Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

The beast-man was startled by the noise of the revolver, long enough for Frey to back off a few paces. He sized up his options. The pistol in his right hand was empty, and he needed that hand free so he could draw his cutlass. But it seemed a shame to waste a good weapon, so he flipped it into the air, caught it neatly by the barrel, and sent it spinning towards his attacker. It cracked the beast-man hard on the forehead and flew away into the undergrowth. The beast-man staggered backwards, lost its footing, and plunged off the lip of the ridge.

'Oy!' cried Malvery from below. 'Don't send 'em down to us! We've got enough of our own!' His complaint was followed by a gunshot as he executed the bewildered beast-man somewhere out of sight.

Frey drew his cutlass as another beast-man came growling into sight. It lunged at him, and he let the blade draw his arm into a parry. The blow from the club came hard, jolting his arm. Another blow came, and another. Frey blocked them, but each time his block was weaker. Even with the strength of the sword to aid him, the beast-man's raw power was overwhelming. It attacked in a frenzy, battering at Frey's guard. He tried a counter-thrust, but only opened himself up to a swing that he just barely evaded. Teeth gritted, sweating, he backed off under the fierce rain of blows.

I can't hold it off! he. thought, panicking. I can't . . .

There was a tremendous boom to his left, and a gory hole was punched through the beast-man's chest, flinging it away. Frey looked over his shoulder and saw Grist clambering awkwardly over the lip of the ridge, lever-action shotgun in one hand, sphere tucked into his elbow, cigar still clamped firmly in his mouth. Frey was astounded that he'd managed to climb at all, carrying all that. Grist picked up the pistol Frey had dropped and held it out to him.

'You owe me one, Cap'n Frey,' he said.

There was a sharp hiss as an arrow slipped through the undergrowth. Frey heard it, swung his arm, and the cutlass did the rest. He cut the shaft in half an instant before it reached Grist's chest, then spun on his heel and flung his cutlass like a spear into the undergrowth. There was an animal shriek, and a beast-woman staggered out into the open, the cutlass buried in its chest. Blood soaked through the coarse fibres of its smock, and it toppled to the earth.

'Not any more,' said Frey, taking the pistol.

Grist gaped, staring down at the halves of the arrow that had bounced harmlessly off his coat. 'How . . . ?'

'It's all in the wrist,' he said. He hurried over to the fallen beast-woman, planted his foot on its shoulder and wrenched the bloody cutlass free with his left hand. He was getting the feeling back in his arm and fingers now. They hurt like buggery, but at least they still worked. He thought about looking for the other pistol, but it was lost in the undergrowth and he didn't fancy seaching for it while surrounded by murderous savages. No great loss, anyway: he was a bad shot with his left hand.

Others were clambering up on to the ridge. Jez, Crattle, Pinn. They took positions on the edge and covered Crake, Hodd, Malvery and Silo as they climbed up after. Frey and Grist watched the forest warily. All had gone suspiciously quiet. They could still hear the beast-men rustling about, but no more arrows were loosed, and no more attacks came.

'You think they've given up?' Frey asked. He popped the drum of his remaining revolver and slid in fresh bullets.

Grist's eyes were grim beneath his bushy brows. 'Might be they're smart enough to know when they've bit off more than they can chew.'

'Let's hope so,' he said, snapping the drum shut. Behind him, Malvery was struggling on to the ridge. The last of them. 'We all here?' he asked.

'All here, Cap'n,' Jez replied, wiping sweaty hair away from her face with an expression of vague amazement. 'Somehow.'

'Mr Hodd!' Frey called. 'Point us in the right direction. Let's get moving before these beast-men decide to have another go at us.'

'That way,' Hodd said, thrusting out a finger without hesitation.

'Right,' said Frey. 'Eyes peeled, weapons ready. Reload if you need to. And if you see anything with more than fifty per cent body hair, shoot it!'

The rain began again in the night. They trudged through the mud, slipping on roots, cold and soaked to the bone. Any hope of shelter had been left behind with their packs. Though they were hungry and tired, nobody had any thought of stopping. They had no idea if the beast-men were tracking them or not, but Frey didn't want to get caught napping. By unspoken consent they travelled through the night, making their slow, frustrating and occasionally painful way through the near-total dark of the rainforest.

The downpour let up at dawn, and a dull light came over the cloud-shrouded land. By then Frey was utterly miserable: half-drowned, freezing and exhausted. But nothing had killed them in the night, and the worst they'd suffered on their journey were scrapes and bruises, so he reckoned they could count themselves lucky.

We're coming back three men less than when we set out , he thought. But none of them were mine. That's the important thing. I brought them all back alive.

Grist was plodding along tiredly ahead of him, following in Hodd's footsteps. Frey eyed the strange metal sphere cradled under his arm. He hadn't let it go for a moment, not even when the beast-men attacked.

What are we gonna do about that? he wondered. He didn't trust Grist not to pull a doublecross. Didn't feel at all easy about letting him hold on to that thing. There'd be another confrontation before all of this was over. He wondered if he'd come out of it so well the second time.

They reached the landing site in the early morning. There was a general exclamation of relief as they spied the gunwale of the Storm Dog rising over the treetops, and a round of congratulations for Hodd, who'd guided them expertly by night to get them back to safety. The mood became suddenly buoyant. They'd made it. Even if they weren't exactly carrying chests of booty, they still felt like they'd conquered the savage island. Frey's crew would be glad just to get back to somewhere they could get a good meal and a mug of grog.

The trees thinned out and they walked into the barren clearing where their aircraft stood. The sounds of the awakening rainforest filled the air, and they could hear the distant bellow of the waterfall that fell from the mountains, but otherwise all was quiet. The cargo ramps of their craft were closed, and there was not a sign of another living being. They came to a stop, sensing something amiss.

'Maybe it's earlier than we thought?' Crake suggested, consulting his pocket watch. 'Nobody up yet?'

'Something ain't right,' Malvery rumbled. 'Feel it in my pods.'

'In your pods ?' Pinn asked.

Malvery clasped his crotch with one hand. 'My pods are shrinking,' said Malvery. 'Trying to hide, ain't they? Sure sign of trouble.'

'Sure sign of you being a bloody fruitcake,' Pinn muttered. 'The day I take advice from your bollocks is the day I—'

'Go back to your fairytale sweetheart?' Crake finished for him, rather maliciously.

'Hey!' Pinn cried, but Malvery's guffaw drowned him out.

Frey was getting a bad feeling about this whole situation. It got worse when he heard the crunch of a shotgun being primed behind him. Malvery's laughter died away to a quizzical and rather worried chuckle.

'Everyone stay right where you are,' said a voice. 'Keep your hands away from them pistols!' He heard footsteps on the stony ground. Men coming from the trees behind them.