As fast as Varens dug at the mud, trying to hollow out a space so that he could drag Bolus free, it filled up with dirty water. Vile fluids from the dead Heretic Astartes seeped into the mess.

Bolus was drowning in that filth.

In desperation, Varens hooked his hands under the shoulder plates of the dead traitor and heaved. Corroded ceramite flaked to pieces in his grasp, and though the plate shifted on its worn joints, he could not move the bloated Space Marine. A wet tearing pain stabbed beneath his shoulder. He did not remember being hit, but that did not matter. He could not exert his full strength. It wouldn’t be enough if he could. He might as well have pushed at Espandor and try to move it as shift the dead traitor.

It seemed a long, desperate time, but perhaps only seconds passed.

Hands shoved him away, making space for others to join him. The new recruits were there, those that had survived. Two of them jammed plasteel beams taken from the trench facing under the traitor’s armour.

‘Heave!’ they shouted, using the beams as levers. ‘Heave!’ The beams slipped in the filth. Bolus’ movements were lessening. The respirator had limited rebreathing capacity. He only had moments left.

‘Dig deeper!’ shouted Varens, scrambling up and grabbing a beam. ‘Find solid ground to push against!’

He helped shove the plasteel down until it would go no further, then he leapt for the top, hung off it and leaned backwards, ignoring the hot pain in his back.

‘Heave!’ shouted the young soldiers. Teeth gritted, they shifted the giant’s shoulders enough to expose Bolus.

Two of the youths pulled the acting sergeant out the instant before the beams slipped and the traitor fell back into the mud. Varens grabbed Bolus’ face.

‘Bolus!’ he shouted. He scraped mud off his friend’s visor. Bolus stared back at him with wide eyes. He was silent, but alive.

The rain hammered down on a sudden quiet. The traitors were gone; whether dead or vanished, Varens could not see.

He had no time for relief. He suddenly felt very cold. A slow pulsing in his back reminded him of his wound. Bolus stared up at him, his expression empty.

When this had happened back on Espandor, Bolus had been unharmed in body but something had gone in his mind. They had been through triage and taken away from the front line on medical transports back to Konor’s Reach. At the spaceport began the endless rounds of processing that had resulted in their evacuation to Iax.

That was then. Now, nightmare departed from memory.

A carrion movement within Bolus’ flesh had Varens recoil in horror, but his hands would not obey him and he could not release his friend.

‘Forty-nine! Forty-nine!’ Bolus giggled. His mask filled with writhing maggots that burst from his shrivelling eyes. But he laughed on and on. ‘All is ash!’