A Shield Against the Darkness

by Todd Downing

  Twenty yards. Ten.

  Maria’s gun tore into the fuselage of Jack’s plane, and his left leg erupted in pain as a tracer bullet found its way into his thigh.

  Suddenly Jack banked over hard, belly toward Maria’s aircraft. They collided almost head-on with Jack’s plane at a 90-degree aspect. His floats sandwiched both of Maria’s left wings, and the force of his diving plane sheared them clean away. He throttled back and banked out of his dive, turning to see Maria’s plane spinning to a fiery crash in the trees below.

  Jack didn’t have any time to celebrate. His engine sputtered flames—which were quickly spreading to the cockpit—and the fuselage looked like a cheese grater. The left float snapped and came away, falling to the jungle like a brick. The plane was going down. Whether it burned before or after the impending crash was a moot point. He wiped engine oil from his goggles and did some quick math.

  He could try to land the plane in the tree canopy and likely burn in the process, or he could trust his luck and leap, hoping for some sort of purchase in the foliage—and not the more likely impalement on a random tree branch, being crushed by his own flaming airplane, or bleeding out from the bullet wound in his thigh.

  Searing fire whipped at his face and his instinct took over.

  He stood in the pilot seat and jumped into the moonlit sky.

  His flailing hand caught hold of something and it startled him. Looking up, he saw he’d grasped the metal rung of a chain ladder. He followed the ladder upward to see it terminate at the giant, round silhouette of a hot air balloon. Then he realized the engine he was hearing wasn’t his own plane, which became a fiery mass in the trees below.

  “Hang on, my friend!” called a booming voice from above.

  Jack couldn’t believe it. “Stede??” he cried.

  The voice above laughed, and Jack could feel himself being hauled aloft with the ladder. Then there were two pairs of hands on him, hauling him over the side into the open gondola.

  “Stede Bonnet…” Jack muttered tiredly, dizzy from shock and loss of blood. “Thank you.”

  The Caribbean sky pirate knelt down to survey the damage. Jack would live, though he’d be limping awhile.

  “I told you Bonnet’s Brigands would be there in your time of need,” Stede grinned.

  - Chapter 20 -

  By the time Katoc’s warriors had returned to the Tree City—with Doc in a makeshift sling across the back of a brawny hunter—Jack was already being seen to by the village healers in the great hall. Stede’s balloon Revenge floated tethered to one of many wooden guardrails that lined the pathways of the city, and native warriors dropped caches of Silver Star weapons and supplies at Queen Alanna’s feet.

  The people of the canopy had done well. They’d rescued their hostages, driven the evil Sky People out of the Temple of the Elders, and had become wealthy in trade goods. They’d only lost four of their number: one young brave at the Luftpanzer, and three hostages who had been gunned down while fleeing back to the jungle. They celebrated in groups around fire braziers strewn about the city, drumming, singing, and dancing well into the night.

  Duke found Stede outside the great hall, sipping from a bottle of Bahamian rum.

  “Captain Bonnet,” Duke greeted. “How good of you to make our little soiree.”

  Stede handed the bottle to Duke and grinned, and his white teeth were in such contrast to his skin that for a moment—at least against the backdrop of night—he almost appeared as Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. “I see you made a nice bonfire out of that zeppelin,” he winked.

  “We did indeed,” Duke nodded, taking a healthy swig from the bottle and handing it back. The burn in his throat was sorely welcomed. “I say, where’s the rest of my crew?” he asked.

  “They’re in the great hall,” Stede said. “All four of them were brought in wounded. The healers are tending them.”

  “Cheers, mate,” Duke patted the larger man on the shoulder and ducked into the great hall to check on his friends.

  Jack was high on some native draught derived from ground coca leaves, grinning like a fool as a native woman stitched up his leg. The bullet from Maria’s Lewis gun sat in a bloody wooden bowl nearby.

  Doc was likewise drugged, and was regaling anyone who would listen with the story of her facing down a demon and closing a dimensional portal. The severed arm had been brought back and was on display at the center of the great hall.

  Deadeye and Rivets were given a natural sedative and some ancient prayers, their cuts bandaged with a poultice of Spanish moss and rubber tree sap.

  As the sun rose searing white above the jungle, Doc found Jack leaning against a railing next to the great hall. Not a word was exchanged, nor were they necessary. She simply melted into his embrace and they stood like that for several minutes as the last of the cool night breezes escaped into the morning sky.

  Alanna approached the two of them, her discerning look conspicuously absent. Her tone was soft and gregarious.

  “My thanks, Jack Mah-grah,” she said. “You have saved my people.”

  Jack gave a small bow in response. “We couldn’t have done it without your brave warriors, Queen Alanna.”

  Alanna embraced Jack and Doc in turn. “You are now counted among my brave warriors. My friends,” she said. “My Sky People.”

  Duke appeared behind her, flanked by Rivets and Deadeye.

  “How did you like my diversion, Captain?” he asked, pushing the brim of his officer’s cap up on his forehead.

  Rivets clapped him on the back. “Heck of a show, Duke!”

  “Couldn’t have done it better myself,” Deadeye quipped.

  Duke smiled. “And don’t you forget it, dear boy.”

  Jack didn’t know if it was the native wacky juice he’d been given the previous night, or if he genuinely felt this good. His leg would be sore for a few days, but they’d done a great job tending the wound. It didn’t feel infected. Still, there was work yet to be done.

  “Say, Rivets,” Jack said, “How long to repair the Daedalus… if she can be, that is?”

  Rivets scratched his head and puzzled for a moment. “About a week, if I can get some parts in from Manaus,” he said, adding, “and no interference.”

  “Fair enough,” Jack said, noticing Stede’s approach from the point where the Revenge was tethered. “Well done, everyone. And once again, thanks to Captain Bonnet for saving me at the last possible moment.”

  Stede gave Jack an index finger salute. “I’d say we’re even now, eh?”

  Doc’s brow furrowed and she looked up at Jack. “Crowley was escorted away from the temple. He must have gotten out on one of the trucks. What of Maria?”

  “She crashed,” Jack said with authority. “In flames.”

  Doc sighed. “Score one for the heroes.”

  Jack gazed over her head and out across the vast Amazon jungle.

  “Yes. The heroes.”

  He thought of Maria and how she must have felt at the loss of her beloved. It was a natural response, to want vengeance against someone who had killed the love of your life. He couldn’t blame her for the path she’d taken. Had the situation been reversed… had the fortunes of war gone differently… sure, they were heroes. But perhaps only because they’d been on the winning side.

  No, he thought. That’s not true. We stopped an evil organization from summoning a demon from another dimension. We saved innocent lives. That must be worth something.

  Jack left a small kiss on the top of Doc’s head. She smiled and held him tightly.

  # # #

  Sunlight streamed down through the forest, almost solid bars of light in the haze and steam rising from the jungle floor. A trail of airplane parts led to a grove of colossal wimba trees, like crooked fingers pointing up from the soil.

  About twenty feet up, lodged in the first spread of branches, lay the smoldering hulk of the Caspar, both of its left wings sheared off, the right wings bent upward. Smoke still wafted from the broken skeleton of
the aircraft.

  Both floats were strewn across the jungle in shattered pieces.

  One half of the propeller was lodged in a tree sixty feet away.

  The Lewis gun lay on its side, barrel twisted, at the side of a deer path not fifty yards north.

  Along with a single set of bootprints, leading into the deep jungle.

  - Chapter 21 -

  Rivets got his truck full of parts from Manaus within a week, and, true to his word, the Daedalus was airborne five days later. Duke helped repair the ship where Rivets would let him, but the crew spent most of the intervening time learning the language and customs of the Tree People. Doc studied and polished the Cross of Cadiz, wrapping it in a yard of native cloth and securely housing it in a mahogany box—both items gifts from Queen Alanna.

  Another trophy for the occult experts at AEGIS to put in their case. She was glad Crowley's minions had brought it to the Amazon, anyway. Hopefully they would never need it in the field again.

  The Tree People sent daily scouting parties to the Temple of the Elders to take whatever was useful and hide the rest. At no point did the Silver Star return. Jack assumed Crowley would cut bait and run to set up his next operation. He was down a few dozen troops, a powerful artifact, a demon, and a very expensive airship. It would take time to lick his wounds and recoup his losses. And besides, it was his modus operandi.

  When at last the Daedalus was sky-worthy, the crew exchanged farewells and small gifts with the Tree People of the Amazon, and were away.

  Doc kept trying to get Jack alone to talk, but there never seemed to be a good time. They powered through four solid days of their northwesterly course, by way of Panama City, Managua and Acapulco, before arriving at Ryan Airport at Dutch Flats, San Diego, California. The airfield was small—literally a two-plane hangar with an adjacent office building near the Marine Corps Recruiting Depot—but AEGIS had a limousine waiting to take them into the city.

  The limo dropped them in front of the US Grant Hotel on Broadway, and a small army of bellhops and attendants took their luggage inside. The heroes of the Amazon adventure—after action report case number SA05-25-2904-003—were given suites and room service. Legendary among politicians and the Hollywood elite, the Grant offered amenities like no other hotel. Jack wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep in such a comfortable bed, but he was sure going to try.

  Edison had wired ahead, setting up a press conference to be followed by dinner with some Los Angeles film people the following day. After all, licensing the real-life adventures of the Daedalus crew was a good way to bolster AEGIS funding while painting a complimentary picture of the organization. President Coolidge telephoned to congratulate the crew and invite them to the White House when they were back on the East Coast. When Rivets and Deadeye heard about their new schedule, they begged Jack in tandem if they could all go back to the Amazon. Doc assured them they didn’t have to speak to the press if they didn’t want to. They’d earned some time off.

  And tonight was all theirs. Duke and Deadeye headed to the waterfront to see if they could find a speakeasy, while Rivets was content to hole up in his suite with unlimited room service and a bottle of Canadian hooch procured for him by the concierge, who apparently “knew a guy”. Doc invited Jack to dinner, and he accepted with pleasure.

  After a hot bath and a catch-up on some deferred grooming, Jack put on the freshly pressed clothes the hotel management had sent up: a light gray sport coat and pleated trousers, gray dress shoes and a fedora to match. He slapped his freshly-shaved cheeks with Williams Aqua Velva and exited his room, propping the gray hat on his slicked back hair. A few paces down the hall, he knocked on the door to Doc’s suite. She opened it, looking lovely in a beige skirt and jacket with her long bob in curls.

  “You clean up pretty good,” Jack quipped.

  “Not so bad yourself,” Doc replied, smiling. “You ready?”

  Jack offered an arm, and together the strode to the elevator, where a teenager in a dark green uniform and pillbox cap took them to the ground floor. They stepped out and found their way into the main lobby where an older gentleman in a tuxedo played Gershwin on a grand piano.

  Jack rubbed his chin, trying to remember something. “Now, your aunts are Agnes and… Millicent?”

  “Yes… Millie,” Doc chuckled.

  Jack nodded. “Millie. Got it.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” Doc said as she took his arm again and wandered toward the foyer.

  “I’m not nervous,” Jack said. “We’re just meeting your aunts.”

  “Well, yes,” Doc said, “and…”

  Just then the doorman greeted a pair of middle-aged matrons in spring gowns and hats of taffeta. Between the two, clutching a hand apiece, was a young girl of six. She had radiant green eyes like Doc, but her strawberry blond hair and mischievous smile was more like…

  “Mommy!” the girl cried, running to Doc, who squatted down and swept her into a hug.

  “There’s my girl!” Doc grinned.

  Agnes and Millie were all hugs and kisses and smiles at seeing their only niece and what appeared to be a new beau. Introductions swirled like a Texas tornado, Doc’s aunts sized up Jack in an instant, and finally Doc turned the little girl to face him.

  Jack McGraw, ace pilot, adventurer, hero, took a knee and put out his hand. The girl shook it gingerly.

  “Ellen,” said Doc. “This is Captain Jack McGraw.”

  “Hello there, Ellen,” Jack said.

  “How do you do, Captain McGraw,” Ellen greeted.

  Jack smiled at her, and when she smiled back, it was just like looking in a mirror. The girl was the spitting image of him at that age.

  Doc’s eyes filled with tears.

  Jack looked at Doc, startled. He silently mouthed, “Me?”

  Doc gazed at him softly and nodded.

  The End

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Todd Downing's love affair with pulp adventure dates back to his consumption of classic radio dramas and comic books as a child in the 1970s, which broadened into a general appreciation for scifi and fantasy media of all kinds.

  He grew up in the greater San Francisco Bay Area, writing and drawing from a young age, his works ever-present in school literary journals and newspapers, and eventually on film. He married his high school sweetheart and moved to Seattle in the early 1990s where he began to write professionally, and worked as an artist in the videogame industry until his publishing company became a full time operation.

  As the co-founder and creative director of Deep7 Press, Downing was the primary author and designer of over fifty roleplaying titles, including Arrowflight, RADZ, Airship Daedalus, and the official Red Dwarf RPG. He continues to write genre fiction for stage, film, comics, audio, and adventure gaming products.

  Widowed to cancer in 2005, Downing remarried in 2009 and currently enjoys an empty nest in Port Orchard, Washington, with his wife, a nihilistic cat, and a flock of unruly chickens.

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