Dead Air

by Ash, C. B.

  O'Fallon looked back down the way they had come - something was wrong. Something new beyond his continuous list of what had already transpired. Then it dawned on him. No footsteps. He glanced over to Thorias.

  "We na be that fast. Where'd they be gettin' ta?" He asked.

  Thorias looked over at O'Fallon and was glancing down both directions of the corridor when understanding dawned upon him. "You're right. They should be shambling along by now." He looked back to O'Fallon. "Moira?"

  They exchanged a glance. In his mind's eye, O'Fallon imagined a nightmare of Moira being trapped in the boiler room. He could see by the look on Thorias' face, the doctor shared the same concern. Without a word, the pair turned and raced back the way they had come as fast as they were able to manage.

  Past the previous corner, their pace ground to an abrupt halt. There, in the hallway, Moira was in the process of lashing the man with the green tinted goggles to his companion using some old rope. Each man sat with his eyes rolled back and the sign of a growing lump on his head. Beside her in the hallway sat the jade statue. In front of her the four zombies had dropped to the floor where they had last stood. As Moira looked up suddenly at the approaching noise, her right hand leaped to her revolver. When she realized it was Thorias and O'Fallon, she relaxed.

  "Moira, what is all this?" Thorias said incredulously while he took in the scene.

  The young woman tied the last knot and grinned at her shipmates. "Found a better use fer that statue than what they be usin' it for." She scooped up the jade idol and brandished it like a club in demonstration. "Had it in me hands at the time, so I went for that instead of shootin' them. Considerin' we need ta not be wastin' bullets, like ya said."

  Thorias shook his head slowly. O'Fallon winced while he imagined Moira actually using her makeshift weapon on the unsuspecting, and unprotected, victims. It never did pay to be on Moira's bad side. The Scotsman slowly walked over while Thorias tried to kneel down next to one of the zombies. He was only part way before the pain of the needle in his side nearly caused him to pass out.

  "I've got to get this out." He croaked quietly to himself. Slowly, he tore strips from the hem of his own shirt as a makeshift bandage. O'Fallon noticed the doctor's preparations and instinctively looked around for something to dull the pain. There was nothing useful.

  "Thought I be seein' a box of bandages in the boiler room," Moira said. "Ran past one when we be pinchin' the statue. Not far from that big table they were usin'."

  Thorias leaned back against the wall. "Any cloth would do for what I need."

  Moira nodded. "Back soon. I be grabbin' what all I can find."

  A few minutes later, Moira returned with a small box of bandages. O'Fallon stood next to the doctor with a concerned look on his face.

  "Ye be sure and certain?" O'Fallon asked Thorias carefully. "Could be just pullin' it loose and cauterizin' it."

  "Yes, I'm certain it has to come out, and I'd prefer to not have part of me cooked like a roast. At the least I believe the needle nicked a rib, if I'm fortunate, that is." Thorias explained. "In either case, it needs to come out for a long list of reasons. Now, we'll need to do this carefully. Moira, be ready to bandage once the needle is free. O'Fallon, grab onto the exposed end ..."

  O'Fallon did so and then abruptly pulled. With a faint wet sucking sound, the needle came free of the doctor's ribs. Thorias stiffened, eyes wide and mouth open in shock. O'Fallon quickly pulled the needle away, to allow Moira a chance to clean the blood away from the small wound. Once that was done, she quickly wrapped the cloth around his mid-section with a thin, curved sheet of metal as a brace.

  "... and slowly pull it free." Thorias croaked out in conclusion when the waves of sharp pain from the abrupt treatment had subsided.

  O'Fallon and Moira exchanged a look. The quartermaster found his voice first. "Oh, well ye na said slow. Though quick be workin' as well in a pinch, eh?"

  Thorias slowly closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes, I suppose you could say that. Personally, I think I'll try and avoid doing that again."

  O'Fallon clapped the doctor on the arm and grinned at him. "Ye be gettin' na argument from me."

  The doctor nodded, a thin smile on his ashen face. "Anything useful on any of these here?"

  Moira turned and walked back over towards her two captives, "Only be one way ta know." Once she had collected the two needle pistols, she knelt and began to rummage through their pockets. O'Fallon walked over to join her a moment later.

  At the wall, Thorias summoned the strength to push off and kneel slowly next to the closest zombie. Gently, he reached out and ran his hands along the leather and brass harness the zombie wore, examining it as much by touch as by sight.

  Moira picked up a worn leather journal to hand to O'Fallon. "The one with the green goggles had a fondness ta write. Probably more'n he should."

  Arcady adjusted his grip on Moira's shirt. "It's quite the read. We skimmed only a few pages. He details the process of making these creatures. It's quite inventive."

  O'Fallon flipped open the journal a few pages then gazed at Arcady with a frown.

  The clockwork insect rattled a nervous laugh. "Ah, well, inventive despite the rather disgusting results."

  "Be there anythin' more about what all they'll be usin' them for? Takin' over the world or some such?" O'Fallon asked curiously.

  "Not so far, but from what little we skimmed, there are multiple stages. Creating zombies with the bits of jade is stage one." Arcady explained. "A proof of concept as it were. He made some notes about a stage two involving some sort of business venture."

  O'Fallon nodded in reply while he skimmed over a few pages for himself. He quickly located where the scientist had made some notations about this 'phase two' Arcady had just mentioned. While the Scotsman read, his eyes grew hard and he frowned again. Carlos had been wrong, which O'Fallon was not too surprised about. After all, Carlos was the hired help, why explain anything to him? He ran a finger along the pages while he read carefully.

  "Accordin' ta this, they be after makin' a renewable resource for soldiers and bodyguards. He na be certain where they'll be shipped ta, but he had been overhearin' a few American customers with some serious interest." O'Fallon paraphrased.

  Thorias carefully pried loose the centerpiece of the harness. It was a small wired contraption attached to a jar in which a jade shard floated in some fluid. "Interesting, the fluid seems almost viscous." He muttered to himself. The doctor turned the jar over in his hands slowly while he examined it. Then, he stood, walked down a pace towards the open door and held up the jar to the orange light spilling out into the corridor for a better look. "The Americans have not settled their own very bloody conflict, they've only resolved to a cease fire while they lick their own wounds. Something like this, with all the hundred thousand or more lives that have been lost there, would reopen that war and turn into something even more ghastly."

  "There be more." O'Fallon said and turned a page in the journal. "They plan ta be quietly offerin' out bodyguards ta the 'landed gentry'. Somehow they'll be usin' the zombies ta be spyin' on them for valuables, information, bugger all what they can get."

  Arcady looked over at the various zombies that lay idle on the ground around them. "Spy? I wonder how. A type of telegraph attached to them?"

  O'Fallon turned two more pages. "It na be sayin'. Least na that Ah can be readin.'"

  Moira gazed down at her two captives, then knelt and removed the green tinted goggles from the one scientist's head. She stood and turned them over in her hands. Aside from the lenses, which were obviously a thin jade, they were not that remarkable as a pair of goggles. The eyepieces were brass fittings, the strap a well-oiled saddle leather fitted to the main section of the goggles by brass rivets. She did, however, locate a small dial on the side of the right lens positioned next to a key with a small box no larger than her thumb. Carefully, she lifted the goggles to her eyes and looked through.

  The moment the goggles were on he
r face, a ticking sound emerged from the small box and three of the zombies on the floor stirred. The fourth remained where it lay, but the jar that Thorias held suddenly crackled with static. Once on their feet, the three zombies turned to face Moira but made no move to walk towards her. O'Fallon looked around in alarm, then over at Moira, who staggered for a moment as if dizzy.

  "Have ye gone daft?" He reached for the goggles, but she avoided his hand.

  "Na now, just wait." Moira said with a hint of exasperation in her voice. "This be how they do it."

  Thorias lowered the jar with the sparking fluid inside and looked over at her. "What?"

  Moira turned her head slowly, as if she was seeing the corridor for the first time. "I can be seein' through the zombie's eyes. At least these here. They be all connected ... somehow." She reached up to turn the dial on the goggles.

  "I'm not certain it's wise to tinker with those." Thorias said with a air of concern in his voice. "We don't know what using them will do to the wearer."

  The dial on the goggles clicked when Moira turned it and she jumped. "They're all hooked together, all of them. It be like different signals comin' through an opti-telegraphic. I can be pickin' controls that I can see on the glass for different things for them ta do."

  O'Fallon closed the journal and gazed at Moira. "All? Can ye be doin' more than watchin'? Like tell 'em ta stand down?"

  Moira shrugged and fiddled with the knob again. "Wait ... I see ... it be them! They're alive!"

  "Who?" Thorias asked. "Krumer, Adonia and the rest? Where are they?"

  "They be on the roof a buildin' or so away!" Moira exclaimed. "There a lot a zombies runnin' about up there too. I can't get them ta obey."

  O'Fallon shoved the journal into a shirt pocket. "If ye canna control them like these here, we'd best be gettin' there quick before they be runnin' outta luck."

  Chapter 20

  Captain Hunter stepped out of the longskiff and back aboard the Brass Griffin. He trailed his eyes along the ship's firm lines, then glanced up at the ship's tight airbag overhead and sighed with the look of a man returned to his element. Removing his long coat, Hunter knocked a few traces of wet leaves and soot from it before slipping it back over his leather vest and white shirt. He looked out across the deck in front of him. A light mist struggled to enshroud him and his ship, though in the end it merely succeeded in a gentle embrace. The sound of running boots drew his attention. He turned to see Tonks trot up to him from the far side of the deck. The pilot came to a halt and handed a folded diagram to the captain. The drawing was a fairly accurate depiction of the outside of the relay station itself with some additional markings along the margins.

  "Krumer sent word. They're in need ta be picked up. Seems they've had a rough time of it. Those are the coordinates as best I could plot them based on his signal." Tonks gestured towards the top of the parchment.

  "That far up, eh? They'll have some interesting stories, I'll wager." Hunter commented while he gazed at the diagram. "Good work on the map."

  "Thankee, Cap'n. Scoutin' for Her Majesties' Light Dragoons came in handy after all." Tonks said with a smirk.

  "Hm," was the only reply Hunter gave, although the corners of his mouth turned up a bit towards a smile. "So did Krumer say anything else?"

  "He mentioned something about zombies." Tonks said hesitantly. "Wanted to warn us about them. I replied it was a bit late for that since we'd left port already."

  Hunter looked up from the diagram at Tonks. "Zombies? What?"

  "Zombies, Cap'n." Tonks repeated flatly. "I tried to use a 'glass to look for any myself, but the cloud cover's too thick between us and the station."

  Hunter gazed at the pilot a moment longer. "Hm, odd word for Krumer to use. Set course for the station once the longskiff is stowed. When they're aboard, I'm sure he'll elaborate on what he meant."

  "Aye," Tonks replied with a nod. "Cap'n, the Fens ... was there anything?" The pilot asked. "Ya been down there with the shore party for a good hour, now."

  "Nothing." Hunter said curtly.

  "Not even a campsite?" Tonks asked curiously.

  "Oh, that we did find." The captain said with a rough sigh. Two of the six crew that had accompanied Hunter to the High Fens finished unloading a set of backpacks. The remaining four worked to prepare the longskiff for storage. Hunter watched the activity for a moment, then turned on his heel and motioned for Tonks to accompany him, walking slowly towards the stern of the ship. Tonks quickly fell into step. Hunter continued his explanation.

  "It was abandoned by the time we arrived. From the looks of things, they left in a great hurry. What we did find, we packed away and brought back." Hunter reached into his coat and withdrew a weathered piece of folded oilskin. "This was something I found of particular interest." Hunter handed the waterproof canvas to the pilot.

  Tonks unfolded it slowly to reveal the modest portion of a map. It was a ten inch section that had been hastily torn from a much larger map. The oilskin was by no means new, having seen its share of weather and abuse. Likewise, the lettering was also not of a recent vintage, being an older script. Tonks turned the map over in his hands.

  "I'm no expert, Cap'n, but it looks like Latin ta me." The pilot said, turning the map over again. "Some sort a' relic?"

  Hunter shook his head. "Latin, quite. But the age? Look again. That map cannot be that old."

  Tonks gazed at the map again, this time he ignored the lettering. "That's Belgium, and more'n a few local towns drawn here and a couple a' airship routes, too. Cap'n, that doesn't make sense. Why'd anyone bother with Latin, save a doctor, that is?" The pilot started to hand the oilskin map back to Hunter, who refused it.

  "You keep that. The few bags, ration tins and other items we recovered all bore markings in the same language. I know what it all suggests, but I, for one, am not ready to believe it." Hunter explained. "Once we recover Krumer and our people, they'll have more to add to this puzzle."

  Suddenly, a young crewman erupted out of the ante-room that connected the officer's quarters. All of nineteen, he was lanky and ill-fitted to his loose clothes. His tousled, curly black hair was in dire need of a brush and his dark eyes were wide with alarm. "Mr. Tonks! Cap'n! Message! Emergency!"

  Tonks caught the young man before he barreled headlong into Hunter. "Careful Lucas, what's this now? Get your breath."

  Lucas took two long, deep breaths to get himself under control. Then he held out a piece of paper with some hand-written notes on it. "I made me notes like ya taught me, Mr. Tonks. Coord'nates are on the map. It's Mr. Falke who sent it. He's sayin' they're under attack!"

  Hunter snatched the paper from the boy's hand and scanned it quickly. "Attack? By whom?"

  Lucas explained, using exaggerated hand gestures to accent his words. "Not sure Cap'n. He was sayin' somethin' about a ship makin' port, soldiers pourin' outta the new ship and makin' for the wreck nearby. Then zombies comin' outta' the station. Mr. Falke and them with him are bein' in the crossfire, y'know. None of it makes much sense."

  Hunter crumpled the paper in his hands. "Tonks, take your apprentice here and send word to Krumer that we may be a bit delayed. Then make haste back to port. Apparently, there is a new player on the field, and I want to know their intentions... not to mention get to the bottom of this 'zombie' rubbish! Prepare for the worst, I intend to get my crew back."

  "Aye, Cap'n!" Tonks nodded to Lucas with a quick smile, then turned to face the main deck.

  The pilot took a deep breath. "All hands! Prepare for full steam! We make for the relay station!"

  Chapter 21

  Far above the dark, wet trees of the High Fens, higher still than where the Griffin parted the lower storm clouds, orange tongues of gunfire ripped apart the fog that skittered along the rooftops of the relay station. As the small group watched from the tenuous safety of the shed, eleven zombies slowly emerged from the fog in a silent, unnerving march toward them. Immediately after the gunfire, several of the reanimated dead men s
huddered with the impact of bullets. When the roar subsided, only three toppled over and fell flat. Krumer took aim and squeezed the trigger of his pistol again, but nothing happened. Mouth set in a grim line, he pulled open the gun and automatically reloaded. His mind clicked like a machine. With each bullet that he dropped into the cylinder, he mentally counted down on his inventory of ammunition. When he had left the Griffin, he had brought spares with him, in case of an emergency. Ten minutes ago, it had been such an emergency. Now, it was a full-grown crisis.

  "Everyone still breathing?" Krumer asked.

  "What?" Tiberius crouched just inside the right side of the shed door. He had not quite been able to hear over the roar of gunfire. Finally, he worked out what was said in his mind. "Yes, I'm here," he called out.

  Adonia leaned out from the left side of the door, fired once, then twice at two different bodies in the gloom. Both shuddered, then fell. Barely two seconds later, they both slowly righted themselves. She ducked back inside and growled, "Still here. Though I am not sure for how much longer. These creatures will not stay down!"

  Krumer nodded, not knowing if Adonia was even watching him. "Aim low, above the stomach."

  "I did!" The Charybdian woman exclaimed, her hair-tendrils writhing like poisonous vipers, eager with both anger and venom.

  Krumer took aim and fired. The zombie that currently had his attention shuddered, and dimly he heard a metallic report. The zombie dropped to one knee, then stood again. Surprised, Krumer looked at the wound. When he had shot the creatures in that same spot previously, they had fallen and had not gotten back up. The wound was there, where he had wanted it, but there was no dark ooze like before, this time he believed he saw a glint of metal through the bullet hole in the zombie's shirt. The first mate's blood boiled with frustration and anger.