The one-eyed raven woke me when the sun crept above the horizon.
Together, we descended into the depths of the blockhouse, and as we did so, the sounds of fighting reached my ears. The raven remained on my shoulder, and in my right hand, I carried a Colt. From below, I heard rifle and small arms fire. Screams and yells raced up the stairs, and soon the entire structure shook with the reverberations of explosions.
I came to a stop, my left hand pressed against the wall for balance.
Dust and smoke rolled up from the darkness, washed over us, and then continued toward the surface. When everything settled, I took out a nub of candle and lit it, holding the light high.
We reached the bottom sooner than I expected, and there was a strange stillness in the air around us.
The one-eyed raven and I stood in a large, circular chamber hewn from rough stone. A narrow-gauge railway stretched into a tunnel, and on either side of the entrance were a pair of lanterns. I took one down, lit it, and together we followed the train tracks.
We passed by shell casings and puddles of blood coated with a thin layer of dust. Bits of flesh were splattered against the walls, and here and there fragments of clothing too.
I’m not quite certain how long we traveled, but it was easily two hours.
The air had become stale, and the raven and I discussed turning back. After a short conversation, we agreed we would travel another hundred paces and then give up the chase if we must.
The decision was made for us a few minutes later.
We came upon a cave-in, from which the legs of a man protruded. Whether he had been slain fighting the creatures, or if he had sacrificed himself to seal them in, I shall never know.
The one-eyed raven and I stood there for several moments in silence. Then, without holstering my Colt, I turned and started back the way we had come.
There was still more killing to do.
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