Do these things not feel pain?
He ripped the knife out and jabbed the blade into its eye, penetrating it through its brain. The coyote stiffened and collapsed, and Itza-chu pushed it off him. He was thankful the creature’s jaw hadn’t locked on him. Perhaps he had the lower iron jaw to thank for that.
There was no time for him to sit up before the other coyote was staring down at him.
“No!” he cried, seeing nothing but its teeth and feeling its drool on his face.
A blast to its neck sent the animal sideways. Jaxton appeared beside him with his bayonet pistol, which wasn’t smoking. Emma’s gun was, though, which Itza-chu saw as she came into the firelight.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Jaxton said, helping him to stand, “are you all right?”
That question made Itza-chu want to choke the man, for he was bleeding profusely and soaked in his own blood. He looked at the coyote with the steel legs. It lay on its side with two of its legs sticking straight out, unable to lower them. He shifted his sights to Emma, who studied the burning animal. The fire was steadily eating away the natural parts of the thing, but smoke was also rolling over the metal skull and blackened the serrated steel spine.
“We . . . we heard the shots,” Emma explained between breaths. “We thought it came from inside the mission, though.”
“Some did come from there,” Itza-chu said, kneeling to pull the knife out of the coyote’s eye. Every movement made him want to collapse. “Landcross is in there. Go. Both of you.”
“What about you?” Emma said. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine. Go!” Itza-chu commanded while still on his knees.
Jaxton tugged on Emma’s arm before darting off. “C’mon. You can reload on the way inside.”
As they fled, Itza-chu went over to the wall and sat against it. He just didn’t have the strength or the will to move.
Chapter Twenty-Four
This is Your Fault
The maniac had his bloody Frankenstein’s monster hold Pierce until the scientist could shackle him against the railing, where he was forced to kneel on the floor.
He quickly regretted his decision to separate from Itza-chu. Dammit to blast, Waves of Strength was bang on. He did get into loads of trouble when alone. If he was wiser—and Pierce knew he wasn’t—he’d have listened to Itza-chu. Worse yet, his mates were out there and might be in danger. The coyotes Javier had unleashed with that device of his weren’t going to be friendly.
After securing his prisoner, Javier plucked a pistol from off the wall. “It was necessary to keep my coyotes in cages,” he explained, putting the key to the manacles into his trouser pocket. “They’re only first draft successes. When I created them, I didn’t know how to rewire their brains. Therefore, they do not mind me as Iker does.”
Pierce tilted his chin up to the Machine Man, Iker.
Machine Man. When he thought about the name, it sounded familiar somehow, as if he’d heard it in a play once. But, when?
When?
Iker stared down at him with its yellow eye. Its other was bloodshot—or, more accurately—oil shot due to the bullet in its face. The wound bled black oil, which was dripping in thick droplets from its chin. Apparently, the hybrid human had no blood or feeling left in it.
Javier conveyed something to it in Spanish and the Machine Man headed down the stairs.
“Soon,” Javier said to his hostage while he watched his demonic creation slowly descending the steps, “there’ll be a use for the dead and the unwanted.”
“Are you talking about turning more folks into machines?” Pierce asked, aghast.
“Si. Once I have the technology down, I shall patent my idea. Instead of discarding dead bodies, they will be made into fully functional living automatons.”
“What for?”
“To serve us, of course. House servants, manual labor workers, even soldiers. Imagine a soldier that is able to march on and on without rest, their armored bodies making them virtually unstoppable!”
“Robots made from people?”
“Indeed. The human body is the perfect machine, one that can be used as a blueprint. Perhaps, someday, I’ll be able to duplicate the entire hominid form and it will function the same as any person. But this is a start.”
The scale of this scientist’s ambition made blokes such as the late Benjamin Franklin seem wet behind the ears.
Gunshots rang out.
“It appears that whoever isn’t with you has been discovered,” Javier remarked coldly. “My coyotes won’t leave much of them behind. Iker will take care of any survivors.” He sighed mournfully. “I’ll have to put my coyotes down if I’m unable to recapture them. They’re too wild. But it’s a loss I can cope with, because now I have you.”
Pierce shuddered when the tall, spooky Spaniard looked at him with a menacing smirk.
“You shall make the perfect specimen. I’m in need of a strong and healthy person to further my experiment.”
Someone outside screamed. It sounded like Itza-chu.
“Tomorrow, we shall begin your transformation, Englishman,” Javier stated as he walked to the top of the stairs to look over the railing. “And when I’m finished, you will be my greatest masterpiece thus far.”
Pierce had other plans in mind for the upcoming day. While they were chatting, Pierce had been discreetly keeping his hands hidden beside him while slipping his gloveless hand through the cuff. When Javier was clamping the irons on, Pierce was holding the cuff of his coat sleeve between his fingers and palm in order to create leeway between his wrist and the shackle. A little trick he had learned years ago. If the padding offered enough space and the cuff wasn’t too tight, he’d be able to slide his hand through.
More shots sounded from outside. Pierce needed to hurry if he was going to help.
With his captor’s attention elsewhere, Pierce put more focus on wedging himself free. The coat helped, but it still proved to be a struggle, for his hand was larger than his wrist. Pierce gritted his teeth as he strained. Pain lanced up his arm. Once the cuff scraped over his thumb knuckle, his hand flew free. Pierce reset his thumb joint. Javier was still looking over the edge, holding the gun, waiting for an intruder to show up. Without making a sound, Pierce unwound the chain from the rod and took a breath.
Javier was only a few steps from him, which made the attack much simpler. Pierce quickly stood and swung the loose shackle at Javier. The bloke turned his head just in time for Pierce to belt him across the face, spinning him on his heel. Pierce lunged for the flintlock in Javier’s hand. Pierce wanted the gun to go off, rendering it useless. Instead, Javier shouted something in Spanish. Most likely calling for his creation. Pierce let go of Javier’s wrist to throw a punch.
Pierce was stronger than he appeared. His strength, as it was for his entire family, was a gift of his special bloodlines. Usually, this power didn’t surface unless prompted by rage, and even angry spats could give him a boost of strength. At the moment, however, he was more fearful than angry. Fearful of what was happening to his gang.
The tall Spaniard pitched sideways over the railing. He shouted again. Pierce yanked him up and punched him square in the face. Javier tumbled back with arms flaying about as if they were long, lanky tree branches caught in high winds. When he landed, his pistol fell and dropped from sight over the edge of the stairs. For a brief moment, Pierce thought about going for a rifle mounted on the racks. By the time he reached it, however, Javier could very well flee. Pierce sure as hell didn’t need him lurking about in this dark place. Besides, Pierce had to get downstairs and find his mates. He leaped over Javier to retrieve the flintlock when Javier caught his foot, tripping him. Pierce slammed into the wall ahead of him. He managed to stay on his feet and turned to see Javier already up and heading for the gun racks.
“Shite,” he cursed, pushing himself off the wall and thundering down the steps.
Halfway there, he stopped short when he found a gun pointed at him. Iker had return
ed, and it held a pistol. It stared at Pierce soullessly. The Machine Man stood only a few steps down from him, the gun aimed at his chest. Pierce slowly took a step up when Javier appeared overhead with a rifle. He was too far up to get a clean shot at Pierce, so he ordered his monster to take him out.
The gun’s hammer pulled back and fell forward.
Click!
It fell on an empty chamber. The dead dolt had his empty Oak Leaf and not Javier’s loaded flintlock. If Javier wasn’t upstairs with the rifle, Pierce would have dashed up. He tried running by, but the Machine Man caught him by the throat with surprising quickness. The pain of suffocation came over him very quickly. The soulless thing expressed no emotion as it shoved Pierce toward the railing. Although the fall might not kill him, Pierce imagined his spine breaking on the spiral staircase, rendering him immobile for the rest of his days. Pierce dug in his heels, but all it did was postpone the inevitable. He was going to go over.
Suddenly, the Machine Man stopped, and its face went slack. It began to twitch, its eyelids fluttering madly as oil came out of its nose. The grip on Pierce’s throat relaxed and the hand slid off as the Machine Man collapsed. Pierce jumped up a stair before the thing fell on top of him.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Jaxton asked, holding his oil-soaked bayonet pistol.
“Is that armor he’s wearing?” Emma inquired, standing a step below him.
Pierce glanced down at the body. A deep wound had been punched through the base of the skull below the metal crown. Jaxton had managed to stab the bugger up into his brain.
“No. The armor is part of it,” Pierce answered, rubbing his sore throat.
There was no time to explain further or even relish his good fortune before Javier cried out from above. “No!” He aimed his rifle.
“Shite!” Pierce shouted, grabbing Jaxton and Emma by the arms and pulling them down with him as he kneeled.
Javier fired, and a ping sounded as the bullet ricocheted off the railing somewhere. When Pierce realized they were safe, he snatched Emma’s gun from her and shot to his feet.
“Jaxton, c’mon.”
Together, they charged up. Javier was already heading for another weapon when they reached the top. To stop him, Pierce fired off a warning shot an inch away from Javier.
“There’s another gun on you, cocker!” Pierce hollered at the now still man.
He glanced over at Jaxton, who still hadn’t raised his pistol. “Oi, aim your weapon at him,” Pierce demanded in a whisper.
“Oh, right,” the Australian said, lifting his gun.
Pierce huffed.
Javier turned around slowly with his hands raised. “I’m sure, señor, that we can negotiate some kind of deal.”
Pierce’s blood boiled. After enduring a sandstorm, ghouls, and fighting a reanimated dead person, he was utterly spent. He marched toward him.
“I’ll pay you,” Javier continued before Pierce punched him across the head to shut him up.
Pierce’s anger had brought out his strength, and the tall Spaniard hit the floor, unconscious.
“Blimey,” Jaxton gawked in awe. “You knocked the bloke out in a single blow!”
Gritting his teeth, Pierce looked at Emma and Jaxton, who stood stunned.
“It’s been a hell of a week,” Pierce grunted.
Javier was shackled securely to the railing with no way to wiggle out as Pierce had. Itza-chu was brought up and taken to the bed. They made him as comfortable as possible. Jaxton told Pierce about what had attacked Itza-chu, and although they didn’t think anything else morbid was lurking about, they stayed alert. Jaxton left for the chapel where people were being held in cages.
Pierce did his best to hold himself together. He honestly felt he could come undone at any moment. He needed a drink. A stiff one. Itza-chu’s condition made Pierce cringe. Blood drenched the poor bugger. Darker blood pooled from the deep puncture marks dotting his shoulder. His dark complexion had paled, and he shivered with his teeth chattering. Pierce feared he might lose the use of his arm.
“He needs medical attention,” Emma announced, covering Itza-chu with a blanket. “See to him while I look for anything we can use in the chapel.”
She left without even looking at Pierce. He shrugged it off and began rummaging through the surgical area, which consisted of the wooden slab where Javier had operated on the Machine Man and the surgical tool table. There was an old book about human anatomy and oil-stained rags, but other than that, it wasn’t much of a laboratory, not like what Emma and Jaxton had described in the church.
He spotted a medical bag and lifted it up onto the table.
“Why were you working up here instead of down in your madhouse chapel?” Pierce asked Javier, who was sitting behind him.
Javier had said nothing since he’d regained consciousness. It actually surprised Pierce when he answered.
“My laboratory is my workshop where the bulk of the work is done. Up here, I do the fine-tuning.”
Pierce looked at him wordlessly.
“What I’ve created . . .” Javier went on, “. . . it’s unlike anything that has ever been attempted before. What I’ve been able to accomplish will reshape the entire world more than you can ever imagine.”
Pierce eyed him a moment. “That’s nice.” He looked inside the medical bag and found the bank loot. “Ah, brilliant!”
Leaving the satchel, he grabbed a clean towel by the washbasin and headed to the other side of the room. He went over to Itza-chu, who was lying on his back and breathing deeply while holding his bloody wound.
“All right, mate,” Pierce said, sitting down next to him. “Let’s have a look at you.”
Pierce pressed the towel gently to the wound. Wherever Itza-chu’s mind was, it wasn’t here. He didn’t notice Pierce’s presence until the pain snapped him awake. Itza-chu snatched him by the wrist.
“I told you,” he seethed angrily. “I told you we needed to stay together. Foolish white man, you nearly got us both killed!”
Pierce’s heart bottomed out and landed hard in his stomach. Guilt lodged in his windpipe and he almost choked.
“Get away from me!” He pushed Pierce away. “Leave me alone.”
Pierce didn’t argue, nor did he try to apologize.
“Keep the towel pressed on you, eh?” he advised, standing.
Itza-chu only eyed him while breathing deeply. He clutched the towel over his shoulder. Pierce took a seat at the writing desk and rested his elbow on it. He rubbed his forehead in utter misery.
Next to him was a copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s short story collection, Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. Pierce had read it when it was first published a few years ago. Curious, he opened the book to where it was bookmarked and read the title of one of stories. “The Man That was Used Up”—the story about a general who needed mechanical parts after suffering dismemberment while imprisoned.
Bloody hell, Pierce thought, picking up the book and looking over at Javier. Could this be where the cocker had gotten his ideas?
* * *
“You should stay here with us until morning,” Jaxton suggested to the prisoners he was releasing from the cages.
He had located the keys inside the scientist’s bedroom before rushing back to the church.
“We cannot stay here another moment, señor,” the man said, leaning against the doorframe for support.
It was painfully obvious how malnourished they were. They had been deprived of basic sanitation and smelled so horribly that Jaxton discreetly kept his distance.
“You’re weak and in need of food and water,” Jaxton pleaded as they began filing out the door. “And the desert can be dangerous at night. Stay, por favor.”
They turned a deaf ear and kept going. Whether it was arrogance or blinding fear, he didn’t know. Perhaps they had been through such trauma that they were simply unable to withstand being behind the walls of the mission any longer. Jaxton didn’t try to stop them. Instead, he stood in the doorw
ay as they left, carrying with them nothing more than a few lanterns. They vanished through the open rear gate. Shortly afterward, Emma entered.
“Itza-chu needs medical supplies,” she informed him, approaching the altar table. “Where did those people go?”
“They just left,” Jaxton explained, stepping over to an iron grid structure. “They wouldn’t even wait for me to give them food and water.”
He thought maybe she’d be concerned and chase after the poor souls to try and convince them to return.
“Huh,” she responded mildly. “Well, I hope they find their way home safely.”
She wasn’t in the least worried about the three people. Her mind was obviously on other matters. Jaxton decided to toss out his own concern.
“Blimey, can you believe what Javier has done?” He placed a hand on the cold metal body of the iron structure. “I mean, he actually turned living things into machines.”
Emma gathered everything she needed and put it all into the bag she carried. “I have Isopropyl alcohol, and needles and thread to sew up the worst of his wounds. I also found chloroform to subdue him while I do this. Itza-chu just might pull through.”
“Are you all right, darling?” he asked, noting her soft tone.
Her attention darted around the room.
“I think I want to do some exploring in here,” she admitted, handing the medical supplies over. “Would you mind taking this to Pierce and tell Itza-chu to breathe in the chloroform to put him at rest? I’ll be up there in a bit to tend to the wounds.”
Jaxton figured she wanted to be alone, and to have some time to collect herself now that things had calmed down.
Bounty Hunter Page 27
