Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles)

by Silverwood, Cari

  “Idiots,” she whispered. “What are they doing here? If Art of War is taken over by zombies don’t they know they’re in too close as well?”

  “See, now you’re thinking right. And yeah, they’re fools. Guess this exclusion zone needs to be bigger. The zomb plague’s expanding.”

  “Yes.” Irritated, yet knowing she needed to appeal to him, she shot a fiery stare at her captor. “I need to be up there. Please. If I’m immune, well, sort of, I may be able to help.”

  “No! Look.” He pointed. “Big problems.” One by one, the gyrocopters wobbled in flight. One tipped and spun groundward, upside down and screaming with the sound of overwrought metal. A whump and a puff of smoke told when it hit.

  Blinking with unshed tears, she watched all the gyros fall from the sky and the airships slowly close in, bump against each other, then go wandering across the sky on divergent paths like lost bloated sheep. Dark objects fell from them.

  “No one up there’s steering them anymore,” Sten murmured.

  While he looked skyward, whipping out a telescope for a closer view, she screwed her hand around, seeking the handle just below her seat—not standard on most gyros and so Sten likely wouldn’t know. At full stretch, her fingertips touched the knob down there. The rope on her wrists pulled painfully at her skin, but she could do it. Once in the air, she’d try again. Maybe she could surprise him. Maybe not. Though a hand of iron seemed to clamp on her chest and sent her heart pounding loud in her temples, she knew she had to do this. Running away was not an option.

  Sten stepped into the pilot’s seat in front of her and flicked on the voltaic ignition switch. He strapped his wolf in with a body harness. The whine and roar from the engine behind Kaysana told of the preburst ignition of the coal. As the pressure built, the floor under her bare feet vibrated.

  “Going up,” yelled Sten, slipping goggles over his eyes—plain brown leather and brass like the ones he’d given her.

  That he’d bothered putting a pair on her was, she admitted, nice of him. The man had some good points. Going back for more men was a waste of time. But…weighing up what he’d said, again, he was partly right too. Sorrow dipped her heart in ice. Art of War was gone, and the men and women on her. Where did that leave her? Going back was wrong too.

  Ha. She puffed out her cheeks. Leaves me still tied to this blasted seat.

  Least they could—well, she could—try to find out for sure if the mission was hopeless before giving in. The info from HQ had raised hopes. There might be an easy way to destroy this disease, and every extra day, every extra hour this took, the higher the death toll.

  Purring, chugging, the scout gyrocopter rose into the sky, leaving behind the grove of tall, spreading trees that enclosed the clearing. At about one hundred feet, he leveled off, then steered around to head west. Every second took her farther from the mission objective.

  Worming her hand down close enough took five minutes. Unscrewing the safety cap took another five. By then pain throbbed up her arm and she could barely feel her fingers. She craned her neck to check out the ground. Treetops blurred past, but coming up fast was cleared farmland. She’d never get away from him there. Time to go. She pressed the button, heard the bang as the charges set off, shearing the securing bolts and the ropes. Then the whole seat shunted sideways, tumbling in the air, free. Missed the blades, thank the gods.

  Suddenly only one strap held her to the seat—a seat that was diving groundward. Silence. Just the tearing wind. Hair whipped her face. The gyro sped on without her. Yank. The parachute blossomed. She grabbed at the seat’s edge and hung on.

  One second, two. Going too fast, too low. With a jerk and a crackle of branches, the seat hit the trees, caught, and fell again. Leaves, branches tore past—a blur of green. Something scratched a long line down one arm.

  With a thump that jolted everything sideways, the seat stopped, slowly tilted, and toppled over onto sloping ground. Wet earth and leaves skidded past. Her hair cushioned her skin.

  She went to rise, only to find her arms still bound to her sides. The ropes around the seat were gone but not the loop that went around her waist, connecting both her wrists.

  “Ji ba! Ahh!” She ground her teeth for a few seconds before her anger subsided.

  With a lot of wriggling, she managed to sit up, then stand. The bastard tied these well. She’d just have to find a way to cut herself loose. The goggles on her face would have to stay. If she tried knocking them off and they caught, she might end up half-blinded.

  After trying for five minutes to undo or cut the ropes using projections on the seat and then some branches, she gave up.

  South. The gyro couldn’t land here, and if he came after her, he’d have to find her first. She aimed to make that damn hard to do and started marching where south should be.

  Even with my hands tied, I—Shit! A branch scored her ankle. While hopping to relieve the pain, she almost fell. Panting, she found that calm spot in her thoughts and went on.

  When about half an hour had passed without Sten appearing on her trail, and she could only hear her crunching steps in the leaf mulch, she relaxed. Her feet hurt, her hands felt like someone had pumped them full of blood, but she was free and alive. Maybe Sten would forget her.

  Once the forest ended she’d stand a fair chance of finding a farm or a village where she’d be safe. Make a plan. Find a telegraph office. Get updated info. Then decide the next step. And right now—keep going. Plod onward.

  The forest surrounded her, trees like bars against the sun, letting in a few glints and spears of light—cracks in the fabric of this murky green and brown landscape.

  Sten swore when the bang cracked the air, making metal sing. The gyrocopter lurched. Something had hit the blades above.

  Kaysana? A glance sideways told the story and made his heart seize up.

  Still strapped to the chair, hair torn by the wind, Kaysana free-fell down into the forest. A chute puffed out. Then she vanished, swallowed by the trees. One last sway of foliage and she might never have existed.

  A chute? This was deliberate. The woman was freakily determined.

  “Damn!” The controls wobbled under his hands. The gyro shook, making his teeth rattle. Even his eyeballs seemed to vibrate. The world became a blurred mess.

  “What-t-t-t has that-t-t sneaky woman done? Hang o-o-n, Cadrach!” The wolf cowered.

  By applying all his strength, he wrestled the craft around in a staggered circle, back toward the forest. “Down! Down, you cantankerous bit of half-assed machinery.”

  Twenty feet, ten…thump, clang, and crumple—the gyro hit dirt, spun in a half circle, and coughed to a sizzling, hissing halt.

  He freed Cadrach, then climbed out. After dragging the goggles from his head, he stood there, whistling and thinking while dubiously eyeing the edge of the forest that waited, two hundred yards away. The wolf peered up and circled his legs.

  Could she be alive? Injuries were possible though the seat should protect her on the way down. Of all the stupid ways to try escaping… Like a kettle about to boil, he felt the anger fume inside him, and closed his eyes. Calm. Serenity. Then the image of her broken and bleeding flashed to him. Anger and a tinge of worry bubbled up.

  No. Calm. He conjured up a blue stretch of still, cool water rolling endlessly toward a far, far distant shore. He exhaled, inhaled. No anger remained, just a set-in-fuckin’-concrete determination to make sure she didn’t do this again.

  The gyro burped a cloud of steam and black smoke.

  “Stay, machine. Do not explode yet. I need some bits and pieces.”

  The bolts on her seat had sheared away neatly. Deliberate for sure. Maybe she was dazed or something? Must be some good reason for her lunacy.

  “’Kay. Need to get a move on. Think you can find her, boy?” If anyone could, it’d be Cadrach. He bent, gave the beast a sniff of a nipple clamp. “Go find!” The wolf galloped off toward the tree line.

  Shotgun, sword, and haversack all recov
ered, sheathed, and strapped, he set off jogging after Cadrach.

  Seemed the lady was more crazy or strong-minded than he’d reckoned on. If…when he caught her again, assuming she was in one piece—he shoved away the other, nastier possibilities—he needed to figure out what to do. Such stubbornness rivaled his own. She’d only do this again. He’d take bets on it. Though—he grinned—anyone who’d blow themselves out of a gyrocopter while a hundred feet up, all in the name of going back to rescue your crew…well that deserved some kind of reward. What kind? Hmm. Something devious. Medals and pats on the back might only encourage her.

  At that thought, an image of Kaysana’s rounded behind came to mind. The idea of his hand connecting with her ass seemed mighty attractive all of a sudden.

  Something about this seemed off, as if maybe he liked her way more than he should. Sten fiddled with the strap of the haversack where it ran across his shoulder, hoisted it higher. Could this zomb thing be affecting him still? He rummaged through his memories—he’d always thought her damn sexy.

  Hell. What did it matter? As long as he didn’t break his own rules. As long as she was uninjured. He muttered a prayer under his breath. As long as whatever they did together was what they both wanted. Oh my God, I’m thinking of sex again. With her. Hard not to think of it. Impossible even. He gave in and let his imagination occupy him as he jogged. The feel of her body under his. My my my—unforgettable indeedy.

  He increased his pace. The grass crunched underfoot, his breaths rasped in his ears, yet over the noise, he heard something running up from behind. Ice tiptoed up his spine.

  Heavy footsteps.

  Whatever it is, it’s here.

  He dived forward, somersaulted, and swung around onto his knee while drawing the shotgun. The thing—a man with orange fire searing from his eye sockets, lunged for him with arms outstretched and yellow sparks dripping from his fingers.

  Yank once on the trigger.

  Blam.

  The fiery man sat down backward and tumbled, headless, to the earth. Grass crackled as fire caught here and there.

  Barrel trained on the twitching corpse, Sten approached, taking each step with care. The slightly shredded head rested a few feet from the body. The orange in the eyes faded and went to black. Stomping on the strange yellow fires put them out, though gray tendrils wavered lazily skyward. The acrid smoke hurt his nostrils, so he backed away, sneezed.

  With his telescope, he’d watched this zomb fall from the airship. Even at a distance the orange eyes had glared like pinpoint suns. Hadn’t told Kaysana—figured either the man was dead from the fall or sort of not dead. Fuck. Whichever. Another überzomb thingo, and it had been tracking them.

  He didn’t owe the world a lot. But then again, if it all blew up around him, a heap of people, including Kaysana, would suffer. And that didn’t sit well with him. Neither did letting her go off to solve this by herself. She’d die alone. Scratch one trip back to base for reinforcements.

  This might be the only burning zomb around, but it also might not be. Murphy had made up a law about bad things like this happening. And the bad things always trumped the good ones.

  People and all their bullshit dealings might not be his thing, but that didn’t mean he hated everyone. He was kind of attached to most of the stuff in this universe. Trees, animals, free thought…yeah, especially the freedom.

  He blew out his cheeks. What am I going to do? Think I may have pissed her off a tad. If I just offer to help, will she kick me in the balls when I’m not looking?

  Without him thinking, his right hand curled tight. The tendons on his wrist stood up.

  Let it out, man. Breathe.

  Kicking her back would be bad karma. ’Sides, there were so many more interesting things he could do to her.

  He checked the shotgun, reloaded, spun the barrels for luck. “Where are you, lady?”

  Chapter Five

  The goggles hampered her peripheral vision. Was something out there? Whatever it was, it wasn’t Sten. This thing moved fast and low. A wolf? His maybe? For a few seconds, the air seemed to echo with beastly sounds—the soft in and out of something breathing. Leaves crackled under heavy paws. Her blood chilled.

  Then…gone. Imagined? She had no clue. Perhaps the forest played tricks with her mind. She waited, swaying, sweat popping out on her brow that she couldn’t wipe off.

  Was it stalking her or just curious? Her heart beat like a maddened clock—way too fast when fear got the better of her. I’m an air fleet captain. I thrive on adversity. Still, it wore her down.

  As the light faded and the sky glimpsed through the treetops turned purplish orange, another regular crunching came to her ears, grew louder, traveling faster than she could, maybe jogging even—a human, a man from the heaviness. Sten?

  She halted, crouched, hiding where a tree and saplings grew near each other in a six-foot radius and ferns had sprung up, several feet high. Her bruised thighs cramped in protest, but she bit her lip and stifled a gasp.

  The creature was there too, same side but farther ahead. It turned toward her, came closer. Eyes gleamed in the half dark.

  Don’t panic.

  Decision time. Reveal herself to the man, who might be Sten, or stay silent and hope the animal didn’t attack. Of course, if this was Sten, the creature would surely be his wolf?

  But I don’t know it’s him, and I’m tied up and half-naked…and he’ll probably drag me back to base. She squeezed shut her eyes and calmed her breathing. Steady, no panicking. From the small noises the creature came nearer. Ten…fifteen feet away.

  No. I will not shout. No.

  The man’s footsteps seemed closer too. The animal stopped. Through the fine spray of a fern leaf, past some tree trunks, she could see the thing—a dark mass sitting on its haunches, like some ancient rock sculpture. Barely, just barely, she could see it breathe. A thick animal scent sifted through the pungent odors of earth and decaying leaf. The man stood rock still fifteen feet to the right. Definitely a man.

  Could he hear her? She clamped shut her mouth. Her heartbeats sounded loud as a drum. Leaves crackled under his foot, and now she smelled him too. Sweat, oil, leather, and a heavy, carnal scent. A big man. Unmistakable. Damn, it is him.

  Maybe the animal will run off if I wait, and then Sten might follow it? He doesn’t know I’m here. Her thighs trembled. She clenched, unclenched her fists where they were bound to her sides. Seeing through the goggles in the low light of dusk made everything sepia and foglike—ethereal.

  “I know you’re there, Kaysana.”

  The words struck like a spear through her middle.

  Disbelief gripped her. But she bit her lip, stayed quiet. So embarrassing being tracked down like this. He can’t see me. Can he?

  “I’ll count to ten. Then I’ll come in there and get you. Then I’m going to put you over my knee and spank your ass until it’s bright red. I just half crashed that gyro in my rush to get to where you fell. Thought you’d be dead or injured going straight down through those trees. Come out!”

  She shut her eyes. Stand up and be humiliated or stay here and be humiliated even more?

  Slowly she stood. Sten was a dark silhouette in front of her.

  “You touch me, you piece of excrement, and I’ll have you up on charges, so fast.”

  “What? Here and now? Doubt it. ’Sides, you need me. Come here.”

  She firmed her lips, wormed her way through the ferns, then trudged over to him.

  The creature stayed where it sat.

  She halted a yard from him, nudged her chin toward the shadow-clad beast. “What is that? Your pet wolf?”

  “Cadrach? Good at tracking, isn’t he? I wouldn’t annoy him—he’s got big teeth.” Sten rubbed his jaw.

  Was he grinning? Oh, she hated this, surrendering to him. She’d tell him to ri ni ma, except he probably…certainly didn’t have a mother.

  This time he was fully armed—a shotgun butt jutted above his right shoulder. A sword hung
from his belt. His hair stuck up even messier than before. In the low light, a smudge of black across his cheek might be oil or old blood. Had the gyro come down that badly? She felt a twinge of guilt.

  “Fucking miracle,” he said in amazement. “How’d you survive without breaking something? Preferably that nasty mouth.” He stepped close, then went around her, checking the ropes, feeling up and down her limbs, undoing and slipping off the goggles, taking it slow when some of her hair caught in the strap.

  He went behind her. His hand, warm and calloused and big, settled around her throat. The fingers almost touched. She swallowed, felt how close he gripped her, and shuddered. Heat rolled through her body.

  “Yes,” he murmured, speaking an inch from her ear. “I’ve got you now. Gods, you tempt me.” His body moved in close. Cloth whispered as his shirt brushed against her bustier. Her butt was naked, though, and only his trousers separated her skin from his and her bottom from the length of his cock nestling between her cheeks.

  Her breaths turned ragged.

  “I hear you, Kaysana.” His tongue licked across her earlobe, light, ephemeral. A frisson skittered down to her stomach.

  Anger squirmed into being, twisted like a knife—that her own self, her own body, betrayed her. She steadied, sucked in a tremulous breath.

  “I may have lost the Art of War, but I have a mission to do, Sten. Someone has to get to Perihelion and shut down this device. If what happened on my ship isn’t enough to impress on you how important this is, you’re even dumber than I thought. I’ll go on alone if I have to. Someone with some guts has to do this!” She stamped her foot, aiming to crunch her heel onto his.