Jean Preston: Sledgehammer

His face was splattered with hot spit. He was deafened, then a whining tone accompanied the muffled, clearing sound. He looked up at the GMH. There was a hole in its cheek. The giant looked to the side, frailly, and then another hole went through its forehead, almost silently.

It slowly released its grip on Kirwyn, then rested its giant bleeding head on his chest. Kirwyn wriggled out from beneath it, staring at it all the while.

A long barrel traced over the back of its head, and another shot was fired – just barely audible this time. Kirwyn looked up at Alana. The ringing echoing into nothing. She stared at him widely, he stared back.

“You have betrayed us. You have murdered. You have brought this order under great peril. You have rejected everything we taught you.”

The old munk’s words echoed in Kirwyn’s mind. It had been years since they were spoken, but they still made him flinch, squint, kick the water. He washed the blood and dirt from his hands.

“We will always love you my son, but you cannot stay with us any longer.”

He submerged himself under the cold water, blowing out bubbles, and then surfaced.

“You must atone for this. I do not know how.”

He exhaled steam. Behind him Alana bathed also, their backs to one another. She sat, half submerged, massaged the mud and soot out of her hair. Kirwyn waded to the shore and brought his clothes in, he washed these as best he could with a little shard of soap, then left them drying on the grass beside the fire. It was dawn. Kirwyn wandered back into the water, sat with his back to Alana. She looked to her right and spoke quietly.

“What’s with the clothes?” she asked.

“What about them?”

“Why did you bleach them?”

“I don’t…” he mumbled off

“You think that’s cool? It makes you stand out, you know? I could hit you a mile away.” She stood up, water rushing around her, she waded off to get her clothes from the bank in front of her, then returned to her sitting place, scrubbing at them.

“It’s the—” Kirwyn faltered. “It’s the colour of penance. For my – order.”

“What are you? A priest?”

“No. But… I was a munk, once”

Alana narrowed her eyes. “Do you wanna die? Got a death wish?”

Kirwyn seriously considered this. “No,” he said emphatically.

“Good. Neither do I. What are you doing out here?” she gestured to the horizon.

“I’m travelling.”

“Where?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

“Well… I’m going to Retragrad. You ever been there?”

“No.”

“Well, you might as well go there then. If you’re exploring.” Her expression hardened and she started scrubbing vigorously. “I’ve had a shitty couple of days, my partner got murdered and I’d rather not travel alone. What do you say? Come with me?”

Kirwyn paused. He sniffed. “Ok,” he said.

Alana bundled her wet clothes together, stood up and walked past Kirywn, wading towards the fire. She placed all her garments there carefully. Kirwyn averted his gaze. She marched up to him, wading through the water, stood over him.

“You walk ahead of me. You can be my canary down the mine. I’ll shoot anyone that goes for you. We’re both more likely to survive that way, especially you.”

Kirwyn still averted his gaze, water dripping around him.

“That’s a deal?” She outstretched a hand. Kirwyn looked up at her, with great intensity and effort looked into her eyes and shook her hand, then stood up. She looked him in the eye, then glanced down for a moment.

“Water’s cold,” she said, smiling, then walked to the fire.

Kirwyn paused, furrowed his brow and followed her.

“I’m sorry about your partner,” he said. They both paused.

“So am I,” she said. They sat opposite one another, across the fire. “He was only a kid,” she said distantly. “I didn’t know him very well but… horrible way to go…”

They sat in silence. Alana squeezed the water out of her blonde hair.

“You ever seen one of those things before? The big GMH?” she asked.

“No. Not one like that. Have you?”

“Once, when I was very young… In Retragrad we call them golems, very dangerous…” She stared into the fire. Kirwyn looked into her eyes, then followed them to the fire.

“I’ve never seen a man fight one of those things,” she said. “Were you afraid?”

“ Terrified ,” he whispered.

“You didn’t look it. You’re very fast.”

“Well, you saved me.” He stared into the fire. “I owe you my life.”

“What do these words say?” she said trying to unsheathe the sword of Barabbas.

“Please! Don’t touch that,” he said, panicking, rising, seeing her, looking away, blushing. Snatching the sword out of her hands. She laughed.

“It’s a secret… oath, of my order,” he said, staring at the scrolls. “I can’t tell anyone.”

Her smile lost one of its corners. “You know how to fire a gun?” she asked

“No,” he said.

“You wanna know?”

“No,” he said sadly.

“Your funeral I guess.” She reclined back, staring into the fire.

“This is Pilot to Trooper 1 do you read me?”

Static was the reply.

Loma put her head in her hands. There had been no communications in an hour. Procedure and instinct dictated a swift retreat. The situation was compromised. The safety of the ship was the biggest priority, it could not fall into enemy hands. Every minute she stayed on the ground increased the likelihood of that happening. Whoever was out there had some method of interrupting their communications, which could mean any number of things. It made them a threat – that was certain.

Loma did not know what to do. So she left it to procedure. She told the AI to route a journey back to Avalon. ETA: 2 hours 14 minutes. The ship lifted into the air – before it had reached the clouds, Loma had changed her mind and took direct control of navigation – she flew towards the facility, full throttle – she would find her team. She wouldn’t leave them to die in the wilderness.

She was at the facility in a flash. She hovered many miles above it, staring down in infra-red, zoomed in – looking for signs of life. She saw a figure emerge from the facility.

“Identify that runner.”

“Trooper Leshawn”

Other figures burst from the building.

“Identify all.”

“Trooper Leshawn, and five unknowns. Six unknowns. Seven unknown—”

“Ok!” she said, wiping her face. The building was erupting with hostiles. Leshawn was a few paces ahead of them.

He twisted round and fired at the crowd. His rifle was dead. He threw it at his pursuers in frustration – it missed. The facility vomited out more shambling figures. He ran from them. He headed back to the forest, to the Chrysanthemum. Arms pumping, back straight, face grimacing. A spotlight illuminated him, he looked up and was blinded, he kept running, he saw the ship, heard the ship.

He was going to be rescued. It hovered a hundred feet above him, floating downwards, ahead of him. He screamed with joy, raising his hand, still sprinting. He expelled all his energy, felt muscles snap and acid pump round his body. The cargo bay doors opened, it was about 50 metres above him and falling.

He heard a thwip , something ripping through the air, it blasted into the side of the Chrysanthemum, knocking it back. The ship spun, juddering, creaking, it passed over a hill then went zig-zagging away into the night, black smoke trailing it.

Leshawn picked himself up. He saw the shambling horde approaching him. He had nothing left. He sat down and closed his eyes.