V2Ch20-Memento Mori

As Moishe Rose rejoined the Rodriguez camp, he found them in poor order.

Moving, yes. They had packed everything up and were on the move when he caught up to them. Rightfully afraid of the cultists and Rostov’s evil god, yes. None of the wanted to be sacrificed. But still, they were far slower and less organized, less certain, than they had been when he’d last seen them.

Perhaps the morale was slowly draining out of them. The hope.

Rumor had clearly spread among the family of Rostov and Moloch’s powers.

Some people looked up at the sky far too often, as if wondering whether the enemy was spying on them at this very moment. Others pointedly avoiding looking in the direction of the sun. Either way, they were giving the enemy more of their fear, more of their emotional energy, than they could sustain.

This is how armies lose battles, he thought as he stepped through the branches. They need enthusiasm. Something to give them heart. Help them endure. They need… His mind fumbled for the concept he was looking for, until it smacked him in the face. They need leadership.

Rostov’s camp had awful leadership, but for all that their Prophet was a horrendous monster with no sense of loyalty to anyone but himself, at least he was decisive. He gave them a clear sense of direction.

If I were to approach someone and ask who’s in charge here, I wonder what they would tell me, Moishe thought. They were in a far worse state now than they had been when he and the other Moloch refugees discovered them before. It’s the absence of that man.

Unfortunately, Moishe didn’t feel that he personally was well suited to replacing James Robard. And the position of interim leader was perilous anyway. He still thought that James would return. Depending on the leader’s temperament, he might not take kindly to someone occupying his place while he was gone. Some leaders would seek an opportunity to get rid of such a person. Who knew if James was the jealous type?

Instead of trying to take charge of the situation, Moishe therefore joined the camp in marching forward. By his own example, he tried to encourage an accelerated pace.

They walked for a few hours before Moishe heard a fuss from the back part of the camp.

“Cultists getting close!” People spoke in tones of alarm.

Moishe saw Ramon standing back among them. He had to be the source of that information.

I should have known he would’ve gone back on scouting duty, he thought. I should be doing that with him.

“Everyone march double time!” Chava Rodriguez called out. “Now is when it really counts! Unless you want to wind up food for an evil god, you have to move!”

Moishe approached Ramon and clasped his hand.

“Good to see you’re keeping up the good work!” Moishe said. “Do you need another pair of eyes?”

Ramon smiled. “Glad to see you made it back in one piece. I don’t know if we really need scouting right now, though. We just need to run.”

Moishe looked up. He noticed a thin mist rolling in overhead.

That’s a first, he thought. I haven’t noticed any weather besides sunny since we entered Orientation. Maybe some god has decided to protect us from sight.

“I think we’ll manage to get away,” Moishe said.

—

Nikolai Rostov grinned.

“So, someone saw you?” he asked Officer Ross.

“Yeah, one of the enemy spotted me and ran away.”

“And you marked him with your ability?”

“Correct,” Ross’s expression remained unchanged as he spoke, as if he couldn’t even fake a smile at the good news. Rostov’s grin widened. He enjoyed it when Officer Ross wasn’t enjoying himself.

“Excellent,” Rostov said. “Then we’ll know where they are even once they pass through into the Dead Marsh. Moloch’s vision into that place is impaired, which makes it all the more important to keep some other form of track of them.”

“You know there’s a time limit for Trace?” Ross said.

“Details, details, Officer. You said it was something like three days at most that you could monitor a target, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll have plenty of time. There’s no way people who are running from us so frantically will last long in the Dead Marsh.”

“If you say so,” Officer Ross replied. He looked pale, as if the hunt was getting to him.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Officer?” Rostov suggested, smiling with faux benevolence. “There are others I’ll send to the front now, so that any scouts for the enemy can see we’re still advancing. So they know that they have no choice but to flee into that bog.”

Ross let out a long breath and walked away. His obvious discomfort was more enjoyable to Rostov than the good news had been.

The Prophet grabbed hold of Kassim and whispered instructions in his ear.

“Kassim, grab a bunch of our people, and get out in front of the group. There’s no more urgency for the bulk of us to move forward anymore, so I’ll let the rest know they can camp. But I need you to walk forward with enough manpower that anyone who sees you will think you’re the advance party for the group.”

Kassim swallowed loudly. “Prophet, are you sure that’s wise? You remember what they did to our previous scouts. They could be trying a death by a thousand cuts strategy—”

“No, Kassim, don’t worry, they won’t hurt you!” Rostov reassured. “One of their scouts just ran into Officer Ross and took off in the opposite direction. They’re running scared. I just want to make sure that if they have any other scouts looking around, they’ll keep seeing what looks like the group advancing. We want them to rush into the Dead Marsh. The best way to guarantee that is to make sure they believe that we continue to advance.”

“Will the group no longer be advancing? What are we actually doing?” Kassim asked with a frown.

“I’m going to let people slow down. Ease tensions a bit. People are rattled. I need you and the least rattled people you can find to go and make it look like we’re still hot on their trail. In another day, after people have rested, we’ll follow the enemy right to the border with the marsh. Then we’ll set up a perimeter. Make sure they don’t escape that place once they’ve entered.”

—

“Visibility is getting bad, and people at the front are finding it hard to move forward through the muck,” Ramon finished.

“What do you mean, it’s hard to move forward?!” Cliff Rogers exclaimed. “Do you understand what’s chasing us?”

“I understand perfectly well, sir,” Ramon said. It was the sort of quasi-respectful way he was used to speaking to his uncle when Tio Chava was being unreasonable. “I’m the one who’s been reporting back to everyone on what was chasing us, if you recall.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Cliff said a bit stiffly, wearing a forced smile. “We appreciate your contribution, Ramon, this is just a very stressful situation. It feels a little like the people out front don’t fully appreciate the urgency or something.”

“Maybe there’s something we could do with magic to improve the soil?” Alan Roget suggested.

“I’ll walk over there and take a look,” Mitzi Roget said. “Maybe I can bake the ground a bit or something.”

Ramon seriously doubted that would work, but he also knew that the other family members, who were trying to find ways to move forward in the swamp muck, would appreciate the effort. He smiled and nodded appreciatively to Mitzi.

Mama Camila looked worried. “If we can’t move forward, we’ll need to prepare to make our stand here, no?”

“No,” Tio Chava replied immediately. “We should scatter in that case. They can’t catch all of us, but we know they at least defeated James. A straight fight means death for the whole family. I’m not convinced that we won’t be able to proceed further into the marsh if we try. I want to go and see what exactly is giving us so much trouble—”

“Can I go back out to the edge of the marsh?” Ramon interrupted. “We need to know if they’re still chasing us, or if the swampy ground is slowing them down too.”

“Sure, man,” Cliff said lightly before anyone else could speak. “Keep up the good work. Thanks!”

Ramon smiled and left.

As he was walking away, at the edge of his range of hearing, he barely caught Cliff swearing under his breath. Ramon was pretty sure that was directed at him. But he could only roll his eyes. He had more important things to do than swear back and forth with Cliff.

He asked Moishe to come along with him, and they set off toward the area where they expected to find the cultists.

—

Jeffrey Ross walked away from Rostov, tired in body and soul.

He thought he had waited for the perfect moment to kill Rostov, but it seemed destined not to happen. Instead, they would continue chasing the only sacrifices who’d had the pluck to escape from Moloch’s cult since he’d been pulled into this. And something in him felt drained of life.

I’m still useful to the group, he thought sullenly, so if Catherine’s right, I might at least outlast Rostov. But I don’t feel like I’m really living, acting like this. I’m just surviving. Is it worth it?

He pictured his children’s shining faces. Howie and Rena. They were even younger in his mind than in real life. He had to survive this for them, right?

But for once, the motivational tool he’d been using these last weeks turned itself on him.

What would they think if they knew what you’ve done? he thought. What you plan to continue doing, until Catherine’s moment comes?

“Prophet!” A voice called from the edge of the camp. Excited. Good news of some kind for the Moloch cultists, which almost invariably meant bad news for someone else.

“New guests!” The same voice called. Ross recognized it now as Ted Rowan. He was in charge of the team Rostov had assigned to seeking out new sacrifices while the camp moved forward. The group had one priest with them, so they couldn’t lose their way.

Ross walked toward the sound of Rowan’s voice. He needed to see who these potential sacrifices were.

A small group of five figures stood between the hunting party. Their postures revealed that their hands were bound in front of them, which probably meant that they had struggled a little. Not very effectively, clearly, but enough to be treated as enemies already. This would impact how the cult would deal with them.

Ross had to walk closer to get a better view of their faces, but that only confirmed what he thought he saw.

A bunch of teenagers, Ross thought. None of them even eighteen years old, if his eyes were good. How did they survive in the forest so long? Where are their parents? Did the adults die when the hunting party found them?

But none of his questions was as pressing as the reality in front of him. They looked terrified, and he couldn’t avoid thinking about what was likely to happen to them. Are we really going to stoop so low?

He turned away from the sight and found himself face to face with Catherine. His expression of consternation met her look of careful, studied indifference. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long, pregnant moment.

Are you really thinking of letting this happen? he wanted to ask her.

Even as he had the thought, he already knew how she would answer. She would raise the practical questions. How do you propose we stop it from happening? At what cost? Think of your own children who could lose their father before you think of these strangers’ children.

He had no immediate answers to those questions, but he knew that those practical considerations didn’t matter so much right now. Especially not that last. He hadn’t become a policeman so he could put his own life and needs above those of others.

I have to do something.