Condemned (Death Planet Book 1) (3 page)

If he had watched those recordings, he’d have known what to expect, and where to run to escape. But what fun would that be for the viewers? Better for the new prisoners to be run down like animals by men who looked like animals, and had probably acted like animals back home.

He jogged on. Sweat stung his eyes, plants crunched all around him, and leaves and branches jerked as creatures pushed past them. The hounds were so close he could almost smell their sickly scent over the stench of sea water and rotting vegetation. He tried to lift his legs, but they would barely move. He was done. He might as well just lie down, and let them kill him.

Then a hound burst from the trees, six eyes staring at him, and the long claws on its front paws slashing through the air. Daniel dodged out of the way as it howled and twisted before it hit the ground, its claws tearing deep gouges in the dirt. He slid to the right, just as another hound burst through on that side. Its claws slashed across his jumpsuit, drawing blood, and leaving deep welts in his side.

The shock of the cuts gave him a second wind, and he plunged on through the woods. The hunter yelled behind him, and Daniel’s feet moved faster still. If the hunter was trying to scare him into giving up, he was doing it the wrong way.

But how long could he run? Not so long as the hounds, that was for sure. He needed a plan, but he was too hot, sweaty and tired to think of one. Climb a tree? Even if he could get up there with his hands tied, the hunters would just knock him down with their spears. Turn and face them? Yeah, right.

The hounds lunged toward his feet, and he dodged left and right, barely missing a tree trunk as one hound passed on the far side of the trunk while the other attacked from his. He glanced back. He couldn’t see the hunter, but the man must be back there somewhere. Daniel pushed the last of his energy into his legs, and charged on. At least he would make them chase him until he could run no further.

Then the trees disappeared.

His feet slipped as the ground fell away. The trees were no longer in front of him, but far below, stretching out toward the distant sea. He fell on his ass, his boots scrabbled for grip as he slid toward the edge of the cliff, and his fingers dug into the mud beneath him until he came to a stop.

The hounds yelped as they went over the edge, then bounced on the rocky cliff as they fell toward the trees below. The first smashed through branches, bounced from the ground, and writhed in the undergrowth.

Until the other slammed down on top of it, with a bone-breaking crunch. Neither of them moved after that.

Daniel dug his fingers into the ground behind him, and pulled himself back until his boots found some grip. Then he pushed himself up onto safe ground, and collapsed as he gasped for breath. His heart was thumping so fast, it would have burst if he’d run any further. His guts ached, and his stomach churned, from hunger as well as exertion.

He pushed himself to a crouch, leaned on the tree trunk, and took a slow step back toward the plain. Which way had he come, anyway, with all those twists and turns in the chase?

Trails of crushed undergrowth led in many directions where they had dodged and chased their way through it. The hunter was still out there somewhere. Daniel couldn’t go back toward the pods. He should follow the edge of the cliff, instead, and find some way to get his hands untied. With the look of the cuts he'd accumulated from the plants, it couldn't be too hard.

Now he'd stopped running, he could finally see the trees in detail, close up. The leaves weren't actually black, just such a dark green that it was barely visible from a distance. The leaves on the branch in front of him moved, and a tiny face peered out, with dark, staring eyes between eight fat, spider-like legs. It leaned forward through the gap between the leaves, the legs whirring as they moved, and tilted its bulbous body until the eyes stared at him.

He leaned closer. The body was smooth, like plastic, the legs hinged. It wasn't a real spider, just another drone, watching him and recording. Was nowhere safe from them? Something dark and round caught his eye on the tree trunk. Another camera, built into the tree? Was the forest even real, or something they'd built to torment the new arrivals?

Leaves swished against each other as plants moved behind him. The battered point of a spear poked out between two bushes. A hairy face peered out above it, and a leather-clad body appeared below the face as the hunter stepped out, and swung the spear toward him.

The hunter smirked as he approached. “Come on, boy. A cock in the ass must beat a spear in the guts.”

“Comrade...”

“There’s none of that comrade shit here, boy. It’s every man for himself.”

Daniel stared into his eyes. Even if he got his hands free and grabbed the spear, could he stab the man? Shove the point into his body until it tore through vital organs, veins and arteries, and the hunter died, slowly, gagging on his own blood?

If it was that or die himself, he would. Maybe.

He backed toward the cliff. Perhaps he could lead the hunter over it, as he had unwittingly done with the hounds?

“Don’t even think it, boy,” the hunter said. “I saw what you did back there.”

“I give up,” Daniel sighed. “I can't run any more.”

The hunter chuckled. He stepped forward, swinging the spear with one hand, and reaching for the leather cords wrapped around his belt with the other.

Daniel lunged at him, shoulder forward, trying to knock him over. The hunter sidestepped, pulled the spear aside, and smacked Daniel on the ass with the side of the blade. A drone buzzed down from the sky, and circled around them as the hunter prodded the spear toward him, always pulling the blade back before it could cut.

“Think you can take me, do you? I could ram this through your guts before you even noticed.”

He probably could, too. He controlled the spear so easily and accurately, he must have fought with it before.

But there was one thing on Daniel’s side. The hunter didn’t want to kill him. If that was the aim, he'd already be dead.

The drone buzzed down toward them, its cameras pointed at Daniel's face. The hunter's eyes flicked toward it for a split second, distracting him just long enough. Daniel swung his head forward, and headbutted the drone. It buzzed angrily as it flew backwards, and smacked into the hunter's face, the fans smacking against skin, and stunning him for a second.

“Ah, shit,” the hunter muttered as he backed away, and the drone rocketed into the sky. As Daniel jumped into the bushes, the hunter reached up to his forehead, and wiped away blood dripping from cuts where the drone's propellers had slashed his face. “Guess you want it the hard way.”

The hunter charged after him. Daniel dodged between the trees, keeping the cliff to his right, running away from the sea. Somewhere, there'd be a place he could descend, without killing himself. If he could make it that far.

Something whacked against his leg, and he stumbled as the hunter pushed the spear between his knees. He winced as the blade drew blood from his calf, then his shoulder smacked into a tree trunk as he tried to regain his balance.

His foot slipped toward the edge of the cliff, and the hunter grabbed him, wrapping his arm around Daniel's neck, and pulling tighter until he was left gasping for air that would never come. His feet scrabbled for grip as they slid out into open air. A drone buzzed in for a closeup on his face as he tried to push the hunter away with the last of his strength.

The hunter's face grew red as he squeezed harder. The world around Daniel grew dark. So this was it. The way his life ended. Recorded for all the sick bastards to watch.

There was a loud bang.

Then they both went over.

C
ocksucking, motherfucking assholes. Brunhilde trudged along the steeply descending dirt track between the woods. Not even awake five minutes, and the shitmunchers had set their weird, alien dogs on her, tried to stab her, and shoot her.

Still, breaking bones and ripping off heads had relieved some tension. It was all she had wanted to do after the cocksucking troika handed down their decision, just before they put her to sleep. If they weren't just holograms, she'd have done it, too.

Not that Brunhilde was her real name. It just sounded good, and somehow seemed to suit her brown fur. When Icepick had first suggested it, she'd thought he was trying to insult her, but, as he hung upside down from her paw, staring into her open mouth ringed with big, sharp teeth that ached to rip off his balls, he told her it was really the name of some ancient warrior woman. So he got to keep his favourite body parts, and she got a name she could live with.

The nurses called her Alison, after the hospital dumped her at the barracks. What kind of name was that for a gangster?
Icepick
, now that's a real gangster name.
Skullcrusher
, another one, if a little unrefined for her taste.
Ballbreaker
, damn right. But 'hand over the eCreds or you'll answer to Alison'? Who'd be crapping their pants when you said that? 'Hand it over, or you'll answer to Brunhilde'... that worked.

The city of Nova Stalingrad had quaked in fear at the very mention of her name, and crowds had parted when they saw her approach. Until the day someone feared too much, and turned her in to PubSafe for dozens of murders.

Some of which, she’d actually done.

Oh, she'd like to find him. Not to rip his head off, though. She'd start by ripping off the toes and fingers, one by one, then move on to his balls, and anything else she could find to detach.

The head would be the last part to go.

But that was the future. Something to look forward to. Right now, this planet's sun was setting behind the mountains, and their long, rugged shadows stretched across the landscape around her. She needed a place to spend the night. And food. And water. And a job. On a world full of criminals, there had to be demand for a girl with experience in the punishment and persuasion business. If those idiots who attacked her pod were anything to go by, it would be an easy job, too. Smack a few heads, and she'd be running the whole planet in a year.

A drone buzzed around her face like a giant mosquito, the dark eyes of its cameras and sensors staring at her as she moved. She swung her big, furry paws toward it, and it dodged away, circling just out of arm's reach. It was bad enough that the fuckers were watching everything through her own senses with the skulltop recordings, without following her everywhere.

She turned toward it and raised one finger.

“Stick that in your props, metalsucker.”

The drone's whine grew louder as the fans spun up, and it rose into the sky above her, keeping a safer distance. She raised a paw to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun. It glittered on the ocean waves a few kilometres to her right, and shone from a wide river running down from the mountains. If there was a town, that was where she would build it, down by the river with lots of water, and a harbour for transport. Just made sense.

A faint trail of smoke rose in the distance. She squinted and followed it down toward the ground. Some brown, rectangular objects stood out on the riverbank against the black of the plain and foothills. And was that a wooden wall around them?

Worth a look.

A muffled, high-pitched noise floated toward her from the wood to her right. Someone yelling? She twisted her ears that way. It definitely sounded like someone yelling. The shitheads must have found some other poor bastard to capture. Probably just torturing them.

It was none of her business. She strolled on.

There it was again. Sounded more like a call for help than a fight. It was probably a trap. Sure to be. She should just leave them, and find a safe place to sleep. If the fucking racket didn’t keep her up all night. They yelled again.

Crap.

She trudged into the trees, toward the noise. At least the rain had stopped. Her fur had stuck to her skin where the storm had soaked it through, and the water sucked the heat from her body as the air cooled. She needed a nice fire to dry herself out.

She also needed a new outfit. This ugly orange jumpsuit was a liability. Not only would they see it from a mile away, but it marked her as a new arrival, easy meat for the locals... if she wasn't half-bear, and over two hundred kilos, with claws that could rip a normal man's throat apart with one blow.

Ah, screw it. She had fur. What did she need the suit for? Her claws made short work of the cloth, and she tossed it aside. Her naked body would be much harder to see in the woods.

Something dripped on her head. More bastard rain. She reached up and wiped it away, then glanced at her paw. A faint red smear covered the fur. She looked up. A dead hunter’s wide eyes stared down between a long beard and scraggly mop of hair matted with blood. His arms and legs hung loose, and a drop of blood fell from the hole in his chest where a branch had impaled him, until it caught on his ribs and tore them apart.

Serves the cocksucker right.

She stepped aside, and wiped away the blood on wide-leafed plant. A voice mumbled up ahead, muffled by the trees. Flying things scattered as she crunched into the undergrowth, and the drone flitted between the tree branches above her. She slowed and crouched as she approached the voice.

She grabbed the nearest tree and peered around it. No-one moved among the plants ahead.

“Comrade,” a hoarse voice yelled. “Help me.”

About a metre from the tree, the ground disappeared into a dark square about three metres across and the same deep, with some rotten branches and dead leaves scattered across it. The interior walls were metal, as though someone had pulled apart one of the pods, and buried a metal box there to make a pit trap the occupant couldn't climb out of. Would be a good way to catch newbies without having to put in much work. She should have thought of it before now, and been on the lookout. There were a whole new class of dangers here she'd never seen before.

She stepped closer to the edge, keeping her distance in case there was another pit nearby, and scanning the surrounding trees in case some asshole was trying to set up an ambush. Nothing moved, other than a hundred-legged beetle-thing crawling down the tree toward her hand. She flicked her arm and smacked the thing away. It flew through the air, into the pit, and the voice squealed.