Part 10
A guttural, barely human growl broke from his throat as Carson seized hold of the sharp edges that remained of the wall. His muscles burned as he tried to force himself away from the hideous dead-thing that was now Magos Bore. In reply, the tech-zombie issued an awful mechanical thrumming, as it attempted to pull him closer towards its gore-encrusted metal teeth.
But Bore only had hold of Carsons' jumper – now a shabby, torn ruin that he had worn for weeks. With the weight Carson had been losing, it looked oversized on him at the best of times. Now, it was stretched and ripping at the seams.
Was he to die like this? To be eaten alive in the darkness by some mutant-machine horror?
He determinedly held on to the sides, the aches and cuts from climbing down the building earlier that day returning in a painful flair. But he held. His jumper could no longer take the strain, and tore apart. Cason fell forwards rapidly, hitting the floor in a heap. At first, he didn't move, the shock of being so suddenly free dumbfounding him, and the pain of it vibrating to his bones – yet more damage to his body.
But, feeling pain meant you were still alive. He remembered a time when life meant something broader, something more. Not now.
He scrambled away, the absence of light disabling his escape. As he crawled forward, he felt cool, metal grating with his ravaged hands, then an iron-like railing. A staircase maybe?
His body was weak, battered and bleeding, but when he heard Magos Bore's metal limbs crunch over the ruined wall section, mere metres behind him, all such weakness was forgotten. Speedily he found the hand-light in his combat trousers, and turned it on, realising that the tech-zombie would find him easily enough with or without it, and rapidly searched his surroundings. He was indeed near a staircase – the deep shadows cast by the light showing a spiralling set of ironcrete steps climbing above him and descending below.
He pulled himself up with the railing, and leapt down the stairs. He was sure he felt the swish of air behind his back as a rusting claw reached for his flesh, but he ignored it, focussing instead on fleeing as safely as possible down the staircase.
The vehicle bays were in the lower levels, so surely this was the best way to go, he thought. He hoped.
The screech of bending metal made him turn and aim the light upwards: the multi-limbed monstrosity of Magos Bore descended upon him like a starving plague-ridden spider finally catching its prey in its web.
Frantically, Carson pushed further downwards, and the light played over a door. He charged towards it, pulled it open, and ran blindly into the darkness beyond, instantly stumbling over an unseen obstruction.
The door closed slowly behind him as he snatched up the light once more. He found himself in an area with a high ceiling, and as he cast his light over the room proper, hundreds, if not thousands, of lifeless human faces stared back at him.
*
The first salvo barely missed the Hermia, but the second clipped her hull, gouging out holes all across her back. Luckily, each round missed the engines, and anything vital, mainly due to the swift reactions of the old pilot flyer her.
Dassion Way cursed for the umpteenth time as he turned Hermia's large rear-end around a bulky reactor-core tower, gripping the throttle fiercely and pushing her deeper into the bulging metropolis of the inner city. The damn thing nearly had the jump on him, nearly! But the rugged pilot had seen the attack just as it started and swerved his ship, and precious human cargo, away from the onslaught.
Now the enemy ship was hot on their tail, taking pot shots at them at every opportunity. An inhuman wail blocked the airwaves, and his auspex fizzed with static – whoever their foe was, they where serious enough to jam them. Dassion's worst fears gradually picked away at his resolve – could it really be Chaos? So far he hadn't had a good look at the fighter chasing them, Hermia's canopy blocky and square – not meant for fighting, and so limiting sight. But the fleeting glance at it, and his suspicions from before, formed the unhappy realisation that they were indeed knee deep in grox shi-
The building next to the Hermia exploded – the missile fired by the enemy fighter violently impacting it after narrowly missing the rickety lander. Dassion flew his aging bird though the fire and smoke, her broad wings coming within inches of a towering building on its starboard, while dodging falling masonry from the other. Through skill, ability and a little luck, he managed to keep control of his ship, as he continued to weave throughout the miles-high buildings around him. In the confusion and hurry, Dassion had decided the best, and only, way of escaping the chaos fighter was to lose her inside the city.
So far, so good. But Dassion was starting to feel the strain – his reactions were not what they used to be. And though he was now fairly familiar with manoeuvring his ship throughout the city on his nightly searches for survivors, it was not like this – not at this speed and ferocity.
He pulled the lander around another tight corner, hitting the backward thrusters to compensate for the tight turn, hoping he gauged the turn correctly, the momentum pushing them close to hitting. As they rounded the building – a large, burnt-out hab-complex – he thrust the throttle forwards, driving the lander forwards, away from danger.
But still, no matter how many times he tried to evade the enemy fighter, it soon appeared once more, vying for a way to kill them.
Dassion sorely wished for some form of weapon to defend himself with. But the ancient lander was not made for war, only for carrying cargo and people across the world and up to orbiting cruisers. She was out of her depth here, a lame herbivore trying to outrun a deadly carnivore. The only true weapon he had had was Eli Cain and his Thunderbolt. But, he guessed, his weapon must have been destroyed by now.
The tight streets and maze-like bends suddenly opened up into a kilometre square open space – the Grand Plaza of Tharius. Hermia's only defence and shield had abruptly vanished, and Dassion found himself woefully prone.
'Dassion, Dassion?' said a crackly voice in his ear. It was Mira, no doubt checking their status from inside the cargo hold. 'What's happening Dassion?'
Not now, he thought, pulling the internal comms out of his ear. He just couldn't talk to the poor girl, especially now, as he was fighting for her life. Sweat layered his skin, and dread realisation hit him like punch: he didn't have enough time to hide from the fighter here. The mighty plaza would be their fiery graveyard. He'd failed.
The chaos fighter burst out of the narrow lane, hunting down its prey. It seemed to level out perfectly, putting the Hermia right in its sights. Dassion finally got a good look at his tormentor, the chaos Hell Talon. He had ran out of ideas and space. There was nothing for him to do but wait for death.
Tracer fire from the heavens ripped into the Hell Talon, igniting its fuel tanks and burning its engines. The fighter exploded dramatically, billowing clouds of dense smoke appearing in its doomed wake. Its remains rained over the empty plaza in large, flaming clumps.
The jammed comms suddenly blazed with broken sounds of Cain's voice, '… one down…'
Dassion turned the Hermia, relief flooding through his very being. The boy was alive! 'Eli, Eli, status?'
There was a brief static, then: 'One down, one on my tail. Get out of here old man, get clear.'
A smile crossed Dassion Way's face. 'Acknowledged.' And thanks.
With that, Dassion turned his lander towards the spaceport, the mission suddenly so much more important than before: Even though he knew they were up against the worst kind of enemy, all of them needed to know what was truly happening within the city of Tharius. Knowledge was survival.
'Dassion. Dassion,' a voice cried from the internal comm bead on his lap. 'What in the warp is going on? Can you hear me? Dassion?'
Mira would have to wait, he thought, as he slowly gathered his nerves. She didn't need to know how close they all had come to meeting the Emperor face-to-face.
*
Eli Cain and his Thunderbolt roared into the dark blue sky. As soon as he left the sprawling towers of the city, his auspex picked up the other Hell Talon. The damn thing was still on his six, still chasing him. But, the others were safe – for a while at least.
Now, though, Cain could turn his attention form one enemy to the other.
'Bring it on, frakker,' he whispered. 'Bring it on.'