It was not unconsciousness that Sam woke from but the mental white noise of pure terror. As that giant maw, full of teeth the size of full-grown men, surged towards them, his mind went blank. Then, like reverberations rebounding up a long corridor, he was aware dimly of sound, which was swiftly followed by the return of his body with what he interpreted as a silent thunderclap. It was a procursive force that birthed the sensation of weight into the world, just before his chest hitched and he choked up a lung full of viscous mucus. He rolled on his side heaving some more, then drawing in air with ragged breaths, each one producing a tubercula bark.

  Disorientated, he wiped the mucus from his eyes. The ground was soft and moist under his palms as he supported his weight. Through blurred vision he could make out a shape in the dimness.

  There was a slap that coordinated with the movement of the shape, followed by another.

  The shape made some strange mumbling. Urgent but incomprehensible. Another shift and a slap.

  Sam rubbed his eyes again and the image became clear enough for him to discern Tink, on her side, and someone hunched over her, hitting her. Slap! Tink’s body rocked, but she didn’t cry out.

  ‘Hey!’ Sam tried to protest, but it came out as a croak. ‘Hey!’ he tried again louder, getting his knees under him. Another barking cough wracked through him.

  ‘Stop,’ he managed, clawing for air. The shape striking Tink didn’t seem to want to come into focus and then Sam reeled at the reality of the thing. It had the form of a man, but its flesh was waxy and appeared to be melting from its skeleton. Patchy, lank brown hair. A face sagging from its skull. Flesh sagging from its arms, legs, and torso, visible through the tattered remnants of its clothing. A hideous, rotting ghoul of a thing.

  They had died and gone to hell.

  Somehow, Sam made it to his feet. He veered sideways on the first stride, the dingy world around him waltzing. With the second step his muscles started to obey his will. The ghoul struck Tink another blow, making a terrible whine, revelling in beating her. Sam’s legs weren’t strong, but he had enough energy to get a head of steam and let momentum do the rest. As the next blow hit Tink’s back, Sam tackled the creature around the chest and the two of them barrelled away.

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  The thing groaned wordlessly as they wrestled in the shallows of a viscous pool with a pinkish-grey shore. The ghoul’s soft skin tore away from one arm under Sam’s grip. Sam used his hips as leverage, and they rolled over, dragging slime with them. He had the thing under him, pinning it, when Tink coughed, the same wretched hack he’d made on first awakening. It was enough to distract him, and the ghoul pushed Sam in the chest, tipping him off-balance. The pink-ish grey shore cushioned his fall as the ghoul scampered back to a safe distance, moaning insensibly.

  Tink retched, regurgitating mucus. Both Sam and the ghoul moved towards her when she did.

  ‘Back off!’ Sam shouted, holding up his fists and jumping to stand between Tink and the thing. It hesitated, flinching when Tink vomited and couldn’t stop coughing.

  ‘Come on then!’ Sam spat, which was the opposite of what he’d just said. It was then he realised he was bringing his fists to a gun fight. The machine gun remained slung across his body, and the pistol was on in its holster at his hip. He fumbled for the gun and swung it to the ghoul. It stopped and held up its hands, skin sagging like baggy gloves.

  Tink continued to cough her guts out and battle to catch her wind. Her short blonde hair was darkened and plastered around her face by the mucus, which glistened, glowing like moonlight with its own phosphorescence.

  It didn’t make sense. Where were they? Sam reached down with one hand, trying to get Tink to her feet as his mind raced. She rose groggily. Was this inside Sugnar? The floor under their feet was soft but firmer than the dunes. To their flank the pool of mucus glowed green near the shore. The stench of ammonia came off it in a haze of pungent vapours. Sam put an arm around Tink’s shoulders, backing away from the ghoul. It knew what the gun was, so it had at least some intelligence. That was good because Sam had no idea if the safety was on or off or if machine guns had safeties at all.

  They were in some sort of cavern, another tunnel maybe; like the tree, but different. It was ribbed at intervals, faintly visible from bioluminescence given off by the pool and, more dimly, soft ground as well.

  The ghoul moaned and reached forward.

  ‘Back off, I’ll shoot!’ It would have sounded lame even if his words hadn’t quavered. No yippee-ki-yay, no hasta la vista, baby, or quoting Ezekiel 25:17. The thing didn’t come on though, and Sam and Tink staggered back, putting space between them and it, tracking up the tunnel.

  Behind the ghoul, shadows shifted, forming into the spectral outlines of heads and shoulders. Not one or two but a dozen or more. Sam pulled the trigger and the machine gun kicked wildly, with a rat-a-tat report, spraying bullets over the ghoul’s head and off target. At least the ghoul ducked, covering its head, and the shadows shrank back.

  It was time for another cool phrase. What Sam managed was something closer to the moan the ghoul was making as he and Tink stumbled away as fast as they could.