Dead Air

by Ash, C. B.

  "Not done are we, Señor?" Carlos' hot, stale breath wafted over Krumer's face. "Come now, you know you are done. You cannot even stand." The zombie licked his lips. "Let me finish it all now, Señor." He asked Krumer with an almost giddy tone. "Let me make all the pain go away."

  With an extreme effort, Krumer stood slowly. At first, Carlos recoiled in surprise, then grinned, stepping back with a over-exaggerated bow that one gentleman would give another. Finally, Krumer got completely to his feet and glared defiantly at the fiend only an arm's reach away. With a snarl, the first mate spat blood in the zombie's face.

  "Idiot." Carlos sneered. In a swift move, the fiend yanked free his revolver and shot Krumer. The orc jerked from the impact of the bullet, his face contorted with shock and pain before he was tossed backwards from the force of the blow. The zombie stalked forward and fired again, but the bullet missed, a hastily aimed shot that ricocheted off the floor and out into the room.

  "Krumer!" O'Fallon screamed in rage as he saw his friend fall. The zombie turned to confront the quartermaster, but not fast enough. The Scotsman drew and fired until his pistol was empty. This time he aimed, not for Carlos, but for the zombie's gun hand. O'Fallon's aim was true, the bullets tore through the revolver and the hand that held it. The ruined gun clattered onto the deck plate while Carlos staggered back with a howl over his mangled hand.

  "Och, ya be feelin' that, eh?" O'Fallon shouted in anger while he tossed aside his empty firearm. "Good!" The Scotsman scooped up the nearby pipe he had used a moment ago, and rushed forward. O'Fallon swung his metal club, but Carlos sidestepped just in time. The pipe harmlessly whistled past the zombie's body. O'Fallon brought the pipe around for another blow, but Carlos stepped in and grabbed the man by the throat, lifted him up, and slammed him down onto the ground. Stunned, O'Fallon jerked twice, then lay still as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Slowly, Carlos turned around. His breath ragged and harsh, eyes bright with hate. Finally he saw what had interested him in the first place. Moira, with the small group at the stairs. He grinned and started forward. The motion drew a warning roar from Tactia.

  "Look out!" Arcady shouted from Moira's shirt pocket.

  "I got through ta some o' them below. Just keep the others off the stairs. I can be handlin' Carlos." Moira shouted to the others. Before she stood, she reached into her pocket and carefully withdrew Arcady. "Arcady, go find a shady place. I got some work ta do."

  The insect looked around quickly and then at Moira. "But Moira ..."

  She shook her head. "No givin' me 'but Moira'. Go on. I'll be better knowin' yer safe."

  With a grunt, Arcady worked his good set of wings to help support his heavily broken side while he raced off. Once, he stopped to look back, but by that time Moira was already feverishly adjusting a dial on the goggles.

  "If you are going to do something Moira, now would be a good time." Adonia commented while she fired another shot down the stairs.

  "Almost got it. They're all tied by glowin' strings back ta the one controllin' them." Moira explained while she turned a dial again. "Ta keep me out, they got 'em all tied to each other ... but I'm bettin' if I hook onto one a' the two holdin' all the strings ... then I can tell 'em ta get each other."

  The moment she said it, the zombies immediately froze in place. In the back of the room, the two riflemen paused in their shooting to look around at the unmoving zombies nervously. Another two seconds ticked by. Then, without warning, the zombies immediately attacked anything near them, whether it was the riflemen or each other!

  Moira rose from the floor after she finished tinkering with her goggles, but by the time she had gotten to her feet, Carlos was already on top of her. Grabbing her by her belt and shoulder, he lifted her high above his head, and tossed the young woman against a nearby wall. Moira bounced off the corrugated metal plates and collapsed to the floor.

  With a roar, Tacita lunged at the zombie. Claws extended, she slashed deep along his arm. Carlos roared and swatted the animal aside, more out of anger than pain. She stuck her head hard against the rail and fell instantly limp.

  "Tacita! No!" Tiberius shouted. He reached for his grenades as Adonia swung around to shoot Carlos. Unfortunately, neither Adonia or Tiberius were fast enough. Already within reach, Carlos made short work of both of them, beating them senseless in moments. Hard, deep breaths escaped his throat as the Spaniard turned to face Moira.

  "Finally." Carlos said slowly, the word dripping from his lips like a succulent, yet poisonous wine. "Ever since you caused me to rot in that prison, I have dreamed of this moment. When I am done, you will beg to die. You will do anything for me to have that release. But, once you die, I'll bring you back ... just for me." He finished with a gleeful, high-pitched giggle. "Forever."

  "Shoulda killed ya when I be havin' the chance." Moira said, her hands flashing to her guns. "Won't be makin' that mistake twice. I know how they made ya. Yer thinkin' ya canna be killed. We both know better."

  Her pistols came up in a single, fluid motion, faster than the eye could see. Tongues of flame erupted out, and a swarm of bullets streaked towards Carlos while she squeezed the trigger repeatedly. None were aimed for his chest, but for the wires and cables that connected his neck to the leather backpack. When the first bullet struck, it snapped a wire with a sharp metal twang. As he felt it snap, Carlos stopped smiling. The zombie rushed Moira, closing the distance as fast as she could shoot, and doing his utmost to let the bullets hit him anywhere less vital. Once within arms' reach, he slapped the guns from her hands, the force of which spun her around against the wall once more. She managed to face Carlos just as his hands latched onto her throat like a vice, lifting her free of the ground.

  "Now my dear Señorita," Carlos growled while he squeezed, "sing for me that sweet death rattle. While I pull your last breath from you!" Moira struggled, kicking and gasping for air.

  "Unhand her!" Dr. Von Patterson shouted as he tossed one of the forgotten pipes like a javelin. The pipe struck Carlos square in the backpack with a metallic echo and clattered to the ground. Carlos abruptly dropped Moira with a heavy rasp, and sighed.

  "You useless fly! How many times do I have to beat you and your companions before the Señorita and I may finish playing?" Carlos spat angrily. The zombie turned, then stood rigid. Anything else he would say, wanted to say, caught in his throat. There, pointed directly at him was the modified fire cannon. In the operator's chair was the pale, exhausted form of Thorias Llwellyn, doctor of the Brass Griffin. On his shoulder sat the battered clockwork insect, Arcady.

  "That will be quite enough out of you, Sirrah." Thorias jerked up, then back on the knife switch. Electricity flew out in a shower of white hot sparks around the doctor. "Quite. Fully. Enough."

  "Capacitors fully charged, Doctor." Arcady said with a glance at the battered control panel.

  "You are a doctor, are you not, Señor? I heard the others call you such. You cannot kill." Carlos sneered smugly, and extended his arms wide. "Doesn't your oath say that I am merely another creature in need of help and healing?"

  "I am a doctor, not a mortician." Thorias growled, then threw the lever.

  Water erupted from the cannon like a geyser. White hot tendrils of electricity sparked and popped along the crest as it shot through the air. The burst slammed into Carlos, electricity jerking him like a dog tearing at a favorite rag doll. He screamed, but the sound was lost among the torrential sound of water and crackle of lightning unbound. In moments, his body was flung at the warehouse wall with such force that the wall exploded outwards. The fist of water shoved the zombie through and into the next warehouse over. Carlos bounced hard, crashed to the dock, and into one of the many holes that had been ripped into the station. With a final scream of rage, the undead fiend sailed downward, through the hole and toward the High Fens, three miles below.

  Back inside the warehouse, Thorias yanked on the lever to disengage the water, then spun the contraption's main wheel. "Now, Doctor! Quickly!
"

  "Right!" Dr. Von Patterson grabbed one of the wheels near the base and turned, increasing the water pressure while the entire contraption rotated to aim towards the ship battle outside. Thorias raised the nozzle upwards, took a rough aim and shoved the lever forward.

  Once again the geyser erupted, but this time the force of the pressure was so great it shook the building. The electrified water spat out, slid neatly between the two schooners and slammed upwards into the frigate. Electricity struck the wood and metal of the warship, igniting everything it touched, including the fuel for one of the nearby boilers. The frigate shook while a section of her hull buckled, expanded then vomited outward; the explosion peeling back her protective layer of armor.

  Aboard the Griffin, Captain Hunter jumped in surprise when the blast struck the frigate. Hunter pulled out his spyglass and turned it towards RiBeld's ship. There, where the three lightning cannon had been concealed, only two remained. One was already engulfed in flames. The second was intact, but smoke issued out of countless holes where shrapnel had perforated the weapon and its gunnery crew. Beyond those, the captain could see RiBeld's crew frantically running about in desperation to either make repairs or locate where that new attack came from.

  Hunter closed the spyglass and smiled grimly. "Krumer, well done! Gunners! Target that explosion and open fire! I want to see daylight through that ship!"

  On the heels of his command, the Griffin shook while her artillery roared angrily. Lightning cannon and regular artillery alike fired repeatedly at RiBeld's vulnerable ship. In moments one explosion became two, then more while fires raged out of control aboard the warship. Slowly, the frigate listed to one side and began to descend. Aboard, her crew scurried back and forth in panic to release the longskiffs as a means of escape.

  On the station, Thorias took a deep breath to steady himself against the pain in his ribs and yanked back on the lever. Immediately, sparks showered the entire cockpit and threatened to latch onto the doctor with it's killing embrace. At the base of the fire cannon, Dr. Von Patterson raced over to find his makeshift club from moments ago, and hurried back. With a quick swing, he smashed the knife switch near the base, cutting the connection between the fire cannon and the station's own power. Abruptly, the sparks died away.

  Exhausted, Dr. Von Patterson dropped the club onto the damp floor. "Doctor? Are you well?"

  Thorias staggered down the short ladder, only catching himself at the end before he fell off entirely. His face was pale and his eyes bloodshot and dark-rimmed. A fresh stain of crimson showed through on his shirt where his wound had reopened. "Healthy? No. Alive, yes my good man. By some miracle, I am. Come, there is no time to lose. Help me over to the others."

  In the time the pair had managed to stumble away from the fire cannon, Moira had crawled over to where Krumer lay. Ten feet beyond, O'Fallon lay atop a pile of debris, unconscious. Blood covered Krumer's chest, and he lay very still. Thorias released his grip on Dr. Von Patterson and fell heavily to his knees by Krumer's side.

  "Heavens, no." The doctor muttered. He coughed, then after a deep breath, said in a shaken voice, "Moira, find me a shirt, some cloth, something. I'll need to bandage his wound once I find it."

  Shaken, throat damaged from being choked, Moira could only nod frantically. She climbed to her feet and quickly searched for anything that would serve as a bandage.

  Meanwhile, Thorias examined his long time friend. Blood soaked Krumer's shirt, so much that Thorias worried that he was too late to save him. Finally he found it, Thorias sighed softly in some relief. In his haste, Carlos had shot too quickly. Instead of the bullet going through Krumer's chest, it had torn high and right to slam through the muscle of the first mate's shoulder. An ugly wound, but not one quickly kill him.

  On his back, Krumer coughed while his mind swam out of the darkness into the damp, pain-filled ocean of consciousness. He looked up at Thorias' worried face and did the first thing that came to mind. He laughed. Instead of his usual deep laugh, it came out a rough, gargling cough.

  "I told you," Krumer croaked through a dry throat, "that you'd not be a burden. You're far from useless."

  "Oh, do shut up." Thorias said tartly, leaning closer to take a good look at Krumer's shoulder wound. "We'll need some help in getting you and the others back to the ship where my medical supplies are."

  Just then, Dr. Von Patterson looked around with a quizzical expression on his face. "Do you hear that?"

  "Hear what?" Thorias asked, carefully easing Krumer onto his side to check for an exit wound in the back of the orc's shoulder.

  "Precisely. The shooting has stopped." The archeologist replied in surprise. "Does that mean... we won?"

  Before anyone could answer him, a shout rose from within the warehouse. Not of terror or pain, but of elation. The words were also in Latin. A moment later Tiberius replied in kind, his voice strained from fatigue.

  Krumer laughed again. "I think that's your help. How's your Latin, Doctor?"

  "Terrible," Thorias said with a faint smirk at his friend. "That's why I'm a doctor, not a linguist."

  Chapter 29

  Below the station, putrid fumes trailed upwards in a column from where RiBeld's frigate lay, smashed and bloodied among the landscape of the High Fens. The column of black, oily smoke rose like an ugly smear across a sky, still thick with the last remnants of the storm. Thunderclouds that had previously hurled rain and lightning now barely rumbled as they slowly separated, growing thinner with each passing moment. While the storm slowly broke, the setting sun emerged. Its warm, amber light caressed the dark clouds, tossing forests and battered station with a soothing blanket that caressed all it touched. At the station's dock, smoke trailed from smoldering piles of rubble, charred craters and the two schooners docked near the wreck of the La Paloma. Despite the gentle silence that accompanied the storm's passing, the station's new guests were hard at work along the dock.

  Captain Anthony Hunter pulled his coat around him while a burst of wind, still fresh with the afterthought the departing storm, swirled around him playfully. He stood on the dock with a thoughtful, yet worried look; for his ship and for his haggard people that had followed him here. His eyes watched while a group of his crew worked steadily to measure, cut and nail shut the holes blasted into the Griffin's hull. Others hurried by him with supplies and materials scavenged from either the station or the wrecked La Paloma, who would not need the parts anymore.

  "Your pilot, Mr. Wilkerson, said I might find you here." Dr. James Von Patterson's voice said from a few paces behind the captain along the dock. Fresh from a washbasin, the archeologist had cleaned himself up, with only a few cuts along his right cheek and a dark bruise that sought to form near his left eye. He wore a clean shirt, dark trousers and long coat, though the mud-splattered boots were his own.

  "Indeed, they were correct." Hunter turned with a small smile and extended a hand to the doctor. "I see you're looking well despite your time of it."

  "Yes, the fresh clothes are much appreciated." Dr. Von Patterson said, clasping the Captain's hand in a firm greeting. When he let go, he started to ask something, hesitated, then pushed on with the question. "However, I don't know who to thank for the loan?"

  "Moira, O'Fallon and several others thought you might feel better with a fresh change of clothes. They scavenged about the ship and station. We came across some clothes in a foot locker that belonged to one of the station's crew. They were your size and we thought, perhaps given all that's happened, the person wouldn't mind at this point."

  For a brief moment, Dr. Von Patterson looked a bit taken back at wearing a dead man's clothes. "Well, still, they are appreciated. We all have had quite a rough time of it."

  "So I've learned. Especially there at the end." Hunter explained. "I've spoken with most everyone that's been able to talk. Honestly, Doctor, given all that transpired, I'm relieved worse didn't happen in there." The captain gestured to the station warehouses that loomed, dark and foreboding, past the two
men.

  "You have the statue, though." Hunter continued, pushing his hands into his coat pockets when the wind blew past again. "Given what it is, what it can do, what will you do with it?"

  "Something like that needs to be guarded and secured." The archeologist said with a grin. "I thought the British Museum would service that need quite well."

  Hunter looked surprised. "Out on display? What about its more ... exotic ... properties?" He asked. "It would be a target for any number of thieves or lunatics or anyone following after RiBeld's lead. We don't fully know who knew how to repeat the process."

  Dr. Von Patterson nodded. "True on all counts. While normally I would bristle at the very thought of keeping a portion of information about a relic such as this jade drake statue quiet, this time I think it would be more prudent for all concerned. In the Museum, it'll be under guard and under close scrutiny most every part of the day. Stealing something locked in a vault or a university laboratory is one thing, but in plain sight of the general populace? While under guard? I think not. I've spoken some with young Tiberius about this. He's nervous about the idea, what with the statue's connection to his home country. However, he is willing to try. He and I are carefully preparing what can be told to the public and what cannot."

  Captain Hunter considered the idea, then gently shook his head. "I understand his worry. You know, this may come back to haunt you?"

  "Indeed, I do." The archeologist said after a moment's hesitation. "It's a large risk. However, I have to return with something. My previous correspondence exposed the statue's existence. To return with nothing or even something small would arouse suspicions. Then the hunt would be on in earnest for what I might have missed." Dr. Von Patterson sighed slightly with fatigue. "I just know this will work. It has to. For the sake of Tiberius and his people."