City of Steam (Blackburn Chronicles)

by Dominic K Alexander

  Peter wondered why the bug had not killed them yet. Then its eyes took on a green hue and he thought to himself, if the beetle could have smiled at him it would have. A burst of steam shot the mechanical menace up into the air and an explosion blew Peter and his father backwards and to the floor.

  Their bodies were riddled with holes. Peter could see his father in front of him with a blank expression holding the glowing coin which still spun and clicked merrily in his frozen hand. A wicked burn flowed through Peter’s body bring paralysis with it.

  The shadow of a figure stepped in front of Peter looking down at him. It reached down taking the coin into its gloved hand and watched it click open the final couple of locks. The masked assassin did nothing to stop the process and within seconds the gears froze into place and the gem exploded with blinding light.

  Success. Peter thought to himself as the light imploded into itself and the coin was gone. The figure looked at his empty hand, then down at Peter.

  “It’s just a flesh wound.” Peter mumbled to the figure. His body went cold and the room faded to black. The ringing in Peter’s ears from the explosion and the white-hot burn slowly subsided to a permanent silence.

  2.

  The hunter slowly stalked its prey. It knew she was no match for the powers running through its body. Watching the girl in the dark wooded area run for her life was much more amusing than simply taking the trophy and prematurely ending the game.

  Mac ran as fast as she could. The dark damp forest brought goose bumps over her body and was not a place she wanted to die. The thing was close and she could feel it coming for her. The sensation that it was always watching her and that she may not escape brought fear. I need to get free. She thought. The edge of the woods is close. Someone must be there to help. They must.

  The leaf covered soil beneath her feet seemed to move with her every step, helping her move faster and with more precision than she was used to. Each touch of her foot to the earth brought on the sensation of where the fallen logs and stumps within the path were, which may trip her up, and ultimately result in her death. Knowing exactly where everything was made maneuvering around them simple.

  I’m going to make it. She thought. A hundred more feet and I will be free of this nightmare.

  The hunter smiled and drew in the energy surrounding it. Leaves chilled and cracked with the absence of the energy keeping them warm. The forest became silent until the hunter released elemental magic into it.

  A warm sensation hit Mac hard in the back, and the ground began to shift and fight with her steps sending her off balance. Her ability to sense the forest floor disappeared and a tree root caught her foot sending her into a tumble. She hit the ground hard and her lungs gave way leaving her unable to take a breath.

  Must breathe. She thought. Can’t stop. So, close. She reached out for the forest edge after finally finding a breath of fresh air.

  The shrubbery quickly shifted and moved like vicious serpents attacking their helpless victim. She struggled to find footing and get free. Branches and limbs wrapped themselves around her arms and legs, scraping and cutting with their rough bark, and pulled her tightly back to the ground. The ground shook violently, cracking, before turning itself into a deep pit. They lifted and threw her back into the newly formed pit and she fell several feet to the bottom, knocking the wind out of her and adding a daze to her fear.

  Mac crawled to the ledge and dug her fingers into the crumbling dirt walls, but it was no use. Every time she dug in, the soil would release itself throwing her back to the ground. The air around her picked up speed before rushing down her throat and every time she opened her mouth to scream she choked on it.

  This is what it looks like from the bottom of a grave. She thought while curling up at one side of the pit and looking up for the thing hunting her. This is my grave. This is where I will die. Tears streaked her cheeks and low sobs escaped through the wind keeping her from screaming.

  The hunter stood at the edge of the pit looking down on the prize. It was a shadow to Mac as the mid day light shown through the trees behind it. There was no way for her to tell who this was or if it was even human. It stared. She waited.

  What is it? She thought. Who is it? Why is it after me? Mac could see what appeared to be tubes running over the leathery exterior of her executioner. It looked like some sort of breathing apparatus covered its face, but the blinding sun made it impossible to tell. She closed her eyes wishing her father was there to help. He always knew what to do when bad things happened. Her need for him to help resonated through her entire body.

  Minutes passed and the hunter just stood staring, waiting. What is it waiting for? She thought. She didn’t dare try to talk to it. Maybe it can't see me and it's waiting for a sound to attack. She thought, so she sat quietly hoping it would finally leave her.

  Leaves crunched under the pressure of someone else’s footsteps approaching in the distance. Mac jumped up letting out the loudest most piercing scream her 12-year-old body could muster and breaking the spell keeping her quiet.

  “Give me my daughter.” The threatening voice of her father came like an angel coming to smite Satan.

  The hunter waived a hand in Macs direction sending another whoosh of air at her, forcing its way down her throat, and stopping her from breathing. She flailed and gasped for a breath, but there was no hope. Trying to force the air to help, like her father had shown her many times, failed and her surroundings began to spin before the world went black.

  ****

  Mac sat bolt upright; a cold sweat ran down her forehead and plastered her shirt to her back. She swung her hands around feeling for the dirt and tree roots she had just been trapped by, but only found pillows and blankets in the comfort of her bed. Her heavy breathing slowed and she looked around the dimly lit room before coming to a realization and falling back to the wet patch of bed she had been laying on moments before. The sun peaked through the window casting a mellow glow across the studio apartment.

  It was the same nightmare she'd been having for years now and it always ended the same way. She would black out and wake up confused and laying in a puddle of sweat that was so expansive, it made her think she had been working in a steel factory. A normal person would have likely lost their mind by now. Mac was anything but normal, even if she didn't know why.

  She liked to think the nightmare was nothing more than a dream held onto by a damaged childhood, but it was so much more. The dirt was cold when she dug her hands into it trying to escape. She felt the familiar sting of it again every time the dreams came. The memory of her father coming to her rescue was burned into the very part of the brain causing the nightmares. She even fabricated the use of magic to compensate for her lack of fight. The screams of a young girl being silenced by this made up deathly magic was something that could only leave a permanent mark on the soul of a child. As much as she wanted to claim the dreams as dreams, she knew they were the truth. They had to be. They were the memories of the day her father disappeared and if they weren't true, then where was he?

  As the room brightened and consciousness kicked in, the clock glared at her with bright red eyes. 5:23am she mumbled before grabbing the pillow sitting next to her and throwing it in the direction of the clock. The demon fell to the floor slain, and Mac rolled over glad to be rid of it. Her stuffed zombie doll, Simon, sat calmly, looking at her, and silently reminding her it was about time for the shop to open and for her day to begin.

  “I’m beginning to think you are unwelcome in my bed, Simon.” He just stared “Fine, I’m getting up.” She rolled over, misjudged the amount of room to the edge of the bed and hit the floor with a hard thud. “This day could not get any worse.” If Simon had the ability to smile, he would have.

  After taking a quick shower, Mac stared at the long strip of gray hair within the rest of her red hair and wondered if these nightmares contributed to its existence. Putting the thought out of her head she rummaged through a pile of unfolded laundry to find her
favorite batman briefs and random black bra which she covered with khaki cargo pants and a wife beater shirt. Being her own boss afforded her the right to wear whatever she wanted to work, even if it wasn’t customer friendly. After finishing off a cup of coffee and bowl of frosted flakes, she slid her holster, which housed her Glock 19 9mm handgun, into the back of her pants, grabbed Simon off the bed and headed out the door.

  There had been a slew of violent crimes in the neighborhood lately and a neighbor recommended she take a gun safety course and keep protected since she was alone at the shop more often than not. Remembering her past and knowing how run down the town was, she took the advice to heart. After the weeks, had passed, she felt naked if the gun wasn’t sitting comfortably against her back. When the dreams were particularly bad she would go to the range and fire off a few rounds for stress relief. It had been the only thing to make her feel safe since her father left and her uncle had passed away.

  Her walk to work was a short one. The bookstore she owned, Books and Brooms, was directly below her apartment. It was an obscure store which was small, but specialized in rare arcane books which made it popular. Her customers were more of an odd sort who dabbled in all sorts of magic. Though Mac didn’t believe in magic, the store was a family business run by her grandfather, father, uncle, and now her. Most of the customers were crazy in her eyes, but she was more than happy to be her own boss, and with internet sales bringing in a great deal of money, she could live very comfortably.

  Mac placed Simon next to the cash register for protection, unlocked the old rusty lock on the front door, and hung up the open sign. After saying hello to Fred, she headed to the back of the store to fill internet orders. Fred always made her smile. He was an old cadaver skeleton with a pair of white plastic fangs and a copy of The Vampyre in his hands. Since he did no complaining and was an avid listener Mac considered him her best friend. He simply sat all day in an antique red velvet chair and ignored the customers while reading his book. What more could a woman want?

  The morning went by quickly. She could fill all the internet orders and get them picked up by the post man before having time to sit back and read a book of her own. A young punk rock girl, who worked at the sandwich shop next door, enjoyed hanging out in the shop on her break, had made a compelling argument for Mac to read a biker romance novel whose main character was named Two, or something of that nature, so she lent Mac the book. The warning on the back was all Mac needed to want to dig right in. Ignoring everything else she could be doing she opened the book and started reading while waiting for her daily lunch order to show up.

  The day was slower than usual and as mid day approached the bell on the front door rang breaking the silence. Mac thought it was her cheese burger and fries, but when she looked up all she saw was the tails of a dirty brown trench coat disappearing back out the door.

  “Well, Fred, it looks like you scared off another customer.” She said. “I wish you would keep your fangs to yourself.” Fred ignored her and continued to eternally read his book.

  Tracking the trail of snow left by the lost customer Mac noticed a small parcel sitting on the floor by the front door. The post man seems to get worse and worse every day. He didn’t even check to see if there were any packages to pick up. She thought.

  Slamming the book closed in annoyance she set it on the counter, made her way to the package, and picked it up. I am so calling to complain about this horrible service.

  The package was loosely wrapped in old brown paper and tied closed with frayed twine. Mackenzie Blackburn was scribed in old penmanship across the top. Holding the box closer to examine it she noticed a faint ticking sound coming from the contents.

  Thinking it was far too small to be a bomb she pulled the string and the paper easily pulled away with it. A watch maybe? She thought. The small wooden antique box was beautifully carved with pictures of what looked like gears and fabulous sparkling gems. The ticking sped up.

  Looking for a latch to open the box Mac found a yellowed piece of paper protruding from the box’s side. With a gentle pull the paper slipped free and the box clicked freeing the lid. Looking at the paper revealed two simple words.

  Look Up

  With a confused look on her face Mac followed the mysterious notes instructions. Standing in the doorway was a large figure dressed in a tattered brown robe staring with two dark red eyes. A fog seemed to escape from beneath the hood which concealed its face. Before she was able to react, the figure leapt forward and threw its arm out backhanding her. Her attacker hit like it was holding a brick and the blow sent Mac through the air and into one of the bookshelf racks knocking it to the ground and spilling the contents. The box she had been holding fell to the floor, opened, and a glowing blue object fell from it, which rolled away from her and came to rest not far from her assailant. The beasts red eyes fixed on the object and he moved slowly towards it.

  Mac lay in the pile of books and broken book shelf pieces dazed, vision blurred, and confused with what was happening. Tears spilled from her eyes and anger forced its way out from a dark place within her. She wiped her hands across her face trying to clearing her vision, but pain from the impact of her body hitting the bookshelves grasped her tight and she buckled over into a ball. The hurt ran up and down her unrelentingly. Her nightmare came back to her instinctually. I need to get free. She thought. I have to move. It’s coming to kill me. I need to stop this. I need help.

  Mac's breathing slowed and the pain began to dull as adrenaline flowed, bringing hope to a hopeless situation. Wiping the tears from her eyes a second time allowed her to finally regain some of her vision and see where her attacker was. It stood a short distance away looking down with eerie silence. Mac moved slowly and carefully from the rubble looking for the best way to get away before noticing what her attacker was looking at. The object from the box sat at his feet glowing, clicking, and spinning gently. Defiance began to wash over Mac and she didn’t know why he was willing to hurt her for this object, but she would be damned to let him win.

  The robed figure finally decided to act and reached down to pick up the object. As his long, thin fingers bushed up against the coin, Mac’s body slammed hard into him knocking them both into another set of bookshelves. Shattered wood and dusty copies of books flew across the shop as Mac rolled away and stood in one swift motion. The impact felt like she just tried to tackle a Pepsi machine and more pain welled up inside her, but she was not willing to become his victim.

  “Come at me.” Mac screamed, voice shaking, fists clenched, and tears rolling down her cheeks.

  The beast slowly rose, eyes fixed on Mac. He pulled the robe away from his tin man figure and chills ran over Mac’s beaten body making her cringe. He wasn’t a man at all, but a machine of some sort with a metal body covered in rust patches and gears attached to his joints. The gears spun and whirred with every move of his limbs, and a small smoke stack protruding from the top of his thin metal head had steam gently pouring from it. There was no mouth, no nose, just glowing red eyes pressed deep into its head. The dents and bloody stains covering him proved he was used to combat and was willing to kill Mac without blinking twice about it; if he could blink at all.

  Mac couldn’t believe what she was looking at. She felt like she was in a Transformers movie. As far as she was aware technology like this simply didn't exist. This monster was not only able to interact with its surroundings, but could think freely, or at least fight freely. Mac stared in disbelief. Why is this thing after me? She thought. The mechanical monster stared, waiting for her attack, and sizing up its prey. She would not wait for it to attack her again and obliged it by reaching quickly behind her back and gripped the Glock still housed in her waistband.

  The gun pulled flawlessly from the holster and without thinking Mac pointed the gun at her attacker and squeezed the trigger twice. The gun responded with loud cracks breaking the silence. The first bullet glanced off the side of the machines head and hit the wall behind it. The second bullet hit
home hard.

  A defiant scream burst forth from the machine as steam exploded out of the freshly made hole in the mouth area of its head. Mac jumped away from the scalding steam and flailing arms of the panicked machine. She started for the door before she remembered the object it had come for and turned back to where she had seen it last. The object seemed to draw her to it as if she had longed for this object her whole life.

  Mac ran full speed to the object, which was spinning much more violently than it had been. She reached down and gripped it before turning to flee. A large metal hand wrapped around her throat, lifted her off the ground, and squeezed tightly cutting off her air flow and attempted to crush every bone in her neck. Panicking, she fired off several more rounds into the abdomen of the monster. Steam burst out with every shot, blistering the skin exposed by her loose-fitting shirt, and loosening the grip of this monster slightly. She reached back finding Simon on the counter and used him to buffer the steam from hitting her.

  Mac gasped for air unsuccessfully. Shallow chokes came from her lips and the room spun as dizziness set in. Seconds passed and she knew all hope was lost. This thing was about to kill her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her nightmare sat in the back of her head replaying itself. The cold muddy hole, her father’s voice, and blackness were now more than just a dream. She gave in to the pain and waited for her eminent death.

  As the object in her hand began to slip away there was a final click and an explosion of bright blue light from its center. Cold filled the air and a gust of wind blew outward from it. The machine released Mac in startled surprise and looked down at the object which no longer glowed, then at Mac who lay in a ball on the ground and was slowly pushing away from him.

  Her attacker stood still, surveying the forest which now surrounded them. The sparse amounts of light created eerie shadows all around them. Mac lay on the cold earth, leaves buffering her from the dirt below, and gasped for air through her injured windpipe. After several seconds the machine reached towards Mac trying to reacquire her. She pushed back hard and the leaves slid fluidly under her, sending her body several feet away from him, and stopping him from getting a hold of her.