Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (30 page)

Or, rather, he wasn’t. But that fucking exo-skeleton was. So long as he was wrapped up nice and cozy inside that thing, he could smack her around for hours, without ever growing tired.

“Will you just die?” he said.

He swung again. The flag fluttered as it moved, the King’s stylized red eyes on black. Brunhilde raised the table. The pole smashed into the wood with a deafening crack that scattered splinters all around her, and it flew from her hands.

T
he sunlit world faded into a dim circle behind Daniel as he crawled through the tunnel, following Rat-Girl’s feet. She moved faster than he could, and every step along the tunnel tore more skin from his knees and elbows as they scraped against the stones in the walls. She must have skin like leather to move as fast as she did through the narrow space.

He’d been ahead of the Guards as he dove into the tunnel, but they wouldn’t wait long before they tried to follow. The tunnel was barely wider than Rat-Girl’s hips, and the walls pressed against his ass and thighs as he pushed through behind her. The Guards would have to stop and remove their armour if they wanted to follow. That might give him a bit of time.

Or they could just throw a bomb of their own down the tunnel, and he and Rat-Girl would be buried alive.

The light dimmed as the tunnel sloped down below the courtyard walls, toward the tower. Was she leading him into a trap? Then the light faded away as the tunnel turned to the left. He could no longer see anything, only feel the rough dirt and stones on his hands and legs, and the walls pressing in on his shoulders, hips and thighs. He was trapped in a black abyss, with the ground pressing down on him. He couldn’t turn, he couldn’t back out, all he could do was follow her, and hope she was leading him to safety.

Where was she, anyway? His heart pounded in his ears, and the hissing of his breath echoed back from the walls so loudly that he couldn’t hear anything else over the ringing in his ears. It had faded some, but not enough to hear much of the tapping of her hands and feet on the dirt.

What if she wasn’t there? What if he’d lost her? Should he have taken that turn? Maybe she went straight on, and he was heading down a dead end? His head would smash into a dirt wall, and he’d have no way out.

His heart beat ever faster, ready to burst. His lungs gasped for air to fuel it. His arms and legs shook. He was alone in the ground. He would die, trapped and struggling, in the dark.

No, don’t think like that. She helped him before, and she’d come back to help him again. If he went the wrong way, she’d have come back to find him. She must know the tunnel, if she’d found her way through it to the courtyard. From... wherever it came from.

And at least the bloody drones hadn’t followed.

So far as he could tell, anyway. They could be following right behind his ass, and he wouldn’t be able to see or hear them unless they turned their lights on. For once, they’d actually be useful to have around.

Then his face smashed into the dirt. His shoulders hunched up until the bones ground on each other, as the tunnel walls pushed them together.

Dirt trickled down his neck. The walls were closing in. They were going to collapse. He’d survived the King’s tortures and Brunhilde’s claws, just to die slowly, buried alive in the dark, suffocated by the weight of the dirt above him. His heart raced, sweat ran down his sides, he half-opened his mouth, ready to scream.

Then a hand touched his face. It ran along his cheek, then down his neck, and along his shoulder. Then it flicked up again, and the fingers pressed dirt against his face.

No, the dirt was falling. She was digging the tunnel wider.

Daniel pushed himself back a few centimetres, then reached up to try to help. He pulled dirt from the walls, and pushed it beneath him, throwing it as far back as he could, and pushing it further behind him with his feet. He moved on like a mole, digging out the earth and piling it behind.

Now he was really screwed if there was no way out.

The walls grew narrower still, and every step came slowly as he dug forward centimetre by centimetre. She dug into the roof, and his hands ripped up the floor.

He really needed a piss. His body shook with the strain of fighting for his life in the dark, and his bladder wouldn’t hold much longer.

“How far is it?” he hissed between gasping breaths.

She just squeaked in return.

It was as far as it had to be. He’d either see the light again, or he’d die trying. Just dig, centimetre by centimetre, and, sooner or later, there’d be a way out.

Resigned to his fate, his heart slowed a little, the shakes stopped, and he dug faster into the dirt. The stones tore into his fingers, but they were no more broken than the rest of his body, and they’d heal eventually. He had little choice.

He looked up as he crawled along the tunnel. Was that light up ahead, or just a hallucination?

No, it shone around Rat-Girl’s hair as she worked on the roof. There was definitely light coming into the tunnel.

He pushed his fingers deeper into the dirt, and ripped it out in larger chunks as he pushed onward. He tossed it behind, and kicked it away with renewed vigour. Just dig deep enough to get through this stretch, and he’d be breathing fresh air again in a few minutes.

The ground twisted beneath his knees as he dug into it. He glanced toward Rat-Girl, who was still pulling dirt down from the roof. Something dangled around her neck, on a cord. Was that really his missing tooth? Freaky.

He pushed his fingers into the tunnel floor once more. The dirt resisted them for a couple of centimetres, then his hand suddenly slid right through.

His leg twisted as the dirt gave way beneath him.

And he yelled as he fell.

B
runhilde clung to her end of the flagpole. She’d caught it when the King swung, and now he tried to pull it from her paws. She slammed her feet into the debris, and dug her toes into the soft ground, raking it with her claws. They barely went in a centimetre, but she needed all the help she could get.

She stared into his red eyes. Steam rose from the slits in his helmet, but was it coming from his steam engine, or his head? He scowled at her, and he sweated as his metal arms pushed the pole against her paws, then pulled it back, trying to shake her loose. She strained until her muscles bulged under her furry skin, trying to hold the pole steady.

But he was going to win, sooner or later, if she didn’t do something. Not to mention that Pig-Face and half a dozen Guards were heading their way, climbing over the dead, and pushing the wounded aside. And others pointed rifles and bows at her from the walls. If she wasn’t so close to the King, they’d probably be shooting at her by now.

He pulled the pole again, and her muscles strained. Fuck this motherfucker. She dug her claws deeper into the dirt, and pushed the pole. With the King’s steam-powered arms pulling, and her muscles pushing, it swung back at a speed neither could control. It smashed into the King’s chest with a thunk that echoed back from the walls, then toppled from his hands.

Brunhilde grabbed it, and swung it fast. The pole smacked into his legs, and she ducked as his hand grabbed for her neck. Then she raised the pole high, to swing at his head.

She brought it down hard, and the King’s engine belched smoke as he tried to twist away. Then pain stabbed through Brunhilde’s leg. She glanced down, and kicked her foot, trying to dislodge Princess as she bit into Brunhilde’s ankle.

“Fuck off,” Brunhilde yelled, then looked up again.

The King’s metal hands slammed together around the pole. It stopped suddenly with a metallic smack, and the vibration shook Brunhilde’s arms until her elbows ached.

Then he pulled his hands up. The pole slid from her paws. The rough metal scraped against her skin as she tried to stop it, but the steel pistons in his arms pumped hard against her grip. Steam hissed from the pipes over his shoulders as they struggled, then he pulled the end of the pole from her paws.

He spun his whole body, in a cloud of smoke and steam. The flag streamed out behind the pole as it rotated around him. Brunhilde dodged back. The slipstream fluttered the hair on her chest, and the flag smacked against her face as it passed by.

The Guards weren’t so lucky. The pole smashed into them, knocking two of them onto their backs in the debris. Pig-Face ducked, and the others jumped aside as it swung their way.

Princess jumped for Brunhilde’s face as the King swung the pole again. The flag waved, and the metal end swung toward Princess’ head. Brunhilde grabbed her, bent over, and tossed her safely aside before the pole could hit her.

A Guard lunged at Brunhilde with his sword. The pole smashed into him and knocked him away. Brunhilde looked up, too late to dodge the pole. It slammed into her back.

Although the Guard had taken the worst of the blow, the impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she fell to her knees as she gasped in air. She tried to stand. Her legs gave way.

The King raised the pole, ready to swing it down in a killing blow. His scowl changed to a smile, and the pistons in his arms pumped in and out. Brunhilde swung a paw toward his leg, but he kicked it aside.

Then steam exploded from the pipes on the King’s back. White streamers erupted into the sky, and a hot, wet cloud spread across the courtyard around him, thick enough that Brunhilde could barely see anything beyond the nearest pile of wreckage. The King’s elbows ground as he tried to swing his arms. The pipe jerked a few centimetres closer to Brunhilde’s head, and stopped.

“Get her,” he yelled.

The Guards stumbled through the steam, Pig-Face in the lead as the clambered over wreckage. Brunhilde took a deep breath, and pushed herself up. Her legs held this time.

She grabbed Princess, swung the girl over her shoulder, and held her there with one hand. Pig-Face swung his sword, and she punched him in the face with the free hand. He toppled back, and his sword flew through the air behind him. Wood cracked as he slumped down into the debris.

“Put me down,” Princess yelled.

“Shut up while you're being rescued.”

“I don't want to be rescued.”

“Well you're fucking being rescued.”

Princess wriggled in Brunhilde's grip, and smacked her hands against Brunhilde's back. Couldn't she just accept her good luck? There had to be a better place for a girl on this shit-stain of a planet than whore to that... thing.

Liam ducked and dodged in front of her, swinging his sword, but not coming close enough to attack. Brunhilde snarled at him, and he backed away. She grabbed the remains of the table, now with only one leg attached, and lunged past him. She swung the table as she moved, to discourage any other Guards who might want to look brave for the King.

She stomped across the dirt, through the fading steam cloud, toward the steps at the outer wall. The steam hid them from the Guards on the wall, but not for long. Spectators, many smeared with streaks of blood, were still climbing to their feet after the blast. None looked eager to take Brunhilde on, but she swung the table randomly in their direction anyway.

“Put me down,” Princess yelled again.

An arrow flew toward them. Brunhilde twisted aside, and it barely missed Princess' ass as it passed over Brunhilde's shoulder.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to shoot the girl, you stupid bastards?” the King yelled.

Brunhilde raced up the steps, swinging the table in one hand, and holding Princess with the other. One Guard swung a sword, until the table smashed into his face. He flipped over the side of the steps, screaming as he fell. The Guards above him stared at Brunhilde, then glanced down at the courtyard. As she swung the table toward them, they ducked, and jumped over the side.

Brunhilde’s feet stormed up the stone steps. The Guards on the top of the wall backed away. Good.

Princess shrieked as Brunhilde turned, swinging her out over the edge of the wall. Her legs kicked in the open air. Brunhilde stared down over the battlements. She was well above the wooden city wall, and the muddy scrubland stretched out around her. That was a heck of a drop, and who knows how soft the ground was down there?

Splinters exploded from the table as another bullet smacked into the wood. Slowed by the impact, the bullet skimmed across Brunhilde’s shoulder, ripping through the fur and skin.

Fuck it.

She tossed the table at the nearest Guard, then leaned out.

Princess yelled as Brunhilde stepped into space.

T
he cry of fear echoed back for what seemed like the rest of Daniel's life, as he fell, screaming, into the dark abyss below the tunnel. Then he smacked down into something cold and soft.

The water closed above his head, and he sank, arms flailing despite the pain from his ribs. Then his knees smacked into the stone bed of the stream. He pushed himself up, and gasped for breath as his head burst from the water. He floundered at the surface, until his hand found a rough stone wall. He clung to it, and panted until his heart began to slow.

He peered around the abyss. Faint light reached him from the right, and the water was heading that way. He must be somewhere under the castle. He reached out a foot, and felt for the bottom. His toes slid across slippery rocks, slowly moving deeper with each centimetre, then the ground fell away.

He sniffed again. The place stank like shit. Something soft banged against his face, then twisted in the water and floated away downstream. Don’t even want to know what that was.

The world was silent, other than the stream gently tapping against the stone walls. Somewhere above him was the hole he fell from, but how would he climb back up, even if he could find it? He shivered at the thought of going back into that tiny, cramped tunnel, in any case. Better to take his chances with the stream than suffer another minute of claustrophobia up above.

He held onto the wall as he slowly crept along the edge of the stream. The water pulled against his legs, and his feet slipped on the muddy rocks below. After each step, he felt with his toes for the next foothold, before he moved his foot again.