The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [99]
“Not doing a very good job so far,” said Frey. “You think the Allsoul will protect you from a bullet in the ear?”
“It’s that way!” the Awakener cried, pointing up the corridor.
Frey grabbed him by the collar and pulled him upright. “Take us,” he said. He shoved the little man toward Malvery. “Watch him, Doc.”
Malvery grinned and waved his shotgun. “Don’t think of running, now,” he advised his prisoner. Then he poked the barrel into his back. “Lead on, mate.”
They went deeper into the craft, following their guide as he stumbled through the smoke. He was holding his head as if it would burst. People ran this way and that in the dim emergency lighting, arms over their mouths, coughing into their sleeves. Crake heard the murmur of distant flame, and once they heard an explosion that made the whole craft shiver.
The people they encountered were occupied with fighting small fires or attempting to escape. Some wandered, blank-faced and shell-shocked, through the ruination. Occasionally a Sentinel was brave or idiotic enough to stand up to the invaders, but they were gunned down in short order or pulverized by Bess.
Crake stepped over their corpses and those of others killed in the crash. Their eyes were wide and they stared at nothing. He dry-heaved at the sight. He’d seen dead men before, but he was too delicate to take it right now. He just wanted this whole affair to be over so he could find a bed and sink into oblivion.
The smoke got worse as they went on, and soon everyone was coughing except Jez. The crackle and snap of a fire was clearly audible now, and they could feel the stifling heat of it.
Frey stopped up ahead, at a corner where a corridor branched off from theirs. He peered round and held up a hand. “Trouble,” he warned.
Crake caught him up and looked round the corner. Through the murk, he could just about make out the obstruction. The corridor was choked with torn metal and the floor had buckled upward, forming a jumbled barricade.
“I can’t see anything,” Crake said.
“When you’ve been shot at as often as I have, you get used to assuming the worst,” said Frey. “They’ll be waiting for us.”
Crake wiped his tearing eyes, and as he did so he thought he saw someone moving behind the barricade. But when he looked again, he wasn’t sure.
Frey went to their prisoner. “Is there another way round?” he demanded.
“This is the only way,” said the Awakener. “It’s in a room at the end of that corridor.” Frey grabbed him by the collar and glared at him, searching for a lie. “I swear by the Allsoul!” he cried, his voice high and fearful.
Crake took sour pleasure in seeing the prisoner cringe. He hated Awakeners even more than he hated overprivileged layabouts like Hodd. Them and their ridiculous faith, based on the thoroughly insane ramblings of the last king of Vardia. It would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that half of the population believed in their rubbish. It was the Awakeners that championed the persecution of daemonists. Many good men and women had been hanged because of them.
Frey shoved the man away, having evidently decided he was telling the truth. “Get out of here,” he said. The prisoner needed no second invitation.
Jez looked around the corner at the barricade, then back at her captain. “Full-frontal assault?” she suggested cheerily.
Frey sighed. “Why not?” He slapped Bess on the shoulder. “You first, old girl.”
Bess thundered off with a roar. Bullets and screams greeted her as she piled into the barricade like a battering ram.
Malvery grinned. “That’s stirred ’em up.”
“You have to admit, she’s effective,” Frey said, loading his revolver.
“Are we going to help her at all?” Jez asked.
Frey snapped the drum closed. “Let her mop up a bit first.” He counted off a few seconds, listening to the wails of Bess’s unfortunate victims. “Now.”
They ran for the barricade, cloaked by the smoke. Crake stayed low, slipping along the side of the wide corridor, mouth dry and throat tight. He was worse than useless in a firefight, but he couldn’t leave Bess to do it alone.
Bess