Greg stepped back. "Reinforcements. We need help here." He looked around. "Where the heck's Mungenast?" The hairy brute was nowhere to be seen. "Did he survive?"
"Yes. He went further into the mine," one of his fellow slaves said, gasping for air between words. "Took some guys with him."
"Why would he do that?"
The man shrugged and continued on his way.
Greg sighed and looked down the slope. The slaves at the coal heaps milled around, still chained together and unable to escape or to help their brethren. Using the halberd as a crutch, Greg stumbled down the hill toward them, circling the fight as best he could. His feet burned with pain and cold, but the downward slope helped, and somehow he made it.
As he walked into the pool of light from the braziers, desperate men clutched at him, moaning, their eyes wild. Greg looked around. The ogres favored a simple, but standard method of securing their slaves at the workplace. He saw the main rod holding their chains and brought the blade down on the lock, hitting it again and again until it broke apart. Eager hands fell upon the rod and hauled it back, freeing the chains.
"Go!" Greg pointed up the slope. "Get the scumbags who did this to you."
Most left to wreak their vengeance. Others slipped away into the darkness, heading for the slave quarters. Greg felt tired beyond measure. Looking around he saw bigger huts that served as quarters for the ogres, set around a small courtyard. Braziers burned there. The idea of finding warmth over-rode all other considerations in Greg's mind. He headed that way.
Passing a hut doorway, he shrank from the rank odor emanating from the opening. He kicked against something on the ground. Looking down, he spied a cloth-wrapped bundle from which spilled a ration of greasy-looking food, no doubt dropped by some ogre caught in the middle of his snack. Pulling a crate up to a brazier, Greg sat by it, warmth seeping through him, and began to eat.
As he chewed and grew warm at last, he watched the fight on the hillside. A strange feeling of detachment stole over him as adrenaline, shock, and fatigue set in. Reinforced by those he'd freed from the coal heaps, the slaves began to win the fight by sheer numbers. The battle spilled down the slope and spread out as ogres fell or were chased into the darkness.
A brazier overturned, bouncing and rolling down the hill trailing sparks and embers like a meteor. It hit a stack of barrels that oozed a black fluid. A second later the stack blew up in a huge fireball. Barrels and kegs shot out, trailing flames through the night sky to land and explode elsewhere in the compound. Fire spread rapidly, overwhelming crates, barrels, huts and stacks of mine props.
Greg giggled like a drunk and held his hands up to the heat. "Warm at last!"
His body tingled as his circulation returned to life with the warmth. With warmth came awareness of how much he hurt in places. He checked himself for injuries. The soles of his feet looked like ground beef. Tearing the food wrapper in half, he used the scraps of cloth to bind them, hoping without much confidence the wounds wouldn't become infected. As he finished the job, a sudden increase in light made him look up. The fire had found a new source of fuel. A wall of flame rolled toward him, engulfing everything in its path.
Greg hobbled as fast as he could away from the conflagration, heat beating against his bare back. He searched for a way to escape while a tiny part of his mind commented on how ironic it would be to get burned to death after being so cold for so long.
The only path that offered him a chance lay past the end of the locomotive. Everything else either burned or made an obstacle too big for a crippled man to climb. He stumbled over rails and ties as he passed around the front of the engine, cringing as the huge hissing and ticking mass of metal loomed above as if ready to crush him.
The open desert lay beyond the single track, the sand and gravel waste looking cold, dark and empty. The heat on Greg's back stopped as if a furnace door had shut. He trudged onward for another hundred paces or so, wondering what to do next. The desert seemed to suck at his soul. Greg shivered from fear more than from cold. Who knows what's out there? The wild creatures of this crazy world could be far worse than Earth.
A blazing barrel dropped from the sky, slamming into the sand and bursting a short distance away. Burning oil shot out in a spray and spattered on his legs. Greg jumped and howled as he beat at the stinging pain and tripped over a barrel stave as it skittered by, one end burning bright. Cursing the burns, Greg picked up the stave. With a last glance at the emptiness he turned and used the rudimentary torch to light his way across the uneven ground.
He skirted the area of the mining compound, trying to see past fires and roiling smoke to determine how the slaves were doing. Occasional yells and cries sounded over the roar of flames. Once an ogre bellowed, whether in pain or triumph, he couldn't tell.
Greg reached the foot of the crag. The locomotive whistle shrieked, the banshee sound making him cringe. He heard the sounds of the engine stirring to life, the heavy huff and puff of steam at work. Greg stopped.
What the heck do I do now? I know that damned city is back down the track. Do the silly beggars think they'll escape if they go back? Are they going the other way, and to what?
He hesitated, caught between exhaustion and the need to escape. The sounds of the locomotive increased in tempo, but decreased
