by Zoë Archer
The men just kept watching him as the machine rolled forward. It was still folded up for travel, but when it reached its destination its teeth would deploy to eat through anything in its way. Giant saws, grinding wheels, and conveyer belts would stick out of the front, tearing apart a mountainside and drawing it inside the device. Then automated sifting would shake the debris, searching for gold or silver or whatever the mining company decided was valuable that day.
“We all got a job to do.” Tom’s patience was shrinking, crushed under the treads of the mining machine. “But you’re dealing with a Sergeant in the US Army Upland Rangers. I’m asking you a question and you’re obliged to answer me.”
The man moved and Tom nearly drew his Rattler. The first bullet would hit the Whisperer in the chest, if things came to that. But Tom’s reflexes were good enough to hold off shooting the man. The pinstriped man wasn’t going for his gun, he was merely pointing at a spot on the mining machine.
A brass plaque riveted to the side of the rolling monster read: Model IV. Crandall Mining Company. San Bernadino, California.
“Alright then, it’s someone else’s problem.” He kicked a lever on his charger, rising higher in the air. “Just wish your machine was as quiet as you dudes.”
The technological din was left behind. Tom was back in the quiet and calm of the sky. That’s right, he told himself. Let everyone else deal with the world’s problems. He’d been fighting fierce for months and it felt like the US had been holding its breath trying to resist the Hapsburg advance. Now was the time for a sigh of relief. Some brave sons of bitches had snuck deep into the enemy’s homeland and blown up a key munitions plant.
Those shock waves carried all the way to the Great Plains. One minute Tom was running belt after belt of ammo through his shoulder Gatling rifle, trying to pick off flying skiffs full of Hapsburg shock troops, the next minute the bad guys were circling their airships way behind their lines and trying to figure out what to do next.
“I know what I’m doing next.” He licked his lips as the landscape rolled far below him. Saying it out loud might make it real. “Chicken. Berry pie. A shade tree….” That was how he and Rosa would spend long summer days at a hidden spot at the bank of the river. Her kisses were always sweeter than any berry they found in the brambles.
Goddamn, it might be the worst idea to come back. He didn’t want to see her. A new life, married and happy and safe and secure with someone else. He had to see her, even if she hated him. There was only one bit of pleasure he’d known in this world and it was Rosa. The rest was hardship. His thirst returned. But being close to Rosa again without having her might be like drinking fire.
Tom had never seen this country from these heights. This was the territory he’d grown up in, but the land seemed so different: like a dream, knowing it’s right, but feeling something was wrong. He was lost, but knew where he was headed.
Keeping the distant shining ocean to his left, Tom rode north. The river flickered below him, a snake hidden in shadows. He crested a hill, then another. Homesteads appeared in the flats. And in a far clearing at the base of a tall mountain he saw Thornville.
Three years had pushed the town further into where the trees had stood. What had been one wide road was now two, a cross of buildings with boardwalks and even a clock tower. Houses were scattered around the town. There was more to this area than just farming and canning blackberries now. Maybe one of those houses was Rosa’s.
His mouth went dry. She was close. There were people out on the street, but he couldn’t identify them or know what they were up to from this distance. Could she see him high in the air?
Tom had left Thornville by riding away on the dusty trails. He returned in the air, a different man. But would Rosa know that?
He’d snuck out of town on a stolen horse. Coming back straight down the main street wasn’t right. Tom curled a wide arc around the approaching town, putting the silver sea to his back. The pines and scrub oak were still thick enough on the other side of the river to give him a nice private place to land.
He brought the charger down, leaves brushing against his thighs, and took the metal head right next to a thick tree. While the hovering craft was still four feet off the ground, he dismounted. The ground under his feet didn’t feel stable after all that time in the saddle. He took a few steps to loosen up, then pulled on the side lever of the charger, bringing it to the ground.
“Rest easy, girl. You deserve it.” He locked the Gatling rifle in its scabbard, then lifted the metal covering at the charger’s flank, exposing some of the inner workings. One flip of a switch and the tetrol engine stopped chugging. Tom reached deeper inside the body, to where the ether tanks glowed green through their glass ends. “Wish I could give you an apple.” Instead he yanked on the pins next to the ether tanks’ valves and slipped them into his shirt pocket.
The tanks stopped catalyzing ether and the charger rested completely on the dirt. Tom gave it one last pat on the side. Dry oak leaves crunched under his boots as he walked toward town. The smell of their dust took him back to being a boy, running through this land, trying to find tarantulas or deer bones. It wasn’t long after that he was sneaking around these parts searching for Rosa.
Tom pulled a plump blackberry from a thicket next to the river. It was sweet and only reminded him of her. The plant’s thorns barely scratched his toughened skin. Could he avoid Rosa’s thorns?
The old bridge with some new wood still spanned the narrow part of the river near town. Here it was, the last place he’d seen her. The running water tumbling over the rocks sounded like the echoes of him and Parker yelling at each other. Couldn’t have been the way Parker wanted his marriage proposal to Rosa to play out. The carpenter might’ve been expecting some tears of joy, not her storming off while Tom and Parker bloodied their knuckles on each other. But Tom had been freshly burned by her parents and didn’t take kindly to another man moving in so fast and asking for his girl’s hand. And taking on Parker was a fight he knew he could win.
Tom shook off the memories and stepped closer to the river. As he crossed the bridge and got closer to town, he realized that the echoes weren’t the lingering ghosts of his final clash with Parker and Rosa. The yelling was real. There was trouble in Thornville.
He picked up his pace, following the sounds of the conflict. Someone was getting punched and going down in a lot of pain. Others shouted encouragement. Tom certainly didn’t want in on a brawl, but even if everyone in town had forgotten his name, Thornville was still his home.
Ducking between a candy shop and a women’s dress store, Tom got his first look at the main street. Six or seven men stood in a wide ring around two fighters. One of them staggered on wobbly legs, trying to make fists. The other stood his ground, ready. Something flashed bright on his chest, making Tom blink away the bright streak. A tin star.
“Aw, hell,” Tom muttered. “Just the sheriff running some drunks out of town.”
The badge flashed again and Tom refocused his eyes on the sheriff.
It was Rosa.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
About The Author
Books by Zoë Archer
Warrior (The Blades of the Rose)
Skies of Fire: The Ether Chronicles
Night of Fire: The Ether Chronicles
ady X's Cowboy
