PART 5
Carson gripped the frame of the window, his muscles straining as he tried to hold himself up at the same time, while missing the razor-like teeth of glass that edged the broken frame with his hands. Fear rippled through him as he hung over the long drop, a now constant companion. In his minds' eye, he imagined missing the ledge below he intended to land upon, and falling heavily onto the solid ground below.
Away from the deathly stench of the zombies in the hab, Carson now caught a whiff of the air around him, the slight breeze of morning air making him think – his memory grasping at something new to him for an instant. The air that swept passed was so fresh, so new…
All his life Carson had been used to the smells of a vibrant, busy city. He used to taste the chemicals and pollutants in the air. It was part him. But now, after weeks of silence, Tharius seemed to change – the fumes and smog had lessened. It was refreshing; it gave him hope.
However, the deep smell of dead tainted the same air moments later. It was as if he could taste the God-Emperor's dream of life momentarily, then it was stripped away with the smell of decomposition. Some, he remembered, embraced that smell, seeing it as a beneficiation of the Emperor – as if the smell of a corpse resembled His unliving soul. They were the first to die. The fanatics. The faithful…
His arms burned, and he was pulled out of his reverie. He had to let go. He forced himself to look downwards, hopefully finding a glimpse of the ledge below. He saw it, and without thinking, dropped to the ledge metres below. The impact jarred his legs, his knees buckling in pain, and he gripped the sides of the building with his hands, looking to steady his landing…
It worked, and he held his balance on the ledge. The wind rippled across his body, his clothes billowing in the air as it became suddenly stronger while he held on to the side of the building. But a determination took hold of him, and he focussed on his balance and grip. Ever so slowly, he moved sideways, imagining the platform holding the gargoyle below. That was the plan – to move towards the gargoyles and climb down over their stone, lifeless effigies.
Finally he made it to one, and with total relief, he cuddled a stone replica of an Adeptus Astartes, a Space Marine.
The sun dipped behind a cloud in the sky. Darkness snatched away the light, and a dullness covered the city.
A shrill screeching vibrated across everything.
Part of Carson panicked suddenly; thinking one of the zombies from above would nimbly jump from the ledge and attack him from mid-air. Of course, that did not happen. Silence reigned.
He crept across the statue, looking downwards at the next one – some form of Tech-priest by the looks of it – and considered his next move. Realising that there was not much else to do other than climb down, he gripped hold of an arm, and descended further.
He dangled over a cracked window and it exploded outward ferociously with a crash, making him cry out sharply with fright. He immediately caught a glimpse of what turned out to be one of the living dead. It tried desperately to claw at him, craving his flesh, as it crashed out of the hab along with hundreds of shards of glass. He felt it grab hold of his legs with its rotting hands, even as the needle-like pinpricks of glass caught him.
One bite and he could turn into one of them. Carson kicked out violently, his thoughts whipped blind in pure terror at the idea of his life being eaten away from him. The heavy weight of the zombie vanished, but in his fearful state, he lost his grip and fell.
Instinct took over and Carson's mind succumbed to panic and confusion as he watched the building blur before him. His hands fumbled for a handhold, and somehow he caught hold of the tech-priest gargoyles leg, momentum flinging his body roughly into the side of the hab building. Pain flared around him as he held on, trying desperately to steady himself. Moments later, he scrambled up to the thin platform that circumvented the building, and lay across it, catching his breath and sucking up the pain.
He opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, just as the clouds parted and sunlight broke out once more, and he remembered all-of-a-sudden the flyers he had seen a few hours before. Now was not the time to give up or become a frightened foul. He had to focus. He had to remain alive.
Carson controlled his breathing, steadying his nerves, and ignored the throbbing pain in his limbs. He turned his head downwards and looked at the not too distant ground, and saw his recent attacker splattered upon the hard ceremite.
That was not him. Not Carson. He had survived again. He hoped it would be something he would continue to be good at until he was able to escape this hellhole, this dead city.
He signed deeply, and readied himself for the next step of his downward journey.
The sun cast haunting shadows across the desolate cityscape, and the wind calmed to a whisper.