Ritual Chill

These creatures were in the way of the wild pack. They reeked of fear and confusion. They were easy meat.

Snarling and yelping, the dogs flew at the companions. Ryan had by now unsheathed his panga and J.B.’s hand had snaked toward his Tekna knife as soon as the light was extinguished. There was no way that anyone could risk blasterfire in this confined space, and with this lack of light, hand-to-hand combat was the only option…if hand-to-jaw fighting could be called as such.

Ryan and J.B. had weapons and Jak was quick to palm a leaf-bladed knife into each hand so that he could attack on two fronts. But Mildred, Krysty and Doc had no weapons to hand and their only chance was to make defensive moves, to try to prevent the animals from taking chunks from their flesh. Hard enough at the best of times, but made more difficult by the lack of any illumination. Only Jak had any degree of vision, his pigmentless red eyes better suited to the dark. But even he was no match for the wild dogs, guided by their noses rather than eyes.

The pack tore into the middle of the companions, scattering them across the floor of the cave, forcing them back against the walls. In a sense, this worked to their advantage, as their backs were now covered. But for those with weapons, it made it harder to thrust when their elbows were constricted by a sheer rock face, any force to their thrust and parry noticeably curtailed.

With no light, there were only the vaguest outlines of shapes, appearing and disappearing from their restricted lines of vision. A dark bulk would appear from nowhere, slamming into them or rising up above, the sudden flash of a wild yellow eye followed by fetid breath and sprays of rancid saliva. There was little or no indication from where the next shape would loom, and the snapping jaws and sharp claws gouged at any part of the body within reach, scratching and biting at exposed flesh, tearing cloth where the weaponless companions attempted to use their heavy clothing to block the attack.

For those with weapons, the indicator of a hit wasn’t visual, but the jarring at the elbow when a blade stuck in flesh, grated against bone. The warm, sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with the musk of dog glands, yelping noises and cries of pain mixing with the exultation of the yowling attack, tempering the pack as some of their number slumped to the moss-covered floor. Underfoot, blood and urine—the ammonia stench mixing nauseously with the sweetness of the blood—swamped the moss and rock, making it treacherous. To move was to risk slipping, falling beneath the wild animals and leaving yourself open to a chilling attack.

Ryan and J.B. were hitting with roughly every third strike, feeling skin rip and flesh score beneath their blades, smelling the blood flow. Jak was more efficient, almost every strike hitting home, helped by the fact that his vision was slightly better, his aim unimpeded by the lack of light. But was it making the creatures wilder and angrier, feeding a ravenous desire to attack more? Or was it keeping them at bay? It was a difficult call, and there was little the companions could do except to keep striking out.

Ryan cursed heavily when he heard a human scream in among the animals. It was Doc. The voice was unmistakable. One of the creatures had got through the old man’s guard and taken a chunk from him. Would he be able to stay on his feet or would the wound cause him to stumble and fall? There was nothing the one-eyed man could do to expedite the situation. He just had to hope for the best, hope that the spreading pools of blood and urine, the stench of this mixed with fear and confusion in the wounded animals, would persuade the pack to retreat.

In the end, it was something else that forced their hand. From deep within the caves, there was a low rumble and a violent blast of hot air that singed hair and skin, the force of it almost knocking the companions from their feet. Volcanic activity, perhaps the precursor to the main stack blowing.

It was decisive. The heat and noise spread panic among the pack, distracting them from their task. Yelping in fear, the dogs retreated from the fray, heading for the mouth of the cave and the relative safety of the outside world.

So hard was it for the companions to keep upright and overcome heat so strong that none realized, for a moment, that their attackers had fled. Then the blast of hot air, stinking of sulfur strong enough to obscure the blood and urine, dissipated, dropping to a gentle waft of air, the heat becoming more bearable.

Jak realized that the pack had fled before anyone else, and groped among the shapes on the floor for the flashlight, finding it slick with blood. It took three attempts to hit the switch, so slippery was the surface, and he had to clean the bulb of splattered blood, which gave the light a reddish tinge.

Casting the beam around the floor of the cavern, he was able to assess the extent of the carnage. The floor was awash with a lake of fluid, mixed equally of blood and urine. Five dogs lay within it, staring lifelessly, their throats, stomachs and forequarters covered in deep cuts. They were still seeping their precious fluids into the lake. Some looked like huskies, others had a more mixed lineage. If there were five chilled, Jak wondered how many others had limped out with wounds that would later claim them. The mouth of the cave, as he cast the beam farther afield, showed trails of blood that staggered out into the snow beyond. There were at least six of these, maybe more. They were so confused that it was hard to tell. He wondered how large the pack had been, but that no longer mattered. They were gone, and from the blast that had driven them out, it was a safe bet that the companions should follow swiftly.

Throwing the beam around the cavern walls, he could see that Ryan and J.B. were breathing heavily, spattered in blood that wasn’t their own. Both men did, however, have some contusions. Their blades drooped limply in their hands, slick liquid dripping from the tip of each. Seeing their superficial wounds, Jak was aware of a slight stinging on his own face and arms where he had been caught. Best to get these dressed soon, before they became infected.

As for Krysty and Mildred, they seemed to have fared better, in some ways, than the armed members of the party. Keeping their movements to the defensive and not having to expose themselves by attacking, they had escaped anything but the most minor grazes, although the clothing they had wrapped around their forearms to block the dog attacks had been ripped to shreds.

But it was Doc who caused the most concern. The old man was slumped against the wall of the cavern, sunk to his haunches. His hair hung around a face whose ashen pallor it matched. It was as though the blood seeping from the wounds on his right arm and ribs had drained straight from his shocked, expressionless features. No sooner had Jak’s flashlight highlighted his plight than Mildred was beside him, reaching into a pocket to find something among her medical supplies that would staunch the bleeding.

“Fireblast and fuck it.” Ryan spit. “That was one thing we didn’t need.”

“You mean, the volcano, the dogs or Doc getting bitten?” J.B. asked dryly.

“Shit, all of them,” Ryan muttered, casting a glance toward the dark maw of the tunnel. “Can’t hang around here waiting for that bastard to blow and fry us. We’re gonna have to move out.”

“Not before I’ve treated Doc,” Mildred said over her shoulder, pulling Doc’s frock coat and shirt away from the bite wounds. She examined them, squinting in the half light. “Jak, bring that damn flashlight over where I can see something,” she yelled. As Jak complied, it became obvious that the wounds seemed worse than they really were. Although Doc was bleeding freely, the flesh hadn’t been scored that deeply and some bandaging would staunch the flow. She set about the task while the others cleaned themselves off as best as they could and prepared to leave.

“Anyone else?” she questioned as she slipped a needle from a vacupack and injected the old man with antibiotics. The prepacked and loaded hypos had been in the redoubt’s med bay for more than a century, but there was no reason to believe that they had been tampered with or contaminated in any way. Biggest risk was that the serum within had lost its potency, the chemical makeup breaking down. If that was so, she would have to watch Doc for the first signs of a fever and hit him with another.

Quickly and efficiently she dressed the minor abrasions and contusions that the others had suffered, all the while casting a glance back to Doc, who sat slumped on the floor, seemingly unaware of anything that was going on around him.

Ryan could see that the dawn was breaking beyond the mouth of the cave. Krysty followed his gaze.

“Let’s hope the pack hasn’t decided to stick around to see if they can pick us off when we come out,” she murmured.

“It’s not likely. They were more scared of the heat than pissed at us, and from the look of those, they’ve been feeding well of late,” he added, indicating the corpses on the cave floor. “They’ll be well away from here. Our problem’s gonna be the cold and finding a ville, because I’m wondering just what they’ve been feeding on lately.”

Krysty followed his eye down to the dog carrion. The creatures were well-muscled and their fur, though matted by blood now, showed signs of having been in good condition. So where, in this wasteland, had they found a rich source of food?

The temperature within the cave was rising and deep rumblings from far off suggested that a second expulsion of heat and pressure wasn’t far away. It would be best if they moved sooner rather than later.

“Is Doc ready to go?” Ryan asked Mildred.

“As he’ll ever be.” She helped Doc to his feet. He looked around him, eyes staring but unseeing. He seemed confused, but at least he was able to move under his own propulsion. That would make things easier. “Doc, I hope you can take some of this in, you old buzzard. We’ve got to leave now. Stick close, just keep walking, and tell me if you think you’re running a temperature. You got that?”

He failed to respond, seeming to stare right through her.

“Do you think he understood any of that?” Krysty asked.

“I don’t know,” Mildred replied, shaking her head. “Even if only part of it made sense, that’s better than nothing. We’re just gonna have to keep a real close eye on the old bastard.”

Gathering themselves together, they headed out into the early morning light, the cold hitting them like a hammer as they stepped beyond the bounds of the cave, slipping and sliding their way down the snowbank to the rock beneath. The trail of blood left by the dog pack became less visible on the moss and lichen, petering away to nothing. There was no sign of the animals within view. They had either gone to ground somewhere else or made their way off around the rock ledge and were headed in a direction obscured by the outcrops. Whatever the answer, it left the companions free of at least one worry.

J.B. looked up at the sun. The sky was almost clear of cloud right now, only a few wisps of yellow-tinged cumulus disturbing the purple-tinged blue. The cold was crisp, so much so that it almost froze the breath from their mouths. The winds had dropped in the post-storm lull so that there was no ice or snow swirling around them.

Perfect conditions for the Armorer to determine their position. Taking the minisextant from one of his pockets, he took readings that enabled him to pinpoint where they were currently and where the settlement of Ank Ridge lay in relation to their position. He worked quickly, aware that the sooner they got moving, the quicker they would reach their destination and the sooner they would start to generate some warmth through activity.

“It’s got to be that way, due east,” he said finally, pointing across the plains of rock and ice, away from the volcanic activity. “Hell of a trek by the look of it. Land’s so flat I figure we can see a good ten miles with the naked eye. No sign of anything there, so it’s got to be beyond.”

Mildred sighed. “If that’s the way that it’s got to be, then that’s the way it’s got to be. Sooner we get going, the sooner we find some kind of life, right?”

Ryan shrugged. “If there was a better way…”

Falling into formation, they began to march, not wanting to waste energy on further words. Their options were limited, and the only thing to do was to march and hope, a steady pace to keep warm and make progress, not fast enough to exhaust them but not too slow to arrest that very progress.

As they marched—Ryan at point, J.B. at the rear, with Jak following Ryan, Mildred and Krysty flanking Doc—each had time for his or her own thoughts once more. But unlike their march from the redoubt, there was determination and purpose here. The morbid introspection and melancholy that had run through them like a virus in the redoubt had been banished by the need to focus. Whatever psychological infection had swept through them had been wiped out by the urge to survive.

Across the lichen-covered rock and patches of ice they made good time, keeping a steady pace. There was nothing to distract them. Nothing outside. The only distraction that could possibly cause delay would be internal—and none would fall prey to that.

Except perhaps Doc.

I ALONE. I alone yet tired. If there truly is nothing beyond my own self, then what am I doing to cause myself so much pain? Phantoms that appear as wild beasts. Phantoms that appear as those who have populated my dreams once before. The beasts that tear my flesh as they tear my soul. Yet these people who are my dream companions seek to help me. I know not why, yet feel that if I am to understand why I am dreaming this madness I must follow them. They are my guides.

Perhaps, if I follow, they will reveal the purpose of my dream. Perhaps they are here to lead me from the madness and back to the real world.

If this is a test, from a deity or from some evil genius who seeks to test me for their own end, then I must stay the course. But every step becomes so hard. It is so cold, and yet I feel so hot, as though the very blood that courses through my veins is liquid fire.

THEY HAD BEEN MARCHING for hours, thinking of nothing but the task at hand. Krysty and Mildred had stayed close to Doc. He remained silent, distant from them. There was little indication that he could even acknowledge their existence. But he was still marching, keeping pace. Something was driving him onward.

Mildred frowned as she looked back at him. Was she wrong, or were there red patches flaring over his cheekbones, barely visible against the pallor of his gaunt visage? Was his gait getting a little stiff compared to when she had looked back a few minutes before?

She dropped back, so that she could keep pace beside him.

“Doc. Doc, can you hear me?” she asked gently. He showed no signs of registering her words.

She took his wrist and felt his pulse. He didn’t seem to notice her do this. It was fast. Even allowing for the pace they were setting, it was still a little more than she would expect. She put her hand up to his forehead, half expecting him to brush it away.