Death World(科幻战争)-第39部分

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one　as　he’d　entered；　and　he　eased　his　foot　away　from　it。　For　a　moment；　he　thought　he　had　left
Armstrong　behind　outside；　so　silent　was　he—but　then　he　saw　the　glint　of　a　single　eye　in　the
darkness；　and　was　comforted。
The　footsteps　shuffled　up　to　the　cave　entrance；　and　for　a　moment　Lorenzo　feared　he　might　have
had　the　bad　luck　to　have　taken　cover　in　the　wandering　ork’s　own　quarters—but　then　the　moment
passed　and　the　footsteps　were　receding。　Heading　for　the　main　chamber；　he　guessed。
But　there　was　still　something　wrong—badly　wrong—if　only　he　could　put　his　finger　on　it。
Lorenzo’s　spine　prickled　with　dread。
He　realised　what　was　about　to　happen　a　second　before　it　did；　and　he　knew　that　his　luck　had
turned　bad　after　all。　As　bad　as　it　could　have　been。
The　tremor　shook　the　soles　of　his　feet；　then　seemed　to　rise　through　the　walls　and　meet　again
above　his　head。　One　of　the　sleeping　orks　stirred　instantly；　and　Lorenzo　was　trapped。　He　didn’t　think
it　had　seen　him　or　Armstrong　yet；　but　that　could　change　in　an　instant；　if　they　moved—and　the
footsteps　outside　the　cave　had　come　to　a　halt；　so　where　could　they　have　gone　anyway？
The　waking　ork　was　fumbling　for　something；　and　Lorenzo　wondered　if　there　was　a　chance；　a
tiny　chance；　that　he　could　reach　it　and　muffle　it　before　it　yelled　out；　plant　his　hand　over　its　mouth
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and　his　knife　in　its　throat。　But　that　tremor　wasn’t　subsiding—and　as　he　took　his　first　step；　the　earth
bucked　underneath　him　and　he　fell；　put　out　his　hands　to　catch　himself；　ended　up　sprawled　across　one
of　the　two　sleeping　orks。　Which；　of　course；　was　awake　too　now。
The　first　ork　had　found　a　miner’s　helmet；　and　it　snapped　on　the　light；　shining　it　around　the　cave。
Armstrong　let　loose　with　a　las…bolt　volley；　which　kept　the　ork　pinned　down　but　didn’t　prevent　it
from　letting　out　an　alarm　howl。
So　now　the　third　ork　was　clambering　to　its　feet；　blinking；　reaching　for　its　weapon；　and　Lorenzo
was　still　trying　to　avoid　the　flailing　grasp　of　the　second。　It　caught　him　by　the　arm；　and　he　was　trying
to　pull　away　from　it；　dragging　it　to　its　feet　after　him；　its　fingers　digging　painfully　into　him。　He
turned；　braced　his　shoulder　against　the　ork’s　chest　and　tried　to　throw　it。　It　was　too　heavy；　shifting　its
weight　to　counter　his　move；　but　in　so　doing　it　relaxed　its　hold；　and　Lorenzo　wrenched　himself　free
from　it；　though　it　felt　like　he　had　lost　a　handful　of　his　flesh。
Then　he　and　Armstrong　were　running；　as　the　third　ork　found　its　gun　and　fired—in　entirely　the
wrong　direction；　confused　by　the　shifting　shadows　and　its　wounded　fellow’s　dancing　beam　of　light。
The　Jungle　Fighters　burst　out　into　the　passageway；　where　the　ork　they　had　been　hiding　from　was
waiting；　its　gun　raised。　Lorenzo　lowered　his　head；　rushed　it；　and　a　bullet　pinged　off　his　helmet；　then
he　cannoned　into　the　ork　and　it　gave　a　few　paces　but　braced　itself。　They　were　fighting　for　the　ork’s
gun；　and　Lorenzo　feinted；　let　the　greenskin　have　the　weapon　but　unbalanced　it　in　the　process。　It
stumbled；　and　fell　onto　his　freshly　drawn　knife；　impaling　itself。　Planting　his　foot　in　the　ork’s
stomach；　he　pulled　the　blade　free。　It　was　still　alive；　but　he　didn’t　have　time　to　finish　the　job。
There　were　more　orks　in　the　passageway；　pouring　out　of　the　openings　on　all　sides；　reacting　to
the　clamour；　and　the　only　thing　that　kept　Lorenzo　and　Armstrong　alive　was　the　fact　that　the　earth
was　still　shaking；　and　with　increasing　ferocity；　confusing　the　issue；　giving　the　orks　more　to　worry
about　than　just　them。　Armstrong　made　to　flee　back　the　way　they　had　come；　Lorenzo’s　impulse　was
to　go　deeper　into　the　mine；　find　the　ork　leader；　and　they　both　came　up　short　as　they　realised　they
were　pulling　in　opposite　directions。
Lorenzo　knew；　just　knew　they　were　in　danger；　and　he　threw　himself　at　Armstrong；　barged　him
into　the　wall　as　the　roof　caved　in。　They　were　coated　in　soil；　disturbed　dust　tearing　at　Lorenzo’s
throat；　making　his　eyes　water；　but　they　had　avoided　the　worst　of　it　and　the　orks　were　reeling　around
them；　and　Lorenzo　grabbed　Armstrong　by　the　hand　and　pulled　him　along；　guiding　him　through　the
chaos　by　instinct；　at　a　loss　to　explain　where　that　instinct　had　come　from。
The　tremor　was　more　than　a　tremor　now。　It　was　a　fully…fledged　earthquake—and　Lorenzo　knew；
with　a　gut…wrenching　certainty；　that　this　was　only　the　beginning。　The　tunnel　was　shaking　so　fiercely；
it　felt　like　he　had　double　vision；　cracks　were　opening　in　the　walls；　the　floor　was　churning　itself　up；
tossing　him　about　like　a　wild　grox；　and　the　roof　was　groaning　and　grinding　and　collapsing　in　stages。
Rogar　III　was　taking　its　revenge　on　the　orks　that　had　defiled　it；　driving　them　out　of　itself　or　just
burying　them。　Lorenzo　had　lost　all　sense　of　direction；　but　he　was　moving　broadly　with　the　ork　flow；
and　he　knew　that　this　meant　he　was　headed　back　to　the　main　chamber；　and　from　there　to　the　mine
entrance。　As　if　the　planet　itself　was　herding　him　that　way。　What　hope　did　he　have　now　of　finding　the
ork　warboss？　What　hope　for　him　at　all　in　that　lantern…lit　clearing；　with　a　hundred　evacuated
greenskins　waiting　for　him？　Even　assuming　he　could　make　it　that　far。
He　was　looking　for　another　option；　a　way　to　cheat　his　fate；　when　an　ork　reared　up　in　front　of
him；　a　spade　levelled　at　his　throat　like　a　knife。　Lorenzo　swung　his　fang；　but　the　quake　made　the　ork
appear　to　be　in　ten　places　at　once；　and　his　thrust　passed　through　its　ghost　image。　He　didn’t　know
which　of　its　ten　spades　to　avoid。
But　then；　with　a　tremendous　crack；　the　wall　behind　the　ork　split；　and　Lorenzo　caught　his　breath
in　the　face　of　an　explosion　of　fire。
Molten　lava；　bright　red　with　its　own　luminescence。　It　burst　through　the　sundered　rock；　broke
over　the　ork’s　back；　and　the　creature　let　out　a　howl　of　incandescent　pain。　Lorenzo　didn’t　stop　to　ask
how　it　was　possible；　how　the　planet　could　have　pumped　its　own　lifeblood　so　close　to　its　surface。
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This　was　Rogar—and　he　could　feel　the　lava’s　heat　scorching　his　face　even　before　it　reached　him。　He
kicked　out　at　the　scalded；　screeching　ork；　and　landed　his　boot　dead　centre　where　all　its　images
combined。　It　staggered；　fell　backwards；　and　its　bulky　form　all　but　plugged　the　fissure　as　Lorenzo
had　planned。　The　ork’s　screams　were　quelled；　its　body　shuddered　and　fell　still；　as　liquid　fire　crept
over　its　shoulders　and　between　its　legs。
Lorenzo　and　Armstrong　had　a　moment’s　respite。　Many　of　the　orks　behind　them　had　held　back；
or　tried　to　back　up　along　the　narrow　tunnel；　when　they’d　seen　the　lava。　They　were　colliding　with
each　other；　knocking　each　other　down。　From　the　chorus　of　screams　that　suddenly　rose　from　up　there；
somewhere　in　the　darkness；　Lorenzo　guessed　that　another　lava　spring　had　just　opened　behind　them。
The　Jungle　Fighters　ran—but　Lorenzo　dragged　his　comrade　to　a　halt　as；　suddenly；　he　saw　where
they　were。　Above　them　was　the　hole　in　the　roof　through　which　they　had　dropped：　the　one　that　led　up
to　the　natural　gallery。　A　way　to　circumvent　the　main　chamber　and　all　the　confused；　frightened；　angry
orks　within。
He　gave　Armstrong　a　boost；　and　the　veteran　shouldered　his　way　up　through　the　narrow　opening；
attained　the　ledge　above；　then　turned　and　reached　down　with　his　good　arm　for　his　comrade。　As
Lorenzo　took　it　and　scrambled　up　after　him；　an　ork　came　roaring　out　of　nowhere　and　swung　its　axe
at　his　dangling　legs。　The　shifting　earth　threw　off　its　aim；　and　Lorenzo　stamped　on　the　ork’s　face　and
pushed　himself　up　the　final　section　of　his　climb。　He　fired　his　lasgun　down　the　hole　behind　him　to
discourage　pursuit；　then　turned　and　followed　Armstrong　along　the　narrow　passageway—to　find；　to
his　horror；　that　it　came　to　an　abrupt　end。
The　gallery；　their　route　to　freedom；　had　crumbled　away。　They　were　looking　out　of　a　hole　in　the
side　of　the　main　chamber；　at　another　hole　too　far　to　reach　by　jumping；　the　intervening　expanse　of
wall　too　sheer　to　climb　along　even　if　it　hadn’t　been　shaking　madly。　Lorenzo’s　foot　touched
something：　the　lantern　they　had　passed　earlier；　still　on　its　side；　wedged　into　position　by　a　stubborn
outcrop。　He　followed　its　light　beam；　and　on　the　floor　of　the　chamber　he　saw　a　molten　river。
The　chamber　had　split　down　the　middle；　and　its　halves　were　divided　by　a　roiling；　bubbling　lava
flow。　Dozens　of　orks　had　been　trapped　on　its　far　side；　and　panic　had　broken　out。　An　ork　tried　to　leap
the　stream；　but　fell　short；　howling　as　its　legs　were　dissolved；　the　rest　of　its　body　sinking　after　them
until　only　a　thin　wisp　of　steam　remained　of　it。
Lorenzo　had　his　own　problems。　An　ork　head　popped　up　through　the　hole　in　the　floor　behind　him。
He　and　Armstrong　fired　at　it—and；　holding　on　with　both　hands；　there　wasn’t　much　it　could　do　to
defend　itself。　Even　in　death；　though；　it　kept　coming；　the　head　followed　into　the　passageway　by　a　pair
of　broad　shoulders；　then　a　green…skinned　torso。　Lorenzo　realised　that　the　corpse　was　being　pushed
up　by　more　orks　below；　shielding　them　as　they　followed　it。　The　muzzle　of　a　crude　ork　gun　appeared
over　the　hole’s　edge　and　fired　blindly。　Bullets　ricocheted　around　the　confined　space；　and　Lorenzo
drew　a　sharp　breath　through　his　teeth　as　his　shoulder　was　nicked。
“We’re　easy　targets　up　here；”　muttered　Armstrong。　“We　can　hold　off　these　greenskins　for　a