Death World(科幻战争)-第16部分

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that　duty；　and　Lorenzo　was　grateful　to　be　placed　on　the　third　and　final　watch　with　Armstrong；
possibly　in　deference　to　the　fact　that　both　were　wounded。　Only　as　they　set　up　camp—positioning
their　plastic　sheeting　not　to　collect　water　tonight　but　to　deflect　the　rain—did　he　realise　how　tired　the
sergeant　himself　looked。
They　built　the　biggest；　hottest　fire　they　could；　despite　the　risk　that　it　might　be　seen。　They　did　it　to
spite　what　they　now　saw　to　be　their　real　enemy：　Rogar　III。
Lorenzo　was　asleep　almost　before　his　head　touched　the　ground。　But　it　seemed　like　his　eyes　had
only　been　closed　a　minute　when　the　shouting　began。
He　thought　he　was　dreaming　again；　at　first。　That　dream　from　the　previous　night；　before　the　ork
camp；　when　dead　comrades　had　pulled　him　down　into　the　earth　to　join　them。　Only　this　time　it　was
real；　and　it　was　the　earth　itself　that　pulled　at　him。　Lorenzo　was　already　half…buried；　he　tried　to　stand；
to　tear　himself　free；　but　he　couldn’t　gain　leverage　and　the　pull　of　the　earth　only　increased。
Quicksand？　He　was　sinking；　though　the　ground　had　been　perfectly　firm　when　he　had　lain　down
on　it。　He　fought　the　urge　to　lash　out；　because　he　knew　he　would　only　go　down　faster。　Somebody　was
shouting　his　name；　yelling　at　him　to　wake；　and　the　rain　was　still　drumming　on　the　plastic　sheets
above　his　head；　searing　them　brown。
This　was　worse　than　quicksand。　Lorenzo　knew　how　to　deal　with　quicksand；　knew　how　hard　it
was　to　actually　drown　in　it；　but　this—this　was　Rogar　III　itself；　grasping　at　him；　drawing　him　to　its
heart。　His　first　instinct　was　to　unsheathe　his　Catachan　fang；　though　he　had　no　use　for　it　yet；　because
if　his　legs　went　under　he　didn’t　want　to　lose　it　with　them。
With　a　supreme　effort；　he　raised　his　head。　The　strong　and
Myers　had　been　caught　sleeping　too；　and　were　being　sucked　under。　Greiss　and　Braxton　were
standing　but　buried　up　to　their　knees；　it　must　have　been　their　watch　when　the　planet　had　struck。　It
was　Braxton　who　had　shouted；　presumably　unable　to　see　from　where　he　was　that　Lorenzo　had
already　woken。　There　was　no　sign　of　the　campfire：　it　must　have　been　pulled　under　and　smothered。
Storm　was　doing　better　than　any　of　them。　He　was　on　his　hands　and　knees　in　the　mud；　but　pulling
himself　along　with　his　powerful　muscles；　almost　swimming；　his　teeth　clenched；　face　red　with
exertion；　until　he　came　to　the　edge　of　the　Catachans’　small　clearing　and　his　flailing　hand　caught　a
tree　branch。　He　had　something　to　hold　on　to　now；　and　he　could　begin　to　haul　himself　upright。
Lorenzo　was　determined　to　follow　Storm’s　example。　But　suddenly；　the　earth　beside　him　seemed
to　explode；　and　he　recoiled　and　sank　a　little　further　as　a　figure　erupted　from　beneath　it。　A　large；
hunched　figure　with　tusks　protruding　through　a　matted　layer　of　plants　and　dirt。　An　ork　zombie。
And　there　were　more　of　them；　bursting　from　the　ground　all　across　the　clearing；　outnumbering
the　Jungle　Fighters　and　surrounding　them。　In　contrast　to　their　floundering　targets；　they　waded　easily
through　the　mud；　their　ponderous　gait　now　seeming　only　too　fast。
The　nearest　zombie　loomed　over　Lorenzo；　and　raised　both　fists　above　its　head　as　it　prepared　to
strike　him　dead。
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Lorenzo　brought　up　his　right　hand；　his　knife　hand；　to　protect　his　head；　and　tried　to　do　the　same　with
his　left；　but　the　earth　had　it。　He　pulled　at　it；　and　brushed　something　below　the　surface：　a　familiar
shape。　He　wrapped　his　fingers　around　it；　feeling　like　he　e　until　they　closed
around　hard　metal。　With　a　gut…wrenching　effort；　he　brought　his　hand；　and　his　lasgun；　tearing　out　into
the　open　and　braced　the　weapon　in　both　hands　above　his　face。
The　ork　zombie’s　blow　landed；　hit　the　gun；　and　Lorenzo　felt　the　vibrations　juddering　through　his
bones　and　thought　he’d　lost　another　lasgun；　thought　it　would　snap　in　two；　but　somehow　it　remained
intact。　He　realised　that　his　shoulders　were　in　the　earth　again；　the　impact　and　his　own　efforts　driving
him　downwards。
The　zombie　was　preparing　to　strike　again；　and　Lorenzo　turned　the　lasgun　around　and　pulled　the
trigger；　but　it　jammed。　Mud　in　the　barrel。　He　could　just　reach　the　zombie’s　leg　with　the　tip　of　his
knife；　and　he　slashed　at　it；　scoring　a　groove；　but　it　didn’t　react。　The　quagmire　was　sucking　at　the
back　of　his　head；　caressing　his　ears　with　cold　tendrils。
He　couldn’t　beat　the　monster。　The　best　he　could　hope　for　was　to　keep　it　from　killing　him　long
enough　for　the　planet　to　take　him；　to　fill　his　nose　and　mouth　with　its　substance　and　suffocate　him。
He　couldn’t　beat　the　monster。　So　he　stopped　fighting　it。
A　clump　of　flowers　protruded；　ridiculously；　from　the　zombie’s　thigh；　and　Lorenzo　strained　to
reach　them；　trusted　them　to　support　his　weight　as　he　hauled　himself　up；　mud　slurping　and　sucking　at
him　but　losing　the　contest　of　strength。　With　both　hands　full；　holding　his　lasgun；　his　knife　and　the
flowers；　he　couldn’t　defend　himself　against　another　double…fisted　blow　to　the　back　of　his　stooped
head。　He　took　it　with　gritted　teeth；　blinded　for　a　moment　as　he　almost　blacked　out。　He　felt　as　if　his
skull　must　have　cracked。　Then　he　felt　the　flowers　give　way；　their　roots　torn　clean　out　of　the
zombie’s　earthen　flesh。
Lorenzo　was　falling　back；　and　he　couldn’t　shift　his　trapped　legs　to　steady　himself；　but　he　threw
out　his　arms　and　found　the　zombie’s　legs；　and　he　hugged　them　tightly；　holding　on　for　his　life。　This
had　the　useful　side…effect　of　unbalancing　the　zombie；　which　reacted　too　slowly；　toppled；　and
splashed　into　the　quagmire　on　its　back。　Lorenzo　was　scrabbling；　clawing　at　its　cold；　wet　mass；　using
it　like　a　log　in　a　river。　He　climbed　onto　it；　dragging　his　legs　after　him；　he　pulled　himself　along　the
zombie’s　length；　yanking　dead　leaves　from　the　vegetation　that　coated　it；　simultaneously　trampling
the　zombie　further　down。
He　hauled　himself　upright　as　the　zombie’s　head　sank　underground。　He　used　its　chest　as　a
springboard；　pushing　off　it；　leaping　for　the　edge　of　the　clearing。　He　landed　with　both　feet　in　the　mud；
and　was　instantly　buried　up　to　the　waist　again；　but　as　the　top　half　of　his　body　fell　forwards；　he　was
able　to　grab　at　a　branch　and；　like　Storm　before　him；　use　it　as　a　lifeline。
He　glanced　over　his　shoulder；　to　see　that　the　zombie　was　thrashing　about；　resurfacing　and
beginning　to　stand—and　that　another　was　heading　his　way。　There　wasn’t　time　to　free　himself
completely　from　Rogar’s　grip。　He　settled　instead　for　dragging　his　backside　up　onto　the　dry　ground
beyond　the　clearing；　his　legs　still　in　the　mud　but　his　shoulder　hooked　behind　a　tree；　bracing　him；
allowing　him　to　resist　the　suction　force　from　below。　He　plunged　his　fingers　into　his　lasgun　barrel
and　scooped　out　as　much　mud　as　he　could。　Then　he　dug　the　butt　into　his　shoulder；　aimed　for　the
second　zombie　and　fired。　The　gun　whined　and　let　out　a　feeble　light。　The　second　zombie　lurched
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closer。　Lorenzo　pumped　the　trigger　again；　and　on　his　fourth　attempt；　the　lasgun　finally　coughed　up
dirt　and　struck　true。
He　had　aimed　for　the　knee　again；　it　took　four　shots　to　penetrate　through　to　the　bone；　and　then　the
oncoming　creature　collapsed　like　a　puppet　with　its　strings　cut；　and　disappeared　below　the　surface。
By　that　time；　the　first　zombie　had　somehow　managed　to　right　itself　and　was　bearing　down　on
him。　This　one　took　six　shots；　and　fell　less　than　a　metre　from　him；　hands　reaching　for　him。　He
thanked　the　God…Emperor　for　the　creatures’　sluggish　reflexes：　if　this　one　had　only　shifted　its　weight
onto　its　good　leg；　it　could　have　stayed　upright　long　enough　to　wrap　its　fingers　around　his　throat。
In　no　immediate　danger　now；　Lorenzo　took　a　second　to　scan　the　battlefield。　Myers　and
Armstrong　were　engaged　in　their　own　struggles；　each　beginning　to　gain　the　upper　hand—but
Braxton　was　in　trouble。
Three　zombies　had　surrounded　the　Validian；　overpowered　him；　and　pushed　him　headlong　into
the　mud。　His　face　was　buried；　he　couldn’t　breathe。
Greiss　had　seen　what　was　happening；　and　was　just　finishing　up　with　his　own　opponent。
Astonishingly；　he　had　whittled　into　it　with　his　Catachan　fang　until　he　had　exposed　its　spine；　which
he　had　then　seized　and　yanked　right　out　of　its　body。　He　tossed　the　wretched　creature’s　remains
aside；　with　a　sneer；　and　began　to　wade　towards　Braxton；　but　the　mud　was　up　to　his　stomach　and　his
progress　was　slow。
Storm　was　firing　in　from　the　sidelines；　and　as　Lorenzo　watched；　the　first　of　Braxton’s　attackers
fell　beneath　his　las…fire　at　last。　Storm　switched　targets；　and　Lorenzo　joined　him；　their　shots
converged　on　the　back　of　the　second　zombie’s　knee　and　burnt　through　it　in　seconds。
The　third　and　final　zombie　swung　around　to　greet　Greiss　with　a　hefty　punch；　which　the　grizzled
sergeant　dodged。　His　face　was　level　with　the　creature’s　stomach—with　its　greater　bulk；　it　looked
like　it　could　crush　him　with　its　thumb—but　he　drove　the　butt　of　his　lasgun　into　its　leg　and；　to
Lorenzo’s　amazement；　shattered　it。　The　bone　must　have　been　old　and　brittle。　But　this　zombie’s
reflexes　were　better　than　most。　Instead　of　falling；　it　swayed　on　one　leg；　and　looked　down　to　where
its　other　leg　hung　loose；　still　attached　to　its　body　by　muddy　tendrils。
Then　Greiss　laid　into　it　with　his　gun　butt　again；　roaring　like　an　animal；　and　slowly；　as　if　it　was
fighting　gravity　itself；　the　zombie　fell　and　was　gone。　Greiss’　path　to　Braxton　was　clear—but　the
Validian　was　gone　now；　too。
There　was　nothing　Lorenzo　could　do　for　him；　no　chance　of　reaching　him。　He　shifted　his
attention　to　the　zombies　still　standing；　supporting　Myers　and　Armstrong’s　efforts　with　his　las…shots。
But　his　eyes　kept　flicking　to　the　patch　of　mud　where　Braxton’s　head　had　gone　under；　and　he　found
himself　holding　his　breath　as　Greiss　propelled　himself　towards　that　spot　and　plunged　his　hands　into
the　shifting　earth。
Myers　was　free　of　ork　zombies；　but　his　struggle　had　cost　him。　He　was　sinking　fast。　Storm　leapt
back　into　the　quagmire；　and　waded　to　his　comrade’s　aid。　He　reached　Myers　and　gripped　him　beneath
the　arms。　He　tried　to　drag　him　free；　but　for　every　two　centimetres　the　pair　gained；　the　quagmire
reclaimed　one；　and　Myers　was　buried　up　to　his　neck　now。
Lorenzo　concentrated　on　freeing　his　own　legs。　When　the　planet　let　go；　it　did　so　suddenly；　and　he
fell　back　into　a　bush　and　lost　vital　seconds　disentangling　his　vest　from　its　thorns。　He　raced　around
the　edge　of　the　quagmire；　to　the　point　at　which　Storm　had　re…entered　it。　He　could　reach　him　from
here；　by　placing　one　foot　in　the　mud　while　leaving　the　other　braced　behind　him。　He　caught　Storm’s
reaching　hand；　and　pulled　at　it　with　all　his　strength。
Across　the　clearing；　to　Lorenzo’s　relief；　Greiss　pulled　Braxton；　coughing　and　spluttering；　to　the
surface—but　the　effort　had　cost　him；　and　now　they　were　both　treading　mud；　only　their　heads　visible；
helpless。
Armstrong’s　las…bolts　despatched　the　final　zombie；　and　he　was　in　trouble　now　too；　he　wasn’t　too
far　from　the　edge；　but　with　his　useless　arm　he　had　no　way　of　reaching　it。　Lorenzo　gritted　his　teeth
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and　pulled　harder；　and　at　last　Storm　stumbled　onto　the　bank　beside　him；　and　they　took　one　of　Myers’
arms　each　and　dragged　him　up　after　them。
Myers　was　trying　to　bring　something　with　him。　He　strained　and　pulled；　and　the　earth　released　its
grip　on　his　muddied　backpack。　Lorenzo　had　lost　his；　along　with　his　jacket　and　his　bandolier。　Myers
was　rummaging　in　the　pack　before　his　legs　　grinned
behind　his　black　beard　as　his　comrade　produced　a　rope。　He　must　have　woven　it　himself　from　plant
roots；　after　they’d　lost　the　others　at　the　river。
Myers　made　the　throw；　of　course。　The　end　of　the　rope　slapped　into　the　mud　a　centimetre　or　two
from　Greiss’　head；　but　was　absorbed　before　he　could　free　an　arm　to　reach　for　it。　Both　Greiss　and
Braxton　strained　to　move　their　submerged　limbs；　to　find　their　sinking　lifeline；　and　Braxton’s　chin
went　under　and　he　spluttered　again　as　he　took　a　mouthful　of　earth。　Then；　a　tense　moment　later；　the
Validian　yelled　out；　“Got　it！”　and　Myers　and　Lorenzo　pulled　for　all　they　were　worth。
Storm；　in　the　meantime；　had　found　a　branch　that　jutted　out　over　Armstrong’s　position。　He
climbed　up　to　it　and　swarmed　along　it；　the　branch　bending　beneath　his　weight。　Armstrong　raised　his
good　arm；　and　their　fingers　strained　to　find　each　other。
At　last　the　struggle　was　won；　and　six　muddy；　exhausted　soldiers　lay　on　dry　land　and　looked
mournfully　at　the　swamp　that　had　been　their　campsite；　thinking　of　the　precious　kit　they　had　lost　to
its　embrace；　and　of　how　much　more　they　could　have　lost。
They　had　just　three　half…filled　water　bottles　between　them　now；　Lorenzo’s；　Storm’s　and
Armstrong’s　having　gone　down　with　their　backpacks。　The　flamer　could　never　be　assembled　again
without　the　parts　Storm　had　been　carrying。　They　were　just　grateful　that　Myers　still　had　the　power
packs　for　their　lasguns。
But　Lorenzo　felt　most　sorry　for　Armstrong；　because　his　devil　claw　knife　had　been　snatched　from
him。　The　veteran　Jungle　Fighter　looked　devastated　about　that；　far　more　hurt　than　he’d　been　by　his
shoulder　injury。　Braxton　offered　him　Woods’　old　devil　claw；　but　he　just　shrugged　the　Validian
away。　It　wasn’t　the　same。
“I　hate　to　say　this；”　announced　Greiss；　“but　we　need　to　move　on　before　we　can　bed　down　again。”
“You　think　there’s　anywhere　safe　on　this　damned　planet？”　asked　Armstrong；　sullenly。
“I’m　gambling　it　takes　a　good　while　for　Rogar　to　turn　an　area　like　this　into　a　bog；”　said　Greiss；
“else　why　would　it　have　waited　till　now？　In　future；　we’re　just　going　to　have　to　move　between　two　or
three　campsites　a　night；　grab　our　sleep　a　few　hours　at　a　time。”　They　all　saw　the　sense　in　that；　though
it　was　a　disheartening　proposition。
In　the　event；　they　moved　only　a　few　hundred　metres　before　Greiss　gave　the　order　to　start
clearing　the　ground　again。　Lorenzo　and　Armstrong　took　their　watch　while　the　others　slept。
Armstrong　was　poor　company；　sitting　on　a　tree　trunk　and　stared　at　his　own　feet。　Lorenzo；
fortunately；　had　slept　long　enough　to　feel　relatively　refreshed。　He　hoisted　the　protective　plastic
sheets　over　his　comrades’　heads　by　himself；　though　shortly　after　he　had　done　so　the　rain　subsided　at
last。
A　few　silver…backed　snakes　hissed　in　the　undergrowth—but　to　Lorenzo’s　relief；　the　rest　of　the
night　passed　without　incident。
The　next　morning；　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　an　unexpected　visitor。
The　figure　stepped　out　of　the　trees　as　they　were　making　to　move　out—and　instantly；　six　lasguns
were　drawn　and　aimed　at　it。　The　figure　made　no　threatening　move；　however。
Lorenzo　peered　at　it　curiously。　It　was　humanoid　in　shape；　about　his　height　and　build—and　to　an
extent；　it　resembled　one　of　the　ork　zombies；　fashioned　as　it　was　from　Rogar’s　vegetation。　But　this
figure　was　wearing　a　jacket　woven　from　varicoloured　leaves；　and　a　branch　slung　across　its　back
where　the　Jungle　Fighters　kept　their　lasguns；　and　it　even　seemed　to　have　a　face；　wide…eyed　and
grinning；　though　this　was　just　a　pattern　formed—accidentally？—by　the　twisted　stalks　and　plants　that
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ran　through　its　rough；　sculpted　head。　A　thatch　of　straw　was　perched　atop　that　head；　like　a　mop　of
blond　hair。
It　grinned　at　the　Jungle　Fighters　for　a　minute　or　more；　as　they　watched　it　warily。　Then　the　figure
let　out　a　bizarre；　inhuman　noise：　a　series　of　guttural　clicks　and　warbling　vowel　sounds。　Then　it
turned；　and　with　a　clumsy；　rolling　gait　like　it　might　shake　itself　apart；　it　moved　away　from　them；　in
the　direction　they　intended　to　go；　until　its　path　was　blocked。　Then　it　brought　up　an　arm；　jerkily；　and
sliced　it　down；　then　up　and　down　again。
“What　the　hell　is　it　meant　to　be？”　breathed　Myers。
“Best　guess？”　growled　Greiss。　“It’s　meant　to　be　one　of　us。　Look　at　it；　Bullseye！　Pretending　it’s
cutting　its　way　through　the　jungle　like　we’ve　been　doing。”
“I　think　it　was　trying　to　talk。”　Armstrong　said。　“It　was　trying　to　sound　like　us；　imitate　the　noises
we　make；　but　it　doesn’t　understand　language。”
“You　think　we’re　supposed　to　be　taken　in　by　that？”　asked　Lorenzo；　not　sure　if　he　should　be
amused　or　disturbed　by　the　idea。　“We’re　supposed　to　think　that’s　one　of　us；　let　it　join　us；　and—then
what？”
“I　vote　we　don’t　give　it　the　chance　to　show　us；”　said　Myers。
“I’ll　second　that；”　said　Greiss。
Six　lasguns　converged　on　the　unlikely　doppelganger—and　it　whirled　around　to　face　the　Jungle
Fighters；　and　if　Lorenzo　hadn’t　known　better　he　could　have　sworn　it　seemed　surprised。　Then　the
figure　exploded。
Hidden　spines　shot　out　from　its　chest　and　mouth；　like　slender　darts；　and　the　Jungle　Fighters　leapt
for　cover；　and　fortunately　had　kept　enough　distance　between　them　and　the　twisted　effigy　to　avoid
being　struck。　Lorenzo　raised　his　head　to　find　a　dozen　spines　embedded　in　a　tree　beside　him。　More
lay　in　the　grass；　and　he　noted　that　their　needle　points　dripped　with　poison。　Of　the　effigy；　there　was
no　trace　at　all　now。　It　had　fallen　apart；　returned　to　its　constituent　components　and　reclaimed　by　the
jungle；　and　Lorenzo　couldn’t　tell　which　of　the　leaves　and　plants　that　strewed　the　ground　before　them
had　belonged　to　its　mass。
The　second　effigy　showed　itself　almost　four　hours　later；　just　stepping　out　behind　the　Jungle
Fighters　into　the　path　they’d　cut；　greeting　them　with　its　incoherent　warble。　It　didn’t　last　a　second
before　it　was　gunned　down；　falling　onto　its　back　and　shooting　its　poisonous　payload　into　the　sky。
Lorenzo　had　barely　set　eyes　upon　it　before　it　was　gone—but　he　was　left　with　the　distinct　impression
that　this　doppelganger　had　been　more　sophisticated；　a　far　more　accurate　likeness　of　its　template；
than　its　predecessor　had　been。　It　was　about　then　that　they　all　felt　the　first　tremor。
It　had　been　a　quiet　day　by　the　Jungle　Fighters’　standards。　They　had　dealt　with　routine　attacks　by
jungle　lizards；　snakes　and　spitter　plants；　but　nothing　that　had　really　challenged　them。　Since　the
incident　with　the　second　effigy；　they’d　had　no　sense　of　being　followed；　so　it　seemed　that—for　now
at　least—they　were　safe　from　zombies。
As　they　had　progressed；　so　too　had　their　spirits　lightened。　Lorenzo　had　started　to　feel　like　they
had　finally　got　the　measure　of　this　deathworld；　like　Rogar　had　run　out　of　new　ways　to　torment　them
and　accepted　their　mastery　of　it。　It　was　a　good　feeling。　A　reaffirming　feeling。　It　made　their　sacrifices
worthwhile。
They　didn’t　speak　about　the　tremor。　With　luck；　it　had　been　an　isolated　incident—and　the　more
time　passed　without　a　recurrence；　the　more　likely　this　seemed。
Then；　as　the　daylight　began　to　die；　the　jungle　opened　up　again；　and　they　were　able　to　sheathe
their　knives　as　their　passage　through　it　eased。　Shortly　thereafter；　they　uncovered　gretchin　footprints
and　knew　they　were　close　to　their　goal。　They　withdrew　a　short　way；　and　found　a　secluded　spot　in
which　they　could　rest　for　a　time。　The　last　time；　they　all　knew；　before　the　culmination　of　their
mission。　Find　the　ork　warboss　and　take　him　out。　They　were　starting　to　look　forward　to　it　again。
88
Greiss　agreed　to　let　them　light　a　cooking　fire；　because　the　canopy　was　thick　here　and　a　small
amount　of　smoke　would　likely　go　unnoticed。　Anyway；　they　were　low　on　standard　rations；　but　they
did　have　the　lizards　Myers　and　Storm　had　caught；　along　with　a　few　handfuls　of　Rogar’s　choicest
spices。　Myers　tasted　each　one　before　he　added　it　to　the　pot；　in　case　its　nature　had　changed　since　the
last　batch　he’d　gathered。　In　case　the　planet　had　brewed　up　a　new　pois