth dying for,’ Mata said and looked up in shock. ‘Tane-Mahuta!’
John’s stomach tightened as a thick, snake-like body rose from the water revealing a large, scaly head.
Clinging to the bottom of the raft, Delta-Six was busy taking notes on the bizarre geology of the narrow gorge and the lake floor, when the first shape appeared. It swam up from the darkness below, circled once then descended out of sight. A second, longer silhouette followed, then another from the opposite direction. Delta-Six’s scans showed they were a diverse range of predators – fish, invertebrate, insectoid – none of which showed any physiological connection to any animals on his database.
Then one of the creatures attacked the lead raft. Delta-Six watched the bodies fall into the water, some pulled down by the weight of their armour, others dragged down and torn apart by smaller predators drawn in by the commotion.
Delta-Six fired his pulse weapon as one came close to him, burning off a fin, but the second creature – an eel-like beast – was tenacious and took three blasts to its stone head before retreating. He saw the long beam of another pulse rifle shearing through water and beast alike, but it was too little. The soldiers were defenceless in this environment, and the creatures kept coming. He had to draw the attackers away.
Delta-Six swam free of the raft and fired on two of the largest beasts as he powered past. The distraction worked and, after a couple more blasts, they were irritated enough to chase him. He set his sensors to maximum and dived deep, pulling the beasts with him. As the light faded, he only had his screen and the feel of his sensors to guide him. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he could feel the readings from his suit’s sensors. And something was getting close.
Yellow lights blinked on Delta-Six’s screen, followed by a blow to his side and a flash of pain. New lights filled his screen, indicating various pain-reducing chemicals were being pumped into his body, and his legs fell limp. Fighting to stay conscious, he pushed all energy to his propulsion unit and activated his emergency evacuation procedure. A new red sign appeared, telling him what he already knew: Injured. Medical assistance required.
John looked out across the mist-layered lake . Broken trunks, vines and purple bladders bobbed in the shallow waves that tickled the stony beach. The seventeen rafts that had survived the journey had disappeared overnight. Crouched down to nurture his fire back to life, John surveyed the surviving soldiers. Scores sat in huddles around fires dug into the stones of the barren shore.
It had been dark when they had found land. Li’s roll- call suggested they had lost nine men during the attack, which had stopped as quickly as it had started.
‘How many days do we have left?’ John asked Mihran.
The red-cloaked Commander stirred the embers with a stick, seemingly lost in his thoughts.
‘ Mihran ?’
‘Yes?’ He look ed at John and squinted. Then spoke as if woken from a dream. ‘We have seven days to reach the silver gates and this feels like a centrepoint… the hub, the channels through the cliffs are like spokes leading from the north. ’ He turned and John followed his view to the featureless grassland that lined the southern shore of the lake.
‘Halfway then,’ Crossley said and kicked a stone.
‘Do we have time to commemorate the dead?’ John asked Crossley , who sat beside him.
Crossley shrugged, lost for words for once.
As with most battles, images came back to John as his brain tried to accept what had happened. I mages blurred with the stories from the others: men dragged underwater by beasts with wild eyes and vicious teeth; bodies torn apart; blood and screams; the surviving rafts paddling out of the mist to safety.
‘We should have distributed the soldiers more evenly,’ Mihran said to Lavalle. ‘One soldier with a firearm on each raft.’
‘And at least one spear man,’ Lavalle added.
The safety of hindsight was a strange thing, John thought. The next battle would be different and new lessons would be learnt.
‘Nobody could have predicted the attack,’ Li said.
Mihran shot a glance at Lavalle.‘Who have we lost?’
‘Nine at the last count . Cruickshanks, Bazhenov, Nd l eleni of the Masai, Marodeen…’
‘Marodeen?’ Mihran sighed.
‘I found Marodeen’s quiver, but no bow . ’ Bowman held a leather satchel.
Crossley folded his arms. ‘What does it matter how many we lost? We have to get to the goddam gates in a few days or God knows what’ll happen to us.’ He looked around at the scattered soldiers. ‘We’re in this together and we must decide together .’
‘Yeah!’ a few warriors called out.
‘Crossley’s right . ’ Li stood up and held her hands out. ‘We need to have an open discussion. Do we stay as o ne group? And who will lead us?’
Crossley crouched next to John and shook his head . ‘We’ve been through all this before. Hey, where’s your ammo bag?’
‘Lost it,’ John replied.
‘What!’ Crossley was up on his feet. ‘That was my last stash of smokes. Seriously, can this day get any worse?’
‘Enough!’ Mihran’s deep voice silenced Crossley. ‘We have no time for a discussion . I will answer your questions.’
The crowd held their tongues and stared at the tall Arab.
‘We will travel as one group – anyone wishing to travel alone should know they are fifteen times more likely to die. Secondly, we will travel day and night, as our terrain dictates.’ Mihran turned slowly, taking the time to look at each soldier. ‘I will be your leader,’ and he stabbed a forefinger at his ornate chest plate.
‘What? We don’t even get a vote?’ Crossley stood, arms outstretched.
Mihran focused on Crossley for a few silent seconds then said, ‘David Michael Crossley.’
Crossley’s eyes widened.
‘A leader should know his team’s weaknesses and strengths – how to bring out their full potential and when they are likely to fail.’ Mihran swept his cloak back and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘Your strengths have yet to be realised. We need explosives. As for Sicily…’
Crossley gasped.
‘…we will talk about that when the time is right.’ Mihran turned to Mata. ‘Mata, your new skills need to be refined, but you are a formidable warrior.’ He passed Randeep with a squint and looked to Olan. ‘We must talk of your past also, my friend.’
Murmurs cascaded across the beach , where soldiers made wisecracks or smiled like children watching a magician.
‘And what of food?’ Li asked.
‘We will glean what we can from the sea but must move quickly. Ah…’ Mihran gestured to a whirlwind drifting towards them along the beach.
Althorn’s shape appeared next to Mihran and he looked concerned. ‘I have found something you need to see.’
‘Let me guess,’ Crossley had his hands on his hips. ‘Another obelisk?’
Althorn raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, yes.’
‘I don’t trust them,’ Crossley said as he and John bagged up rations. ‘I mean, Lavalle put Cruickshanks on the same raft with Bellvedere, for God’s sake!’ He made his usual fake laugh.
John pushed more dried seaweed into the bag hanging off his gun-arm. The shore of the lake was strewn with the black strips that Li had analysed for their nutritional value. Good stuff apparently.
‘Who do you think gave Cruickshanks that black eye?’ Crossley asked.
John guessed, ‘Bellvedere?’
‘Damn right it was! Then there was Foxhole and Rodriguez – they can’t stand the sight of each other, but they put them on the same raft. Ha! I’m surprised Lavalle didn’t put me on his raft!’ Crossley dumped his bag on the pile of rations and picked up the last bag of red roots. ‘Hey, Mata. You think this gave you your er… powers?’
‘Yes.’ The Maori spoke without looking up.
‘Euryleia said it must have seeped into his blood from the poultice,’ John added.
Crossley looked at John’s gun-arm. ‘And that wasp sting sped up whatever’s going on with your arm?’
John nodded.
‘So what’s to stop me cutting open my arm and squeezing some root juice in?’ Crossley asked.
‘Nothing, go ahead.’ Lavalle appeared on the bank with his arms crossed. ‘In fact, let me help you.’ He leapt forward with his hand on his broadsword.
‘No!’ Crossley stepped back. ‘It was just hypothetical, you know.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it would be fine.’ Lavalle grabbed Crossley by the wrist.
‘Get off!’ Crossley shouted, wriggling like a bullied schoolboy.
Lavalle pulled Crossley forward then let go, sending him stumbling head first into the dusty bank.
Crossley coughed and rolled over, brushing the dust out of his hair. ‘Bloody Limey.’
‘Are you alright?’ John asked with a smile.
‘Yeah, sure, I just–’ Crossley sneezed. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll–’ He sneezed again then stared at the ground. ‘That’s strange.’
‘Well,’ Lavalle said, wearing a smirk. ‘Now you’re sure I can’t assist you with any bloody enhancements, your presence is required – all of you.’ Lavalle looked at John and Mata. ‘We will all see the obelisk Althorn has found.’
Althorn, Samas and Mihran were already at the black obelisk when John arrived.
The soldiers were silently reading the message, or having it read to them.
Warriors. You have faced enemies past and present. You are now entering a land of foreign enemies who must be defeated for safe passage through the silver gates. Many tests lie ahead and only the greatest will be victorious.
‘Great!’ Crossley turned to John. ‘Basically, there’s nothing but trouble from now on.’
‘Well, the last obelisk did say we were leaving a safe area,’ John said.
‘Is there anything we have missed?’ Mihran asked Li, whose mask flashed with green lights and red dots.
‘One obvious difference here.’ Li swept her visor back and pointed to the script. ‘The first message called us humans but this one calls us “warriors”. It’s less personal – more generic.’
Althorn spoke from the back of the group, ‘There are more stones.’
‘Where?’ Lavalle asked.
‘Along the coast. They have the same message.’
Mihran’s eyes narrowed. ‘They are here to welcome whoever crosses the lake, so the entrances to the lake must come from other islands.’
‘Which means?’ Randeep asked.
‘Which means, we aren’t the first here and we won’t be the last,’ Mihran replied.
‘So it’s a race!’ Crossley beamed. ‘Well, come on then – let’s keep moving! If we get there first we’ll get through the silver gates and–’
Lavalle cut him off: ‘The obelisk says we have to fight.’
John saw fear in the exhausted faces of the soldiers who, he knew, held back the questions he wanted to ask. Where next? How far? When do we fight? And the same question they’d been asking from the moment they arrived here – who brought them here?
‘What about these changes to our bodies?’ a voice shouted out.
Randeep looked to Mihran. ‘We should create a list of everyone who has changed since arriving here.’
‘I agree,’ Mihran said. ‘Li will do so, but we must focus on our journey. We have new challenges ahead and must adapt. We have all fought wars – a thousand wars in a thousand different ways, yet we need to find new ways of fighting. I believe this is why we have been given our powers.’
‘And what about those who don’t have powers?’ a voice called out.
‘Survival of the fittest,’ Crossley whispered to John.
‘Do we all have to change in order to survive?’ Bowman added.
Mihran looked unsure.
‘The truth is, we don’t know.’ Samas spoke, his broken arm hidden under his cloak. ‘We can’t tell what our strengths and weaknesses are until we know the enemy we are facing.’
‘Whoever we fight will have powers too,’ Sakarbaal said, leaning on his trident.
His comments sent a wave of murmurs through the crowd.
‘Listen!’ Lavalle held his hands high for silence. ‘We cannot allow ourselves to be disheartened. We are soldiers marching a warpath! Battles lie ahead and we must unite as one force if we are going to survive!’ He stared at the quiet mass.
‘Whose orders do we follow?’ someone shouted.
Samas looked at Lavalle and then Mihran. ‘We need an organised command structure.’ He looked around the group. ‘We need to have a clear chain of command if we are going to form a solid fighting unit.’
A few friendly cheers backed Samas up.
‘We need an archery captain!’ Bowman called out. ‘Samas commanded the infantry but we need someone to take control of the archers.’
‘And the spearmen!’
‘And slingers.’
John shook his head. With so many varied fighters, it was going to be impossible to rank soldiers side by side with anyone of similar fighting style or power.
‘Enough!’ Mihran held up a hand. ‘Our armies have different ranks and reporting lines, so I have created my own. You will be grouped under your respective captains and they will report directly to me, as Commander. Seeing as we have no cavalry, Lavalle will be in charge of resources.’
‘Quartermaster? Comfy job,’ Crossley whispered to John.
‘Samas will command the infantry,’ said Mihran.
‘I guess that’s us.’ Crossley looked at Mata.
‘Li will command the archers and other projectile warriors. Riflemen, spearmen and so on.’
‘And Althorn will be in charge of scouting parties,’ Mihran finished.
‘I thought you’d be in that group, Crossley.’ John smiled. ‘I mean, what exactly is it you do?’
‘You know very well, my friend.’ He looked at Mata, who really had no idea what a sapper was. ‘Let’s just say, those toadstools were fun but you guys are going to be in for a treat when I get my hands on some decent explosives!’
Mihran pointed to the vast hinterland ahead. ‘Now we move.’
‘Ah, good old Shanks’ pony.’ John grimaced, swinging his bag of rations and satchel over a shoulder. ‘At least my blisters have hardened up.’
Crossley looked down at John’s feet. ‘It’s a pity our boots haven’t evolved too, eh? What are your feet like, Mata?’
The Maori turned a bare foot over to reveal a mat of wiry, twisted roots protruding from his sole.
‘Jeez!’ Crossley leant in for a better look. ‘That’s just plain weird.’
‘But comfortable.’ Mata gave a broad smile.
They set off in an arrowhead formation, with John and his pals at the front of Samas’ group and behind Li’s archers, who had Bowman on point.
‘So, Crossley,’ John said, ‘why did Mihran mention Sicily?’
Crossley’s jaw clenched. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He looked back through the crowd. ‘Just something that happened a few months ago.’
‘Right.’ John didn’t want to push it further. ‘Well, what happened with Lavalle on the beach then? That was odd.’
‘Nothing, no, it was nothing.’ Crossley glanced at John and sighed. ‘Okay… look, I don’t want everyone knowing, but when I sneezed I… I could see underground.’
John studied Crossley’s face, waiting for a smile.
Mata looked over with a scowl. ‘Do not mock us, Crossley.’
‘Look, this is why I didn’t want to say anything. I mean, come on!’ Crossley kept his voice low. ‘There I was complaining about no adaptations and, wham, the next second I can see through rocks.’
John shook his head and looked away. Crossley was quite convincing this time.
‘I’m not kidding.’
‘So, what’s it like then?’ John decided to humour him.
‘Well, I need to practise,’ Crossley replied.
Mata raised an eyebrow.
‘It happens when I sneeze, okay? And it works a bit when I cough and… well, it’s like a three-dimensional image of what’s beneath the ground, you know? Like when we were back at the wasp nest and we could see the forest below?’
‘Yes.’ John pictured it.
‘Only there’s no forest underground. Just different rocks and animal burrows.’
‘How far can you see down?’ John was beginning to take him seriously.
Crossley shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Three or four metres?’
‘It might come in useful,’ John said, struggling to think of examples.
‘Yeah right.’ Crossley shook his head. ‘I finally get a skill and it’s a dud!’
John cast a look over his shoulder, past the host of soldiers walking behind him. It hadn’t taken long for the haze of the lake to merge with the ever-present shimmer of the sky. Off to the flank, the flat, featureless landscape spread out as far as the eye could see, and John couldn’t truly say whether they’d been walking in a straight line or in a circle for the past few hours.
‘It never ends,’ he said.
‘It has to.’ Crossley spoke with a hoarse voice.
John heard him coughing every few minutes, testing out his new skill. Maybe he was telling the truth after all?
‘Another crater!’ a voice at the front called out and the group parted, walking around a black and perfectly symmetrical circle some fifteen paces wide.
John shivered, remembering his crater. ‘Anything under there?’ he asked Crossley to distract his thoughts.
Crossley cleared his throat. ‘No, just compressed earth. If anything died in there it was burnt to a crisp. One hell of an incendiary.’ Crossley shook his head and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on some of that!’
Twenty minutes later, a new call came from Bowman, ‘Objects ahead!’
‘Single file!’ Mihran shouted from the rear.
Each soldier peered around the person ahead, trying to get a view.
‘What on earth?’ Crossley said when they passed the first, bleached carcase.
John swallowed. ‘Like some kind of dinosaur.’
The twisted bones lay cracked in a pool of grey ash. The teeth, horns and eye sockets in a monstrous skull sent shivers down John’s back. Then they passed a mass of intertwined bodies: a skeleton like the first, covered with four or five dog-like bodies.
‘You can still see the fur,’ Crossley said.
But no flesh remained on the corpses.
It reminded John of when his battalion had charged the German lines after a barrage of heavy artillery. In the mud and coarse grass of no-man’s-land, bodies had lain untouched for weeks. The rain, wind and sun had weathered the clothes while the rats, beetles and flies had taken care of the flesh. Ghastly white skulls had grinned at John as he passed: their helmet straps holding their jaws tight.
‘Why doesn’t it smell?’ John asked but no one answered.
The number of bodies along the path increased as the line of humans filed through the remnants of a battle. Shattered weapons lay next to splintered skeletons and torn, isolated limbs told of the violence that had taken place here.
Crossley darted out to pick up a shining object and slipped his find inside his coat.
‘My readings show the battle took place two months ago.’ John could hear Li ahead.
‘Really?’ Lavalle responded. ‘It looks like an ancient conflict.’
‘Diversion!’ Bowman called out and the line veered off to the left to avoid a concentration of bodies.
John shook his head at the sight: scores of carcases – dog and dinosaur as he thought of them – lay crushed and broken in a mound of desiccated flesh.
‘This was the centre,’ Samas said some way behind John. ‘I’ve seen it before: the crush of foot soldiers.’
‘But no one took care of the bodies,’ John said.
‘The weapons have been taken,’ Li said. ‘The armour too, so someone must have been here.’
‘It would be wise to take any weapons we see.’ Mihran was scanning the ground. ‘But take care if you leave the path.’ Mihran sounded like a teacher on a field trip.
John was tempted but held back. Who knew what lay out there? Unexploded bombs, hidden creatures or objects full of the horrific trickery of this land. Crossley had no qualms and was darting in and out of the bodies every time he saw a glint of metal.
John raised his eyebrows. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be playing around with this stuff, eh?’
Crossley shrugged and looked at John’s arm. ‘Who knows what to trust, eh?’
They passed a group of soldiers studying and pulling at a sleek metal object two men high.
‘Some kind of missile launcher,’ Crossley said, and ran to join the group.
John kept his hand in his pocket and walked on. The number of dead dwindled, replaced by craters and the smaller dog-like carcases with bolts sticking out of their chests.
‘Water break!’ Lavalle shouted as soon as they left the battle site and split into groups to share their discoveries and water.
‘We must make efforts to maintain our direction,’ John overheard Mihran saying to Li. ‘There are no stars to guide us and this empty landscape can fool us.’
‘I have been leaving markers,’ Li answered.
Mihran’s left eyebrow raised a touch. ‘Good.’
‘And I’ll scan ahead for any useful geographic markers.’ She walked away to take readings.
John followed her, intrigued by Li’s future technological apparatus, just as he’d been with Delta-Six. She was pressing buttons on a wrist strap and occasionally tapping her helmet.
John heard Li talk to herself. ‘That’s odd.’
John stepped forward. ‘What is it?’
Li turned sharply. ‘Oh, nothing… just a frequency I don’t recognise.’
‘A frequency?’ John had no idea what she was talking about.
‘A new setting. Number one is full power, two fires out pulses and three freezes objects… this new one allows me to manipulate particles.’
John saw a mote of sand dancing in the air a few inches from Li’s visor. ‘Amazing.’
‘Li,’ Mihran shouted and the fleck of sand dropped to the ground. ‘Bowman has spotted a sandstorm on the right flank. What can you see?’
Li turned. ‘It’s a sandstorm alright. Heading this way. An hour away.’
Crossley walked over to John. ‘I bet that’s what cleaned those bones so fast.’
John swallowed and stared at the brown haze on the horizon.
‘Where’s Althorn?’ Lavalle asked.
‘The other flank,’ Li replied. ‘He’ll be able to outrun it.’
Mihran pulled his cloak around him. ‘Without shelter our only choice is to keep moving.’ He shouted at the reclining soldiers, ‘Double pace – Samas, you lead.’
John felt panic rising in his chest. How could he run with his arm in this state? He pulled the sling straps tighter, bringing his gun-arm tighter against his chest. The bags over his neck balanced the weight and he trotted forward, picking up pace until he found a steady rhythm.
John’s throat was dry and his back ached from the bouncing weight of his gun.
‘Here it comes!’ Crossley had wrapped a shirt around his head as the wind swirled around them. ‘Put your gas mask on.’
‘Good idea.’ John turned his back to the scraping winds, tugged the bag-like mask free and pulled it over his head.
‘You look like a damn teddy bear,’ Crossley laughed.
John hated the claustrophobic mask but at least his eyes had stopped stinging.
Mihran’s face was barely visible beneath his tightly bound robes as he urged everyone on but Mata was the least affected by the vicious winds and rough sand, as his skin turned bark-brown across his legs and face.
‘We can’t outrun it!’ Samas shouted from behind his round shield, lashed to his cast.
Silhouettes of soldiers, leaning on spears, came and went from view as John pushed through the thickening clouds. Some walked together, arm in arm, while others stumbled blindly. The sand stung John’s good hand and the winds pulled at his bag and arm, draining his energy. He scanned from left to right and back, searching for someone – anyone. His heart pounded and his breathing was heavy. Where were they?
Then he saw Bowman. He was pointing and his voice faltered with the wind, ‘…ahead!’
A blast of wind swept away the nearest cloud of sand like a huge curtain to reveal a dark shape in the distance, nothing more than a smudge. Was it a rock? Not wanting to be left behind, John found the energy to jog towards a cluster of soldiers as another blast of clear air revealed their intended destination.
John could hear Crossley. ‘It’s a goddam castle!’