Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1)

by Robert Adauto III

  “Safe for people to travel in?”

  “...Yes.” He patted the tube.

  She blinked and hesitated for a few moments more before someone gave her a gentle push. She crawled through the opening, and the soldiers handed over the harness straps. She leaned back, pulling the harness close to her body, and clasped the brass fittings together. The door closed with a heavy thud. She shut her eyes.

  Thisisnotacoffinthisisnotacoffinthisisnotacoffin.

  “Grab the handrails,” one of the men said. “The handrails, Miss Coyle?”

  Her trembling hands shot up and grabbed the handholds by her shoulders. Someone outside tapped against something a few times before she opened her eyes, glancing out the portal. She heard a small argument between Chief Sykes and another gnome, something about something-something-something or else it won’t work.

  Panic shot through her body. She reached for the clasp, but it refused to cooperate with her struggling fingers.

  “What’s wrong? Miss Coyle?”

  She didn’t answer. She only knew this was all a mistake, and she had to leave right now. She glanced outside and saw a gnome give them a thumbs-up. He slammed his hand against a switch and loud machinery pushed the pod outside at an angle. Air, light and noise rushed in all at once. She struggled against the tight straps but then looked up through the holes in the tube at the cold, blue sky. And somehow, the bright color soothed her mind. She didn’t have to panic. This was going to work.

  I’m a tiger, remember?

  She shut her eyes again, trying to remember the comforts to which she would soon return: the plush carpets, baked bread, hot baths and beautiful vases with fresh-cut flowers. She was going on a trip and returning soon. Everything was going to be fine.

  A strange noise grew around her, as if a thousand people were sucking in a long, deep breath. She sucked in her breath as well.

  Plush carpet. Beautiful vase. Scent of—

  FOOM!

  A giant hand pressed against her, crushing her lungs, her head struggling to turn. Her breath came in shallow gasps. A long, loud blast deafened her, and her ears rang incessantly.

  Her eyes shifted out of the small window and caught familiar sights: sun, clouds, mountains, sky. Then the clouds and the mountains and the sun sank out of view as the tube was steered through the sky. The pressure against her body relaxed a bit. She eased forward and breathed long, full breaths.

  A flash of silver caught her attention. Another tube in the distance flew through the air. Its metal wings unfurled while a puffy white pillar trailed behind. She shifted her focus and found another pod, and there, just to the right, another.

  She found consolation in the cluster of flying craft. They were together, even in the air. Her new teammates, all of them experiencing the same things as her. Renewed confidence slowly surfaced and began to push away the dark thoughts.

  The craft shifted direction. The movement was subtle. Gentle. And then her eyes found the massive airship hanging in the clouds. The Dawn’s Edge grew larger, more real and less like a phantom. She focused on the ship above. As long she kept her eyes on the goal, she would reach the bay safely and in one piece with everyone else.

  It’s almost over.

  A nagging gleam in the sky caught her attention. Her gaze shifted to the cluster of pods. One of the tubes was shuddering.

  Chapter 17

  She squinted. Was it just the normal movement of the craft? Or more tricks of her imagination? She gasped as gray smoke streamed out of the windows before the pod spun and veered sharply to the left and out of view. Her eyes frantically searched the sky, but she couldn’t find it. She waved at the pilot.

  “There’s something wrong with the tube!” she said.

  “What?” one of them said.

  She pointed just as the sky erupted in fire and black smoke. The destroyed tube spun like a flaming top with plumes of dark spiral rings pouring out. She watched in horror as the craft slammed into another pod, sending both out of control.

  Someone shouted, and Coyle looked over. One of their emergency canvas bags was smoking.

  What’s happening?

  One of the men pulled himself out of the harness, grabbed the bag, and shoved it through the small window.

  WHAM!

  A violent explosion shook her bones and reduced her hearing to a high-pitched whine. The hatch ripped open. Metal debris flew and clattered against the inside of their pod. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed.

  Her body pressed to the side, and nausea flooded her belly as she gripped the handles.

  I’m going to die in a coffin in the sky.

  Bitter, freezing air rushed inside, clawing through her leathers. Her eyes opened to a dark-red blur. She wiped her goggles, smearing red across the lenses. A quick glance at her fingers proved her worst fear. She wiped again but wished she hadn’t. There was blood everywhere.

  She looked at the others. The pilot’s head was torn to pieces. Long streaks of crimson crept slowly along the metal walls. The other crew member wrestled the controls out of the pilot’s hands. She tugged her goggles down around her neck and glanced out the window. They were almost alongside the ship, but fast approaching the top, far away from the landing bay below.

  “We have to slow down!” she screamed.

  “The speed dampener won’t respond! If we cut the propulsion, we’ll fall!” he shouted back.

  Another violent collision shook them. She gasped as light and shadow flashed through the open hatch. Her eyes were glued to the chaos.

  The pod’s steam engines whistled and popped as the craft bounced before slowing to a stop on the soft canvas of the airship. She lay sideways along the wall, her body straining against the straps. Squinting through the bright sun pouring in, she realized they were resting near the top of the huge dirigible. Huge steering vanes were at the far end, dark and jagged against the cloudy sky. The surviving soldier disconnected his harness and dropped to the floor.

  “Stay there, miss. I’ll have a look.” He pulled himself out of the tube and the pod tilted just enough to make her heart jump.

  “Get out,” he said. “Pull yourself out of the harness. Quickly!”

  Her hands trembled, and the clasp refused to come apart.

  “Quickly, miss.” He looked behind him.

  The buckle finally came undone, and a gentle rocking made her stop.

  “No, keep moving. Get out of the tube!” he shouted.

  She grabbed the opening and noticed the crewman walking alongside the craft.

  We’re sliding!

  He reached inside. “Take my hand!”

  Their hands grasped each other, and he tugged her out onto the dark-gray skin of the airship, but her foot was yanked back. She looked down at a tangle of rope around her leg and cried out.

  “Hold on,” he said. “I’ve got a knife.”

  She lost her balance and fell onto the soft canvas. He grabbed a handful of coiled rope and cut the edge closest to her. The craft pulled them, and the knife slipped. His fingers grabbed it and resumed cutting.

  Her hands reached out, but everything was moving. She rolled onto her stomach, her fingers stretching across the soft canvas until her fingers found the frame. Her fingertips dug into the metal beam until her hands ached, but the pull on her leg was too strong.

  “Hurry!” she screamed. Pain shot through her ankle.

  “I got it, miss, hold on!” he said.

  The strain was too much. She let go, looking over her shoulder at the crewman cutting furiously at the lines. And then her eyes focused on the pod.

  It was moving faster now, hurrying away from them. She turned over, pulling at the knotted lines wrapped around her ankle. Her gloved fingers slipped off the rope. Her ankle felt like it would snap like a twig.

  The crewman’s left hand jerked. The knots he was holding had wrapped around his own wrist.

  They were both trapped.

  Coyle watched in horror as the craft dipped and slid out of
view. They followed. Faster. Faster toward the edge of the open sky. The crewman’s knife cut the final line, and she spread her hands and feet apart until she slowed to a stop. She glanced down and muttered gratitude.

  But he’d cut the wrong end and was still attached to the coils. The knife bounced away, out of reach. He stretched back to her and she leapt toward him and grabbed at his wrist, but the weight of the craft dragged him away. She crawled as fast as she could and lunged. Her fingers grasped his and they held fast. Her other hand tried desperately to hold on to something, anything.

  And then she realized she was being dragged too.

  He ripped free from her grasp, and she watched in horror as he tumbled away and disappeared off the edge. She cried out, spread-eagled across the canvas, and slowed to a stop. Not a muscle moved. One of her feet slid just a hair, and she caught her breath. Her eyes fixated on the edge, hoping to see a hand. A silhouette. A shape.

  Her bones shook. She squeezed her eyes shut against the madness storming inside before crying out long and loud. Someone had to hear her. Someone had to know what happened. Bone-chilling air whistling past her ears was the only answer.

  After a few moments, she pushed and pulled herself away from the edge in slow, careful movements. Finally, she sat up, crawling backward where it was safe, and lay on her back and stared at the sky. She tried to regain her breath. Her hands and feet tingled, and her muscles spasmed.

  She sat up and glanced to the side. The massive steering vanes were arcing into the sky on one side, and she saw nothing on the other. Everything else was soft, gray canvas stretching in every direction.

  She was all alone, but she’d survived, and someone must have seen what happened and compelled a rescue attempt. She pushed the communications lever on her helmet, wincing when static burst through her earpiece.

  “This is Coyle. Does anyone read me?”

  Static.

  She adjusted the knob marked send and tried again. “This is Coyle. Does anyone hear me?”

  “Bzzt-es-zzzf-whe-fzzzt-into-rzzzz.”

  “This is Coyle. We landed on top of the airship. Can anyone hear me?”

  More static.

  No use.

  Maybe they didn’t know what happened. And maybe she would be left up on top of the ship until it landed. An uneasy weight settled in her gut, and she gazed at the heavens stretching before her. It was safer up here, wasn’t it? She couldn’t go on without the rest of the team, could she? No, she couldn’t wait. She still had a job to do. But shouldn’t she let the professionals do it? After all, who was she? Right now she was useless, a trembling heap of bones lying on top of an airship. Everything in her wanted to give up. But wasn’t she always chiding herself to do the right thing? And why was the right thing to do always more difficult?

  She sighed. She had to finish the job.

  No matter the cost?

  She scooted to the large tear across the surface, shoving her hands into the canvas. When she was close, she lay on her belly and crawled to the edge before dropping inside.

  ***

  “Status report,” the radioed voice said, startling the agent stationed in the high-altitude balloon. He leaned away from the powerful spyglass and answered.

  “As planned, two of the pods were successfully destroyed, essentially removing—”

  “I need to know about Coyle,” the voice said.

  “Of course, sir. Detect—er, Miss Coyle—”

  “She’s a detective, now. Please do not disrespect her.”

  “Of course, sir. Detective Coyle landed on top of the airship unharmed and made her way inside.”

  “Can you explain how she landed on top?”

  “Sir, it appears one of the explosive charges was placed into her pod, and luckily was thrown out the window before it exploded. Unfortunately, one of the sabotaged craft collided with hers, sending them out of control. As far I could see, she was the only survivor.”

  “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “It wasn’t, sir. If you wish, I could order the immediate death of Mr.—”

  “Not necessary. He’ll be dying soon enough.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “I’ll have to trust our detective will survive long enough to find the clues I’ve left for her.”

  The balloon agent cleared his throat, choosing not to respond.

  “You can head back to base.”

  “As you wish, sir. Would you like me to radio Moreci?”

  “No, I’ll tell him myself. I’ll take over from here.”

  “Of course, sir. Over and out.”

  Chapter 18

  Upper maintenance deck no. 12

  Dawn’s Edge

  “To the eye of reason everything is as dark as midnight, but thou canst accomplish great things; thy cause is thine, and it is to thy glory that men should be saved. Amen”

  The drop was farther than she thought, and pain flared through her ankle. She winced, rubbing away the ache with her hands, and took in the surroundings.

  The catwalk ran perpendicular to the airship. Behind and forward of her position were more catwalks. She stood, removed the face mask, and tested her ankles before she climbed down an access ladder.

  Unfamiliar sounds kept her mind active as darkness swallowed her. Groaning. Creaking. Small, busy taps of metal against metal. She glanced up. Strong, steady air blew the torn fabric back and forth like fingers running along a heavy curtain.

  She reached the landing and inventoried her belt: the MAD pistol with ammunition, resting in their pouches on her right hip; two different sized knives, one on her left side, the other strapped to her ankle, a small lantern on the left. She flipped on the lantern, and tested its brightness, before snapping it onto an attachment on her helmet. Soft yellow-orange light pushed the dark away.

  She followed the walkway and found a second set of ladders leading down. She tilted her head, spotting another set and the hint of still another set below. She tried to remember how deep the body of the ship was.

  How far down until I find someone?

  A strange sound startled her. She froze, eyes searching the dark, but what was it? Metal? No. Something organic. Guttural.

  “Hello?” she asked, waiting. Her pounding heart made it difficult to hear, but she waited a few more seconds before moving again.

  The ambient light from above grew dim as she lowered herself deeper into the bowels of the ship. Her goal was the cargo bay, where her team was. There’s safety in numbers. But to get there, she would have to travel alone in the dark, and she wanted the experience to be quick.

  Strange noises kept her alert, and at each landing, she waited and looked for signs of life. Sometimes she called out and hoped for a response. But only silence answered her calls.

  A burst of static made her wince in pain, the sharp noise piercing her ear until she switched off the device. She shook her head, stepping down the ladders, rung by rung.

  Then she paused.

  The metal in her hands pulsed with vibration as if something heavy was tapping it. The sound she’d heard earlier repeated itself, and she couldn’t help but look up.

  “Hello? Anyone there?” she called out. She couldn’t be sure if the metal under her hands was vibrating from her own nerves or something else.

  She waited.

  The unfamiliar sounds set her teeth on edge: the constant echo of groaning metal, the torn fabric above, her own heavy breathing, her heart slamming against her ribs.

  She focused on the opening above, nothing more than a pale dot where she’d dropped in. It would get darker, more dangerous down below. But she knew this was the right decision.

  The team was below, not above. If she went up, the sun wouldn’t be there for long. The light would disappear, and then she would be in the sky, alone, freezing in the dark.

  Her foot found the next rung and she lowered herself, bound by duty, obligation and just a smidge of curiosity. She took another step and realized something: she wasn’
t afraid of the dark. She rested on the ladder, blinking. Her light wasn’t that bright, but for some reason, she wasn’t terrified despite being alone in the bowels of a massive airship. She glanced at her steady hands, assuring her heart that everything was fine. This was the way normal people dealt with the dark, which was, after all, only the absence of light.

  Everything’s fine.

  She stepped down, and a scraping sound froze her in place. She looked up, her heart hammering, fingers tightening. Her light remained on the raised landing, the soft yellow globe of light thumping along with her heart. But—nothing. Overactive imagination.

  A distorted face peeked over the edge.

  She cried out, her feet slipping down a rung. The creature opened its horribly wide mouth, and black drool dangled from its mangled lips. Strips of ragged flesh hung from one side of its head, and a pale, misshapen eyeball jutted out of its socket. A watery gurgle came out of the ghoul’s throat as a long, twisted arm reached down.

  She shouted, letting go of the ladder and slamming into the metal floor. Her wrists and backside flared with pain, but she sprang up, looking for an escape. Metal clanged and she stared above, waiting for the worst. Spittle fell like shiny metal strings, and the creature’s gurgling urged retreat. A modicum of courage ignited deep inside, and she paused.

  Was she going to run away all her life? How was this any different than running into trouble on the city streets? She didn’t run away from that trouble, did she?

  She set her feet, ripping the gun from its holster and pulling the hammer back. She pointed it above, but the ghoul shied away from her light. Her feet inched closer, her eyes frantically searching—

  The creature crashed in front of her. She pulled the trigger reflexively, sending tiny bright particles in the air. She took a step back, adjusting the switch from bewilder to skull, and pulled the trigger again.

  Shots rang out, filling the air with smoke. She coughed and waved at the air, her eyes trying to focus.

  A twisted nightmare loomed from the smoke, standing to its full height. Its appearance was mostly human, but its arms and legs and hands were grotesquely long, bony and twisted. A third arm rose from its hunched back, long fingers twitching, reaching for her.