“Like a bloodhound,” said Grey.
“There is so much raw energy, even in the ghost rock smoke, that one cylinder, properly regulated, can be used for many bursts of energy. What Doctor Saint has done is connect a replaceable cylinder to the electric motor. Each time a burst of gas is discharged, it winds the copper coils of the motor at such a high rate that a strong electrical charge is created. This charge is used for two purposes. First it is injected into the brass shell casing of each bullet through a special kind of firing pin, thus triggering a blast that has far more power than black powder. The projectile flies faster, farther, and straighter. The second thing it does is activate all of the destructive properties of tiny grains of ghost rock that have been placed inside the core of the bullet. That turns what appears to be an ordinary bullet into a round that has the approximate explosive power of an explosive artillery shell. Imagine, if you will, a twenty-four-pound field gun firing canister packed with thousands of tiny iron pellets. Grey, I’m sure you’ve seen the effect firsthand.”
“Too many times,” admitted Grey. “One round can rip a whole platoon apart. But that’s a big shell.” He picked up one of the loose rounds and examined it. The bullet was only a little larger than a rifle round. “Even if this broke up it couldn’t do that kind of damage.”
“Yes,” said Looks Away sadly, “it could. That bullet is not what it seems. Inside are grains of ghost rock. Not enough to be of much value for sale, but when charged during a compressed gas firing, each one of them explodes like a tiny grenade. There are fifty grains in each bullet. The effect is every bit as devastating as fifty small bombs going off in a tightly packed area.”
They stared at him in horror.
“So you see what would happen if an army went into the field carrying Kingdom M1s?”
“It would be a slaughter,” said Jenny, aghast. “That’s terrifying.”
“It is indeed. One effect is that any ghost rock used is utterly destroyed, as is any ghost rock it encounters. One of Doctor Saint’s intentions was to create a weapon that would obliterate any ghost rock–powered weapon of the enemy.”
“What would happen if you fired that at one of the undead?” asked Grey.
“Or a Harrowed?” added Jenny.
Looks Away shrugged. “As I said, the ghost rock is obliterated. Doctor Saint was never concerned with the spiritual aspects of his devices, but given what our friendly monk says about the manitou, I rather think they would be obliterated as well.”
Grey felt that sink in. A weapon that could actually destroy a demon was so far beyond anything that he’d ever thought about that he didn’t know how to think about it. He had to resist the temptation to glance at Jenny. If the Kingdom Rifle was used on her father, would it destroy the demon inside him as well as his own human soul?
So many ugly questions, and so many unbearably ugly answers.
“Now,” said Looks Away, warming to his topic but apparently oblivious to its emotional implications, “here is where it gets even worse.”
He led them out of the room and into the adjoining room where a dusty sheet covered what Grey took to be a lumber wagon. Looks Away took a breath, shook his head, then took a corner of the sheet and whipped it away. There, beneath the cloth, mounted on the back of a wooden delivery cart, was a huge machine.
Copper and steel and silver.
A Kingdom gun.
But this was no rifle. This gun was the size of the biggest cannon Grey had ever seen.
“Imagine what an army could do with a hundred of these,” said Looks Away. “Just imagine.”
Chapter Forty-One
Jenny approached the gun cautiously, as if it could somehow come to life and devour her. The machine was impressive, but Grey did not like the sight of it. He had seen beautiful cannons before. Old time brass ones, iron monsters, and even some whose metal skin had been engraved with filigree and a tracery of wild flowers. He had never understood that, though looking at this one, he wondered if making a weapon beautiful was somehow a way for the maker to convince himself that peace—defending it or keeping it—was truly the end result of warfare.
Personally he didn’t think so.
His life tended toward other interpretations. War was pain and suffering. War was loss and regret. War was innocent blood and stolen lives.
He walked past Jenny and ran his fingertips along the ribs of copper wire that encircled the middle of the weapon. Even though it was inert he could imagine the thrum of power contained in its dormant battery. Power waiting to come to unnatural and unholy life.
Grey stopped and studied that thought and the word choices that had flitted through his mind.
Unholy.
It was a strange word for him. Not one he used. Holy or unholy. Those concepts belonged to a broken part of his long ago childhood back in Philadelphia. Not to the stoic and cynical killer he’d become since going to war. Not since he had let war and all of its ugly trappings define him.
“Impressive, is it not?” asked Looks Away.
Jenny turned to him. “It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. This is unholy.”
Grey did not comment on that.
“If one bullet from the small gun could kill a dozen men, this thing could … could…” She shuddered and hugged her arms to her body. “No, Looksie, this is wrong.”
The Sioux arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you wouldn’t use this against Deray, even if you found out that he was behind the murder of your father? Even if you found out for certain that he was responsible for the deaths of all these people and the attack on the town?”
Jenny did not answer. The inner conflict was clear on her face, though.
“It’s not easy to answer, is it?” asked Looks Away gently. “And, for the record, I’m with you on this. I disagreed with Doctor Saint on many points. He is a good man, don’t misunderstand me, but he actually thinks that select use of an ultimate weapon will remove from men’s heart the desire for conquest.”
“No,” said Jenny.
“No,” said Grey.
“No,” agreed Looks Away, “and more’s the pity.” He sighed deeply and patted the barrel of the deadly cannon. “Luckily this is something we do not need to concern ourselves with at the moment. As the French are so fond of saying, we have other fish to fry.”
“That’s a French expression?” asked Grey.
Looks Away shrugged. “Who cares? We don’t have sufficient ghost rock gas to power a weapon this large. There are magazines for the small rifle, but only two gas cartridges and nine bullets.”
“That would put a dent in the monsters,” observed Grey.
Jenny wheeled on him and finally spoke the thought that Grey knew had to be burning on her tongue. “Are you saying that we use it on my pa?”
He held his hands up. “Whoa, now. I’m not saying that,” he lied. “I was thinking out loud. But since we’re talking about it now, let’s look at that. I’m not saying we use this on your dad, but I wouldn’t shed too many tears if we were to thin his crowd a bit.”
“Even if it means destroying a human soul along with the demon?”
“First, we don’t know that it would do such a thing … and second … maybe. We might have no choice. I’d rather use that gun and destroy those … things … than stand unarmed and let them slaughter every living person in Paradise Falls. In an ideal world we’d never have to make that kind of decision, but let’s face it, Jenny, we’re being dealt some pretty bad cards here. We have to do what we have to do. And who knows, maybe Brother Joe can intercede with the Almighty to save those souls.”
“And what if he can’t?” demanded Jenny.
“Like I said, we do what we have to do. That rifle may be our only chance.”
“Isn’t it funny,” observed Looks Away, “that we can discuss using the rifle while we all consider the cannon to be somehow obscene. Why is that?”
No one offered an answer.
“Yes … exactly what I thought,” said
the Sioux. “We’re all barking mad. All of us. Every human who ever walked on dear-old planet Earth.”
“I got no argument for that,” said Grey.
Jenny merely sighed heavily and nodded. They went back to the room and stood looking down at the rifle. “We live in such strange times,” she said. “It’s like we’re living in a dream. A nightmare. Those things that happened last night … that was wrong in so many ways. I mean … snakes and frogs? That’s so strange. It’s like something out of the Bible. Out of the Old Testament. The plagues of Egypt.”
Looks Away smiled. “You think Deray conjured that like Moses to drive us from this land?”
“Maybe.”
“I was joking.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I think everything that’s happened has been part of that kind of plan. To get us off this land.”
“But why?” asked Grey. “All he has to do is wait another few months. Without water no one can stay here. Shipping it in’s got to be more expensive than it’s worth.”
“It is,” said Jenny.
“Why not buy it from other towns?”
Jenny cut him as she crossed to the big map on the wall. “Other towns? Sure. Other water sources? Absolutely. There’s Branton.” She slapped the map over the name of that town, which was a few miles to the north. “And St. Lopez.” Slap. “And Casper’s Corners.” Slap. “Golden Springs.” Slap. “Diego Sanchez.” Slap.
“What’s your point.”
“They’re gone,” she said.
“Gone?”
“Gone. Every town for a hundred miles in any direction is gone. Dead.”
“The Quake?”
“No. They’re ghost towns. Chesterfield bought up most of the land south of here. Deray bought the rest. And any place too stubborn to sell out was either burned out or they had their water rights stole out from under them. You can call it legal purchase, but we all know what it really is.”
Grey gaped at her. “All of them? You’ve got to be wrong.”
“She’s not, you know,” said Looks Away. “If anything, Jenny’s understating the problem. You’re coming into this at the end of a very destructive and very thorough process. Deray and Chesterfield are like two fists and Paradise Falls is the flesh caught between the punches. Lucky Bob thought he could turn it around. He thought he could get one or the other to see reason and maybe find a compromise that would allow Paradise Falls to survive. I advised him against it. So, for the record, did Jenny. Lucky Bob was like that, though. Clever as he was, his weakness was always believing the best in people. He thought that if he could speak with them face to face that there could be some kind of opening of the heart, a meeting of the mind.”
“He went to see this Deray character?” asked Grey.
“Indeed.”
“And we think that Deray somehow turned him into a Harrowed? Or one of those lesser undead?”
“The man is, after all rumored to be an alchemist of some note. That certainly stands against him. And Brother Joe claims that he’s a necromancer as well,” said Looks Away.
“A what?” Jenny asked. “That some kind of wizard?”
“Yes,” said the Sioux. “One who has power over the dead.”
“That fits,” Jenny said sourly. “Deray’s army are all monsters.”
“That’s just swell,” said Grey. He grunted and sucked a tooth thoughtfully for a moment. She looked at Grey. “Does that scare you?”
“Of course it does, but if you think it’s going to chase me off, think again. What about Chesterfield? Is he a wizard, too?”
“No,” said Looks Away. “He’s an asshole.”
Jenny gave a short, hard laugh.
“He doesn’t have power over the dead or any of that?” asked Grey.
“No. Why?”
“Nothing … I’m just working it all through.”
“Working what through?” asked Jenny.
“Maybe Lucky Bob had a good idea.”
“But we know how that turned out,” said Looks Away, shaking his head.
“Right, so I’m wondering if Jenny’s pa went out to see the wrong man.” He tapped the map. “Chesterfield’s place is pretty close. Couple hours easy ride. If Deray is the kind of monster we all seem to think he is, then maybe Chesterfield’s only a corrupt asshole.”
They looked at him.
“That’s almost certainly the case,” said Looks Away. “However what possible leverage could we use on a rich man who is, as you so eloquently phrase it, a corrupt asshole?”
“You ever hear the expression, that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”
“Yes. But in my experience it’s almost never as simple as that.”
Jenny snorted and nodded. “Chesterfield is every bit as bad.”
Grey picked up the Kingdom M1. “Then I guess we’ll have to be worse.”
The smile that blossomed on Jenny Pearl’s face was one of the most disturbing things Grey had ever seen.
“Hold on right there,” he said quickly. “You are not coming along.”
“The hell I’m not.”
“The hell you are.”
She stepped toward him. Five foot two to his six four. But her sudden anger seemed to fill the room. He’d read so many dime novels about women with fiery tempers, but not one woman in any tale could hold a candle to the swift fury of Jenny Pearl.
“And why not? I can ride and shoot as well as any man, and better than most.”
“I do not doubt that,” he said. “But I need you to stay here in town.”
“Why?”
“Because who else is going to keep these people safe if something else happens?” he asked flatly. “Brother Joe? Mrs. O’Malley? Come on, Jenny, you’re the only one around who everyone’s afraid of, which means they’ll listen to you.”
“He’s jolly well right about that,” said Looks Away. “You’re more valuable here in town than as another gun in what is ostensibly a diplomatic venture.”
“My ass.”
Neither man dared make a comment. They let their silence do their talking for them, and Grey could see Jenny work it out. Her expressions showed on her face. Every expression did. She was lovely, but she had no poker face at all. He wondered if she’d ever wanted to play cards. He’d learned a kind of poker from a frisky lass in Louisiana. Loser had to shuck a garment.
Her answer snapped him back to the moment.
“Very well, damn you both,” she said.
Chapter Forty-Two
Looks Away argued that no such expedition could be undertaken in their present condition. They were dead for sleep, filthy, and hungry. So they did their best to lock up the workshop and they trudged back to Jenny Pearl’s.
With the deputies all dead and the town’s well free—at least for now—they were able to get enough water to take actual hot baths. Jenny heated big pots of it and corralled a couple of the town’s kids to run them out back to where Looks Away and Grey sat, naked but uncaring, in a vast metal washtub. The men scrubbed and scrubbed and finally wrapped themselves in sheets and tottered inside. Jenny gave them a choice of spare bedroom or couch. Grey let Looks Away take the bedroom and he flung himself down on the couch and slept all through the day and into the night.
He’d left orders to be awakened if absolutely anything untoward happened.
However the night passed without incident.
Though, that was not entirely true. It passed without violence. It passed without trouble.
But not without incident.
Deep in the night, the moon still riding the sky and long before the first cock crow, Jenny Pearl came down the stairs in a cotton gown and nothing else. Grey heard the creak of the stairs and opened his eyes to what he thought was a spirit in a dream. Her blond hair was unpinned and fell around her shoulders and her eyes were smoky and half closed.
For a heartbreaking moment she looked less like Jenny and more like Annabelle, but Grey felt ashamed of thinking that. Annabelle was long gone now. All except
for the ghost that haunted his life. She was gone and Jenny Pearl was alive.
So alive. So real.
So beautiful.
Without saying a single word she unfastened the gown and let it puddle around her ankles. Grey’s heart beat wildly inside his chest as he saw her painted in silver moonlight. Slim but ripe. Full breasts with nipples the color of dusty roses. White blond hair on her head, a dark blond below. A flat stomach and lovely legs that were strong and graceful. On her sternum, between her breasts, was a dark scab left from the bullet that had nearly killed her. It was right over her heart.
She raised the corner of the blanket under which he lay and crawled onto the couch, on top of him. She wrapped her legs around his hips and even as she sat astride him she deftly guided him inside of her.
Grey began to speak, but she silenced him with a kiss.
“Please,” she said in a husky whisper. It was the only word she spoke.
They made love with infinite slowness. It was a gentler encounter than he would have guessed from her fiery nature. Slow and soft, unhurried and unforced. A sweeter encounter than any in Grey’s experience. And all the sweeter for that.
Neither of them rushed toward any cliffs. They discovered a rhythm that was the song of their mutual connection. And when Grey felt himself lift finally toward the inevitable, she was there with him. Even then it was not a screaming climax, but a warm release that nearly brought him to tears. It was in those moments that he realized how far his life’s trail had taken him from any true understanding of what gentleness was.
He kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts, her forehead, and then held her to him, feeling the hummingbird flutter of her heart against the walls of his chest.
They fell asleep like that. As one. Safe in the moment, safe in each other’s arms.
When he woke, though, she was gone.
Weak sunlight slanted through the shutters on the window and drew yellow lines on the floor.
Deadlands: Ghostwalkers Page 20
