The sun was dying.
It bled into the horizon, casting long, bruised shadows across the mud of the riverbank. The Tiber churned, swollen and angry, a barrier of brown water fifty yards wide.
Behind them, the tree line was alive.
Skree-click. Skree-click.
The sound of the Stalker pack gathering. They weren't hiding anymore. They were massing for the kill.
"Faster!" Marcus roared.
He stood knee-deep in the mud, hauling a stripped pine log. His ceramic armor was slick with sweat.
"Lash it!" he yelled at Varro.
The smith was working feverishly. He wrapped thick black electrical cables—scavenged from the mine cart—around the logs. His hands were raw, bleeding, but he didn't stop.
"It's messy, Caesar," Varro grunted, pulling a knot tight with his teeth. "It won't be pretty."
"I don't need pretty," Marcus snapped. "I need it to float."
Narcissus emerged from the brush. He dragged a massive oak tree behind him like it was a twig. Roots and dirt sprayed from the trunk as he slammed it onto the pile.
"More wood," the giant rumbled. "The pack is close. I can smell them."
"Galen!" Marcus shouted. "The pontoons!"
The physician was down by the water's edge. He and Lucilla were sealing empty ammunition crates with sticky pine resin and mud.
"They're airtight!" Galen yelled back. "But the weight... Marcus, with two hundred people and the loot, we'll sink."
Marcus looked at the raft. It was a monstrosity. A grid of rough-hewn logs tied together with wire and desperation, floating on plastic crates.
It was big enough. But Galen was right. Physics didn't care about desperation.
Marcus turned to the refugees.
They huddled near the water, clutching their packs. Their faces were hidden by the gray respirators, but their body language screamed terror. They held bags filled with the last scraps of their old lives. Gold coins. Heavy statues of household gods. Silver candlesticks.
"Listen to me!" Marcus commanded.
The crowd quieted.
"The raft is too heavy," Marcus said. His voice cut through the wind. "The river will take us if we don't lighten the load."
He pointed to the mine cart. To the crates of ammo, the Sentinel chassis, the spare Fusion Cores.
"We need the weapons to fight," Marcus said. "We need the food to live."
He looked at a woman clutching a heavy brass lamp.
"Drop it," Marcus said.
The woman hesitated. "It was my mother's..."
"Drop it," Marcus repeated. "Or drown with it."
He didn't wait. He grabbed a sack from a man nearby. He upended it. Heavy silver plates spilled into the mud.
"Strip your packs!" Marcus ordered. "No gold. No stone. No memories. If it doesn't keep you alive, it stays here."
A silence stretched.
Then, Decimus stepped forward. He unbuckled his heavy ceremonial breastplate—the one marking his rank in the old Legion. He dropped it in the dirt.
"For Rome," Decimus whispered.
It broke the dam.
The refugees began to empty their bags. Jewelry, heirlooms, heavy cloaks—it all fell into the mud. A treasure hoard left for the monsters.
They were lighter now. They were nothing but flesh and survival.
"Push it out!" Marcus signaled.
Narcissus and ten soldiers waded into the water. They shoved the massive wooden grid.
The raft scraped over the pebbles.
It hit the water.
It bobbed. It dipped low, water lapping over the logs, but the ammo-crate pontoons held.
"It floats!" Lucilla cried.
"Load the children!" Marcus ordered. "First wave! Go!"
The refugees scrambled onto the raft. It swayed dangerously.
"Varro! The cable!"
The smith grabbed the end of a long steel cable attached to the raft. He looped it around a sturdy stump on the bank.
"I'll hold the line!" Varro shouted. "I'll pull it back for the second wave!"
"Narcissus!" Marcus grabbed the giant's arm. "You stay here. Hold the perimeter. We need your shield."
Narcissus nodded. He turned his back to the river. He faced the trees.
His blue chest-light flared. He slammed his tower shield into the mud, anchoring himself.
"Let them come," he growled.
And they came.
A howl ripped through the twilight. Not one wolf. Fifty.
The tree line exploded.
Black shapes poured over the dunes like oil.
"Contact!" Decimus screamed. "Shields up!"
The soldiers formed a semi-circle around the loading zone. It was thin. Too thin.
The first Stalker hit the line.
It leaped over the shields. It landed in the center of the loading zone, jaws snapping.
It lunged for a child on the raft.
HUMMMM.
Marcus was there.
The Vibro-Gladius was a blur of gray motion.
He intercepted the beast mid-air. He swung upward.
The blade sliced through the Stalker's chest plating. It split the beast open.
Blood sprayed the refugees.
Marcus kicked the carcass into the water.
"Push off!" he screamed. "Go!"
The raft drifted out into the current, loaded with women and children.
Varro paid out the cable, his muscles straining.
On the bank, the battle was chaos.
The pack slammed into Narcissus.
Three Stalkers tackled the giant. They bit at his armor. They clawed at his face.
Narcissus didn't flinch. He dropped his shield. He grabbed two Stalkers by their necks.
He smashed their heads together.
CRUNCH.
He threw them aside like ragdolls.
But more were coming.
A massive shape tore through the brush. Bigger than the others. Armored like a tank.
A Siege Stalker.
It roared, lowering a head plated in thick bone.
It charged the shield wall.
"Brace!" Decimus yelled.
The beast hit the soldiers.
Bodies flew. The line broke.
"They're through!" Galen shouted, backing into the water.
Marcus looked at the raft. It was halfway across.
He looked at his team. They were cut off. The Stalkers were swarming between them and the water.
"Narcissus!" Marcus screamed. "Get to the raft! Pull them across!"
Narcissus looked back. He saw Marcus surrounded.
"No," the giant rumbled.
"That's an order!" Marcus roared. "Save the cargo!"
"I do not leave Caesar!" Narcissus bellowed. He punched a Stalker so hard its skull collapsed.
The raft jerked in the current. The cable was taut.
If the Stalkers reached the rope, they would cut it. The refugees would drift downstream, helpless.
Marcus made a choice.
He looked at Varro.
"Cut it," Marcus said.
"What?" Varro stared at him. "If I cut it, you're stranded!"
"Cut the damn rope!" Marcus yelled. "Save them!"
Varro hesitated. Then he raised his axe.
He brought it down on the steel cable.
PING.
The wire snapped.
The raft lurched free. It spun into the main current, drifting rapidly toward the far bank. Away from the slaughter.
Marcus turned back to the tree line.
He stood in the mud. Decimus was on his right. Narcissus on his left.
Fifty glowing red eyes stared at them from the dusk.
The Siege Stalker scraped its claws on the ground.
Marcus raised his sword. It hummed, eager.
"Well," Marcus said, grinning through his bloodied teeth. "We wanted their attention."
He pointed the blade at the Alpha.
"Come and get it."