“Don’t give me that；” Greiss growled。 “If any of us had to end his days a cripple； better it be an
old warhorse with no fight left in him。 Better it be someone who’s had his day； whose story’s been
told。”
Lorenzo was still digesting the full import of what Greiss was saying。 “…end his days a
cripple…” They were on a stealth mission； without backup； unable to vox for an airlift—and even if
they could get Woods back to an Imperium facility； it would certainly have been the last thing he
wanted。 It was unlikely a medic could do much for him。 The only person who could save him now
from a fate worse than death was Greiss。 Lorenzo’s gaze strayed to the spare lasgun on the
sergeant’s knee。
“He’ll be remembered；” was all he could think of to say。 It seemed to cheer Greiss up a little。
Then there was an awkward silence as Lorenzo realised there was nothing more he could say；
and eventually turned to the door again。
The last thing he saw as he left that hut； as he left another comrade behind forever； was Greiss
leaning over Woods； shaking him gently awake； telling him it was time and pressing the lasgun into
his hands。 And Woods’ smile—not afraid； but relieved。 Grateful； even。
Just one of those things。 Lorenzo had learned to accept it。 He walked away from the hut； and
ignored the part of him that wanted to break into a run； to get away from there before he had to
hear…
He thought about his promise： “He’ll be remembered。” He walked； and waited。 And thought
about his comrade； relating his last story； and he wished he’d known； wished he’d been more
attentive。 He thought about the dangers that still lay ahead； all his depleted squad still had to do； and
he told himself they’d come through somehow。
Lorenzo pretended not to hear the dark voice in the back of his head。 The voice that said： Yes；
Hotshot Woods will he remembered。 Sharkbait Muldoon will be remembered。 They will all be
remembered。
But for how long？
78
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The rain came early in the evening。
The Jungle Fighters had seen the clouds； felt the cool； fresh breeze that presaged the outburst—
but the speed and ferocity with which it broke defied their expectations。
The rain was acidic。 Guardsman Braxton winced as the first drop splashed off his cheek； and
Lorenzo threw a hand to his neck as the skin there began to smart。 The acid； fortunately； wasn’t
strong； not like that from the spitter plants—but with prolonged exposure； it could do as much
damage。
They found some shelter beneath the spreading branches of a huge tree。 Lorenzo listened as the
rain beat down on its roof of leaves； and he looked gloomily at the cascade of redirected liquid like a
waterfall around him。 He wondered how long it would be before the leaves were burnt through； and
he couldn’t help but feel that even this downpour was deliberate。 It was as if the planet was so
determined to destroy them that it would sacrifice a part of itself。
They debated the wisdom of turning back； of scavenging sheets of metal from the ork camp； but
Greiss in particular was reluctant to lose ground。 “Aside from which；” he growled； casting a wary
glance back over his shoulder； “we don’t know what might be behind us。” They all knew what he
meant。 Ever since they had set off； they had all been aware of ghosts dogging their footsteps again。
It had been inevitable； of course。 Still； Lorenzo had hoped for at least some respite。 He wasn’t
the only one of the six remaining men in his squad—half their original complement—to have been
injured in the previous night’s battle； nor to feel profoundly tired。 Armstrong’s left arm was useless；
the nerve tendons in his shoulder severed by an ork axe； and Braxton hadn’t said a word all
afternoon and looked like he could drop at any moment。 Their lasguns were low on energy； too；
Myers wore a belt of strung…together power packs； letting the dwindling sunlight do what it could to
recharge them until they could build a fire to do the job properly。 But the nature of their mission—
and Greiss； now firmly back in command—had required they press on； and not one of those six men
was prepared to admit defeat。
Their map had been incinerated along with Mackenzie； but Armstrong knew where they were
and was sure he could remember the location of the warboss’ lair from the briefing。 He could get
them close； at least。
They broke out the alkaline powders from their backpacks； rubbed them into their exposed skin
and hair。 As they worked； the ghosts began to gather； in the corners of their vision。 This time； they
had attracted more than one stalker。 Many more。 And these creatures； it seemed； were trying less
hard to conceal their presence。
Or maybe it was just that they were bigger and clumsier than Dougan； less able to hide。 Ork
corpses； as the Jungle Fighters had anticipated。 This close； there was no denying the stink of death
that rose from them； it had been wafting past Lorenzo’s nostrils for the past few hours； whenever the
breeze was right。 Some of these orks had been dead weeks or months； but now they were a part of
the planet itself； cocooned in its substance and animated by its mysterious energy。
It had taken six Jungle Fighters to send one monster into retreat。 A smaller monster。 Six Jungle
Fighters； relatively refreshed and ready for battle。
For now； the zombies seemed content to keep their distance； to watch。 Greiss moved his squad
on quickly anyway； worried that if they stayed put too long they might be surrounded。 They moved
through the rain at a faster…than…normal pace； with their packs over their heads； hugging the trees。
79
Fortunately； they knew enough about Rogar now to avoid its more obvious traps—though Lorenzo
remembered what Donovits had said about this world’s rapid evolution； and he eyed even the safestlooking
flowers with suspicion。
He twitched at another rustle from the foliage。 It was closer than usual； to the left of the squad
rather than behind them。 He brought his lasgun around but didn’t dare fire lest he start something
they couldn’t finish。 Another ork shape was clearly outlined； watching him with unblinking eyes；
one of which had slid half out of its socket on a slagheap of dried blood。 As Lorenzo watched； it
withdrew and sank silently into the ground。
“They’re watching us；” he announced。 “We’ve survived everything else Rogar has to throw at
us； so it’s got its zombies watching us； looking for a weakness。”
“I’d almost rather they made their move；” murmured Braxton； “and got it over with。”
“Careful what you wish for。” Storm cautioned him grimly。
“When you people first arrived；” said Braxton； “and you were talking about Rogar like it was
a—I don’t know – a living thing； an enemy； like an ork or something； I didn’t know… I mean； I’m
starting to see it now。 I’m starting to feel like this planet is alive； like it’s intelligent； like it really
wants us dead。” He sounded as if he wanted somebody to contradict him。 No one did。
The jungle had started to close in again。 Greiss had sent Myers and Storm ahead to clear the way；
and the squad’s pace had dropped to a crawl。
And the ghosts were gathering at their backs。
“Maybe we should send a few las…shots their way；” suggested Armstrong； worriedly； hefting his
gun in his good hand as if to reassure himself he could still operate it。 “Discourage them a little。”
“Don’t know if it’d work；” murmured Greiss。
“Hotshot fired at…” Lorenzo began； then was unable to say Dougan’s name； “…the first one。 It
didn’t seem to react at all。”
“They don’t feel pain；” said Greiss。 “You remember what Brains said。 We’ve got to stop
thinking of these things as living creatures。 They’re less than that—less than orks； even。 They don’t
have hearts—or if they do； they sure aren’t beating anymore。 No internal organs； no nerves； no
pressure points； and I doubt their brains are getting much use。 They’re plants； no more than that。
Part of the jungle—the planet itself—just wrapped around the remains of the dead。”
Lorenzo stole a quick look at the collecting shadows； searching for one that was shorter and
thinner than the others； hoping he wouldn’t find it。 If the God…Emperor had any influence at all here；
so far from his Golden Throne； he would see to it that Dougan could rest in peace。
“Then we deal with them like we would any hostile plant；” reasoned Armstrong。
“Can’t tear ’em up by the roots；” growled Greiss。 “They’re up and walking about already。”
“Shred ’em？” suggested Storm； his fingers twitching over his knife hilt。
“Take too long with the knives；” said Greiss。 “Way I’m thinking； those things will keep going
till you get to the skeleton and can take it apart。”
“We’ve got to do something；” said Braxton； “before they attack！”
“Boy’s right；” said Armstrong。 “We need a show of strength； give them something to think
about。 If they can think； that is。”
“If they can’t；” muttered Myers； “looks like something does it for them。”
“How much ordnance do we have left between us？” asked Lorenzo。
“Couple of shredder mines；” offered Storm。
“Still got my demolition charges；” said Myers。
“Save ’em；” said Greiss； with a gleam in his eye； “for a special occasion。 I got a better idea。” He
and Armstrong spoke as one： “Burn “em！”
80
Lorenzo and Braxton took over clearance duty as Myers and Storm assembled the flamer again。
Greiss wielded it himself； straining under the weight of the device as he lugged it a few steps closer
to the watching zombies。 Then he pulled the trigger； and simultaneously swept the flamer around in
a wide arc。
It was like a dozen explosions had gone off at once； plants and trees erupting as if they’d just
combusted from within。 The zombies—those Lorenzo could see—they were burning too； starting
with the parts of them that were the most flammable： the clumps of weeds and grass embedded in
their bodies。 They reeled in apparent confusion； their arms pumping in futile slow…motion； patting
themselves down； trying to extinguish themselves； succeeding only in setting fire to their hands or
bumping into each other and spreading the flames to their comrades。
Lorenzo was amazed at the severity of the reaction； until he remembered that Rogar III had felt
fire before—from the Jungle Fighters’ small campfire of two nights ago to the all…out attempts by
humans and orks alike at deforestation。 It knew what fire could do to it； and—Lorenzo knew this
didn’t make sense； but he was suddenly sure of it； more sure than he’d been of anything his instincts
had told him of late—it was afraid of it。 The deathworld itself was afraid； and in its fear； it chose to
attack the creatures that had hurt it so much； while it still had the means to do so。 And it sent its
soldiers forward…
The Jungle Fighters drew their lasguns as six flaming zombies—those that could still walk—
came stumbling towards them； trailing smoke； like a small army of infernal daemons。 They let off a
fusillade of shots； to no effect； and Greiss sent another blast of fire the zombies’ way in the hope of
hastening their demise； before abandoning the flamer and leaping aside； not an instant too soon。 A
zombie hurled itself at him； and hit the ground wher