by Nico Rosso
Turning the throttle gave more power to the fans, pushing her higher. Tree branches brushed past, then gave way to the open sky. It was a short trip, so like Hawkins, she didn’t put her goggles on. But her tinted spectacles helped some, cutting down the bright sunlight.
The treetops parted into the small campsite. She circled overhead, watching Hawkins drag Rat toward the engine-cycle.
She called down, “I’ll give you a hand if you split the bounty with me.”
Even from thirty feet up she felt the scowl on Hawkins’s face. “Don’t need no hand.” He balled a fist in Rat’s shirt and hauled him up to his knees.
Malone was still where she left him. She dove lower toward him, keeping her eyes on Hawkins. “You look like a greenhorn bringing in your first wanted.”
Hawkins lifted Rat higher and tossed him into the sidecar. “Just a shy, reluctant bride.”
She brought the engine-trike down hard and jumped from the seat to face Hawkins. “I ever see you treating a woman like that, you won’t live to see sunrise.”
He blinked. Before steeling over, he took a moment. His eyes searched her face; he had to know she meant every word. Hawkins made a little bow of his head. “Pardon the offense, Miss Blue. My momma raised me better than to say something like that, and if she’d heard me, you’d have to beat her on the draw to put the first bullet in me.”
Again, his mechanical hand came up to pinch his brim.
Her turn to blink. She’d have been ready for a hidden pistol or throwing knife, but his response was completely unexpected. If she knew how, she almost had the urge to curtsey. Maybe it was just another weapon of his. Twelve-gage charm.
Deadly.
She had to get out of range, so she turned back to Malone. “You’re going to stand up, walk slow, and sit down on the back of my engine-trike, just behind my seat.”
Her bounty thought through every instruction and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
The man scraped his way to his feet and walked over to her machine. On the other side of the clearing, Hawkins strapped a leather belt across Rat’s chest, pinning him to the narrow sidecar. The bounty hunter kept stealing glances at her.
She didn’t expect the hungry look on his face. Like a man who’d just rode out of a snowy pass after a long winter. The look quickly disappeared as he turned to her machine.
He spoke casually, like they’d been drinking friends for years. “You don’t find that trike too wide for horse trails?”
She shook her head. “Just fly over them.” Malone sat on the back of her trike and she tightened a canvas belt across his lap. She hooked a thumb toward Hawkins’s ride, ether tanks extended on brass and steel lattices. “And I don’t need to pull out my ether tanks when I want to go up.”
“A fella doesn’t need more than two wheels,” he replied. “Keeps it lean.” Satisfied Rat wasn’t going anywhere, Hawkins strode over to the horses and pulled off their saddles and tack. He untied them, slapped their flanks, and hollered for them to run. They quickly obeyed, weaving through the trees and disappearing in the forest.
Malone craned his neck to see what Hawkins was up to. “Sure, the horse was stole, but the saddle’s mine. Think I can keep it?”
“No.” She placed her answer like a bullet, right between his eyes. “You killed a man in New Mexico. Left his bride a widow. Far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t even get a last meal.” She took her seat in the trike and revved the engine. “But I’ll let the judge decide that. To me, you’re just one hundred dollars.”
Ether hummed in the tanks and the trike lifted off the ground. Malone gave a little yelp, but she didn’t care if he was scared or not. Yet she did care that Hawkins watched her. More than she wanted to. He even smiled a little as she made her turn over the campsite, twisting higher.
Last thing she saw of him before turning north was Hawkins taking his seat again on the engine-cycle and revving the motor. Then she turned her attention to the treetops and mountain ridges. The salt of the Pacific washed over her in the wind coming from the west.
She turned slightly to the left, getting a view of the full expanse of the silver and blue water. “First time I saw the ocean, thought I’d fall off the earth. Like it was some great waterfall that was going to take me away.” The trike climbed higher, easing to a steady pace two hundred feet above the ground.
Malone’s shackles jingled as he shifted in his seat to grip the trike’s frame. “I ain’t gonna fall now, am I?”
Waggling the steering, the trike swung from side to side. She knew everything was strapped down good enough to stay on. Even Dirty Dan. “We’re all given the same chance starting out. You’ve already fallen.”
The peace of the high air was broken by the rumble of Hawkins’s engine-cycle. He shot up, quick and nimble, and leveled out the long machine next to her. Goggles obscured his eyes, but the wide grin was clear on his face. Revving his motor, he pulled ahead of her in the air.
She prickled, charging forward to move beside him, then forward by the length of her front wheel.
Hawkins smiled, cocky. His cycle nosed ahead of her.
Even though they’d never spoken before this morning, this tug-of-war with Hawkins was all too familiar. In the past, when she’d shared a space with him, the tension was undeniable. They were the two best, they both knew that. But neither knew which was better. One time, in a Tucson opera house, they had spotted each other as they walked down opposite aisles to their seats. She sat a few rows behind Hawkins. He kept squirming in his seat like he was sharing it with a rattlesnake. After a minute, he got up and took a seat a row behind her. Then she had understood what had made him so restless to be sitting in front of her. No way she could relax, knowing he had the advantage at her back. By the time she got up, Hawkins’s row and all the seats behind him were filled. He sat comfortably on the aisle, long legs stretched out. But his eyes remained alert as his gaze tracked every move she made.
She couldn’t let him scare her out of that theater. But she couldn’t keep her back to him. A city dude sat in the aisle seat on the opposite side of the row from Hawkins. It only took a steady glare from Anna to move the dude to another part of the theater. Even with twenty people between them, she was aware of every move Hawkins made on the other end of the row. The Shakespeare actors stomping on the stage and the clockwork ghost of Hamlet’s father weren’t enough to steal Anna’s and Hawkins’s attention from each other.
When the audience rose to a standing ovation, they each slipped out through opposite exits. Flying now through the air with him, feeling Hawkins’s presence closer than ever, she wondered if more than just professional rivalry kept them in each other’s line of sight.
She released more of her engine’s power, retaking the lead. It was a race. But to what end?
His body was at ease, sitting astride his flying cycle. So sure of himself. In command of the machine and the technology that completed his hand. It seemed like he could give her a lot, if she was willing. But it might be more like losing herself than gaining a prize.
Her engine-trike growled. The fan pushed hard and she sped forward in the sky. Hawkins’s engine roared. He was close behind. There was no knowing what would happen once they reached Thornville.
Chapter Two
* * *
JACK COULDN’T LET her win. Seemed like every step forward in his life there was some bastard trying to hold him back, chain him down, or outright kill him. Not that Anna Blue was as bad as those men, but she was still a competitor. Part of him thought he should thank those other sons of bitches for making him into the best that he was. But they’d never get his gratitude—the ones who were still alive. All they’d get was the dead eye, the look that told anyone that nothing could hurt him.
Anna weaved her engine-trike in the air, blocking him from passing on the side. A glance over her shoulder revealed a wicked little grin. It was like she’d dipped him in lamp oil and lit a match.
No, he couldn’t let her win.
&nb
sp; Rat gave out a little yelp as Jack dove the engine-cycle toward the ground, then arced back up, pushing the motor to give out almost all its speed. He raced under Anna’s trike and rose up ahead of her.
When he looked back, he saw her smile was gone. She was as deadly serious and as focused as a mountain cat. The same look she’d given when she’d warned him off ever mistreating a woman. Anna had a quick trigger. He’d never backed down from a fight, but seeing her like that was enough to let him know she was formidable. Throwing down with her would certainly end in bloodshed. From the stories he’d heard of her bringing in bounties up and down the western territories, she was relentless. No sense in testing that in a fight, not when they had jobs to do.
But testing her in a race was another matter. At least this wouldn’t end with bullets blasting or knife edges tasting flesh. She still hadn’t named her prize, though. Not that it mattered. He was going to beat her to Thornville.
He called back, “I get to name my prize when I win.” Nothing crass. She wouldn’t stand for anything like that. He’d practiced enough to play the gentleman. It was one of the first weapons he’d acquired. Always kept those racist bastards off balance when he came off more polished than they were.
Her engine roared and the trike zoomed up parallel to him. She said through gritted teeth, “You ain’t winning.”
“Just one drink, Anna Blue. Sam’s Saloon in King City. Name your poison and I’m buying, but you gotta tell me the tale of your first bounty.” As soon as he named the prize, he knew he had to hear the story. What could’ve shaped such a singular woman as Anna Blue?
Hills and trees sped past them. There was just a glimpse of the town’s clock tower. Two more ridges and they’d be in Thornville.
Despite the size of her trike, she kept pace with his leaner engine-cycle. She had two fans to his one, and riding with the Rat in his sidecar threw off his airstream. Just like she hadn’t named her prize, she didn’t agree to his, either. Her eyes were inscrutable behind the spectacles. He’d hate to play poker with her.
Or it might be a hell of a lot of fun. Once they figured out the stakes. Unlike sitting astride a horse, the way Jack rode his engine-cycle, Anna’s position on her trike was more like leaning back in a rocking chair. It gave him an opportunity to look at the length of her legs, stretched out and operating the pedals and levers of her machine. She was strong and tall. Her weathered hat was pulled down low, but a long blonde ponytail trailed in the wind from underneath it. There was nothing fragile about her.
He pushed his motor faster, edging her out by just the tip of his front wheel. She set the line of her defined jaw and matched his speed. Neither was conceding the race.
Rat quivered in the sidecar. “Y’all gonna get us killed.”
Jack growled back, “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Gun, knife. Could do it with my hands.” He extended his right hand, twisting his wrist to activate the springs and gears in the mechanical fingers. The enameled steel snapped into a fist, along with his other fingers. It was part of himself, second nature. Just like flying under the power of the ether tanks on his engine-cycle. But to Rat, it was all too new.
“You … you ain’t human.”
“Funny, lot of men thought the same thing, even before I got my new thumb and fingers. Just because of the color of my skin.” He released his fist and let his hand rest on the butt of his pistol. “I was ten during the War of Secession. Still killed two Rebs on my family’s run out of the South.”
Rat’s eyes flicked from Jack’s gun to his face.
Thornville was only one ridge away. Jack couldn’t afford any more distractions from his race with Anna. “The only words out of you, Rat, will be, ‘Thank you, Mr. Hawkins, for bringing me to justice.’ Anything other than that gets you brained.”
Rat twisted his mouth shut.
Birds flew from the tall trees on the road to Thornville, scattered by the growling engines of the two flying vehicles. If this wasn’t a race, Jack would’ve saved his ether and driven his engine-cycle along the dusty trail. Suddenly that image of the open road seemed more lonely than free.
Not that Anna Blue was the perfect traveling companion. She wouldn’t smell of rose water or pass the time with butterfly-light conversation about how pretty the clouds looked. Jack shifted in his seat, feeling the leather harness across his shoulders and the weight of the shotgun against his back. He had no use for frills. Anna Blue presented the most unique kind of woman, the only one he’d met who had the first understanding of what it meant to live between a silver dollar and a bullet.
She dove her trike toward the wide main street of Thornville. He angled his cycle to keep up. A barn and a large cannery swept by beneath them. Several people on the street stopped to gawk at the two speeding vehicles.
It was a risk, making this kind of a display in a town known for its strong and fair law. He’d brought a few bounties in to this jail and had nothing bad to say about Sheriff Campos. She’d probably have a few harsh words for him as soon as he landed.
First. He had to land first.
But Anna wasn’t going to make it easy. Face set with determination, she muscled her trike through the air, leveling it out so all the wheels would hit the ground at once. They were both about ten feet above the ground. Jack kicked the lever on his cycle, transferring the engine’s power from the propelling fan to the rear wheel. The whole frame shook with new life as the steel and rubber wheel spun.
A quick twist of the buoyancy valve shut off the catalyst and dropped the cycle out of the air. Rat cursed and Jack braced for the impact. The suspension springs screamed in a quick gasp until they recovered, bouncing the cycle up again. The second time he hit the dirt the rear tire dug in and sped him forward.
Good lord, if Anna wasn’t right there with him. Kicking up a storm of dust behind her, she looked like a half-mechanical fury goddess being born from the elements. Buildings blurred past. Only one thing mattered—the jail at the other end of town.
They were both going so fast there was a good chance they’d overshoot the jail and go crashing into the blackberry brambles that surrounded the town. Or he could lose control of his cycle and smash into the thick adobe wall of the jail.
Jack squeezed the brake lever on the handlebars and stomped on the pedal to lock up the rear wheel. Dirt sprayed out all around as he slid sideways toward the jail. Anna was somewhere in the dust clouds, bringing her vehicle to a screeching stop.
His engine-cycle finally came to rest just inches away from the small boardwalk in front of the jail. The dust cleared, revealing Anna right next to him. And standing in front of the jail were Sheriff Campos and a scowling U.S. Cavalry officer.
A clockwork-driven Gatling rifle rested, ready, in the cavalry man’s hands. He had a hard look, a little wild, despite the polished buttons of his uniform. Since he and Jack were close enough to the same side of the law, there was no sense in challenging him. And if he let that Gatling rifle loose, no one on the business end would probably survive.
Sheriff Campos put her hands on her hips and shook her head, disappointed. “You two are lucky no one in town was hurt.” The burn from her dark eyes left no doubt how this territory stayed so law abiding.
Anna dismounted and knocked the dust off her hands before stepping up to the sheriff. “Wouldn’t dream of causing too much trouble in Thornville.” She extended a hand and the sheriff shook it. “Good to see you again, Rosa.”
“You, too, Anna.” The genuine smile on the sheriff’s face turned wary when she shifted her gaze to Jack. “Didn’t know you were riding with a partner these days. And Mr. Hawkins, no less.”
Anna spoke quickly, before Jack could get the words out. “We ain’t partners.”
Jack stepped off his cycle, pinching the brim of his hat to the sheriff. “No, ma’am. Just friendly competitors.”
As relaxed as the sheriff seemed, the cavalry man was still ready for a fight. Jack watched Anna size him up before leaning close to the sheriff. �
�Didn’t know you’d taken on a deputy.”
The cavalry man corrected her, “Second lieutenant.”
An unfamiliar smile cracked through the sheriff’s usually hard exterior. “And husband.”
“Well, congratulations.” Anna shook the sheriff’s hand again and extended it for the cavalry man.
He slung the Gatling rifle over his shoulder and shook Anna’s hand, explaining, “Tom Knox.”
Jack stepped closer to the group. “Felicitations to the happy couple.” He put his right hand out to Tom. The cavalry man looked down at it for a moment. Jack saw the familiar expression of wary surprise. But it didn’t last long, and Tom readily took Jack’s hand and shook it.
Jack gave Tom a pat on the shoulder with his left hand. Beneath the uniform, a hard scar revealed more than any army insignia. “Got yourself a good man here, sheriff.”
Tom tipped his head toward Jack’s hand. “You’ll have to tell me that story some time.”
“And you’ll tell me what it’s like to be hit with an ether bullet.”
Rolling his shoulder, Tom nodded. “Over a bottle of applejack.”
Usually Jack held a basic mistrust for a military man, but Tom didn’t wear the uniform like it’d been handed down by God and the president, giving him the right to do whatever he wanted. The idea of swapping stories had appeal. Most places, Jack was friendly with the local law, but he couldn’t say he had friends. That was a price of running bounties for a living. The road was his hometown. “Some other time. Right now there’s a little business to take care of.” He gestured toward Rat, who still sat strapped in to his sidecar.
“More business than you know of.” The sheriff jangled her keys and strode to the front door of the jail.
