Dan Willis - The Survivors

“I was afraid of that,” Corin said, gesturing. “They sent some of the less affected ones ahead to try to slow us down.”

Bradok raised his sword, a bit more slowly than he would have liked. Thurl and Much stepped in front of him with their swords.

“You take any that get through,” Much said.

“Aim for their legs,” Chisul said.

The Rhizomorphs shambled closer, heedless of the wall of dwarf flesh and steel that blocked their path. They slammed into the defenders without even slowing down, attempting to bowl them over.

One tall dwarf with mushrooms growing where his eyebrows should have been leered at Bradok over Much’s head. His skin was pale and gelatinous with glowing fungi sprouting out at odd angles. He opened his mouth, as if about to yell. Instead an enormous red tongue lashed out, striking Bradok on his arm over the heads of the others. The blow didn’t strike hard, but where it touched his skin, it burned. With a cry of surprise and disgust, Bradok chopped the tongue in half and shook it from his arm. It landed on the tunnel floor, still twisting and thrashing.

Much ran the tall Rhizomorph through, but it had no apparent effect on the creature. The Rhizomorph slashed Much across the chest, knocking him backward. The monstrosity attempted to step over him, then, and go after Bradok. As it moved, however, Thurl chopped one of its legs off at mid thigh. With a cry of anger, it toppled sideways. Turning to Thurl, the thing bit his left arm and hung on. Thurl reversed his stroke and decapitated the Rhizomorph, sending its head rolling back down the tunnel.

Kellik was busy meanwhile. Never one to be subtle, he raised his warhammer and brought it down on the head of the nearest Rhizomorph. The thing’s head exploded like an overripe melon, sending bits of gray goo flying in all directions.

Chisul and Vulnar had cut two of them down and were trying to prevent the ones in the rear from rushing them all at once. Just as it seemed they would be overwhelmed, Perin and Tal arrived, rushing into the creatures with flailing swords.

Bradok watched as his friends began to push the Rhizomorphs back, slowly but surely. Bits of gray flesh spattered the walls and ceiling as the dwarves hacked the mushroom men to pieces.

A flicker of movement down the tunnel beyond the fight caught Bradok’s eye, and he looked up in time to see three more Rhizomorphs advancing on them. Two of the creatures carried a third between them. The one in the middle seemed to be having some kind of fit, thrashing and convulsing. As Bradok watched, it began to swell and grow.

“They’re trying to release a spore cloud,” he yelled.

Bradok recalled how quickly and how far the previous spore cloud had spread. They were already within the radius of the impending explosion.

“Run for it,” Corin shouted, grabbing the fallen Vulnar and yanking him to his feet.

As everyone turned and fled, Thurl swept his hand out from beneath his cloak in a long, fluid movement.

“Everyone, hold your breath!” he shouted as he loosed his dagger, which sped from his hand.

It struck the writhing Rhizomorph right in the gut, and the hapless creature erupted.

A golden cloud of spores rushed up the tunnel and surrounded the fleeing dwarves. Bradok could feel the spores burning his arm where the Rhizomorph’s tongue had touched him. His eyes teared up, making it hard for him to see as he ran, holding his breath.

An uneven spot in the floor caused him to stumble, and he fell flat on his face, the air rushing from his lungs upon impact. Pain shot through his body like lightning. His side felt as if it were on fire, and his shoulder as though someone were trying to twist his arm from his body. It took all his willpower not to take a breath and suck in a lungful of spores. He leaped back to his feet and ran. He could feel himself getting dizzy from the lack of air; then the cave before him began to shimmer on its own. Staggering, he put out his hand to guide himself along the wall of the tunnel.

Rough hands grabbed him and dragged him forward. He stumbled on as best he could, until the pain in his arm seemed to subside.

“You can breathe now,” Kellik’s voice came out of the fog.

Gasping and coughing, Bradok sank to his knees and shook his head to clear the dizziness.

“Here they come again,” Thurl said behind him.

Bradok heard the hiss of steel blades whistling through the air and the wet sound as they struck diseased flesh. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his side, and raised his sword.

Behind him the dwarves and Perin were hacking and slashing at the Rhizomorphs crowding the hallway. A pile of severed limbs and unidentifiable chunks of flesh were strewn on the ground. The Rhizomorphs fought with their hands, rending flesh whenever they could with their long, clawlike nails. Occasionally one of their pink tongues would lash out at an opponent’s exposed flesh.

As Bradok moved up behind Thurl and Much, one of the ghastly creatures spat a wad of yellow goo directly at them. Much ducked, and Thurl dodged, but the wad hit Bradok on his shirt. The yellow substance appeared to contain some of the spores from the yellow cloud.

While being careful not to cut himself, Bradok scraped off the spores with his sword and flung them to the ground.

Just then someone cried out in pain. “My eyes,” bellowed an older dwarf named Serl, falling over onto his back and clawing at his face.

The Rhizomorph in front of him stepped into the gap and leaned down, trying to take a bite out of Serl’s leg. Bradok stepped forward and chopped the creature’s head from its body.

He moved to the fallen hill dwarf and saw that the yellow goo covered his face.

“Tal!” he yelled, dropping his sword and reaching painfully for his waterskin.

Tal was there in an instant. The doctor bore many cuts and scratches on his arms, a testament to his intense combat. “Hold him,” he said, pulling out his own waterskin, for Bradok was still struggling to produce his.

Bradok tried to keep Serl still as Tal washed the muck from his eyes. With only one good arm, it wasn’t an easy task.

“Duck,” he heard Thurl yell, and instinctively Bradok hurled himself sideways.

A long pink Rhizomorph tongue sailed over his head and struck the cave wall. Someone severed it, and the next instant it fell, writhing, on the floor. Bradok kicked it away in disgust.

Bradok picked up his sword and got painfully to his feet. The remaining defenders had killed and dismembered enough of the Rhizomorphs that now only a handful remained. Little by little, the dwarves and Perin were driving the monsters back.

Bradok moved among the still-flailing limbs and bodies, striking the heads of any that appeared still capable of causing trouble.

A few moments more, and it was over. Bradok stood on weak legs. He slowly moved his sword across his body, trying to catch the tip of it where it belonged, in the top of his scabbard.

“Are you all right, lad?” Much asked, taking Bradok’s sword for him and slipping it into the empty scabbard.

He nodded, feeling tremendous exhaustion.

“You’re bleeding again,” Thurl said in a disapproving voice.

Bradok looked down to see a red stain soaking through the bandage on his side. “There’s no time,” he said, pushing Much’s hand away. “I’ll be fine. We need to get back to the main group and spur them to keep going. There’s no telling how long it will take the rest of these walking mushrooms to catch up with us.”

“Yeah,” Chisul agreed. “Stay ahead of them.” The big dwarf was cradling his left arm, which appeared to have been burned by acid.