Chapter Twenty-Nine
Beyond the Gate
Illarion Glazkov
The air felt like it was on fire.
The instant they crossed over, setting foot on alien ground, Illarion felt the full force of the heat they had only sampled on the other side. He looked up into the bloodred sky but saw no sun. Where is this infernal heat coming from?
The land around them looked to be a flat, endless plain. One second, he had been walking into a hot rain, so thick he could barely see through it, and the next, he was standing in Hell. The landscape wasn’t just blank, it made the tundra look plush.
Object 12 walked through the storm, surrounded by the rest of its crew. Chankov had taken the first turn as the driver because he had by far the most experience. Wallen had volunteered for the mission since 12 was his machine, stating it would’ve been downright dishonorable not to go. Lourens had only been assigned to crew 12 for a brief time, but he’d also come along, though Illarion suspected the reason he’d volunteered was with Svetlana gone, Lourens didn’t mind the idea of going on a suicide mission. Illarion vowed to keep a close eye on his friend.
The rest of 12’s reinforced crew was rounded out by three experienced soldiers, Damyan Zoltov, Rodion Kavelerov, and Platon Kuzkin, their bodies covered with burns and tattoos, and their last man was young Igor Verik, who had been in Illarion and Lourens’ training class, who by some miracle—despite participating in all the same battles as his comrades—had yet to earn a burn good enough for a trip to The Needle. Eight of them would be more than enough to run their Object around the clock if necessary.
The members of the Wall were armed with all their regular tools for dislodging a stuck suit—shovels, picks, prybars, and chains—but this time they had also availed themselves to some of the guns that Kristoph Vals had procured. Not that the Wall knew how to use firearms very well. That was what their infantry escort was for, but nobody wanted to go into the fairy realm without a weapon. Illarion had taken a shotgun, because he had used one at home, and he knew if he lost or broke his glasses, the shotgun would be the only thing he’d have a chance to hit anything with.
His comrades were the bravest men he’d ever known, but all of them looked unnerved as they took in the strange new realm. As the heat turned the water on their clothing to steam, Chankov slowly turned Object 12 to take it all in. For once their talkative officer was speechless.
Behind Illarion, Darus and the rest of the trenchers came through the gate. The wave of sudden heat seemed to affect them worse than it did the soldiers of the Wall, who were acclimatized to the burning air inside their suits. The infantry stumbled along under the weight of their packs, gasping as the muggy heat smacked them in the face. Two of the soldiers carried the bound scout on a stretcher. Thankfully he’d either been drugged or knocked out again, so they were spared his piteous screams.
Natalya came through, and even the jaded Rolmani, who had wandered farther than any of them, gasped when she saw their surroundings. Last through the storm was Kristoph Vals and his monstrosity, Vasily.
Darus had his men spread out and take up defensive positions. Then he trotted over to Kristoph. “Which way?”
The secret policeman removed his coat, and to Illarion’s surprise looked quite strong. The coat had given him the illusion of being thinner and weaker than he truly was. Kristoph withdrew a map from one pocket and a compass from the other. Then he scowled. “The needle just spins. This is going to be impossible without any landmarks to navigate by.”
“I don’t need any of that,” Natalya said.
Kristoph grudgingly handed the map to Natalya. “Very well, Rolmani.”
“Isn’t this what we have the other scout for?” Darus asked.
“He will be unconscious a while longer, but delaying will only make things worse for us.” Then Kristoph looked right at Illarion. “Call it a hunch, but I think Kapral Glazkov will lead us where we need to go.”
“We go the same direction as if it were our own world,” Illarion answered without hesitation. He didn’t know how he knew that, but it felt right. Natalya gave him a subtle nod of approval, so something on the map must have made her agree.
“Very well,” Kristoph said. “Move out.”
Darus sent half his men ahead, then the Wall followed. The ground was firm. Packed red dirt, dusty, but perfectly safe for the Object to walk on. Despite that, Chankov had the crew spread out ahead, probing for dangers. All they found was dust.
In the north, it was not too uncommon to have the summer sky be blotted out by smoke from wildfires. Miles and miles of forests would burn, and the smoke would hang over Ilyushka like a fog. The sky here reminded him of that, only redder. Maybe there was a sun above and it was just hidden?
They marched in what Illarion hoped was a straight westerly path for hours, but once the blood storm had faded out of sight, there was no real way to be sure. Natalya occasionally pulled out a pocket watch, tracking the passage of time. There was no celestial movement to show them what time of day it was, or even if it was day. Day and night probably don’t matter here.
Illarion made it a point to never ask her how long they had been walking. He didn’t want to know. Either he would be shocked how little time had passed or surprised they had been walking longer than expected. Neither would do him any good.
Kolakolvia was not a warm country most of the year, so many of the men were struggling. Illarion hoped they came across a stream to refill their canteens soon. The men walked mostly in silence. They’d not been ordered to, but the netherworld seemed like a quiet place, unused to human noise. So they marched, and the only sound was their boots and the rhythmic clanking of Object 12.
With nothing around them, and no real way for anything to sneak up on them, Chankov popped the hatch on the Object and drove with it open. That would keep it a bit cooler for the operator in this miserable heat.
“Are you ready to switch?” Illarion asked Chankov at one point, thinking their officer was surely exhausted by now.
“Believe it or not, I feel fine,” Chankov replied. “Considering how far and fast we’ve traveled, 12 isn’t overheating at all yet. The controls even feel more responsive than usual, so it’s not taking much muscle. But still, probably better to stay safe.” Because he was the next most senior, and 12 was his assigned machine, Chankov signaled for Wallen to take his place. While they swapped, Darus let his men stop and drink water.
Then their march continued.
The red dust stuck to everything. Their new boots and uniform trousers were quickly stained red. Clouds of grit floated around their legs. The soldiers were beginning to wobble. Occasionally a man would stumble over his own feet. They were still exhausted from the battle and gas attack, and most of them had not gotten much of a chance to rest since then. Every so often they paused to change 12’s driver, and the infantry were thankful for each chance to take a knee.
At one point, shadows cast from overhead darkened their path. The shadows made no sense without a visible light source, but when Illarion looked up he saw what looked like a flock of birds. They flew ahead, in the same direction the soldiers were heading, but were gone in a flash.
“Do you think those are anything like our birds?” Darus asked.
“No,” Illarion said. “Nothing from here is like our home. Assume everything wants to rip you open and play with your entrails.”
“How do you know that?”
“A feeling,” Illarion answered, though he instinctively knew that this was the land where the cat-thing he’d killed in Ilyushka had come from.
“We’ve been walking for six hours,” Natalya said, which was a number that took Illarion by surprise. “We should set up camp here.”
“There’s no cover,” Darus said. “General orders are to never camp in the open if that can be avoided.”
Natalya spun around, arms wide. “Do you see cover anywhere?”
“A good point,” the infantryman admitted.
“Do as she says,” Kristoph ordered. Then he sat heavily on the ground, obviously exhausted. He clearly wasn’t used to marching all day. Secret policemen probably got to ride carriages everywhere. His monstrous bodyguard stayed standing, blindfolded yet staring into the distance.
Illarion went to their Object to help Zoltov down. As soon as his hand touched the hot metal of one armored leg, Illarion’s mind was assaulted by deafening screams that had been mere whispers in their own world. The voices shook him, and he fought to stay upright for the moment it took the jarring noise to pass. The promises the voices made were no different than before, but so much louder. Illarion stumbled, then backed away, and the volume dissipated with every extra step of distance between him and Object 12.
“Are you alright?” Zoltov asked as he hopped out.
He had tried to keep his expression neutral, but he worried that Kristoph’s eyes were on him as he answered, “I’m fine.”
“Try and get some rest,” Natalya told the group. “We’ll need to keep our stamina up.”
Darus immediately began assigning some of his men to be on watch and setting up a schedule for the rest. Packs were dropped and soldiers immediately began pulling out food or blankets to sleep on, but Darus ordered them to clean their guns first because the red dust was sure to gum up the action of their weapons. Men groaned in protest, but Darus had no patience for such things. He may have been newly promoted, but he was clearly no fool.
Chankov ordered the Wall to do a maintenance check on 12. Luckily as they tightened bolts and oiled joints, the magic didn’t scream at him anymore. Even though 12 was his regular machine, he was still one of the three junior men on the crew, so he’d not had a turn to drive yet here. He was curious what it would be like when it was his turn.
When they were done, Illarion sat down near Natalya, who had spread out her poncho a little distance from the others. Illarion took a piece of hard bread from his pack and began to chew.
“How do we know when we’ve rested enough and need to get going again?”
“I’ll wake us,” she replied. “Don’t worry, my internal clock is never wrong. When I am out scouting I only ever sleep as much as I want to, I know exactly how far I’ve gone, and I never get lost. It’s part of my Rolmani gift.”
“Will that still work here?”
“I checked against the pocket watch the whole time, counted my steps, and I was always spot on. I almost feel as if my gifts are working even better here.” She shrugged, then lowered her voice. “What’s wrong with you, though? It looked like you were about to pass out when you helped your friend from the Object.”
“The suit always calls to me, but here the call is so loud it feels like my head is going to split open. The magic that powers the Object—the original magic from the golem remains—must have some connection to this place. It must be stronger here. Do you think Kristoph saw what you saw?”
“He sees everything, Illarion.”
“Of course he does.” Exhaustion ate at his body and mind, but the strange red light saturating the landscape bled through his eyelids when he closed his eyes. “No sun, and yet we have endless light and heat. Don’t you know your way around the empire because of the direction the sun rises and sets, or the stars at night? How do you know we are going the right way?”
“I can’t see them but I can feel where they should be, and how they should be moving. It’s faint, but still there. The better question is, how did you know the right way to start? Do you have some Rolmani ancestors you’re not telling me about?” She thumped him playfully. “Cousin?”
Suggesting a proud Kolak line had some Rolmani in it would have been taken as an insult before he’d actually gotten to know her. “Not that I know of.”
Darus walked over to them holding his pack, rifle, and bedroll. “Care if I throw down here?”
“Not at all,” Illarion answered. “Darus, this is Natalya Baston. She is—”
“A sniper who sometimes works for the Secret Police.”
“So you’ve met?”
“Yes,” Natalya said. “He’s far less annoying than most trenchers.”
“What did Darus say to win you over?”
“Basically, he told me where I could shove it.”
Illarion felt his eyebrows climb his skull. “And you didn’t shoot or stab him?”
Darus laughed. “I thought she was going to. She was right, though. She set me straight.”
“Did your officer fall on his knife then?”
“During the gas attack. How do you think I got this promotion?”
They both laughed, but Illarion had no idea what was going on.
Darus gestured around the rest of their hasty camp. “So you know, I didn’t lie to them. I told them this might be a one-way trip. You know what they said?”
Illarion shook his head.
“They said they would rather die fighting for a good cause than die like dogs from gas in a trench.”
“Brave of them,” Illarion said.
“They’d just had a good example. They saw you go back out into the poison, over and over, bringing back the suits. Bringing back your brothers and sisters in the Wall, even though most were surely dead. Courage begets courage. You inspired them, Glazkov. When I said you’d be here along with the fearsome Object 12, there was no shortage of volunteers. I had to turn some away.”
Illarion was stunned into silence by his words.
Darus gave a respectful nod, then turned onto his side, pulled his cap over his eyes, and went immediately to sleep.
When Illarion looked to Natalya in bewilderment, she wore an amused smile.
“Remember how I warned you not to stand out? You’re doing a shit job of it.”
Day followed day. Step followed step. The terrain never changed, and neither did the light. In this land, darkness never fell. Or maybe, Illarion wondered, was this the darkness here? And when daylight came it would burn them to a crisp?
Everyone’s dreams were strange and disquieting. Whether that was directly caused by this world nobody knew. Though Chankov repeatedly said he wished they’d thought to bring a priest.
When it was finally Illarion’s turn to drive Object 12, once he strapped into the suit, the skull-splitting cacophony quieted and returned to normal. His vision was clearer than usual when in the suit. His hearing just the slightest bit better. The controls seemed effortless. Tons of steel seemed almost weightless. For the first time ever, being inside the armor could be described as comfortable.
Despite that, the suit’s whispers only spoke of one thing now. Danger.
He had never been able to drive for hours at a time before. Before the rising heat would have driven him from the Object, but here everything seemed to be the same miserable temperature. All the hours of driving gave his mind time to wander, and Illarion found that he was desperate to learn more about the suit and the golems it was made from. That desire didn’t leave him either once it was his turn to get out and turn the Object over to Lourens. Something about this place had awakened something deep inside his mind.
The scout Eliv had finally returned to consciousness during their second rest period. When he saw the bloodred sky, he had immediately began weeping and his cries had woken everyone up. Despite Kristoph’s demands, Eliv had answered no questions, nor spoken at all. His obvious terror left the rest of the expedition confused and afraid.
“He is bad for morale,” Kristoph said as he put his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol. “I find I distrust the way he looks at us. Perhaps we should kill him? If you would all rather keep your hands clean, I believe I am up for the job.”
“He might snap out of it and come around,” Chankov had argued. “What’s even worse for morale is when the troops think their commanding officer might execute them if they lose their nerve.”
“They should be.”
“Except we’re not in the empire anymore. Every one of these men is brave, or they wouldn’t be here, but these soldiers are going to be a lot more worried about what this land will do to them than the wishes of one commissar.”
“Do not mistake me for a mere commissar.”
“Close enough for them. And you’re one man who needs to sleep. I’d hate for them to begin thinking of you as a threat to their lives, so far from home.”
Kristoph seemed to be a very cold and calculating sort, but it was clear this place was fraying his nerve. He thought it over for a moment, then nodded and let go of his gun. “You are perceptive, Chankov. Very well. The trenchers can drag him along. Except if his screams interrupt my sleep again, I will let Vasily play with him.”
It seemed Eliv had heard none of this, as the scout had closed his eyes tight, covered his ears with his hands, and was rocking back and forth like a frightened child. As Illarion went back to sleep, he wondered: if the poor man had heard Kristoph’s threats, would he have embraced death rather than stay here?
The next “day” Natalya had noticed a change on the horizon and called a halt.
It had been so long since they’d seen anything that it took the soldiers a moment to process the command. They were coated in red dust. Thirsty. The tiny amounts of water they’d found had been nothing more than brackish puddles. Dry eyes creaked in their sockets as they looked in the direction Natalya was looking with her scope.
Kristoph pulled the spyglass from his satchel and scanned the horizon. “It looks like a hill, but that could be a heat mirage.”
Illarion blinked, but even through his glasses he couldn’t make it out. Kavelerov was driving Object 12, but Illarion walked closer so he could hear the machine. The whispers were warning him again. Danger. Always danger. But this time they were more insistent. He looked toward Chankov and shook his head in warning.
Their officer nodded. “Kavelerov, dismount. Glazkov, you’re up.”
“It’s not his turn,” said Kuzkin, but Chankov just held up one hand to silence him. Chankov might not fully understand Illarion’s connection to the machine, but he’d seen enough to know there was something to it. Even though he was one of the less experienced pilots, Illarion took such trust as a compliment, and he hurried and helped Kavelerov out. He would not let Chankov down.
Kristoph shouted, “Let’s pick up the pace a bit and see if we are facing something different.”
Once Illarion was behind the controls, they set out. As they continued onward, the change in the landscape became more pronounced. There were rivulets cut in the ground from rain, and for the first time they saw plant life, though the grass was stunted and dead.
“We shouldn’t go there,” Eliv suddenly said. His words were enough to startle the trenchers who’d been guiding him along. “We shouldn’t go there. We shouldn’t. Shouldn’t.”
“What is it?” one of the soldiers asked. “Do you know what it is? Is it dangerous?”
“No. No. We shouldn’t go there. Shouldn’t.”
Darus threw up his hands. “Either it’s dangerous and going to kill us, or he’s just crazy. I’m leaning toward the latter.”
“Both could be true,” Kristoph said. “Are we still going west?”
“Yes,” Natalya confirmed. “The route on the map takes us right by the mound, or whatever it is. I’d say that we should go around, but I can just make out more of them to each side. It looks like we’re heading into some sort of hill country. There appears to be a line of these things as far as I can see.”
“So our only way is through,” Chankov said.
“Looks like it,” Natalya answered.
Eliv wouldn’t move from the spot where he stood. He shook his head wildly from side to side. “Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. She’ll get us.”
Darus went over to the scout, took him by the shoulders, and shook him hard. “Hey. Listen. You need to talk and do it fast.” But the shaking did no good. Eliv’s mind was too broken. He gave Eliv a sharp smack across the face, but the scout didn’t seem to notice.
Kristoph’s eyes narrowed. “Vasily, bring him.” The Cursed stalked to the gibbering man, scooped him up, and threw him over a shoulder. Eliv didn’t struggle but continued mumbling his “shouldn’t” mantra.
She’ll get us. Had anyone else heard Eliv say those words? Illarion turned 12’s head to study the mounds, dread clawing at his chest. “Chankov?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s make sure the cannon is ready.” He lowered 12’s arm so the others could check the feed mechanism.
“Just in case?”
“Just in case.”
When Darus saw the Wall readying their big gun, he signaled for his men to fix their bayonets.
As they approached the first mound, everyone in the group was on edge, weapons at the ready. Even Kristoph had his pistol drawn. The mound appeared to be made of the same cracked red dirt as everything else so far, only it was about twenty feet tall in the center. Large, dark holes dotted the surface of the bulge.
Natalya was in the lead. She stiffened, turned to the group and put a single finger to her lips. She’d heard something.
Illarion held perfectly still, because the smallest movement would be magnified and turn into metallic noise. He took a hard look at the edges of the holes and saw claw marks gouged deep around every one of them. He understood Natalya’s worry. This wasn’t a mound. It was a hive. And he didn’t want to find out what was inside.
The soldiers crept forward, passing the first mound, then a second. From right to left, mounds stretched as far as the eye could see. They would have to pass several more, but then the desert seemed to return to what passed for normal here.
“Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t.”
There was a sound. Light at first, then louder and louder, a skittering noise. Sharp claws on dry earth.
From the hole poured ghouls. Dozens of them.
The pallid monsters were a mockery of a man. Spindly, misshapen things. Their eyeless lumpy heads were split open by mouths full of twisted fangs. They scurried out of their burrow and rushed across the sand.
“Open fire!” Darus and Chankov shouted simultaneously.
12’s cannon cut through the rushing ghouls, spraying black blood everywhere. The shells exploded on impact, tearing deep gouges from the mound, and revealing more white bodies stacked inside, like insects. Illarion worked the action as fast as he could, pouring round after round into the seething mass of ghouls, who clawed and scrabbled over each other to rush the Kolakolvians. Their claws ripped into the skin of their fellow monsters, heedless of the damage they did to each other. Long, snakelike tongues lashed out, looking for something to latch on to. Sometimes one would wrap around the ghoul right in front of it, and the two blind things would go down clawing and biting into the other before getting trampled by the horde.
The infantry fired their rifles, reloaded, and fired again. Most of them were very poor marksmen, as the army seldom had ammunition to practice. Their poor aim was offset by the sheer quantity of the creatures. Many of the monsters crashed into the ground, spraying blood. They weren’t as tough out in the open, as opposed to when they appeared in the mud directly beneath your feet, but there were so many of them.
Illarion kept shooting until the last brass shell fell from the smoking action. “Reload! Reload!” Lourens began clearing the gun as Wallen brought up another clip. Illarion watched in horror as eyeless heads popped out of the holes of the other mounds. “Keep the ammo coming!”
Chankov had seen the other mounds stirring as well and began shouting toward their supposed commander. “Vals, we’ve got to push through. That way. If we stay here they’ll overwhelm us.”
Kristoph had clearly never done anything like this before, but he had the sense to listen to Chankov. “Yes! Push through! Everyone, we must reach the next clearing!”
Chankov and Darus immediately began translating that wishful thinking into actual orders for the men. The group began moving and shooting, held together by their officers.
“Glazkov, bring up the rear, keep these things off our asses!”
“Will do!” Illarion walked Object 12 backwards as fast as he was able. It was surprisingly easy. The suit seemed far more responsive than it had been back in his world. The controls felt tighter, and the Object felt . . . light. He aimed at the mounds, shelling them mercilessly. The outer edges of the hives were more fragile than he would have guessed, and they collapsed inward from the bombardment.
His cannon went silent as it ran out of ammunition. “Reload!” There was a horde of white bodies headed their way. He lowered the cannon arm so it would be easier for his team to reach. “The shotgun shells if you’ve got them ready!”
“Got them,” Kavelerov said as he muscled the big clip into the hopper and slammed the lid shut. “Go! Go!” He ran away to avoid being hit by the muzzle blast.
Illarion worked the action with his flesh-and-blood arm and swung it back toward the ghouls. When he fired, a cone of bodies disintegrated into flying chunks of bone and meat. He chopped down ghouls like he was scything grain. A handful made it past the wall of lead, and he reflexively swung the halberd at them. The blade cut through them like a sharp knife through thin paper.
With the rear temporarily under control, he turned 12 forward to see that their push wasn’t going well. An infantryman on the leading edge was hauled away and ripped into pieces. His comrades shot the monsters or ran them through with their bayonets, but more immediately took their place. Ghouls spilled out of the mounds like ants, more and more every second. Thankfully they didn’t burrow through the ground here like they had at the front, or the soldiers would already be dead. Despite that small mercy, he could tell they’d all be dead soon anyway.
He fired until the cannon was empty again, but his crew was too busy trying to stay alive to feed the gun. Ghouls were rushing past the armored object to attack the softer targets. Illarion sliced, punched, and stomped ghouls, desperately trying to protect his friends. Illarion searched for Chankov for direction, but their officer was busy smashing a ghoul’s head with a pry bar. There was no time to wait for orders.
Like everyone in the military, he’d heard the stories about what Prajan golems could do. They were said to be like destroying angels. They could wipe out whole platoons in seconds. Some were big, slow, and inevitable. Others were light, nimble, and lightning fast. But every golem was a wrathful force of nature. The Objects made from their husks never could go faster than a brisk walk. They were tough, but clumsy. Except here, in this terrible world, Illarion could feel the true potential in the suit. The power of the golem was at his fingertips. He pushed the controls harder than he ever had before.
He caught up to the ghouls that had run by him and cut them down from behind. He kicked a ghoul and its broken body sailed a hundred feet through the air. He sliced one in half. Picked up another and flung it into the other monsters, sending ten of them sprawling.
The soldiers were being boxed in from all sides. They were trapped, almost past the last mound, but unable to break through. The soldiers were fighting hard enough to make the Tsar proud, but they’d never outlast the horde on their own. The Cursed had dropped Eliv—who had fallen to the ground and curled into a ball—and drawn two long, curved knives. Vasily hacked into the ghouls soundlessly, blood arcing with his every swing. Illarion had never seen anything move that fast. Not even the creature that had nearly taken his life in Ilyushka.
A trencher strayed too far from the group, and had his throat ripped out, then disappeared under a swarm of eyeless monstrosities. Another was disemboweled by a ghoul streaking by. Lourens shot that monster in the head and sent its brains everywhere. Illarion could see the fear and determination lining every face, but they knew they were going to die.
A wave of ghouls from the final mound was about to hit the group from the front. The soldiers braced for impact, bayonets raised, but Illarion could already tell those blades wouldn’t be enough. Their line would fragment, the group would come apart, and then the ghouls would pick them off one by one.
Before he even realized he was doing so, Object 12 was running. Smashing ghouls beneath its steel feet, but Illarion dodged every one of his comrades. And then he leapt over the line of soldiers.
The suit slammed down into the seething mass of ghouls. The weight alone was enough to crush and kill many of them. But then he swept the halberd, killing more with every swing, and sending broken bodies tumbling away. That broke the rush, and the monsters scattered.
12 turned back to see the astonished infantry staring at them. It was a miracle he hadn’t squished them. “I need a reload!” He didn’t specify what kind of ammo because at this point he’d take whoever was closest.
Igor Verik ran up with a clip in his hands, dodging claws. The poor man was covered in scratches and monster blood. He might not have earned his trip to The Needle yet, but it had certainly not been for lack of courage. Illarion lowered the cannon so Verik could reach it, and then he used the halberd to keep the monsters away.
“Keep them off the Object!” Darus bellowed as he clubbed a ghoul over the head with his rifle butt. “That suit is our only hope!”
Cannon ready, Illarion went back to the slaughter. The ghouls directly in front of the weapon vanished in a black, wet mist, and the shell ripped through a line of monsters before exploding against a hive. A leaping ghoul tried to land on the Object’s head, but Illarion rammed his halberd through its chest, catching it in midair. He pivoted and flung the twitching body into an oncoming group of enemies, the impact scattering them. He cranked the action, fed another massive shell into the breach, and obliterated another knot of monsters.
“We’re almost free,” Natalya urged as she shot a ghoul off of 12’s leg. Illarion hadn’t even noticed that one.
“Run. I can hold them here,” Illarion said, and 12’s magic magnified his words so the entire platoon heard him even over the gunfire. It wasn’t his place to give such an order, but Chankov didn’t countermand him, and Kristoph didn’t have a clue how to lead men in battle.
His attack had ripped enough of the ghouls to shreds that it had cleared a path for his comrades. As they fled, Illarion went back to killing. He’d be damned if he let any of these things past him.
They came like an avalanche. Dozens. Hundreds. More. They poured from the ruins of the hives he had shot to pieces, to chase down his friends.
Walking backwards again, he fired until his cannon was empty. The black blood covering his halberd seemed to absorb the crimson light. The wave of pallid, disgusting bodies crashed over him.
He smashed them into the ground and into each other, crushing bones and tearing off limbs, until 12 was buried. He could hear the claws scratching at the steel, trying to find a way in. The hatch behind him shook as the stupid things tore at the handles.
Illarion let 12 topple backwards. The monsters beneath exploded.
The Object’s magical hearing picked up Chankov’s desperate words, even though he was some distance away. “Object down. Prepare for a counterattack. We’ve got to get him up.”
“No!” Illarion shouted. He didn’t know how he knew, but he said, “I’ve got this.”
Kicking one leg and twisting one arm, he made 12 roll onto its side, crushing more ghouls. And then he fought his way up, onto his feet, and then he stumbled after his comrades. A giant, covered in black blood and dangling monster bits. 12 crossed a line of dead scrub grass.
As one, the ghouls stopped.
Illarion took a few more steps, expecting the monsters to resume their charge. But instead the horde of ghouls stood nearly motionless, blank faces staring at him. No, he realized, at the border we just crossed. Illarion turned to look at the rest of the soldiers, hoping that there wasn’t a new, deadlier monster bearing down on them.
Which was when he realized that in the distance, there was a forest.
The rest of the group had stopped and were staring at the ghouls in relief and confusion, but they kept moving when they saw that their Object was on its feet and would be able to catch up.
The massive army of ghouls remained where they stood. He could sense how much they hated the humans who had trespassed, but none dared approach the distant forest, as if they were scared of it.
What was bad enough in the forest that even the ghouls were scared?