按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
furiously to keep their squat bodies aloft。 Their black beaks came to wicked hooked points。
Lorenzo found a tree and backed up to it； denying them the chance to come at him from behind。
He kept his fang in motion； slashing at any bird that ventured too close。 They had become less bold
with fewer numbers； keeping their distance； giving the impression of watching； waiting for an
opening； although their eyes were still glassy。 Lorenzo feinted； drew one of them in； and tore open
its stomach with his blade； showering himself in its guts。
Another tried to blindside him； but he caught it by the throat； squeezed； felt its bones popping
between his fingers and thumb。 Its body joined the growing pile at his feet—and then； something in
that pile nipped his ankle。 At first Lorenzo thought it was just one bird； crippled； unable to fly but
still single…minded in purpose。 He raised his foot； tried to kick the wretched creature away—but
there were more of them down there； scratching and pecking。 The air around him seemed to have
darkened with their bodies again。 Reinforcements？
33
A bird shot up from below and got past Lorenzo’s defences； latching onto his face and hugging
it； and he would have let out a cry if he hadn’t bitten his tongue in time。 He was blinded； he could
barely breathe for the bird’s sticky； bloodied feathers in his mouth and nose。
He clawed at it； but its brethren were pecking at his knuckles； biting his fingers； keeping him
from getting a grip； and his tormentor’s claws were like nails raking his cheeks。 He dropped into a
protective crouch； closed his fingers around the creature on his face at last； and tore it away from
him； taking too much of his own skin with it。 He saw it properly for the first time as it struggled in
his hands—and although Lorenzo had seen much in his short career as a Jungle Fighter； the sight
that greeted him now caused his mouth to gape in surprise。
The bird’s neck had been cut almost through。 Its head flapped lifelessly against its wing until； as
Lorenzo watched； it detached itself at last and plopped into the long grass。 But the body was still
moving—and not just the uncoordinated twitching that could follow death in some species； but a
deliberate and almost successful attempt to squirm free from him。 With a shudder of revulsion； he
dashed the bird against the nearest tree； with enough strength that his hand cracked through its body
like an egg。 It didn’t move again。
Then Lorenzo felt them； saw them clawing their way up his legs： more bird corpses； some
nursing broken legs； wings； backs； some eviscerated。 Some of them had been dead a long time
before this battle had begun。 Putrid flesh slid from their gnarled bones； the stench that hit Lorenzo’s
nostrils would have been sickening to someone less familiar with it。
The first few skeletons had climbed as far as his lap； and they sprang for his throat； falling short；
their wings too tattered and rotted to catch an air current。 Lorenzo tried to brush them off； but they
were tenacious。 He mimicked Muldoon’s earlier actions； rolling on the ground； feeling a satisfying
crunch of bones beneath him。 One skeletal bird hopped onto his face； and he stabbed at it with his
knife。 The blade passed through its empty eye sockets； and he lifted the undead creature off him； its
legs pedalling the air； wing bones cranking uselessly。 He flicked it away。
And then； suddenly； he was unmolested； the last of the birds around him finally still in death。
His own survival assured for the moment； Lorenzo’s thoughts went to his comrades。 He was
relieved to see that each of them had won or was winning his own battle。 He joined them in
shooting； slicing and bayoneting the few remaining birds。 Without their superior numbers； they were
easy prey； and soon the Jungle Fighters were jumping and stamping on hundreds of small corpses。
Then there was silence。
They regrouped； and took stock of their injuries。 Landon was the worst； his face red with his own
blood—but nobody had escaped harm； apart from the unconscious Muldoon。 Lorenzo’s comrades
all sported crazed scratch patterns on their arms and faces； and he could tell from the prickling pain
in his cheeks and forehead that he looked no better than any of them。 His jacket sleeves were gashed
and ragged； one trouser leg also torn。
Guardsman Braxton appeared to have held his own； though he was exhausted。 He leaned against
a tree trunk for support； flushed and out of breath。 Storm was looking particularly irked that the
birds had taken great clumps out of his beard。 Dougan’s bionic leg had been gummed up with
feathers； which he was picking out of its joints ruefully。
Woods was the first to find his voice。 “Well；” he said； “that was interesting。 Who’s up for
seconds？”
Mackenzie was in no mood for jokes。 “What the hell just happened？” he demanded。 “I’ve been
on this world a year； and never seen the birds behave like that。”
Greiss frowned。 “No？” And； for a moment； their animosity was softened in the face of a shared
concern。
“I mean； don’t get me wrong；” said Mackenzie； “they were always vicious—but after a few
initial sorties； they kept their distance。 They knew they were no match for us。”
34
“They made no attempt to retreat；” Donovits mused； “even when it became obvious they
couldn’t survive。 “As if they had no choice but to fight us。”
“Even in death；” grumbled Mackenzie。
“Some of those birds had been dead for months；” said Donovits。 “There was no tissue left
holding their skeletons together。 What was animating them？”
There was silence for a long moment as everyone pondered that question。 Lorenzo suppressed a
shudder； and his eyes involuntarily flicked towards the crushed and splintered bones at his feet； as if
they might yet somehow spring to life again； repair and rebuild themselves。
Greiss made an attempt to diffuse the tension。 “You ask me； it was sheer bloody…mindedness！”
he said； as if that might explain everything。 “We probably stumbled into their territory。 How about
it； Brains？ Think they could have been protecting something down here？ Eggs； maybe？”
Mackenzie shook his head。 “There was nothing here a few weeks ago。 I sent a squad to
reconnoitre this area； and they reported nothing like this。”
Greiss raised an eyebrow。 “This area？ You sure about that； commissar？”
“Of course I’m sure； sergeant。 What are you suggesting？”
“Well； I know the jungle can be good at covering tracks—but I’d swear that； till we turned up；
there hadn’t been anyone come this way in a long time。”
That sent the commissar scrambling for his sketch map。 In the meantime； his adjutant had
recovered his breath； though he still looked pale。 “I guess that could have been worse； right？” said
Braxton—and Lorenzo looked at him； and tried to work out what he really wanted。 Some
reassurance that the Catachans had everything under control？ Or that things couldn’t have been
worse； that he’d just survived the best this jungle had to throw at him？ He couldn’t give the Validian
either。
“I mean； most of us escaped with superficial cuts。 Unless—”
“Unless？”
Braxton’s eyes flickered towards Muldoon； and now Lorenzo understood。
“Relax； city boy；” drawled Woods。 “If the birds had poisoned us； we’d know about it by now。
You feeling ill？ Because I’ve never felt healthier in my whole life。 Raring to go！”
“Muldoon didn’t know；” said Braxton quietly。
Lorenzo and Woods glanced at each other； and Lorenzo knew they were both thinking the same
thought： that Muldoon had known； that he’d felt the sickness creeping up on him； even fought off
the first of the hallucinations。 He had known； but he had been too proud to speak up。
“You want to worry about something；” said Woods； “you worry about those ‘superficial cuts’—
because out here； there’s no such thing。 Any cut can be deadly。 Jungle worlds breed diseases—and
not all of them are carried by insects and vermin。 Most； you can’t see—but they’re around us all the
same； in the air。 And they’re just looking for a way into your bloodstream！”
Woods wiggled his fingers； miming the action of a bacteria creeping its way under Braxton’s
flesh。 Then he closed his fist with