March of the Damned

The blistering sun beat down mercilessly upon the cracked, desolate earth. Dust swirled in the hot, stale wind, stinging Raza's eyes as she trudged along, ankles and wrists bound by rusted chains. Her ragged clothes stuck to her sweat-soaked skin as she struggled to keep pace with the other captured raider women.

Lash marks crisscrossed Raza's back, souvenirs from the warlord Kullek's men when she had defiantly spat in their faces upon being taken. She wouldn't give the bastards the satisfaction of breaking, no matter what fresh cruelties awaited at their destination.

Up ahead, the hulking silhouettes of Kullek and his lieutenants rose like blackened monoliths against the hazy skyline. Raza caught the glint of sunlight on jagged blades and serrated metal at their belts. Her stomach twisted but she pressed her cracked lips into a defiant sneer.

On they marched, feet leaving bloody prints in the radioactive sand. Raza's throat was baked dry, her tongue a useless lump of leather. A piercing cry from beside her made her flinch as one woman collapsed, chains pulling taut. A brutal kick from one of the guards' heavy boots shut her up with a nauseating crunch.

As they reached a rise, Raza saw it - the execution grounds stretching ahead in a vast, slaughterhouse horror. Rusted spikes and stakes ringed the perimeter, adorned with dessicated corpses and bleached skulls. This is where she and her sisters would meet their end at Kullek's hands.