by Jack Conner
THE ATOMIC SEA:
VOLUME FOUR
THE TWILIGHT CITY
by Jack Conner
Copyright 2015
All rights reserved
Cover image used with permission
FROM THE AUTHOR:
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The World of the Atomic Sea
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Chapter 1
Blood ran across the floor. It soaked Hildra’s clothes. Avery’s medical kit had included gloves but no apron, and he felt warm wetness seep into his shirt and pants, even stick his chest hairs together. He ignored it as he ignored the rattling of the subway car all around him.
First he sedated her, then pumped out the blood as best he could, using the hose that had come with the kit and sucking one end—careful not to ingest too much of the upwelling blood—then sewed up the damage to the rear of the lung. The bullet had lodged in a rib near her spine. Avery ignored the bullet for the moment and concentrated on the lung, patching first one hole and then the other. Still tasting the coppery tang of Hildra’s blood on his lips, he administered liberal doses of an alchemical salve, Octunggen, that would speed healing of the busy organ. It was a type of alchemical healing agent more sophisticated than any he’d had access to before, and he knew that without the marvelous technology and alchemy of Octung Hildra would be doomed. The lung seen to, he removed the bullet and closed up the wound.
Exhausted, he slumped against one of the benches and drew in great gulping breaths. Blood drizzled down his arms and trickled across the floor. He was too tired to rip the gloves off.
He became aware of Layanna sitting on a bench not far away, looking at him, then Hildra, then back to him.
“How is she?”
“It all depends on how soon that healing agent works,” he said. “Too slow and her wounds will reopen and she’ll drown in her own blood.” Just like Paul.
“We need her alive.”
“I know.”
“That’s ... not what I meant. I meant. You’re going to think this is cold-blooded, but it’s not: she’s the only one of us that studied the maps. She knows our route. We don’t. Without her we’re flying blind.”
“But ... if she studied the maps, then shouldn’t we have them?”
Layanna sighed. “They’re in Sheridan’s train. She has everything. The maps, the tools, everything.”
“Tools?”
“She took the lead train, the one Sygrel and a team of Sivusts was supposed to drive. They were to go ahead, clear any obstacles from the tracks, make sure of our route, and generally pave the way for us R’loth here in the rear train. Only priests and sacrifices would have attended us back here.”
That painted a rather grisly image for Avery, and he tried to resist the flash of repulsion, but it came anyway.
She must have seen it, as her face grew sad.
He rose, stripped off his gloves, washed as best he could and donned a new pair of clothes. There were clothes, at least. Janx, Hildra and the other workers had installed various supplies in both trains to be ready for departure at a moment’s notice. Each train was composed of a forward engine compartment, followed by a flat-bed for coal, and at least one rear passenger car. This train had two passenger cars; the forward one meant for priests and sacrifices, the rear for gods. Currently Janx occupied the engine by himself. Through several sets of grimy windows and between stacks of coal, Avery could vaguely see his broad shoulders through the windows, silhouetted against the dials and levers of the controls. Tension affected the big man’s posture, making his muscles tight.
Quietly, Avery said, “Is he mad at me?”
Layanna said nothing for a moment. The train rattled and squealed as Janx took a turn faster than the train wanted to go. Avery knew it was the whaler’s rage that drove them on as much as wheels and fire. It was almost like a physical force, Janx’s wrath, hurling them on through the darkness.
At last Layanna nodded, just once. “Wouldn’t you be?”
Avery opened his mouth to reply, then closed it.
“Mainly he’s mad at Sheridan, though,” Layanna consoled him. “As he should be. She’s the one that shot Hildra.”
“But it’s because of me that Sheridan was there to do it. Sheridan just acted according to her loyalties ... whatever they are.”
Layanna didn’t bother with false denials. “You’re a father. You did what you felt you had to. I understand that if Janx doesn’t. Just give him time.” She indicated Hildra. “And hope she makes it. Without her we’ll never catch up to Sheridan.”
He nodded glumly. “At least we’re after her—and she knows it.”
Indeed, while he’d been operating on Hildra, he’d heard muted shots up ahead and seen bullets punch through the glass of the engine compartment. Distantly up the tracks he’d seen Sheridan’s train, or its lights. She had obviously hoped to hit Janx, but the distance and speed were too great for even her marksmanship to overcome. Since then, however, her train had pulled ahead and was now completely out of sight.
“She won’t dare stop with us after her,” Avery said. “There’s no way she can hand the Device over to her superiors or even call for help.”
“True. But if we get lost down here ...”
Avery’s gaze moved to Hildra. She slept on, her chest rising and falling, rising and falling, putting a strain on her sutures with every breath.
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
Silence stretched between them, and he was aware of something very awkward there. Ignore it, he thought. He was afraid of what might spill out if they didn’t.
“It ... was the only way, Francis,” she said.
He knew what she was talking about without her having to say it. He didn’t reply.
“And you know I only accepted the sacrifices when necessary,” she continued. “I’m sorry for lying to you, but ... it was necessary.” She downed a deep breath, and he could see the strain in her. “Most of the sacrifices were for the others, to keep them alive however long they could. I only accepted a few ... here and there.”
“Only a few murders. Well, then. Why didn’t you say so? I suppose that’s all right, then.”
She looked as though she’d been slapped, and her eyes grew moist. When she spoke, her voice sounded fragile. “Can you forgive me?”
“Layanna, please. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I think we need to.”
“No,” he said. “We don’t.”
“Francis, you have to understand—”
“No, you have to understand. I can’t love a monster.” He grimaced and wished he could bite the words back, but it was too late.
She stared at him for a long moment. He thought she was going to slap him, or storm out, or something, and he found himself almost wishing she would, but then she said, strangely subdued, “Did I ever tell you—I have a family?”
He blinked at this change in topic. “You mean, parents?”
“Yes, of
course I had parents, though they were very different from anything you would be familiar with, but that’s not what I meant. I meant once, and recently, I had a human husband. I had a son. A child, Francis. On this world.”
He sat down. “A child,” he repeated.
She nodded. A tear spilled down from one eye but she didn’t seem to notice. “I’m the mother of a human. I also have R’loth children, or did—they’re all gone now—and, once, a R’loth husband. But that’s a different story.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “I let them go, though, my human family. They’re lost to me. I forfeited my family for a greater cause. I won’t bore you with the details. The point is they’re gone now—to me. I loved them very much and it was like losing part of myself to lose them. And yet I did, for the sake of stopping the destruction of this world.” Watching him steadily, she said, “I’m used to sacrifice, Francis. I live and breathe it. When others partake of it to keep me going, I understand why they do it, where they’re coming from. I respect it. And I’m grateful. Does that make me a monster?”
He didn’t answer.
Angry now, she wiped the tears from her face, stood and brushed past him, moving into the next compartment, leaving him alone with Hildra and the grinding of the train.
* * *
He dreamed of Golna in flames. He dreamed of the people he had come to know over the last few days being mowed down and slaughtered by the agents of the Collossum. Torn apart and devoured by Uthua. In his dreams, even as they died, the people would point their fingers at him accusingly. It was you. It was you.
When he awoke he had Hildra as a living accusation, constantly reminding him that he had brought misery and death to many, all because he had wanted to save his daughter. Layanna said she understood, but sometimes he thought he saw the glimmer of accusation in her eyes, too. After all, she had lost her last remaining R’loth friends because of him, friends that she had literally known for ages.
And then of course there was Janx. Janx brooded and worried over Hildra when he wasn’t hurling them forward down the tracks, but he rarely spoke lest to convey some bit of business.
Avery tried to talk to him. Sometimes he would approach the big man and attempt to apologize. Janx would merely turn his glare on him, and the words would die in Avery’s throat. I’m sorry, he thought, over and over again. But he could not say the words. Part of him was afraid of what would happen if he did. If he admitted his guilt to Janx, if he confessed, Janx might hate him all the more. What had only been suspected and thought before would now be concrete reality. Could a person make something more real by saying it? Avery feared he could.
Almost as bad was the awkwardness he and Layanna felt around each other. They no longer embraced, or kissed, or even talked with each other for long, let alone make love. Avery supposed that whatever had been between them was broken. Still, he saw pain in her eyes whenever she glanced at him and knew she didn’t want it that way. But there was no way he could see to heal the damage, and honestly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. She was a monster. She had said it herself; to her, he was food. How could he be with someone like that? How could he sleep with her? It wasn’t her fault, though, and really he didn’t blame her. It’s not what she’d done, it’s simply what she was.
It all would have been even more unbearable were it not for the generous amounts of liquors stashed on the train. This had been meant as the transportation for gods, and it had come handsomely supplied. Avery passed his days in a fog that deepened after every night of dreams, after every accusing look and lingering silence. He only kept himself from giving into the fog completely because of Hildra. He had to remain within reach of at least some sobriety for her.
Over the coming days she improved. She did not leap to her feet and do a jig about the train, but she was able to breathe without pain, even sit up and eventually, to the delight of Janx, engage in conversation for brief periods. The first time she spoke, Janx could barely bring himself to speak in return he was so moved.
She was far from out of the proverbial woods, though. At any moment her sutures could rupture and drown her in her own blood. Avery injected her several times a day with mixtures of alchemical healing agents that he had to prepare on the spot, and he lived in fear that he would run out.
Meanwhile, the train rattled on through the darkness. The days passed—at least, Avery supposed they did. He could tell no difference between night and day, but he was becoming used to that. He imagined himself finally emerging from the depths like a mole, blinking in the sunlight. Sheridan, presumably, raced ahead with her lighter train. They never saw her after that first day, and privately Avery feared that she had found a way to leave the subway system and deliver the Device to her superiors. Layanna assured him this wasn’t the case.
“The path remains open,” she said, not looking at him. “Sheridan must be ahead of us clearing the way.” Avery knew that Sheridan’s car was stuffed with tools to defeat any obstacles across the tracks. “If she weren’t still ahead of us,” Layanna added, “we would have gotten blocked by now.”
They had gotten blocked several times, of course. But each time they would simply backtrack till they hit the fork they had taken wrong, and choose the other way this time. The other way would be clear, which meant Sheridan must still be ahead. With her maps, Sheridan would not have this problem, though she must have others. Avery wondered when she found the time to sleep.
For his part, he slept little. His dreams terrified and saddened him just as much as the waking world. The only solace he found was in the bottle.
On a certain day, Avery wasn’t sure exactly how long after they’d left Golna, Hildra decided she was well enough to draw maps from memory, and as she propped herself up in bed, she, Avery and Layanna went over their various possible routes. They discussed them for some time, until Layanna interrupted.
“Did you say Laisha?”
Hildra nodded wearily. She was still pale, but strength returned to her hourly. “Yeah. It’s occupied by Octung. This main track goes to a system of tracks that passes right through there, but it’s quite a ways away. Now, like I was sayin’, according to what I remember, the best way to go, and the way Sheridan’s most likely to go, is to veer right, where you’ll hit the line that will take you to Yunth. Villispruct’s possible, too.”
“Laisha,” Layanna repeated. Something about the name triggered a strange look on her face. A look of ... sadness.
“What is it?” Avery said.
She stared off into a distance that wasn’t there. “Nothing. Just ... I know someone there.”
He studied her. “It’s your family, isn’t it? Your child.”
“Your child?” Hildra said, sounding shocked.
It was obviously a painful subject for Layanna, and she didn’t seem ready to talk about it. Avery suggested they move on.
“Anyway,” Hildra said. “Closer is Villispruct, a major Octunggen city, and it should be just right up ahead. Thing is, I don’t think Sheridan will be able to find access to it, at least not easy. We’re still too deep and it would take some effort navigating up through the tunnels to reach it. However, if she veers like I was sayin’, she’ll hit a line that angles up toward the surface, where it’ll be easier for her to hand the Device over. Now I think—”
The train jerked to a stop, pitching them all onto the floor. Hildra was flung beside Avery.
“Godsdamn it, Janx!” she shouted at the forward cabin, though over the squeal of brakes and groan of metal Avery doubted Janx could hear. Nevertheless, Avery smiled to hear her curse.
Hildebrand screeched and scampered around his mistress fearfully.
“Stay here,” Avery told her.
He and Layanna ventured ahead. Through the glass he saw flames across the tracks.
“What the ... ?”
Janx pried open the doors and climbed out of the train, leaping to the ground outside. Avery and Layanna joined him. The air stank of stone and smoke.
Janx shone a flashlight
forward, but it was hardly needed: a flaming hulk lay right across the tracks, throwing hellish light in all directions. Fire licked at large, blocky sections of metal and a cascading heap of coal.
“The train!” Avery said. “Sheridan’s train!”
They had reached their quarry
* * *
Avery and the others stared.
Beyond the flaming wreck of Sheridan’s train, Avery saw another obstruction.
“Sheridan hit something,” he said.
For the first time, he looked around him. By the light of the flames, he saw the vague shapes of buildings mounting all around the tracks—strange, inhuman structures occupying a vast cavern. The fire limned their terraces and weird, beehive-like domes in eerie light, giving them the illusion of movement.
Janx was the first to shake it off. “Let’s go. The Device is on that train.”
“She might still be alive,” Layanna warned.
“Take your guns.”
Avery retrieved his gun and flashlight before rejoining them. Then, warily, they marched toward Sheridan’s vessel, now just a heap of jagged lumps. The smell of flame and smoke filled Avery’s nose and stung his eyes, along with the stench of iron and stone. He imagined Sheridan bloody and dying inside, and despite himself part of him felt a touch of grief. But another part felt afraid—If she dies I’ll never get Ani free.
“She better not be dead,” Janx growled. “That bitch owes me good.”
They rounded the bend and came within sight of the engine compartment, where Sheridan would surely be. To Avery’s shock, it was half embedded in a great fleshy mound astride the tracks.
“What the hell?” Janx said.
Gripping flashlights in one hand and guns in the other, they approached, and their lights picked out a great, misshapen mass, bloated and segmented. Avery clearly saw legs, many of them and tiny, in two rows along the thing’s body. The behemoth resembled some nightmarish maggot the size of a whale, perhaps larger, colored a sickly white. There were resemblances to other things in it, as well—a caterpillar, a worm. Whatever it was, Sheridan’s train had plowed right into it. How had she not seen it in time to stop?
