She pulled the trigger again. Sparks jumped as bullets crashed into metal and flesh. Deep, unnatural groans bubbled from its throat. Purple entrails slipped out from the wounds, hanging loose and wet against its misshapen legs. The ghoul jerked back, pausing before it took another step toward her. She aimed at a cloudy, yellowed eye and pulled the trigger. A thick stream of blood erupted from the socket, and it collapsed into a twitching heap.
She kept the weapon pointed at the ghoul and backed away. Her free hand searched for ammunition, and she dumped the empty shells out of the revolver. With trembling fingers, she quickly shoved fresh ammo into the slots and took another step back—but her foot slipped into empty space, her hands clawing at the air, and a small cry rose from her throat as she fell backward into the horrible darkness.
Chapter 19
Main hangar bay
Dawn’s Edge
“Where is our light?” asked Quolo. “Surely there must be a simple switch?” He searched for a pulley or handle along the walls.
The massive bay was easily five stories in height, and wider than it was high, taking up most of the lower center of the airship. A series of doors running along both sides of the bay were open, allowing a constant stream of cold air from either direction. Crates lay in stacks and piles, pushed to the sides to create a wide space in the middle.
“Strange. There should be power,” said Chief Sykes. He puffed on his cigar and squinted through the smoke.
“Smells like stale rust and rat turds,” Poes said. “Where are the others? Coyle? The detectives?”
Bolt looked confused. “Not here? They left before us. I assumed they’d arrived and were looking for resources.”
“They’re not here. Look around. How many pods do you see?” Poes shot back.
“Poes,” Bolt said. “I would appreciate you watching your tone with me.”
“The tone is appropriate, sir,” Poes said. “Your level of situational awareness is not.”
Sykes finished strapping what looked like metal overalls onto his small frame and stood as high as the others. He pulled up a wire antenna from a gadget near his shoulder and switched on his radio, frowning and turning knobs.
“This is Chief Sykes,” he said. “Anyone read me?”
Static and squelches filled the air. The gnome repeated his query and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Bolt asked.
“There’s no blasted radio reception is what’s wrong,” he said. “These infernal devices were probably made by an automaton or, worse, a human. Gnomish engineering never fails, but I digress. With no radio reception, I have no way to get in touch with support.”
“But we can hear each other,” Bolt said. “Through our radios.”
“Ours work through what’s called line of sight communications,” Sykes explained. “We can radio each other as long as we can see each other.”
“Curious,” Poes said.
“Sir,” a soldier said to Sykes. “Some of our men report three of the tubes were involved in a collision during flight. There appear to be streams of smoke below that corroborate their account.”
Most of them stepped carefully to the open doors and peered down.
“Yup,” Sykes agreed. “Those aren’t coal fires. Hopefully someone’s out to investigate. However, with regard to the altitude, the probability of survival is not good.”
Poes and Quolo glanced at each other.
“What happened?” asked Bolt.
The soldier shook his head. “Not sure. They saw flames and black smoke from two of the tubes. One spun out of control and struck the others. By deduction, it appears the lost tubes contained Duone, Vonteg and Coyle, along with their crewmates. Nine souls in all,” he said.
“All of our law enforcement is gone. Seems like too much of a coincidence,” Quolo added.
After a few moments, Poes stirred and frowned. “What would be flammable onboard the tubes?” he asked.
“Determining the nature of the accident isn’t a priority right now,” Bolt growled. “What is important is determining the nature of this ship’s stability and the whereabouts of her crew,” he said. He turned to Sykes. “Which way to the bridge?”
“This way,” Sykes answered, and the others followed him up flights of stairs until they reached the passenger decks.
As they moved away from the windows, the rooms and hallways darkened. Each of them switched on their lanterns and cast glowing light back and forth across empty spaces. The men kept their weapons trained on the darker spaces where their lights couldn’t penetrate. The surroundings changed from slate gray and practical to the rich colors of luxury, resembling the train cars in every way. Their heavy boots echoed across polished mahogany floors and walls. Plush, leather recliners and couches rested in corners, and rare tapestries and paintings hung on the walls. They passed rooms large enough to hold ceremonies, dinners and banquets with ease. But among all the beautiful furniture and accompaniments, there was one thing missing.
“Where are the people?” Quolo asked.
“Let’s hold on a second,” Poes said, and everyone stopped and listened. Their eyes searched the surroundings, and their ears waited for the sound of life.
“This is unsettling,” Quolo said.
“Let’s get moving,” Sykes said. “They’re holding the passengers somewhere.”
“How many ballrooms does this ship have?” Poes asked.
“Eight,” Sykes answered around his cigar.
“Shouldn’t we try to rescue them?” Quolo asked.
“Our priority is control of the ship,” Sykes answered. “Then we look for the passengers.”
They searched through rooms as they passed and gazed up elegant staircases and around darkened corners. But there was nothing. No voices. No music. No scent of food. No lights but their own.
“When was the last contact,” Poes asked, “besides the emergency beacon?”
Chief Sykes thought for a moment. “Two days ago.”
“And there was no hint of something amiss? Concerns?” Poes asked.
Sykes shook his head. “The chief mate sent word with their position and a requisition list of supplies about six hours after she launched. That was the last time we heard from the Dawn’s Edge.”
Finally, they reached the bridge level. They were making their way up the wide stairs when short bursts of static filled their communications line. Everyone froze. Garbled transmissions flooded the air for a few seconds.
“Who’s that?” Bolt asked.
Everyone waited for a few moments, but there was nothing else.
“The ship’s crew?” Quolo asked.
“Possibly.” Poes nodded. “Has to be. But where are they?”
“Let’s get to the bridge so we can access the power. Once power is restored, we can use that area as a base of operations,” Sykes said. They agreed and continued.
“Stop,” Poes said. “Do you hear something?” Everyone stood still.
“What are we listening for?” Quolo asked.
“I’m not sure,” Poes said. “But it sounded like... groaning. As if someone were trying to speak.”
They all stood and waited, but the only sounds were distant taps and creaks echoing through the airship.
“I hear nothing,” Bolt said, and continued through the hallway.
Everyone followed when a sharp burst of static pierced their ears. Everyone stopped and grabbed their ears. Poes winced and pulled his earpiece away from his head. The electronic screeching tore through their ears for a few seconds and then stopped.
“Bolt, any ideas on what could have caused that noise?” Quolo asked.
He shook his head. “Could be anything, though all of us receiving the same level of noise is curious.”
Another blast flooded their ears, and most of them pulled their earpieces away from their head. The loud squelching abruptly stopped when another sound caught their attention. Everyone stood still and listened.
Scrapes. Moans. Shuffling feet. S
harp objects scraping against the wood.
“Someone’s alive and trying to get help,” Quolo said. “Up there, in the bridge.”
All at once, they hurried up the stairs, their small lamps flashing across the wall and double doors of the bridge. Their eyes fixed on the frosted-glass doors as a shadow passed on the other side.
“There! See?” Quolo said. He stepped toward the door, but Sykes stopped him.
“Something’s covering the glass,” Sykes said. “It looks like...”
“Blood,” said Poes.
Everyone stared at the reddish-brown streaks covering the glass. Traces of handprints and fingertips streaked through the gore.
“There may be poisonous gasses inside,” Bolt said. “Everyone, get your masks and goggles on for safety.”
Everyone put on the contraptions, their oxygen scrubbers humming to life. After everyone had checked their seals and given a thumbs-up, they were ready.
“Everyone on alert,” Sykes said through the radio. “Ready your weapons just in case. Remember: we’re here for a rescue operation, so mind your triggers.”
As he finished giving them instructions, one of the soldiers pointed at the glass behind him. An unnaturally long, bony hand scraped the glass door before disappearing.
The men glanced at each other. Some stepped away. Heavy breathing, gasping, choking sounds filled the hallway outside the bridge. The floor creaked under their feet, and strange tappings came from somewhere above them.
“All right, men,” Sykes said. “Get a hold of yourselves. You two, get on either side of the door. Now, I’m going to open the doors, and the both of you—”
A faint voice jumped through the transceivers, but static drowned out anything recognizable.
“That sounded like Coyle,” Poes said.
“Can you be sure? How could she still be alive?” Bolt asked.
“Come in,” Sykes said through his transceiver. “Come in, Coyle, can you read me?”
They listened intently for a few seconds and heard no more.
“I’ll try to find her. She may be somewhere above,” Poes said. “As soon as I find something useful, I’ll try to relay the information.”
He turned and sprinted back down the stairs into the darkness. The men watched his light float away down the hall until he disappeared around a corner.
“Shouldn’t some of us go with him?” Quolo asked.
“We can’t afford to lose any more men.” Sykes shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
All of them jumped when something slammed against the door. Louder groans filled the air, and someone crashed against the other side of the door, causing the men to step back.
Sykes held his position, pointing his weapon at the door.
“Be ready, men,” he said.
But the noise stopped as if nothing had happened. Not a single noise was heard from inside the bridge. Sykes turned and nodded his head, reaching for the handle.
The glass doors exploded, sending shards into the soldiers. Long, pale, twisted hands reached out and dragged a screaming soldier into the bridge. Dozens more of the creatures shot out from the opening and clawed at the other soldiers. Misshapen claws tore away leathers, masks, goggles and limbs, leaving jagged wounds. The creatures emerged from the bridge, revealing their horrible, twisted maws and limbs searching for the men.
Sykes shouted and the soldiers opened fire, darkening the room with gun smoke, muzzle flashes and splintered wood. But the pale ghouls crawled through the eruptions of gunfire, overpowering the screaming men and dragging them to the floor.
A dense fog of spent munitions arose, making it difficult to see anything or anyone. Sykes shouted a retreat, and the men huddled together away from the bridge.
“Reload!” someone shouted. Most of the men leaned against the walls, cycling through their ammunition, eyes shifting between the weapons and the clouded end of the hall where their buddies were screaming.
Ghouls lunged from the haze. Arms of ragged flesh and bone pulled men to the ground and tore them to shreds. Jagged teeth bit and chewed whatever got close.
Quolo shot a creature. It turned and faced him with a bloodied arm hanging from its jaws. He fired again, the bullet tearing its head open, and the thing dropped. He shot another in the shoulder. Streaks of red sprayed out, but the creature lunged and sank his teeth into the neck of a struggling man. He fired again and again before a bullet sank into the creature’s head, stopping its attack. Something crashed into him. He spun. The gun was knocked out of his grip, and he fell to the floor. Sharp teeth clamped down on his face, but his goggles and helmet kept his skin from being torn.
Another tore at his leg. Still another bit into his arm. He slammed his fist and kicked with all his strength. He made an effort to stand, to get away, when someone crashed into him. They rolled down the stairs and landed in a heap. Quolo made a fist, rearing back for a punch.
“No! I’m on your side,” said a soldier, and they lifted themselves up.
“We need to get out of here,” Bolt said as he reloaded his pistol. “We’re losing men.”
Sykes looked around at the pandemonium. Body parts lay strewn across the floor, soldiers fired blindly at the creatures, and screams from both sides made his blood curdle.
“Fall back to the hanger! Everyone, fall back!” he yelled.
They ran, shuffling and limping through the vacant halls. Some of them kept their weapons trained behind the group, firing at the stray ghouls who managed to follow. They found the hangar bay and fixed the doors behind them. Most of the men were savvy enough to reload their weapons. Some collapsed to the floor, their wounds bleeding profusely.
“Chief Sykes here.” He clicked his radio. “Someone read me! It appears there are creatures of unknown origin. No sign of crew or passengers. We have wounded here, some grievously. Expedite medical supplies! Come in! Come in!”
“What are these horrible creatures?” Quolo asked. “And where did they come from?”
Chapter 20
Starboard ballroom
Dawn’s Edge
Moreci listened to the pleas of Chief Sykes coming over the radio.
“Sounds desperate,” Moreci said, looking at the waning landscape below.
“These poor souls have no idea what they’re facing,” Veiul said.
“I disagree,” Moreci said. “Every person knows they face a reckoning at some point. I’m only hastening the introduction with their true form: monsters.”
“The Hindus would say it is karma,” Veiul said.
Moreci nodded. “It appears the bombs took out three of their pods,” Moreci said. “The two detectives and our estimable constable. Pity that. She was an interesting one. I would have liked to change her into something more passable than human.”
Veiul glanced at Moreci. “I’m more than that woman could have ever hoped to be.”
“You are resilient. That’s for certain,” Moreci said. “And she’s dead, so the point is moot.”
“I’ve proven my caliber through the defeat of both Coyle and Fang,” she said, clenching her fists. “Neither of them is here, and yet I am. If anyone deserves to be changed into a higher form, it’s me.”
Moreci studied the fire in her eyes. She was always one for her passion of work.
“You have achieved your highest form, my dear. You are an apex predator, and by my side, we’ll capture whatever comes our way.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. “Come in,” Moreci said.
An appallingly frail man stepped inside, bowing before speaking.
“Sir,” he said.
“You have an update, Cavin?” Moreci asked.
“Treece’s team landed on the ship. They reached the bridge and were rebuffed by the Turned before they retreated to the hangar. Most have suffered bite wounds, and we should see the effects of the venom very soon.”
“They were the last threat. That’s the good news,” Moreci said. “What’s the bad news?”
; “Reports of something like gunfire were heard in the upper maintenance decks not too long ago. Would you like to send a small team to investigate?”
Moreci stood silent and looked outside. His oxygen tanks hummed along with the engines of the ship, both of his hands tapping the windowsill.
He finally shook his head. “I’m not going to worry about a lone crewman with limited ammunition. We don’t have the resources. Speaking of which, what are the current numbers of passengers and crew?”
“Two hundred were Turned and are roaming the ship. Another one hundred were killed and thrown overboard. That leaves about two hundred crew and passengers remaining in the grand hall, sir.”
“Release some passengers into the ship.” Moreci smiled. “That should give the Turned something to do in the meantime. And when we get to Chicago, we’ll prepare the grand finale.”
Cavin left, and Moreci noticed Veiul staring at the floor.
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
She looked up at him with doleful eyes.
He stepped closer, embracing her before lifting her chin. “I know you were supposed to eliminate Treece’s team back in his mansion. But things change, and we must make our adjustments. I would rather have you by my side than dead.”
“Fang killed Trevin,” Veiul said. “Took his head clean off. That was my fault, too.”
“And she’s gone. We haven’t seen her since,” Moreci said. “Besides, we still have our man embedded in Treece’s team. He’ll make sure everything goes according to plan. Within a few hours, we’ll reach our destination and you’ll be by my side as we introduce these people to a new god and a new way of life.”
Chapter 21
Upper maintenance decks
Dawn’s Edge
She breathed him in...
Ronan’s cologne and sweat became the scent of evil, of betrayal, of madness. Her back arched as the scalpel raced down her chest. Thin trickles of blood spread down her sides. She pulled against the restraints until her skin tore. He set the scalpel aside, ignoring her muffled screams.
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 18