The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,48

up in the moment. The kind of stupid bravery that got people killed. But it was too late to back out now.

He got his arms over the top of the ridge and pulled his head and shoulders up. Two beast-men were running along the ridge towards him, clubs in their hands. Faced with a leg-breaking drop if he let go, he chose to go on, straining to lift himself over the edge. If he could get his feet under him in time, if he could get a revolver out—

There was a crackle of gunfire below him. One of the beast-men tumbled. The other came on, unhurt. Frey was still scrambling desperately on to the ridge when the beast-man reached him. He got his knee over and rolled aside just as the club smashed into the ground, centimetres from his head.

He sprang to his feet, but the beast-man was quick. With its other hand, it snatched him up by the throat, lifting him off the ground with effortless strength. Frey choked as rough fingers cut off his air. He kicked uselessly, one hand clawing at the beast-man's hairy wrist. The savage raised its club, ready to smash his skull like an egg.

Two gunshots. The beast-man's face changed from fury to puzzlement. A disturbingly human expression. Then the fingers around Frey's neck loosened, and the beast-man fell. Frey staggered back, one hand going to his throat, the other still holding the revolver he'd pulled from his belt.

Four.

His companions had started climbing up from below, one by one, while the rest held off the beast-men. Frey hid behind a tree near the lip of the ridge. He scanned the undergrowth, ready to defend his position until reinforcements could arrive. He rather hoped that the three savages who lay dead nearby would be all he had to deal with, but, as usual, he was disappointed. A thrashing of leaves warned him as two more males came running out of the forest, bare feet pounding the ground, beads and hide armour flapping around them.

Frey was ready for them this time. He calmly aimed and shot one of them in the head.

Three bullets left.

He shifted his aim to the other, sighted, and pulled the trigger again.

The revolver clicked as the hammer fell on an empty chamber.

There was a moment of cold realisation as the flaw in Frey's maths revealed itself. He had ten bullets in two revolvers, but he hadn't been firing them equally. He'd been favouring the one in his right hand. And now it was out of bullets.

He raised the gun in his left hand but the beast-man was too close. It swung its club down at him. He half-dodged at the last moment and caught a glancing blow on his outstretched forearm, hard enough to numb his hand. His revolver fired uselessly into the ground - two left -and dropped from his nerveless fingers.

The beast-man was startled by the noise of the revolver, long enough for Frey to back off a few paces. He sized up his options. The pistol in his right hand was empty, and he needed that hand free so he could draw his cutlass. But it seemed a shame to waste a good weapon, so he flipped it into the air, caught it neatly by the barrel, and sent it spinning towards his attacker. It cracked the beast-man hard on the forehead and flew away into the undergrowth. The beast-man staggered backwards, lost its footing, and plunged off the lip of the ridge.

'Oy!' cried Malvery from below. 'Don't send 'em down to us! We've got enough of our own!' His complaint was followed by a gunshot as he executed the bewildered beast-man somewhere out of sight.

Frey drew his cutlass as another beast-man came growling into sight. It lunged at him, and he let the blade draw his arm into a parry. The blow from the club came hard, jolting his arm. Another blow came, and another. Frey blocked them, but each time his block was weaker. Even with the strength of the sword to aid him, the beast-man's raw power was overwhelming. It attacked in a frenzy, battering at Frey's guard. He tried a counter-thrust, but only opened himself up to a swing that he just barely evaded. Teeth gritted, sweating, he backed off under the fierce rain of blows.

I can't hold it off! he. thought, panicking. I can't . . .

There was a tremendous boom to his left, and a gory hole was punched through the beast-man's chest,