Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles) (24 page)

She looked over the heads of them, and this time she found the live ones. Ten or fifteen people? And while she’d fought, the golden puffed-up man had eaten some. And still did. A corpse hung from his hands. The golden man’s skin looked ready to split. What would happen if he burst?

Not giving up this time. Not
. She blinked, then rechecked the load of the shotgun. The circular backs of the shells shone. Wind tenderly caressed her cheeks and whistled past, riffling the clothes of the shambling zombies.

A distant engine whine made her turn her head. A giant sculpture in snow stirred. Metal joints clanked and clicked. Something whirred, then ran up into a higher pitch. Great chunks of snow, shifted by the moving metal, cracked away and slid to earth in a mini avalanche. Gun barrels revolved. Her military brain fired up with glee. This was something big and nasty, and it
must
be on her side. Understanding dawned. The automaton.

Oh no. The people.

Hide and tell them to duck.

Ohmigod. How accurate could this thing be?

Past the hulking machine, a line of black dots swept in from the horizon, skimming the ground at speed.
Precision flying. Military gyros? Too late. Too damn late to help.

She spun. The live people—maybe even this boy’s mother—were among the zombies and about to be strafed by cannon. Her stomach churned. She heaved in a big breath.

“Get down! Duck, people!”

One or two threw themselves down. More zombies shuffled around to look at her.
Jeez
. Sometimes Sten was right. “You are about to be fired upon by a
fucking
huge
fucking
gun platform! Duck!” Her throat stung, she’d yelled so loudly.

Those who could, tore themselves free of their captors and dived to earth. With the loud
toom toom toom
of the cannons caroming off her eardrums, she too dived and ducked. She pulled the whimpering boy into her arms and prayed. The ground shook. The sound slammed into her ears until they hurt. Fragments of bodies and clothing, pieces of ice and snow spattered onto her.

After a last diminishing whine of spinning metal, everything stopped. Someone sobbed, then shrieked. She lifted her head. Slaughterhouse scenery. The field was clear of anything higher than a knee. Dismembered, smoldering zombies littered the landscape. In the background, the metal doors of Perihelion Station were dented and pocked with cannon holes. Smoke drifted. The bitter tang of blood and cordite clogged the air.

The golden man wobbled to his feet, brilliance spearing from every crevice. He took one step. Thunder spawned and shook the air as the cannons screamed back to life, the shells chewing into his arm, then his torso. The stream of napalm shells broke him apart like a papier-mâché doll and burned him to nothing. His complete obliteration seared everything with yellow-gold. Slowly, very slowly, colors returned, and the sky faded back to blue.

Another sound replaced the roar of the cannons—the purring
thwop thwop
of a battalion of gyrocopter blades. Kaysana wiped her eyes and whispered down into the little boy’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe. The bad men are gone.” Tears trailed down her face as she rocked and squeezed him in her arms. How old could the poor thing be? Eight? Seven? “We’re all safe.”

A single zombie climbed in wobbly stages back to its feet. Five or ten napalm rounds blasted into it at once. Flames whirled to life and splattered across the ground, tumbling into little piles of fire—all that was left of him. The gyros had good snipers.

The gyrocopters flew in close and flared to a stop on the snow outside the death zone. People waved their arms and called out their humanity. No one dared to rise to their feet until soldiers advanced in a line, inspecting the bodies and helping up the survivors.

Kaysana didn’t bother checking the insignia on the flying machines. Whatever nation they were, they were the good guys. The winds had died. The sun came out. She lay on her back, staring up at the blueness, soothing the child with small sounds and words while she combed her fingers through his hair.

A fair-haired lieutenant from the Brito-Gallic League jumped from the last ledge to the top of the rock—bob-cut hair, her white winter coat buttoned to the neck and showing only a hint of the red and gold uniform beneath. Sweat trailed down the side of her face, and a fat-bodied FREN pistol hung from her hand. She studied Kaysana before checking each and every body lying on the rock. Two female soldiers arrived on her heels, gauss rifles at the ready.

Kaysana sat up, shuffled her suddenly weak legs under her with the boy still in her arms, then managed to stand by using her shaking arm as a prop.

“Afternoon, Lieutenant. Captain Kaysana Onomi of the
Art of War
.” Her throat closed up a bit as she said her ship’s name. She swallowed, hoisted the child into a better position. “Nice day.”

The woman nodded. “I know of you…” Her mouth twitched. “A nice day? Is it?”

“Yes. It is now.” She let her gaze rest unfocused on what lay beyond the lieutenant. Memory clicked. “Uh. What am I thinking? There’s a wolf below the rock. Make sure he’s taken care of. He killed a lot of the zombs.” If he wasn’t alive, she couldn’t bear to see. If she touched his fur and found him lifeless…
Damn, where’s my courage?

“Then there’s the airship
Emshalley
. There’s a young woman—”

“Done. Being boarded as we speak.”

And it
had
to be Sten in the machine.

“And there’s a man…a frankenstruct in the war engine. I’d like to know he’s okay.” While she thought up an excuse for her interest, she probed her teeth with her tongue. “Uh, he saved us all.”

“I saw that. Hard not to. A team’s rappelled onto the cockpit. Their signals said he’s in custody. Routine—we’re just being cautious. That thing’s got enough firepower to take out everything here. He’ll be okay. As to the wolf…we’ve got more docs than we do live people here.” The lieutenant snapped her fingers, and one soldier turned and sprinted away, yelling for a medic. She frowned, thumb rubbing the blue stippled stock of her pistol. “The boy?”

“Not mine.” She kissed his head. “I don’t know if his parents are…”

“Let me down, please,” the boy piped up while wriggling. He extended his hand, chubby finger pointing. “Tha’s my papi!”

“It is?” Kaysana followed the line of his finger. She lowered him to the ground.

Though he stumbled now and then, a weary brown-haired man strode toward the rock. Like all of them, his clothes were mottled with blood. He broke into a run.

“Papi!” The soldiers moved aside to let the boy through.

When his father swept the boy into his arms and whirled him around, kissing him and hugging him hard, something settled like mud into Kaysana’s chest. “Least he’s got someone.”

“Yes. And you?” The lieutenant gestured.

And me?
“And me, what?”
I don’t, do I? Not him…I sent him away
. “No, I don’t have anyone—”

“I meant are you wounded anywhere? It’s hard to tell with all the blood. I’d better let the docs check you out.”

If she waited, Sten would arrive. He’d be climbing down right now if she knew him. Coming for her. She swayed, trying hard to think despite the deep fatigue leaching in. If she let him, right now when she could barely stand, she’d never get him out of her system. She needed her brain thinking at full capacity, not like it was, with syrup gluing up the works.

“Lieutenant.” She eyed her—efficiency fairly glowed off the woman’s uniform. “Can you get me back to my base ASAP? I need a gyro and pilot. I have to report.”

She barely hesitated. “You get on a stretcher for me, along with a doctor to check you over on the way, and I can get you up to the hospital airship a few miles back. Past that, you need to speak to the captain. Okay?”

Voices below the rock talked of Cadrach and his wounds. She caught snippets.

“He’s just concussed.”

Oh thank God.

“Needs sutures.”

“Muzzle?” a man asked.

She put her hand on her knee, leaned over, and yelled. “Don’t you dare muzzle him! His owner will be here soon. Big man called Sten. Get him to help you!”

Stunned silence ensued. Then the man called a quiet, “Sure, we’ll wait, ma’am.”

“Good,” she muttered.
Done
. “Right now, Lieutenant? Can you get me that stretcher right now?”

“Yes.”

She’d get to the hospital airship first, worry about how to get more transport once aboard.

After slowly descending the two ledges with her knees barely holding her up, she came face-to-face with the doctor who’d brought the stretcher. He was one of the few men in the rescue force. As matter-of-factly as a gardener inspecting a diseased plant, he examined her. His white gloves and parka were soon smudged red.

“Had some water yet?” He kinked a gray hairy eyebrow.

“No.” And suddenly her throat was parched.

“Here, then.” He unhooked a canteen and placed it in her hand, then muttered as he poked and felt. A nurse beside him took notes as he dictated. “Dehydrated…right ear has a portion torn away. Needs debriding and suturing. Scalp wound. That one may just need cleansing.” He looked up. “A lot of blood on you, but I’m guessing not yours? Anywhere else hurt? Other wounds?”

“No.” She shook her head. Already the water revived her, singing into her tissues like a swig of whiskey. “Tired is all. Get me up to the ship, please.”

“Right. They’ll check you more thoroughly up there.”

She sucked at her bottom lip. “Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Then she went and did what she shouldn’t—trailed around the rock on unsteady feet to find Cadrach. The three medical staff surrounding him let her through. The wolf looked blearier than she felt, and though he hadn’t risen, his head wobbled and one eye was filled with blood. She laid her hand on his head, gently patting him. “Hey there. Don’t worry. You’ve got more docs than I have, you know? I’ve got to go, but he’ll be here soon.” Not saying his name seemed wise. It’d stick in her throat.

She pinned a young brunette with her gaze. Doctor? Nurse? The stethoscope said enough. “His eye going to be okay?”

“Well…” The stethoscope swung like a pendulum in her hand. “Pupil seems normal. Looks like it’s scleral bleeding only. With sutures in that wound and rest, he should be fine.”

“Thanks.”

The wolf flicked his ears forward and whined. He struggled to get upright. Heavy approaching footsteps made Kaysana shut her eyes.
Mistake. Big mistake. He’s here
. On the other hand, relief flooded her.
Guess maybe I wanted to see him. Not like me to be a chicken anyway—going up to the ship without knowing he’s okay…bad move. I'd only have worried.

Seemed her subconscious knew more than she did.

When his hand landed softly on her shoulder, despite being so weary every piece of her felt flat as a snail beneath a tire, her body stirred, maybe her soul too. He leaned past her to comfort Cadrach. She
so
wanted to shift sideways and sink into his arms.

No. I’m tired, not thinking right.

Then the urge rushed on her so hard she could
see
herself falling into his arms.
God, no. I can’t!
Not here where everyone would notice. Not ever.

She glanced sideways. He wasn’t looking at her, just concentrating on talking to Cadrach while using her as a post to lean on. Except when she looked down at his hand, she spotted bandages. And he wasn’t really putting weight on her. More like he just wanted to touch.

“You okay too?” His words were soft enough that most wouldn’t hear.

He understands…that I want to keep this distant. That I can’t acknowledge, what…how I really feel? Oh, this is just so hard. Why does it have to be so difficult to walk away?
She sighed. “Yeah, I’m okay. Your hands, though. What happened to them?”

“Frostbite. It’s nothing. Remember—we heal fast.”

“Just frostbite? That’s a lot of bandaging for just frostbite.”

“I’ll live. But thanks. Nice to see you're worried about me.”

“Huh.” Egotistical bastard. “Captain’s prerogative, I look after my men.”

“Oh? So I’m one of your ‘men,’ am I?”

The suggestive way he waggled his eyebrows made her scowl.
If he wasn't so damn plain nice, I’d kick him somewhere painful.

“And don’t change the subject. I asked about you. There’s a bit of your ear missing. You sure you’re okay?”

And that almost made her laugh. In the middle of this craptacular disaster, she almost laughed. Who else but Sten would be so laid-back about his…about
her
missing a part of her ear? She’d nearly thought
girlfriend
there. As if that word could in any way describe what she and Sten were…had done…
I am so mixed-up.

Then she looked at him properly, not like he was a tarantula she’d found under her chair. This big, shaggy caveman who wrung every bit of excitement out of life, hell, out of her when she let him.
Oh, I do adore him
. Tears pricked her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t be with you, Sten.”

Despite the whisper, the brunette looked sharply at her.

Damn, I don’t care right now. Look all you like, lady. If I’m saying good-bye, I’ll say it out loud
. “Good-bye.” She cleared her throat. “Best if we keep away from each other from now on. Thank you for coming to help us all.”

But as she walked away, his voice hit her, thunderous as a distant avalanche on a bright sunny day. “Not so fast. I’ll see you on the ship. We have things to talk about.”

She faltered but kept going. Annoyance spiked. Didn’t the man know when to end things?

Not that she was much better. Even over the stench of smoke and gore, she could smell him, could
feel
where he’d pressed against her.
He’s right. We have to talk.

Except she couldn’t bear to.

The confusion on the hospital ship was an organized one. The
Queen Margeurite
was an old cruise liner the Brito-Gallic League had commandeered, and her gymnasium had been turned into a treatment area. Cuts and crushing injuries and bites were common among the survivors. Kaysana waited her turn on a neatly made-up, white-sheeted bed that was one of a row of twenty. With five columns of each row…two hundred beds, they’d definitely overestimated the casualties.