No One Survives Here

"Faster! We're almost there! I know this route! The exit's just ahead!"

After running for so long, Old John's voice had gone ragged. Each breath seemed to scrape hot sand across his throat and lungs.

Sweat soaked his hair and ran into his eyes, blurring his vision, but he didn't dare raise a hand to wipe it away.

He, Clawven, and the sole remaining young team member, Tog, sprinted through the seemingly endless dark corridor like rabbits fleeing hounds.

They had thrown away everything they could.

Heavy packs, spare magazines, empty Lasguns, even pieces of bulky armor torn off to lighten the load.

All they had left were their essential weapons and a few Grenades for a last stand, along with the instinct to survive and legs that felt like lead.

Behind them, the bloodcurdling buzz in the darkness grew closer instead of fading, tolling against their hearts like a death knell.

"Run! Don't look back! Look back and you're dead!" Clawven roared in his rasping voice as he ran, urging the others on as much as himself.

His mechanical eye flashed wildly, scanning the identical-looking passages ahead for any familiar marker.

His Shotgun felt especially heavy now, but he kept a death grip on it.

Hope lay ahead.

Old John remembered that beyond the next turn, they should reach the wider passage they had come through. Farther off, they might even see the faint light from House Canary's merchant ship docking area. The light of life!

But fate bared its cruelest fangs when hope was closest.

Just as Clawven was about to cross a stretch of corridor that looked safe, everything changed...

A section of Blackstone wall to the side slid upward without warning. A metal blade gleaming with cold blue light swept out too fast for the eye to follow!

"Watch out!" Old John shouted, but it was too late!

Crunch!

A sickening crack rang out, metal shearing through bone and flesh!

"Argh!" Clawven grunted in pain and stopped dead in his tracks.

He lost his balance and pitched forward! A mirror-smooth cut had appeared about four inches below his right knee.

His severed lower leg and foot kicked twice where they lay, still bent as if running, then fell still.

Blood gushed from the stump like water from a burst pipe, instantly staining the cold Blackstone floor beneath him red.

"Clawven!" Old John slammed to a halt and lunged back toward his fallen comrade, his eyes wide with horror.

Tog stopped too, terrified. Gun in hand, he stared helplessly at the gruesome scene, then glanced toward the buzzing that was drawing ever closer behind them.

"Leave me! You old bastard! Run!"

Pain twisted Clawven's face, and cold sweat instantly covered his forehead. But his good eye and mechanical eye were wide open. There was no plea in them, only a resolve bordering on madness.

With his still-functioning left arm, he shoved Old John away with all his strength as the older man bent to carry him!

Old John stumbled back two steps.

He looked at the blood pouring from Clawven's severed leg, then at his comrade's face, rapidly paling from blood loss. It felt as if a cold hand had seized his heart.

"Go, damn it!" Clawven roared, blood frothing at his lips.

"You want us all to die here?! Take Tog and get the hell out!"

Still shouting, Clawven struggled to prop himself up with one hand. He dragged himself to the wall and sat with his back against the cold Blackstone.

That simple movement seemed to drain the last of his strength. Still, he gritted his teeth, forced one of his precious custom shotgun shells into the chamber, and racked the gun with a click.

Then he pulled the safety pin from the last Melta Grenade on his tactical vest with his teeth.

He held the round Grenade in his blood-covered hand. Its lever sprang free with a faint ding.

Old John's lips trembled. He knew what Clawven was about to do.

He also knew it was the only way at least two of them might survive.

Every second he hesitated could make Clawven's sacrifice worthless. He met his comrade's determined gaze, and grief, fury, and helplessness surged through him so fiercely he nearly fainted.

"Go!"

Old John gave Clawven one last long look. Then he spun around, seized the stunned Tog by the arm, and dragged him forward with all his strength.

He didn't dare look back. He feared that if he did, he would never be able to take another step.

"Come on, you tin-can bastards! Have a taste of Grandpa Clawven's big gun!"

Behind him came Clawven's hoarse, defiant laughter. Then his massive Shotgun fired one last shot, a deafening blast that sounded unbearably tragic.

Boom!

Old John could picture the lead Spindle Drone being torn apart by the custom shell.

Then came a brief, deathly silence, as though even the Hive Swarm had been stunned by his last stand.

And then...

"For the Emperor! Die! Hahaha..." Clawven's wild laughter cut off.

In its place came an explosion far deeper than the Shotgun's report.

BOOM!!!

A wave of scorching air struck Old John from behind, nearly knocking him and Tog to the ground.

The entire passage shook violently, and dust rained from the ceiling.

The terrifying energy of a Melta weapon erupted in the confined space, vaporizing matter in an instant. Heat and a shock wave swept through everything!

Old John did not look back.

He could not look back.

He could even feel his skin stinging from the heat behind him.

He knew Clawven...

He had taken the pursuers down with him and his beloved Melta Grenade.

"Run, Tog! If you don't want Clawven to die for nothing, then run, damn you!"

Old John roared at the young team member, who was on the verge of breaking down. Dragging him along, he followed the last scraps of direction he remembered and charged forward.

Tears mixed with sweat, blood, and dust, blurring Old John's vision.

Only one thought remained: Get out! Tell Captain Fetteman everything that happened here! Clawven... my old friend... I won't let your blood be shed for nothing!

The way out lay ahead, in the darkness that seemed to grow brighter with every step.

Behind them, the deadly Hive Swarm had paused only briefly. Its despair-inducing buzz rose again, growing... closer.

At last, Old John burst out of the passage. But the moment he reached the light, the sight before him stopped him cold.

Dozens of bodies lay scattered all around. Dozens of Ughul were feasting on them.

Captain Fetteman's body lay on the ground. Part of his face had been bitten away, and the terror of his final moments still showed on what remained of his pale face.

"Fuck..."

It was the last sound Old John made. Then more than a dozen Ughul lunged at him.

In the end, no one survived.