8. Ash and Blood.
Getting to his
feet once more Carn assessed his condition. He had a large gash in his forehead
and half his face was covered in blood, though the wound seemed to have healed.
He also had a number of lacerations to his entire body most of which were minor
and clotted with ash. As he had suspected he had a number of broken ribs
and upon lifting his tunic he was alarmed at the lurid bruises and subdermal
bleeding that greeted him. In addition his shoulder was severely dislocated,
such that he couldn’t reset it himself. He tried, leaning on rocks and crystals
to gain leverage but it seemed to be firmly locked out of place. Weak as he was
he had no chance of correcting the injury. His overcoat was a tattered ruin,
torn, scorched and ripped. He removed it and tore the remainder of the garment
to shreds, kneeling upon it to allow him to perform the task with one hand. He
deftly tore the coat into strips, using some to bind wounds and some to wrap
around his head as a hood. Worth’s environment was hostile at the best of times
and he would need the protection from the sun. He kept a few scraps to wrap
around the data slate to protect it. He needn’t have worried about it betraying
his position, it resolutely refused to activate despite him cleaning it best as
he could. It seemed largely undamaged but it just wouldn’t power on. Carn
suspected it was out of energy, either that or the simple Machine Spirit within
was disquieted and refused to activate the device. Carn was no Techpriest and
lacked the devotions or unguents to repair the slate, he would simply have to
connect it to a power supply and hope for the best.
Of course,
getting to one would be difficult. It was a certainty that the wreckage would
be of no use to him, though he was bound to check it anyway. He had no food, no
water and no medical supplies. All he had was his new found faith and that
would have to be enough. Making a simple strap from strips he had torn he fastened
the pocket he had salvaged from his coat and tied the ends. With his makeshift
satchel containing the precious dataslate he staggered towards the crash site to see what he could salvage. As he
walked he realised that his right ankle was damaged too, hopefully nothing more
than a sprain. Nonetheless it would make his progress slow and painful.
Determinedly he continued, focusing on the wreckage of the shuttle and setting
one foot in front of the other heading towards his destination a few hundred
metres away.
So preoccupied
was he on his target he quite failed to notice the sand shifting behind him,
following him as he walked…
*********************************
The crash site
was even worse than he could have imagined. The destruction of the shuttle
notwithstanding, the search party had been thorough indeed in their hunt for
survivors. Debris had been ripped apart, scattered and in some cases destroyed
entirely, molten puddles testament to their fervent search. There was
little left, his would be killers had seen to that. No medical supplies and no
food or water, clearly they had intended that should Carn somehow have survived
the crash he would die out in the ash wastes. Not that anyone could have
imagined that he would have lived through such an event. Still, Carn did not
pretend to know how the minds of the impure worked and did not wish to.
Sifting through the charred remains and still warm smouldering metal of the
hull he found his chest holster, empty and ruined beyond any hope of being able
to use it again. Despairingly he tossed it to one side and bemoaned the
loss of Emperors Fury. He’d had the gun a long time and it had saved
his hide more times that he could count though it was some time since he had
fired it in in anger. Suddenly he spotted something glinting out of the corner
of his eye. Could it be? He stumbled over to it but It was actually an empty
and broken bottle of cheap Skee. Up until that point he had not even thought
about the alcohol but upon spying the label and glass lying in the ash he felt
a longing for that familiar and comforting slow burn.
In a sudden
fury he scooped up the broken bottle and hurled it at the closet fragment of
hull. It shattered satisfyingly but the sudden expenditure of energy made him
sag. It was at this moment that the Ashworm attacked.
Erupting from
the ground from behind Carn it fastened its many fanged maw on his shoulder and
injected its numbing venom, attempting to wrap its body around Carn and haul
him to the floor. Carn, weary beyond measure, tried to turn and dislodge his
attacker but had neither the strength or momentum to do so. He was lucky It was
only a juvenile, had it been an adult he would be dead already and dragged
beneath the surface to be slowly consumed. Nonetheless, in his weakened
condition he was in a fight for his life. Already the soporific effects of the
creature’s bite were spreading through his body and he could feel his limbs becoming
leaden and his senses dull. He fumbled with his good arm for the knife he kept in his boot, though
he had no way of knowing if it was still in there. The worm, thrashing about,
wrapped a coil round his trailing leg, tripping him. He hit the ground on top
of the serpentine predator and rolled away lest his attacker try to constrict
him more. He sensed his flesh tear at the shoulder, though there was no pain
thanks to the numbing agent in the worm’s venom, but the creatures grip on him
remained firm.
Summoning his
last vestiges of inner strength, Carn pushed himself to his feet, kicking his
leg free. With the Worm hanging from his shoulder, writhing and trying to gain
a fatal grip on him, he hurled himself backwards into the piece of hull that he
had hurled the bottle of Skee into. The impact pushed the debris back and he
fell on his rump awkwardly. The Ashworm, crushed between the hull and Carns body, writhed
and squirmed in an effort to free itself. Carn leaned forward to try to get to his feet but his legs failed
him. He managed to push forward with one last herculean effort just as the hull
sheeting toppled. The piece of metal had been supporting another piece of
wreckage and this fell, impaling the worm scant inches from Carn’s body.
The jagged metal cut deep and the Worm’s ichor splashed on the surrounding ground,
a cloying and sickly sweet smell filling the air. Pinned to the earth the Worms
struggles grew weaker and weaker as it’s lifeblood pooled into the ash. Finally
it stopped moving and hung limply from his shoulder, its grip loosening at
last.
Shaking as
the adrenaline left his system, Carn reached up and prised the dead worm’s teeth
from his shoulder. It fell to the floor with a thud and he cautiously moved
away from it though it remained quite motionless. It was then that he realised
he was supporting his weight on both arms. He gingerly lifted his bad arm and
rotated it at the shoulder, even if there were any pain he wouldn’t have felt
it but it moved easily enough. He surmised that the force of the Worm’s bite had somehow put
the joint back into place, truly the Emperor worked in mysterious ways. Even
the blood streaming from his shoulder had slowed and congealed. Furthermore he
now had a form of sustenance. Reaching once more into his boot he pulled out
his knife and started sawing hunks of meat from the
With a dozen
strips laid out on the hull he arose from the butchered carcass of the Ashworm
and scanned the horizon. Much of the surrounding area was rocky mesa but it was
not hard to see which direction the convoy had gone, the transports tracks were
deep and even the ash storms had failed to completely cover them. He would
simply follow them till he got to their final destination, Emperor willing.
Kneeling once more by the remains of the Ashworm he continued to flense and
skin the creature constructing a pouch from a portion of the skin to house the
meat in. As an afterthought he totally removed the skin from the carcass and
wrapped it round him like a shawl, with any luck the smell might deter other
predators and worst case scenario it would provide a little extra protection
from the elements. A final survey of the area found little else of use other
than a metal strut he could use as a walking stick/weapon and a charred piece
of fabric which he wrapped around his shoulders. He imagined that he looked
quite the horror now but he had never been a particularly vain or proud man,
and besides, now he had a higher purpose. During his final search he also came
across the ragged remnants of the pilot, barely recognisable as a figure,
little more than hunks of pulped flesh and pipes. Carn regarded the tattered
ruin; his newfound piety compelled him to solemnly voice a heartfelt prayer for
the soul of the pilot, ushering him into the glorious embrace of the Emperor,
beloved by all. Possibly a benediction to the Machine God that they worshipped
would have been more apt but Carn knew little of such things and besides, he’d
heard tell they were one and the same anyway. This was a comfort to him, there
was only the one almighty immortal God Emperor, any other concept was heresy.
It was late,
well into the second cycle as Carn reckoned it, It was still light and hot
though. Travelling a long distance at night would be ill advised, no matter the
preparations he had made. He had best make a start. He stood up, testing the
weight on his leg and supporting himself on the metal stanchion. There was some
pain, which was likely a good sign, indicating that the Ashworm’s venom was
wearing off. With one final check of his provisions, garb and equipment
(including making sure the dataslate was secure and protected) he set off. As
he reached the edge of the debris field, using his improvised stick to gain
purchase and lean upon, his foot kicked something, dislodging it from the ash
where it was buried. Carn looked down. The item was still mostly covered
but he could just about see glinting gilt scrollwork and the letters ‘ore
Imper’ partially obscured by purplish grey ash and dust. Tears filled his
eyes as he knelt down to retrieve Emperors Fury and gave thanks once again to
the Emperor of Mankind.
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