Under A Winter Sun by Johan Dahlgren (ink ebook reader txt) 📕

grabs for the sniper rifle again, but I hold it out of reach, and he gives me the finger before he snaps back into control. “Back to the Naglfar. We have to stop it from taking off.”

How he thinks the seven of us will manage that is beyond me, but I hope there's a plan. If it launches with that army on board, humanity is fucked.

With regret, I put the Lensfield on the ground. This is the second time I leave this great rifle behind, and I doubt there will be a third. I give it a salute and follow the others.

We run for the surface.

Behind us, the march of a hundred thousand boots echoes up the tunnel.

“Finn. Grenades.”

“Got it,” he responds and pulls two heavy grenades from the belt around his chest as we run. Expertly, he pulls the pins with his teeth and rolls the grenades down the slope.

“Run.”

“We are running,” the priest yells at the top of his voice.

“Run faster.”

The two grenades explode in quick session and the shockwave gives us a push up the tunnel. Rivera stumbles and is about to fall when Hildr reaches out and pulls him on his feet again.

The ringing in our ears subsides, and I hope to hear the screams of injured men echo up the tunnel. There are no screams. The stamp of quick marching boots remains uninterrupted. Goliaths are not known for giving up, and with this brain control shit going on, I wasn't hoping to stop them. But I had hoped the grenades would at least slow them down. No such luck. They are still hot on our tail.

I turn to the priest as we run. “Now would be a wonderful time for divine intervention, Rivera.”

“Should I pray?”

“No. Shut up and run, little man.”

We keep running up the twisting incline and my lungs burn. The priest sprints along like a pro marathon runner, but the Goliaths look winded. Still, they try to keep up. A rabid army of murderous undead cyborgs intent on dismembering us is a great motivator.

“We're close to the exit,” Jagr pants. “What do we do?”

There's not even a tremor to Tyrus' voice. “Can we get aboard that ship?”

“Not without blowing a hole in it, and that would take a strategic nuke,” I respond.

“So, what do we do?” Jagr asks. “Here's the airlock already.”

We reach the door and skid to a halt before it. Wagner and Hildr collapse on the floor. Without the aid of the powered suits, I don't think they would have made it.

“Fuck, that was a long run,” Hildr pants. Sweat runs down her face. The others look like they are dying of massive cardiac arrest. My chest feels no better.

“I can hold them off for a while, but not long,” Finn says between gasping breaths. “We'll be feasting in Valhalla tonight, Perez.”

“Not tonight, Finn.”

I check the airlock gate. It's massive. It has to be if it's to withstand the immense pressure outside. “Do you think you can disable this door?”

If anything can hold back a tide of undead Goliaths, this door should be it.

“When we're all outside,” I add, just to be clear. With Finn, you can't be too careful.

He nods. “I can do that.”

Tyrus checks the magazine on his weapon. “What are you thinking, Perez?”

“If we can delay them long enough, we might have time to bring in the guns of the Sundowner.”

“The Sundowner is nowhere near powerful enough to take out that thing.” Soledad waves at the airlock and the ship beyond.

“We don't need to take it out. Those rock walls are brittle. We should be able to wedge it. Then we'll have time to wait for the Shiloh to destroy it with the heavy artillery.”

Tyrus looks thoughtful. Then he nods grimly.

“Yes, and that should give us time to board and discover their plans. That is our mission.”

Soledad sighs. Then she nods. “That might work.”

Jagr glances at her wrist console. “The Shiloh is still half an hour out. We have time to ride that elevator to the surface. When we're topside, we can bring in Braden, then bounce a signal off the Sundowner to the star marshal.”

The stomp of boots echoes up the curving tunnel.

“Let's go. They're almost here.”

I hit the button to the airlock, the inner doors slide open, and we stumble inside. “Helmets on.”

I punch the button to cycle the lock even before everyone has their helmets on. The first of the Goliath zombies rounds the bend and takes a burst from Finn's rifle in the face. It doesn't even flinch and keeps coming.

The doors slam shut, and the fans suck the air out.

As long as the airlock is cycling, the inner door won't open.

“Finn. Do your stuff.”

Finn pulls the huge combat knife he's strapped to the leg of his armour and pries open the airlock's maintenance hatch.

“I hope you know what you're doing.”

Tyrus suspiciously eyes Finn going to work on the cables to the door. “We don't want that thing flying open right now.”

Finn growls. “Relax, little man.”

Finn is the best battlefield mechanic I know, and if anyone can disable an airlock, it's him.

The airlock signals the pressure has been neutralised, and it's safe to open the outer door.

“Finn?”

“Go.”

I punch the button for the outer door, and it rumbles open.

“Do it, Finn.”

Finn twists the ends of two frayed cables together and the door controls short circuit spectacularly. He drops the jury-rigged cables. “We go.”

“You heard the man. We go.”

Jagr waves us on. “To the elevator.” We follow her and I cast a glance at the airlock. Finn's handiwork seems to hold the Goliaths at bay for now.

The elevator is built for transporting heavy equipment, and even in our bulky dropsuits, we fit in the caged enclosure.

“Right, which button is up?” I scan the control panel. All text is in runic writing.

“This one,” Wagner pushes the button for me. Then he does something unexpected.

As the cage jerks into motion, he steps out and pushes the gate shut on us.

“Finn, what are you doing?”

“You leave. I will go play