The Black Lung Captain by Chris Wooding Page B

step ahead of him, laughing. Finaly he caught her, and she turned in his arms, her nose an inch from his as she leaned forward to kiss him . . .
    Then she was screaming. Her mouth stretched open, grotesquely wide, exposing rotted teeth. Her breath stank of decay. Her green eyes darkened to black.
    Hair came away from her head in clumps, the dying locks slithering to the ground. He struggled franticaly to let go of her, but his upper arms were gripped by some invisible force. She shrieked in his face, features distorted with horror, her skin white, corpse-like. Frey shrieked with her.
    He thrashed awake to the sound of screams, shouting, rain. His arms were trapped inside his sleeping bag. Trinica's howling stil echoed in his mind.
    Rain hammered against the tarpaulin overhead. A fire flickered nearby, smoking up the air beneath their little shelter. Dark figures moved beyond it, barely visible in the downpour. Frey looked about, trying to reassemble his memories, and found himself in a lumpy, tangled landscape of empty sleeping bags. He'd gone to sleep as soon as he'd had his dinner, exhausted by the afternoon's trek.
    What in damnation is going on?
    'Over there!' someone cried. One of Grist's men.
    'Over where?'
    'That way!'
    'I can't bloody see where you're pointing!'
    'That way!'
    'Which way is that way, shit-wit?'
    Frey scrambled out of his sleeping bag, puled on his boots and snatched up his revolver. Then he puled his cutlass from where he'd lain next to it in the night, and thrust it into his belt. It wasn't the smartest thing to sleep with a naked blade - he didn't want any accidents where bits of his insides ended up on the outside -
    but he was paranoid about someone stealing it. That cutlass was his most precious possession after the Ketty Jay. a daemon-thraled weapon given to him by Crake as price for his passage. It made even an amateur swordsman into a champion. Which was good, since Frey was very, very amateur.
    He emerged from the shelter into the open and was soaked to the skin in seconds. Wiping hair back from his forehead, revolver at the ready, he cast around for signs of his crew. It was dark beyond the firelight, and the rain made it seem as if everything was constantly in motion. A pistol shot rang out, making him jump. He turned towards the sound, but the trees and shadows foiled his sight.
    'Sound your names, damn you al!' Grist cried from somewhere.
    'Crattle!'
    'Ucke!'
    'Tarworth, sir! I'm shot!' The young crewman's voice wavered fearfuly.
    'Hodd! Where are you?' Grist demanded.
    'Here!' the explorer replied.
    'Gimble?'
    Frey heard a rustle to his left and Pinn emerged from the undergrowth, eyes bright, chubby face flushed with excitement.
    'I saw it, Cap'n! It's huge!'
    ' What is?' he asked, but then Grist yeled again.
    'Gimble? Are you there?'
    'Malvery!' This time it was Jez's voice. 'Someone get the doc over here!'
    Malvery appeared out of the rain, hurrying past Pinn and Frey, a lever-action shotgun in one meaty hand, his doctor's bag in the other. 'Malvery!' Frey said.
    'What in bastardy is happening?'
    'Can't stop. Duty cals,' Malvery replied, heading off in the direction of Jez's voice.
    'We're coming with you,' Frey decided. 'Come on, Pinn. Everyone, stay together.' They folowed Malvery into the trees, slipping through the mud, pushing wet branches aside. 'Jez! Keep shouting!'
    'This way!'
    Frey's heart was pounding against his ribs as they forged through the forest. The sense of threat was overwhelming. The further they went from the fire, the worse it got. He could barely see far enough to avoid the trees in front of him. Everything was slick with rain. In seconds, the camp was nothing more than a faint smear of light in the distance.
    They folowed Jez's voice, and found her with Silo. The two of them were smeared in mud and kneeling over a falen figure. Frey felt a surge of relief at seeing they were unhurt, but it faded as he remembered that Crake was stil unaccounted for. That figure on