Gears of a Mad God Omnibus

by Brent Nichols

  "What are you doing?"

  She looked down at Parker. "Hooking up a steam hose. They would have used it to power tools or to do steam-cleaning. I'm going to use it more directly. Do you think you can stand up?"

  "I'll try."

  She helped him to his feet and led him to the T-intersection. He leaned against the pipes and she showed him the red handle.

  "When I knock twice, metal on metal, you pull this handle down, okay? When I knock twice more, you push it back up. Then repeat, when I knock again."

  He looked puzzled, but he nodded.

  Colleen took the free end of the hose and started toward the hatch where the men were pinned down. On the way she picked up a wrench from a wall rack. She peeked into the corridor.

  Rick, Carter, and Smith hadn't moved. Colleen took a deep breath, plunged into the corridor, and banged her wrench hard, twice, on the pipe beside Rick. Then she raced forward, passing Carter and reaching Smith. She heard Carter say, "What the hell are you-"

  A man moved in the shadows ahead, she saw a gun barrel gleam in the darkness, and then the hose squirmed in her hand and steam came blasting out. In an instant the corridor was filled. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her face. A shot rang out, she heard the bullet ricochet on metal, and a man began to scream.

  She charged forward, and she felt shapes brush against her as Carter, Smith, and Rick followed. The temperature rose as they ran into ever hotter clouds of steam, and she swung her wrench blindly. It banged on metal, the sound ringing out like the peal of a bell. She banged again and the flow of steam ended.

  They reached a cross-corridor. The steam was dissipating quickly here, and they could see for several feet. A man knelt in the corridor, a gun in his hands, clutching his face. His skin was red and blistered, and Smith stepped up behind him and slammed the butt of his pistol into the top of the man's head. The man collapsed, Smith pocketed the man's pistol, and the four of them looked around in the fading mist.

  A hatch swung open ahead of them and a man leaned out, his face twisted with rage and a pistol in his hand. Smith fired once and the man sagged into the corridor. Smith moved forward, peeked through the hatch, then looked back at the others and grinned. He dragged the body out of the way and stepped through the hatch.

  Colleen and the others advanced. By the time they reached the hatch, Smith was coming back out. Jane was with him, her arm over his shoulder, his arm supporting her. She looked terrible, her face swollen and cut, her head lolling on her shoulders. Colleen, torn between relief and horror, dropped her steam hose, pushed through the men, and helped support Jane.

  The sound of a pistol being cocked was the only warning they got. Colleen and Smith ducked, Carter and Rick pressed themselves against the walls, and the blast of a gunshot echoed through the corridor.

  Rick and Carter returned fire. Colleen wriggled out from under Jane's arm, grabbed the dropped steam hose, and banged her wrench sharply on the floor. On the second bang the hose thrashed under her hand. She was about six feet from the end of the hose, and it flapped and writhed, spraying steam in every direction. Rick sprang back, cursing, and Colleen crawled forward, pinning more and more of the hose to the floor.

  The corridor was completely filled with steam. She didn't see Carter, not even when he bumped into her on his way past. She got a grip on the end of the hose, then banged her wrench a couple of times. This time she kept her grip on the hose as she retreated.

  They spilled into the boiler room, Colleen dragging the hose behind her, and Carter slammed the hatch shut. He kept a hand on the wheel as the group took stock.

  Rick was burned, not badly, but the side of his face was bright red. Colleen said, "Oh, I'm so sorry," and he smiled.

  "Better than a bullet. Thanks, Colleen, I think you saved my life."

  The wheel under Carter's hand twitched, and he grabbed it, keeping it from turning. Colleen wrapped her steam hose through the spokes of the wheel, immobilizing it, and he let go.

  "We need to get out of here," Smith snapped. "They know the ship better than we do. They'll be circling around and cutting us off soon."

  They organized themselves quickly. Carter helped Jane while Rick helped Parker. Smith went first, gun in hand. Rick and Parker brought up the rear. Rick supported Parker with one arm and held a pistol in his free hand. Colleen found herself in the middle of the group, the wrench clutched in her sweaty hand.

  They hurried down a long corridor, moving toward the bow of the ship. When they came to a ladder Smith darted up while the rest of them waited. Then Smith waved them up. Carter and Colleen boosted Jane upward until Smith could reach her wrists and lift her. Parker was able to climb, gripping the hand rail with his good hand, his face tight.

  On the next level Colleen took over supporting Jane while Carter and his pistol brought up the rear. A sailor came through a hatchway carrying an oil can, gaped at them in astonishment as several pistols came to bear on him, then dropped his oil can and stepped back through the hatch. They heard the slap of his feet as he ran away.

  At last they reached the same ladder they had first come down. Smith went up first, and swung open the hatch leading to the deck of the ship. Almost immediately he flinched back. "Gun," he said. "At least one man. He's got good cover."

  Carter climbed up beside him. "I'll cover you while you run for it?"

  "I don't know. There isn't much cover close by. And if they have someone up high, I'm done for."

  Colleen drew back from the group. She helped Jane sit down and whispered, "Hold on. We're almost clear."

  Jane nodded, tried a small smile, and flinched as a cut on her lower lip opened.

  Parker sat at the base of the ladder, a pistol in his hand. Rick stood beside him, ignoring the discussion above, eyes scanning the corridor. Colleen hefted her wrench and set off down the corridor. She heard him hiss a question, but she kept walking.

  She came to another ladder and went up. There was no hatch. Instead she found a corridor with portholes on one side. She examined a porthole, figured out how to swing the circle of glass open, and peered out.

  The hull of the ship stretched below her, flat and smooth. She could see the wharf, six or eight feet down. The men would never make it through an opening this small, but she thought she might get through.

  She craned her neck around to look up. There was a railing just above her. She looked carefully in every direction and didn't see a sign of life. She listened intently, heard only the slap of water on the hull and the creak of the boat as it moved in the water. Finally she tucked her wrench into the belt of her dress, took a grip on the porthole, and started working her way out.

  She squirmed around until she was sitting in the round hole, the wrench digging into her stomach. She stretched her fingers upward and found a precarious grip on a flat surface somewhere above. She pulled with her hands, squirmed with her hips, and slid out, her backside hanging over the wharf. She worked her hands up higher, got a better grip on the surface above, and squirmed and wriggled until she could draw a leg out and get a foot on the sill of the porthole.

  From there it was almost easy. She stood, took the wrench out of her belt and set it on the deck above her, grabbed the vertical bar of a railing support, kicked off with her feet, and pulled with all her might. She drew herself up, let go with one hand and scrambled frantically for the railing above her. She caught it with her fingertips, then scrambled with her toes on the smooth hull. She got a toe on the deck, and hung awkwardly by two hands and a foot, her skirts riding up in a most unladylike way.

  She wasn't sure she could make it over the railing, but she had to, so she gritted her teeth and heaved. She gained a precious half inch, took a better grip on the railing, and in moments she managed to swarm over.

  Colleen found herself on a walkway about four feet wide. On one side was the railing she'd climbed over. On the other side was the hull of the ship, pierced every few feet by portholes. She ducked low under the portholes and moved quickly stern
ward, toward her friends.

  She reached the back of the forecastle. The walkway made a right-angle turn, and Colleen crouched in a strip of shadow, looking down on the deck of the ship eight feet below. By her calculation, she was directly above the hatch where Smith and Carter waited. She scanned the deck, looking for the gunman who had them pinned.

  She spotted him, a man in a white uniform shirt and dark trousers, crouching behind a vast coil of rope. His attention was focussed on the hatch below her. She was pretty sure she hadn't been seen. The rest of the deck seemed empty.

  Colleen crept along the walkway, feeling exposed for the first several feet until the coil of rope was between her and the cultist. She followed the walkway until she found a ladder going down. There she froze for long moments, listening to the mad beating of her heart, straining her eyes and ears into the darkness. If she'd been spotted, the ambush would be here.

  Was she unseen? It was impossible to be sure, but there was no time to be cautious. She went down the ladder as quietly as she could, took a firm grip on her wrench, and tiptoed into the darkness. No light reached this part of the deck. Each step was a cautious probe with her toes. She inched forward, moving past big, dark, shapeless structures, and finally saw the coil of rope gleaming ahead of her.

  Now she moved faster, terrified that the gunman had heard her, was already reacting. She went around the coil of rope quickly, almost running, and found him turning, his mouth open, the gun swinging around toward her.

  She swung the wrench with all of her strength at the pale gleam of his face. She hit him a glancing blow on the forehead. The gun wavered in his fist, and she brought the wrench up and swung at his wrist. Metal crunched into bone and the pistol fell clattering to the deck.

  He cried out and clutched his wrist, and she slammed the wrench into the top of his head. He swore, and she gritted her teeth and clubbed him again. This time he slumped forward.

  When she peered around the coil of rope she saw Carter and Smith already charging through the hatch. She gave them a wave, then turned back to the gunman.

  He was moaning and holding his wrist, struggling to sit up. She shook her head. It was harder than she'd ever suspected to knock a man out. She picked up the pistol, pointed it at him, and found she couldn't bring herself to shoot. Well, he was injured and disarmed. That would have to do.

  She stepped around the coil of rope and a shot rang out. She flinched, looking around, as Smith dove for cover. Carter was nowhere in sight. Smith caught her eye and pointed above her. She turned and saw a dark shape moving high on the aft mast.

  A horizontal hatch swung open in the middle of the deck, fifty feet or so aft of Colleen. A man's head and shoulders appeared. He held a gun, a rifle or shotgun by the look of it, and Smith snapped off a couple of quick shots, making him duck.

  A sudden glow appeared below the gunwale of the ship, an engine thundered, and tires squealed. The dark figure on the mast fired at something beyond the ship, and Colleen took advantage of the distraction to spring up and run to where Smith was hiding behind a lifeboat. She dropped into a crouch beside him.

  The convertible raced up the wharf, headlights ablaze. Colleen could just make out the shape of Maggie at the wheel. Garson was beside her, standing, his fat body wedged against the seat back, his legs wide for support. He had a machine gun in his hands, a Tommy gun with a drum magazine, and he fired a stream of bullets at the ship.

  "Now's our chance!" Smith cried. He leaped up and ran back to the hatchway, and Colleen followed. Carter came through, supporting Jane. Colleen dropped her wrench, pocketed the pistol, and took Jane's arm as Carter turned back to help Parker.

  Colleen brought Jane to the edge of the ship and the car screeched to a halt below them. Pistol shots rang out behind her, but Colleen focussed on helping Jane clamber over the railing. She held Jane's wrists, lowered her as far as she could, and Garson came running over to catch Jane's legs. Colleen let go and Garson lowered her to the wharf, then helped her into the car.

  "Go, for God's sake," Carter snapped, and Colleen hopped over the railing and dropped to the wharf. Rick came next. Smith and Carter almost threw Parker over the railing and into Rick's waiting arms. Rick grunted, stumbled, and Colleen caught him. They lugged Parker to the car and dumped him into the back seat.

  Smith and Carter came flying over the railing, Maggie gunned the engine, and Colleen sprang onto the running board and hung on.

  Maggie didn’t waste time turning the car around, just put it in reverse and hit the gas. They went screaming down the wharf, Colleen clinging white-knuckled to the top of the car door, Rick on the running board beside her, his teeth gleaming as he grinned in the darkness.

  Garson was back in the front passenger seat, Tommy gun in his hands, and Colleen flinched as the machine gun fired inches in front of her face. She smelled hot metal and gun smoke and tasted the tang of cordite in the air. Garson's face was fixed in a snarl and he fired in short, controlled bursts.

  It wasn't enough. Return fire came from the ship, another machine gun. Colleen could see muzzle flashes coming from the top of the forecastle. Bullets ripped up the planks of the wharf, then smacked into the front of the car. Steam billowed from the radiator, the car swerved, a line of bullet holes appeared on the hood, and Garson grunted and let go of the Tommy gun.

  The Tommy gun landed on the hood of the car, and Colleen thought about reaching for it, but the car was swerving violently and she was afraid to let go. Then Maggie gave the steering wheel a sharp jerk and the Tommy gun went bouncing off into the darkness.

  They reached the end of the wharf. Maggie turned sharply, braked hard, and threw the car into first gear. They lurched forward, steam from the damaged radiator blowing over them, and Maggie muttered to the car as she fought the controls. They rumbled down Wharf Street, moving no faster than a man could run. A block later the engine gave a sharp bang and died.

  "That's it," said Maggie, "we're walking from here."

  "I think Mr. Garson was hit," Colleen said. He was sitting slumped forward in the front passenger seat, and she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back. His head lolled to the side as his body flopped back, and she could see a line of bullet wounds in his chest and stomach. His eyes stared blindly at the sky.

  Rick reached past Colleen and put two fingers on the side of Garson's throat. "No pulse," he said, and closed Garson's eyes.

  "We have to move," Carson said. "We'll have to leave him, and the car. They'll be coming, and they have us outnumbered."

  Colleen helped Jane out of the car. Rick and Carter got Parker out and held him supported between them. Colleen glanced back at the wharf. A knot of men had gathered beside the Arcadia. As she watched, the men broke into a trot, heading down the wharf.

  "Here they come," said Carter, his voice grim. "Let's move."

  Chapter 5 – Flight

  Their progress down Wharf Street was painfully slow. Jane was crying, her eyes screwed shut, only moving forward because Colleen was pushing on her back. Parker was getting worse, barely walking, Carter and Rick taking most of his weight. Colleen glanced backward and couldn’t see the cultists, but then she caught the slap of shoes on pavement. The cultists were gaining.

  Smith trotted ahead, examining vehicles parked along the street. He tried doors and peered in windows, and Colleen felt a surge of hope. If Smith could get a car started, they might still escape with their lives.

  A light came on in front of a warehouse, a door swung open, and a figure appeared, a burly older man in the uniform of a night watchman. He stared at them, and Carter lifted his pistol and said, "Best you stay off the street."

  The watchman nodded, stepped back inside, and closed the door.

  A car started behind them, and Colleen looked back, excited. If someone came driving up the street, they could flag the car down, beg for a ride-

  Another engine started, and Rick swore. "They've got wheels," he said. "Looks like we're done for."

  As if in answ
er, an engine roared into life ahead of them. A pickup truck came rolling backward down the street, Smith leaning out the driver's side window. He stopped in front of them and everyone clambered into the back.

  Headlights flooded the street as a couple of cars bore down on them. The truck roared forward, but their pursuers were very close. Jane retreated to a front corner of the truck box, sitting with her arms clutching her knees. Parker lay sprawled on the floor of the box, moaning, sliding back and forth when the truck swerved or turned. Colleen knelt by his side and tried to keep him still.

  Carter and Rick crouched at the back of the truck, checking their guns. Colleen caught snatches of their conversation. They were nearly out of ammunition.

  Maggie knelt beside Parker and took his hand. Her eyes were bright with fear, but her voice was calm as she murmured, "Hang in there, David. It will all be over soon. You'll be fine."

  They raced through the dark streets of Victoria, their pursuers always close behind. From time to time a shot rang out from the cars behind them. No one returned fire.

  They reached the outskirts of the city. Colleen could see the dark expanse of the ocean on the right, with the shipyards of Esquimalt shining in the distance. On the left the occasional building flashed past, then darkness. There would be no more innocent bystanders to be hurt by a stray bullet, but no witnesses, no help, if the cultists caught up with them.

  The truck raced through the darkness, and Colleen could do nothing but clutch Parker's jacket and pray that no bullet would hit them. She shot worried glances at Jane, who was staring into space, her eyes unseeing. There was nothing she could do for Jane, though. She thought about trying to check Parker's bandages, but the truck was lurching and bouncing so much, she didn't think she could do anything even if his bandages had come loose.