CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THEM

 

 

THE SOUND, WHEN it came, was not a whistle, or the echo of a whistle. The sound, when it came, was a long hard shriek. It was like an Aux dam dying at whelping time, but louder and angrier.

The Them that made it wasn’t getting ready to die.

The Them that made the sound was getting ready to kill.

They had had no warning. They had not heard the hard, scratching tiktiktik sound of chitin on the metal track; or the sounds of bone-hard claws on gravel; or any other sounds.

Half the Aux stopped dead, immobilised by terror. One of the Hackers stumbled as his vision blurred, and the blood drained from his extremities.

There was no one to catch him. His hand spasmed as he began to shake, and he shot a bolt from his crossbow into the thigh of the Aux in front of him. The injured Zoo Packer faltered, but the bolt had gone straight through the muscle of his leg, missing the bone. Angered, he growled low.

He was one of the lucky ones. The pain and shock made him raise his crossbow. Then, seeing what he saw, seeing the size of the Them and the horror of it, he turned and ran.

The Them was hanging high in the ceiling of the tunnel when it screeched, swinging its head as it screamed its battle cry out over the heads of its enemies.

The tiktiktik sounds of hard shell against gravel and metal came only as the Them dropped down onto Track Nine to attack the Aux.

Even crouching on the tracks, the Them was taller than two Aux. Its thorax was like a great barrel tapering to a narrow waist, suspended over a hard ball of an abdomen. The four long, jointed forelimbs that swung from its torso ended in curved, barbed blades. Its bulbous head stretching forwards on a scrawny neck had four bulging wide set eyes and a vast round mouth. The lowest segments of its rear legs were heavy and ended in huge clawed feet. Its hard, bony shell was a vivid green colour, unlike anything the Aux had ever seen. They lived in the dark below ground and in a world of ice and frost and snow above. The shock of orange roofs and red brick walls in the thaw was nothing compared to the iridescence of the Them’s glossy carapace.

It reared onto its hind legs, doubling its height, filling the tunnel in front of the horrified Aux.

Ezra Pound was the first with his crossbow up. He got the first shot in. He did not hesitate, he did not blink. He could not blink; his mouth was wide open in an almighty roar that could not be heard even by those closest to him over the echoes of the monster’s shriek. He loaded a second bolt, and a third. He kept shooting, and kept howling.

Nothing penetrated. Ezra Pound’s well-aimed bolts ricocheted off the carapace of the Them and fell away, harmless.

William and Peter Blade, brothers and seasoned Zoo Pack scrappers died in the same moment as a vast, hooked chitin blade swept through them, a great, barbed forelimb, speckled in lurid shades of glowing green.

Ezra Pound ducked low and fired almost vertically, aiming for the only flesh he could see. It was where the screeches were coming from, red and raw, but it was like no mouth the Alpha dog had ever seen: a great, dripping hole, lined with concentric circles of spiny dentition. His next bolt disappeared into the great maw, and its shriek was strangled as the circles of teeth seemed to fold inwards.

The flailing arms never stopped swinging. Arthur Rimbaud, who had scrapped for Zoo Pack for several seasons, and was strong and solid, but had never shown any great talent with blade or crossbow, was swept up by one of the Them’s claws when it could not penetrate his borrowed body armour.

He thrashed and wailed as he was manhandled towards the creature’s head. Finally, with nothing left to lose, he fired his crossbow one-handed into what should have been the Them’s face.

The bolt hit something soft and penetrated, probably an eye. The angered Them tossed its head and cried out again, giving Ezra Pound a target to aim at. His bolt made contact with the back of Arthur Rimbaud’s head as the Them fed him into its wide open mouth. It was a merciful death.

Those scrappers that were paralysed with fear were easy targets. They were laid waste to in seconds, picked off and hacked to pieces by the Them. The rest scattered.

Some hugged the tunnel walls, shooting their crossbows at the Them’s impenetrable bony shell, when they could hit their target at all. The Them moved faster than fast. Skittle-scuttle fast. Its cutting limbs were a blur of luminous green, and its thorax swung and twisted with every move of those four terrifying scythes.

One or two of the lieutenants shouted orders that nobody could hear above the shrieks of the beast, and Ezra Pound kept up a constant howl of menace and outrage.

Dorothy Barker and Evelyn War both made it to the tunnel wall. They kept loading and shooting their crossbows, hoping that something would hit and if it hit that it might penetrate. All the time they stuck together, shoulder to shoulder. They never lost contact with the reassuring touch of another Aux as they backed away from the fight.

Westhafen station and outside were only seconds away. Neither Dorothy nor Evelyn wanted to run, not yet. They had been in this together since Warschauer.

Vanessa Hell had been towards the rear of the group when the Them had shrieked its first appalling scream. She had been one of the first to run.

Frank Brangwin, on the left flank, was right in front of the Them when it dropped out of the tunnel ceiling. He fumbled with the nozzle of his weapon, twisted to adjust something on the tank when he couldn’t make it fire, struggled, panicked and fell hard on his back.

There was a strong smell of gasoline as one of the old tanks split beneath him. Struggling frantically to right himself and deploy his weapon, Brangwin didn’t see death coming.

He died instantly as his head was crudely severed from his body, fresh blood adding to the grease and scorch marks on his leather apron

Oscar so Wild had been towards the rear of the war band when the screech had gone out, and he’d been passed by the first runners. He did not stop them.

He broke formation and made for the tunnel wall to his right, his crossbow aimed. His first shot missed. He fumbled loading a second bolt, but his aim was true. It ricocheted off the Them. He didn’t know what part of the monster’s body he’d hit, but he saw the bolt fly off and hit the tunnel wall opposite.

Then he saw Ezra Pound crouching right in front of the Them. Oscar so Wild’s hands were shaking. It took him twice as long as it should to load a third bolt into his crossbow. He didn’t dare shoot it, because he didn’t know if his hands would manage to load a fourth.

Oscar so Wild sidled up the tunnel, his back tight to the wall, until he was level with Ezra Pound.

“Alpha dog,” he called, but he could not hear his own voice above the raging scream of the Them. Ezra Pound was intent on the battle, shooting and reloading his crossbow and shooting again. It was futile. Oscar so Wild could see that it was futile.

Scant metres from him, Somerset Mourn, a Zoo Pack dam that he knew well, whom he had served in war bands with for many seasons, was sliced in three before his eyes.

She was divided from the right hip to the left shoulder. Her left arm hit the ground first, then her torso, with the right arm attached. Her legs looked as though they would remain standing indefinitely, but they followed a short while after.

Ezra Pound kept firing, and the Them kept swinging. Oscar so Wild’s fear left him. He felt suddenly very calm for a moment. Then he was filled with rage. His leader, the Alpha dog Ezra Pound, was squatting in a tunnel filled with the bloody corpses of his scrappers, facing down the Them; and it was futile.

Oscar so Wild suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of it, the thought of it. He dropped his crossbow and reached for his blades. He took two long strides into the centre of the tunnel beside Ezra Pound, the double blades – one in each hand – held wide from his body.

Oscar so Wild roared.

“Get whet!”

A wry smile ghosted across Ezra Pound’s face as he heard the battle cry over the echoes of the Them’s squeal.

Oscar so Wild swung his blades at the Them’s hind limbs, which clung to the rails by its curved yellow talons. He ducked clear of chitin blades, and aimed for the joints, hoping to find some weakness.

Oscar so Wild’s blades hit hard green shell and did not penetrate, but the force of the blows made the limbs jerk. The Them’s swinging, killing arms flailed and it became more erratic.

The Them shrieked in frustration, its scything blades slowing as it steadied itself.

Ezra Pound was finally able to get off his knees. He shot another bolt into the Them’s screaming maw, and began to move to his left. He had no scrappers left to defend, no battle left to fight.

Oscar so Wild swung one blade and then the other, aiming both at the joint in the Them’s right hind limb. Shards of speckled shell sprayed from the wound he finally managed to inflict, and the joint buckled.

Oscar so Wild saw his chance and began to run. He did not look over his shoulder, but hoped that the Alpha dog was doing the same. He could see Evelyn War ahead of him. She was the only Aux left alive in the tunnel. She still had her crossbow raised. She had stayed and she had seen everything.

In one last ditch effort before he retreated, Ezra Pound slung his crossbow over his shoulder and pulled his own blade as he saw the Them lurch towards him, injured. He swung the blade only once. It glanced off one of the Them’s curved forelimbs, and the momentum drove the blade down hard onto the track rail, sending sparks flying.

There was a sudden WHOOMP as the spilled gasoline from Frank Brangwin’s weapon lit on fire, and Ezra Pound was enveloped in the blaze. He staggered for a moment.

VABOOM! The tunnel was filled with light and noise as the second tank on Frank Brangwin’s back exploded violently.

Oscar so Wild flew at Evelyn as she dropped her crossbow, taking her down with him onto the track as the tank exploded. The blast was at his back, hitting him hard, and bowling them both over. He landed on top of Evelyn between the rails.

He managed to clamber off her and help her to her feet as she doubled over, coughing. She’d been winded by the sudden weight of Wild’s body falling on top of her

Oscar so Wild wanted to see Ezra Pound walking out of the flames, but he knew it could never happen.

It was impossible to see anything in the glare of the intense fire. Evelyn saw nothing as she clutched her hands to her face against the bright flares of the explosion, but they both heard one last penetrating shriek. It was different from before; this was not a battle cry, but the sound a creature made when it was doomed and dying.

Oscar so Wild pulled his eyeshades from his pocket, and he stood and watched. He felt he owed it to Ezra Pound.

He could hardly discern the body of the Alpha dog, no more than a pathetic mound to one side of the tracks in the tunnel. The Them, wreathed in flames, bucked and tossed its body. It threw back its head and screeched.

The last echoes of the explosion overlapped with the shrill scream of the Them’s death throes, and then the scream took over, reverberating through the tunnel.

Finally, the Them fell, toppling headlong, nothing but a stinking ball of flames, black smoke billowing from it.

The smell was like nothing Evelyn War had ever known, sour and acrid. The Them did not burn with the sweet smell of meat, but with the smell of charring claws and hair.

Both Aux pushed their head cloths closer into their noses and mouths to keep the stench at bay. Wild took one last look down the tunnel to be sure that the Them had perished. The last of the echoes abated and then he put an arm around Evelyn, her head still on her chest, and led her up and outside.

Evelyn War never thought that she would mourn the death of the Zoo Pack leader, but her view of him had changed on the long Walk Around. Today, she had also seen his bravery in the tunnels.