It was immediately obvious that the members of the team not called Boats couldn’t accurately track the Unrepentant when it was in full motion, not with one eye peering frantically through the scope. Fortunately, the invisible amalgamation appeared to be quite spooked by their unexpected assault, and had scrambled over the roof of the temple rather than charge straight at them.

  “Damage report?” Alter snapped as he stared hard at the point where it had disappeared.

  “The spider thing was moving fine, it didn’t look too bothered. Although, the body it’s carting around didn’t take it well, its arms and head were flapping about limply, so I think we got it.” Boats responded as he moved the scope around in slow arcs.

  Boozehound barked a short laugh. “What do you mean, got it? That body was one roll of toilet paper away from being a pharaoh.”

  “It acted like it was alive.” Boats protested. “The mouth opened and arms moved and all.”

  “Then I think we can safely say that we killed a dead guy. How’s the battery life looking?” Alter asked.

  “Draining steadily, there’s maybe three minutes of life left in the thing.” Boats frowned as he did the mental calculations.

  “Well on the bright side that thing is big enough to make plenty of noise as it’s stomping around, so we’ll at least have some warning if we can’t end this fight before the screen goes dark. Alright, we hold here for another minute, then if the incy-wincy-nightmare doesn’t come back, we go hunting again.” Alter ordered, to which there were no immediate protests.

  The team tightened up their formation, Alter and Boozehound turned around so that each man covered a third of their perimeter. With his eyes being functionally useless for spotting the creature, Alter closed them, instead focussing on the gentle, unassuming sounds of the wind in the trees. For the first twenty seconds he heard nothing out of place besides the rhythmic clicking of Boats deactivating and reactivating the scope. Then thirty seconds passed, no contact. Then forty. Fifty. Alter was about to open his eyes again and suggest they move on, when something caught his attention. A strange noise, a rustle, and a groan from somewhere to his left, the exact opposite direction to where the scope was pointing. His eyes flew open, and immediately began to hunt for a possible source of the sound. He froze. Peeking out from the end of a wall roughly ten paces away was the body of Brown, small streaks of blood still flowing from his wounds. Dead, yet standing. Eyes unseeing, yet utterly focused on him. The body’s mouth opened, and a deep, scratchy voice called out.

  “Are you here to listen to the words of Our Lady of the Fields?” Brown seemed to ask hopefully, but neither his lips or his tongue moved. This was not his voice.

  The other squad members turned around slowly, Boats extended his arm over Alter’s shoulder, allowing him to see through the scope. As Alter had suspected, the long, blade-like arms of the spider were visible behind Brown, as if using him as a puppet. Though how it was able to manipulate his jaw and eyes were beyond him. A little further back still, the ends of two of its legs confirmed that it lurked just behind the wall.

  “Keep it talking.” Boats whispered quietly as the scope snaked back out of view.

  Alter swallowed nervously but went along with the idea as the sound of the marksman fiddling with a belt pouch entered his ears.

  “I have never heard of the Lady of the Fields. Who is she?” He called over to the body.

  Brown’s mouth opened further, the corners of his lips tightening upward in a strange, gaping smile. “She is the mistress of dawn and warmth, bringer of the harvest, of good health, and all that makes this world a better place. You must be here to convert, yes? To join the ranks of the faithful?”

  “What about the Four?” Alter asked as the poignant clink of a pin being removed came from behind him.

  The Unrepentant hissed angrily, the body of Brown rocking forwards, torso before legs, and his head tilted to one side, brow furrowed. “Treachery! You shall not speak the names of false gods, of liars, in this most holy of places!”

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  “Down!” Boats shouted suddenly.

  Each man threw himself backwards to the floor as the spherical shape of a live grenade sailed through the air, almost kissing the top of the wall as it went. The toss was timed to perfection, as barely a second later a wicked boom and crack sent fragments of razor-sharp metal to douse the area. Brown’s body rocked to the side as even more ugly gashes opened up instantaneously. The piercing shriek that followed almost caused Alter to drop his rifle and cover his ears, the air itself seemed to rattle, and startled birds took flight from the surrounding trees. Brown was whisked away out of sight before a frantic stampede of footsteps fled the scene.

  “After it!” Boats roared as he surged to his feet, immediately taking off in pursuit.

  Alter and Boozehound scrambled after him with no time for questions or even thoughts. Their predator turned prey at this moment was headed back towards the building where it had stored its collection of bodies. As the men came to a sliding halt outside, the Unrepentant’s voice, desperate and rasping, could be heard within. Admittedly, they had no way of knowing for sure that the front door was the only way the beast had of getting into and out of this structure. However, the fact that it had been so crudely widened to allow for its bulk was enough evidence to suggest that it was. They nodded to each other and raised their weapons, it was cornered.

  “What I would give for an explosive charge right now. I don’t suppose either of you stole one at some point?” Alter murmured.

  “It’s not my job to carry such things.” Boozehound answered dismissively.

  “Stand ready,” Boats growled. “It's coming.”

  “How can you tell?” Alter questioned as he peered intently through the sights of his rifle.

  “Instinct.” Boats grunted before explaining. “It’s gotten real quiet in there, that means it’s back in puppetry mode.”

  “Looks like the main body shook off the fragmentation easily enough. Do you think we can talk our way out?” Boozehound asked.

  “It’s worth a try.” Alter confirmed as motion began to appear in the scope.

  Slowly, nervously, a new figure began to emerge from the shadows in the back of the entrance room. This body was different, older. Much older. A wizened husk whose facial features had become barely visible, wearing a priestly robe of ancient blue fabric, complete with a rusted pendant around its neck with a chain that was barely keeping together. The mouth opened, and the Unrepentant spoke once more, its tone quiet and soft, a pained whisper.

  “Why? Why do you keep harming the faithful?” It asked.

  “You are keeping us here against our will. We refuse to be trapped.” Alter explained.

  “Yet you resort to violence with no hint of regret nor remorse.” The body was manipulated to point an accusing finger at him.

  “What of the man that came here before us?” Alter shot back. “You nearly ripped him apart, yet call yourself the victim?”

  “He befouled Our Lady’s hallowed chamber, but he was converted! Reborn a member of the flock, and you killed him!” The voice complained.

  “Then remove the barrier that prevents our departure, and we won’t kill any more of your precious congregation.” Alter offered, lips beginning to tighten into a snarl.

  “No, none may leave. All must see the light she brings.” The Unrepentant answered, but its voice was wavering, a fear and concern pushing its way into its speech.

  “Please, let us go.” Boozehound chimed in plaintively. “We don’t want to hurt anyone else, we just want to go home.”

  The Unrepentant was silent for a moment. Nervous glances were exchanged among the team, when suddenly a strange sensation passed through them. It was as if their minds were like overcast skies, and the sun had just pierced through. The figure was withdrawn back into the darkness.

  “Those who deny my Lady’s light, begone. Before I change my mind.” The Unrepentant sounded resentful, but all could tell that there was truth in its words. Truth that was on a timer.

  Alter jabbed his thumb back towards where they had left the horses and they beat a swift retreat. Just as promised, the mental wall had faded away, although there was still a distinct sense of nausea as they passed through its former circumference. Alter breathed a heavy sigh as they made it back to the horses, and reached for the radio.

  “This is One, report in.” He asked the radio waves, relief lacing his voice with weariness.

  “Oh, thank fuck.” Riptide answered immediately. “You’ve been silent for ages, we couldn’t reach you! What happened?”

  “Glad to hear your voice, Two. We’re alright, we just got ourselves out of a tricky situation. We’ll tell you all about it back at camp.” Alter chuckled awkwardly as Tarikell nuzzled at his side protectively.

  Alter levered himself slowly up into the saddle and, having taken one last glance back towards the pale walls, prompted Tarikell into a trot.