Read Online Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor by Simon R. Green - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Simon R. Green
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shuddering. When he moved his arms and legs, they felt like they belonged to someone else. His breath no longer steamed on the air before him. He pulled himself on down the tunnel, farther into the domain of the dead, and the dark closed slowly in around him. He could hear Hazel moving close behind him, breathing harshly, and she was his only comfort. The tunnel ran out sooner than he thought it would. He grabbed the bodies before him, pulling them apart and away from each other, opening up a path. Often limbs stuck out like barriers in his way, and he had to tug and pull, breaking them off and putting them aside, out of the way. The arms and legs snapped cleanly, like pieces of wood.
He tried to think of them that way but couldn’t. They were people, his people. Sometimes he had to smash in rib cages with his more than human strength to make the necessary room. The unmoving bodies were stubbornly resistant, and he came to resent them. Didn’t they knew what he was doing was for their sake? He lashed out with his fists, and was glad his hands were numb, for more than one reason.
He could feel Hazel’s presence behind him, and hear the ragged, breaking sounds of her slow progress, but when he croaked her name, she didn’t answer him. Presumably her voice was as wrecked by the cold as his. Either way, he couldn’t turn around to see if anything was wrong. There wasn’t room. So he pressed on, heading for the door.
It was very dark now. The last of the light from the main cavern and the reerected force field had long since died away. There were shifting and creaking sounds all around him, as the bodies redistributed their weight in response to Owen’s actions. It was almost as though the dead were stirring, disturbed by the presence of the living in their midst. Owen was glad of the dark. He had a quiet horror that one of the dead faces might open its dead eyes and turn to look at him as he passed, and he thought if he saw such a thing he might well lose his mind. There were some things no man could bear to see and still stay sane. And so he fought his way on, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing harsh and ragged, half convinced that at any moment a dead hand would reach out of the darkness and clamp down on his arm or leg. Claustrophobia sank slowly into him as the weight of all the bodies seemed to bear down with increasing weight. He began to doubt the surety of the direction in his mind, of the location of the hidden door. He had no other way of telling one direction from another in the utter dark. They could be moving in a slow circle for all he knew, hopelessly lost in the kingdom of the dead. He began to feel he’d been moving for far too long without getting anywhere. That he should have been there long before this. That he’d be trapped in here forever, in his own private hell. But he wasn’t alone. Hazel was there with him. And just knowing that gave him the strength to go on.
Sometimes hooked fingers snagged in his clothing, jerking him to a sudden halt, and he had to feel blindly back and snap or break the metal-hard fingers before he could move on. Although he couldn’t see them, his fingers told him that the bodies before him weren’t always complete. His people had died fighting the invaders, and most of them had died hard. The invasion and destruction of Virimonde had been written in their yielding flesh, and the marks were preserved here for all to read. Rage burned in Owen at what had been done to them, and the fury helped to warm him as he struggled on.
Finally he reached the other side, and his hands slammed up against unyielding metal. His thoughts had been slowed by the cold, and he considered the matter sluggishly for a while before realizing he’d reached his destination. He yelled for Oz to open the hidden door, and a panel opened in the wall, sliding silently to one side. Bright light poured in, blinding his frozen-open eyes. He called out harshly, in pain and triumph, the
He tried to think of them that way but couldn’t. They were people, his people. Sometimes he had to smash in rib cages with his more than human strength to make the necessary room. The unmoving bodies were stubbornly resistant, and he came to resent them. Didn’t they knew what he was doing was for their sake? He lashed out with his fists, and was glad his hands were numb, for more than one reason.
He could feel Hazel’s presence behind him, and hear the ragged, breaking sounds of her slow progress, but when he croaked her name, she didn’t answer him. Presumably her voice was as wrecked by the cold as his. Either way, he couldn’t turn around to see if anything was wrong. There wasn’t room. So he pressed on, heading for the door.
It was very dark now. The last of the light from the main cavern and the reerected force field had long since died away. There were shifting and creaking sounds all around him, as the bodies redistributed their weight in response to Owen’s actions. It was almost as though the dead were stirring, disturbed by the presence of the living in their midst. Owen was glad of the dark. He had a quiet horror that one of the dead faces might open its dead eyes and turn to look at him as he passed, and he thought if he saw such a thing he might well lose his mind. There were some things no man could bear to see and still stay sane. And so he fought his way on, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing harsh and ragged, half convinced that at any moment a dead hand would reach out of the darkness and clamp down on his arm or leg. Claustrophobia sank slowly into him as the weight of all the bodies seemed to bear down with increasing weight. He began to doubt the surety of the direction in his mind, of the location of the hidden door. He had no other way of telling one direction from another in the utter dark. They could be moving in a slow circle for all he knew, hopelessly lost in the kingdom of the dead. He began to feel he’d been moving for far too long without getting anywhere. That he should have been there long before this. That he’d be trapped in here forever, in his own private hell. But he wasn’t alone. Hazel was there with him. And just knowing that gave him the strength to go on.
Sometimes hooked fingers snagged in his clothing, jerking him to a sudden halt, and he had to feel blindly back and snap or break the metal-hard fingers before he could move on. Although he couldn’t see them, his fingers told him that the bodies before him weren’t always complete. His people had died fighting the invaders, and most of them had died hard. The invasion and destruction of Virimonde had been written in their yielding flesh, and the marks were preserved here for all to read. Rage burned in Owen at what had been done to them, and the fury helped to warm him as he struggled on.
Finally he reached the other side, and his hands slammed up against unyielding metal. His thoughts had been slowed by the cold, and he considered the matter sluggishly for a while before realizing he’d reached his destination. He yelled for Oz to open the hidden door, and a panel opened in the wall, sliding silently to one side. Bright light poured in, blinding his frozen-open eyes. He called out harshly, in pain and triumph, the
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