The others nodded and fell into a protective formation, facing forward and following backward as the sweepers pushed through the alley.
Keeping behind them Ruairí raised his firearm and aimed it over one of the other Sons’ shoulders.
“Make sure none reach us,” he said lowering his eye to the surface of the weapon. “If either of the sweepers fall, the dead will overwhelm us.”
Farris raised his own weapon in response. Some fifty feet beyond, the thin walls opened up to reveal the Dust Gate. Its portcullis was opened, and some of the living were fighting the dead before it. Loud cracks rang out, and more blue flames filled the darkness.
“There’s more Sons beyond,” realised Ruairí. “I thought they were lost. I thought—”
A charging undead soldier leapt through the flames. Before it could reach the sweepers, Ruairí raised his weapon and fired. A huge bang echoed and resounded through the alley, and the wight fell to the ground, its head split in two. He burned along with the others. And the sweepers pressed forward.
A deafening buzz rang out in Farris’s skull. “Skies above!” he roared, not quite sure how loud he was speaking. “What has it done to my ears?”
“You’ll get used to it,” said Ruairí, raising his weapon to fire again. “Focus on the dead. We’re almost there.”
Farris gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the buzzing. He pointed his own weapon forward. A skeletal soldier came running down the alley, showing no signs of slowing. Farris aimed for its head and pulled the trigger. The firearm kicked back with such power that it almost fell from Farris’s hand. He caught it with his other, and the skeletal soldier collapsed to the ground, a gaping hole left in its skull. It wriggled and squirmed as the azure flames consumed it.
Again and again, he fired at oncoming corpses, and the column pushed on. After shooting for the seventh time, Ruairí reached for his pack and handed something to Farris.
“You’re out of ammunition,” he said. “The compartment right above the handle clips out. Replace it with this, and you’re good to go again. I’ll cover you.”
Farris took the object, and immediately went to work. The compartment slid out easily, and he discarded it on the ground. The second one slotted in with a satisfying click. When he went to return to Ruairí’s side, however, Farris found that they had already left the alley and reached the Dust Gate.
“Split up,” ordered Ruairí. “Disarm as many of the undead as you can. They won’t fall until our sweepers burn them, but make sure they can’t fight back!”
Farris stepped to the side and raised his weapon toward a coming wight—a woman wearing layers of folded skirts in the fashion of the countryside. He pulled the trigger and hit her right in the centre of the forehead. The impact knocked her to the ground, but she was still moving, struggling to find her feet again.
A sweeper suddenly appeared by Farris’s side and set the undead woman alight.
“Go,” he grunted. “I’ll cover the alley. Take back the gate!”
Farris left made his way toward the gate. The other Sons who had been left now fought back against the oncoming undead tide, joining Ruairí and the others as they did.
Two Sons were tending to the pulleys of the portcullis as Farris arrived. One sighed in relief.
“Thank the Lord you came,” he said, looking as if he wanted to hug Farris. “We’ve been trying to close the gate, but there’s too many of them. We couldn’t hold them off long enough to—”
“Say no more,” said Farris, turning his back to the two men. “Lower the gate. I’ll keep guard.”
He raised his weapon and fired at another undead soldier, missing his head by mere inches. The pulley-mechanism chugged into action behind him as more wights seemed to take notice. Three others broke away from the fighting and started towards Farris.
“Keep them away!” cried Farris. Frantically firing at each of the oncoming corpses. Some Sons and Churchguards chased down the dead before they could come any closer. Farris fired his weapon again and again, dropping two, three, four undead before pulling the trigger no longer produced a reaction. He swore under his breath and threw the weapon aside.
I’ll keep them away. I’ll fight them with my bare hands if I need to!
A loud crack came from behind Farris, followed by scattered cheers of joy. More and more voices joined them, and it took Farris a further second to realise that there were no more wights left. The survivors started making their way toward the gate, stepping over the charred corpses of the undead.
“We did it!” cried Ruairí. “We took back the gate. Now we stand a chance of holding them off!”
More cries rang out in response to this. The Sons started taking up their previous posts at the Dust Gate, along its perimeter and among its battlements above. The prisoners and the Churchguard from the Basilica stayed where they were, panting for breath and tending to their wounded.
Not even half made it through. The horde has only arrived, but there’s already so many dead....
“Look!” cried a voice from amongst the Churchguard. “It’s a scout!”
Further down the wall, a huge elk trotted casually toward the gate. A figure lay slumped over its back, with two fists held tight to the great beast’s reigns.
“He’s still alive,” said Farris, rushing to meet the scout with several others following. The elk stopped as they approached, its massive head held proudly above everyone else. Two antlers spread out either side, perhaps spanning a distance as long as the mount itself.
“Scout, can you hear me?” asked Farris, reaching to catch the fallen figure in his hands. The Simian scout pushed his weight against Farris, who gently let him down to the ground. His armour was stained deeply with blood, pouring out from a wound beneath his armpit.
“Too late for me,” coughed the scout, his dark, bloodied lips all that was visible beneath his helm. “Still time to help, the others….”
“What happened?” asked Farris, ignoring the crowd of prisoners and Churchguards that had surrounded him. “What news from the other gates?”
“Commander Plackart sounded the retreat at the Gold Gate,” he rasped. “There’s still hope for them, but….”
He coughed again, its sound more like a wheeze than before.
“But the Salt Gate,” he continued. “They won’t last. Trolls. Mountain trolls from the Glenn are on the way to break through the walls. Like siege engines.”
An audible gasp rose up, but Farris didn’t respond.
“How are the defences there?” he asked. “Is there any chance of fighting them off?”
“R-Reapers,” said the scout. “Most of the Reapers are still there. Some other scouts, too.”
Garth. He could very well be there….
