Hellfire

by Jeff Provine

  With the crowds around them, Nate and Ozzie had dumped their red coats into an alley corner. Blake kept his, the pockets filled with coal, kerosene, and matches. He walked with a short-handled coal shovel like a walking stick. Tom Husk kept his coat, too, muttering that it was a poor replacement for his good suit. Nate looked at the newspaperman’s set of muddy rags cockeyed when he said it.

  They fought their way through the crowds and past the locked gates of the northern row of factories. The Midsummer festival meant that work was canceled, something that happened rarely in Gloriana. Nate could remember his father balking at his shift being continued on Christmas back when people celebrated that. Now the focus had gone onto New Year’s, which was said to be the more appropriate, state-endorsed holiday.

  Past the factories, they climbed the hill of the levee that kept in the enormous Lake Providence. Some of the levee had been turned into parkland, but parks were interrupted by huge pipes that ran through the knolls. The lake had changed sizes and positions over the years as more and more factories tapped it as a reservoir for their steam engines, but it had always remained a crescent-moon shape northwest of the city that shared its name.

  At last they climbed the last set of steps and arrived atop the levee. The city sprawled out beneath them. Whole districts were dark with the factories closed. Others were lit brilliantly with gas lamps and candle lanterns. The wide, muddy Mississippi River sparkled like stars in the east as it reflected city lights. There was no starlight above, just the gray-orange clouds.

  Nate took in several deep breaths from the warm wind that blew over the levee. He could taste the latent smoke in the air, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as it would’ve been on a day when all of the factories were running full-tilt. The smell of catalyst-free lamps and chimneys was almost homey.

  “What’s the plan, exactly?” Husk called.

  Nate turned away from the city. On the other side of the levee, Lake Providence rested in the shadows. Its huge mass was still, just a few waves chopping against the far side of the earthworks.

  “That,” Nate said, pointing at it. He pulled one of the jars of the experimental catalyst out of his shirt. They had ridden bulkily atop the cloth belt that tied the loose engineer’s coveralls tight, but it was better than carrying them. “If it’s explosive enough to turn a locomotive into slag iron, it’ll do the trick on the levee.”

  Husk had his coat pulled tight around himself. Blake had knelt down, shoveling the supplies he had taken out of his pockets. Ozzie was looking out over the city, her soft eyes sparkling.

  “What about the city?” she asked.

  Husk put a hand over his eyes to look down, even though there was no sun to shield them from. “The first thing it’ll hit are the lakeside factories. Then it’ll disperse all through the streets.”

  “We’re not going to drown anyone, are we?” Ozzie asked, more to the point.

  Nate gritted his teeth. Please don’t let it hurt anyone. “I hope not.”

  “Maybe there’s some other way?”

  Blake stood up, grunting as he went. “There’s no other way. Let’s get it done.”

  Nate shivered despite the warm air. “We need to dig as deep as we can.”

  Blake handed him the coal shovel, trading it for the jar of catalyst. There was a familiar tool in his hands again.

  The first jab into the soil only went an inch. Thick sod had built up from grass happy to have the moisture of the lake nearby. Nate carved out a square from the roots, and Husk helped him pull it out of the ground. The soil below was much easier to move through with only a few rocks to pull out of the way.

  When he couldn’t reach any deeper, Nate pulled up one final scoop of soil and tossed it aside. “Okay. The coal!”

  Ozzie dumped the dusty coal into the hole. Her hands were stained black. Husk was right behind her, pouring kerosene over it.

  “Ready?” Blake called.

  The three stood back. He lit a match from the side of his boot and tossed it inside.

  The fire burst up immediately. The kerosene gas went up with a whoosh of fiery thunder. It was so bright that Nate had to look away.

  When he looked back, he saw the hole growing dim. He frowned. “Too much kerosene.”

  “Too much?” Husk blurted. “The stuff’s practically explosive itself!”

  Nate shook his head. “Too explosive. It eats up all the air around it, and there’s nothing left for the coal to catch. Just do a drop this time.”

  Husk sighed and splashed a little starter on. This time when Blake tossed in a match, it caught. After only a moment, the hole burned a cheery yellow-orange.

  “It’s kind of nice,” Ozzie said softly, smiling as she watched with her pale eyes.

  Nate nodded. He wanted to hold her around the shoulder, but there was work to do.

  He picked up the jar from where Blake had set it down and popped the wax seal. When he was on the train, he usually used only a pinch of catalyst at a time. He didn’t know how well this burned or much of anything about it. “I might as well use the whole jar.”

  “Toss it in?” Blake offered.

  Nate bit his lip. “We need a fuse. That’ll give us a few minutes to get away.”

  He set the jar down and grabbed his left sleeve by the seam at his shoulder. It took three tugs, but at last it gave way. He tied one end and dumped the whole jar into it. Then he spun it, folded it into another layer, and tied the free end tight.

  He looked at the others. “Ready?”

  They nodded.

  “Get ready to run,” Nate said. He dropped the makeshift cloth bag into the fire.

  He turned and grabbed Ozzie by the hand. She hurried, nearly running past him. Blake and Husk, who apparently hadn’t believed him, chased after them.

  “How far do we need to go?” Husk cried. He limped on a bad ankle.

  “I have no idea!” Nate said.

  Blake said something, but it was drowned out in his puffing.

  They ran for what seemed like an hour until finally Ozzie squeezed Nate’s hand. She fell out of her run and into a walk. Nate stopped with her.

  “Thank goodness,” Blake said, holding one of his sides. Husk came up next to him and leaned on his shoulder.

  Nate looked back at the hole more than a hundred yards behind them. There were flickers of light coming from it, so it hadn’t burned out. It was only a matter of time before the catalyst caught.

  “We should get down,” Nate suggested.

  The others looked at him blankly. He dropped to his knees and then lay prostrate on the levee grass. Everyone shuffled to do the same.

  Nothing happened yet. Only the distant noise of the crowd and the music of the festival whispered on the breeze.

  Ozzie broke the quiet. “Lucky thing they haven’t come after us.”

  “They know we’re gone, but they don’t know where we’ve gone to,” Blake told her.

  “They’ll know soon enough when this blast goes,” Husk replied. “Not that it’d do them much good. It’d take anybody on foot an hour to get up here through the crowds. Driving one of their steamwagons would be even worse.”

  There was a round of muffled agreement, and then they were quiet for a moment. Ozzie piped up. “How big do you think the blast is going to be?”

  Nate opened his mouth, but a sudden burst louder than any thunder he had ever heard rang out. There was something more to it, too, like a series of voices wailing. While the thunder still roared, dirt washed over him like a wave. He didn’t think he was breathing, but some of it got into his mouth and nose. He sputtered to get it out.

  Finally, the bellowing thunder ended. The air felt hot and stank of dust and metal. Nate peeked up.

  Lake Providence sloshed with waves going seemingly in every direction, trying to find a way to settle after being rocked by the blast. Behind them, a huge crack ran through the levee with water filling in the new gap. Dirt lay scattered in every direction, and little fires burned among the grass.<
br />
  Yet the levee stood. The explosion had broken it perhaps halfway through, but there was still plenty of earth in the way of the water.

  Nate had to speak to process. “It didn’t do it.”

  The plan had been so simple, and the explosion had done a great deal of damage. Maybe he should have used the second jar, too. He pushed himself to his knees and looked around.

  Husk held his ear. “Man alive, that hurt! I don’t know if I’ll ever hear out of this ear again!”

  Blake just sat with his face in his hands.

  Ozzie hurried to the sheriff’s side. “Are you all right?”

  “The fire,” Blake mumbled.

  “Yes, it’s over now,” she said. “It didn’t quite work.”

  “No, no,” Blake said, still mumbling. “I looked at the fire.”

  Nate’s heart stopped inside him. The sheriff had seen Biggs and Parvis out of their coats, which had been enough to shake him into shooting a man, but even Nate was unsure what could have been seen through the flames. His own vision of hell had frozen up his mind, letting only the simplest of thoughts through like saving the rest of the train. It had driven Zane Weatherford mad.

  “Hold him, Nurse Jacey,” Nate said. “It’s all we can do right now.”

  Ozzie took the older man in her arms and cradled his head on her shoulder. He clutched her in return.

  She whispered, “What’s the matter with him?”

  Nate’s mind drifted back to the hellions he saw on his own train two days before. He shuddered away from the thoughts. “He saw things men aren’t supposed to see.”

  Husk got to his feet, still holding his ear. “Is he going to be all right?”

  All Nate could do was shrug. “I pray so.”

  The newspaperman made a long, deep sigh. “What do we do now?”

  Nate patted the second jar still inside his shirt. “We try again. This time, we’ll go on the slope and aim to weaken it under where we blew the last one.”

  Husk’s eyes were wide. Nate began to ask what the matter was, but then he saw that Husk was staring past him. He spun around quickly.

  At first, nothing seemed different from when he had looked out over the city before. Then he saw them: four streaks of light in the sky. They looked like fireworks, but they moved too slowly and never seemed to burn out. As they grew larger and larger, Nate realized they were headed his way.

  “What are those?”

  “I don’t know, but I have a bad feeling. We can’t just run with Sheriff Blake out of sorts.”

  “Still have your revolver?”

  Husk gave a single nod and dug into the red coat’s pockets.

  Nate looked over at the crater. The second jar should do the trick, if he managed to get it into the right place. He looked back up at the things in the sky and wondered if he had time.

  There was no time. The things had already taken shape and were bearing down on them quickly.

  Nate wasn’t sure what to call the contraptions. A long metal cylinder whirred with a front aerial screw like those on the sides of airships, yet it burned so hot and fast it left a trail of fire behind. Narrow canvas wings stuck out from either side, guiding the rocket-machine. Men sat atop them, strapped on and holding controls like reins. As they approached, he realized it was the rail agents: Biggs, Parvis, Marshal Davies, and Marshal Ticks.

  Husk fired wildly into the air. The machines on the backs of Davies and Ticks flared, and they took off higher into the sky. Biggs flew faster toward them. Several of Husk’s shots hit the giant in the chest, causing his rocket to veer wildly one way and then another.

  Parvis landed first. His machine crashed into the earthworks, and he burst out of his straps. Husk turned and planted a shot straight into the short man’s chest. The short hunchback stumbled backward and then came forward again.

  Nate gritted his teeth. “That won’t hurt them! They’re hellions!”

  “Right, right,” Husk said. He tossed his revolver away.

  Biggs crashed down next. His huge hands ripped the straps off the machine rather than loosening them. He made a vicious roar as he leaped off and plodded toward them. The leather mask over his horrid face hung at an angle, letting tufts of black hair through.

  Nate breathed faster and faster. “Husk, we should—”

  The newspaperman held up a hand to interrupt him. He took a deep breath, looked up at the sky, and yelled, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord, all ye lands!”

  Biggs froze, and his roars turned into a sharp screech of pain. He gripped his head with both of his giant hands.

  “What?” was all Nate could ask.

  Husk only said, “Serve the Lord with gladness: come before his presence with singing! Know ye that the Lord is God: it is He that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.”

  Biggs backed away now. Parvis was already on the ground, curled and twitching.

  Nate started smiling. Husk was onto something. If he could hold them at bay, maybe Nate could set the second jar.

  “Enter into his gates with thanksgiving,” Husk cried, “and into his courts with—”

  A gunshot cut him off. Husk let out a shriek and fell to the ground.

  “Husk!” Nate called. He ran toward the fallen man.

  “Hold it right there!” he heard Ticks call.

  The marshals had landed their machines a little farther back and were now marching steadily toward them, pistols raised. Ticks’s smoked in the hazy wind.

  Nate brought up the revolver they had stolen off him.

  Ticks fired first. A stabbing pain leaped into Nate’s stomach even before the cracking sound reached his ears. He dropped the gun and grabbed his side.

  “Fool!” the blond marshal, Davies, screamed. He ran toward Nate with his gun at his side. “He wants them alive!”

  Ticks made an audible grunt of disgust and holstered his gun.

  Davies came to Nate’s side. He pulled open Nate’s shirt. Nate wanted to fight him off, but all he could do was lie on the soft levee grass.

  “He was carrying a jar!” Davies called. “Probably the explosive they were using! It’s broken now.”

  “Yippee-skippee,” Ticks said flatly.

  Nate looked down at his side. There was blood, but only a little from a cut due to broken glass. The jar had caught the bullet and shattered, sending it ricocheting away safely. Amid the chunks of glass, bluish-amber crystals scattered all through his shirt and into the cloth belt.

  His throat seemed to close up on itself. The catalyst had spilled. Now there was no way to break the levee. It had saved his life, at the cost of the city. Not that it meant much anyway; the marshals had them.

  Nate let out a long, pained groan.

  Davies stood up and rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’ll be fine.”

  “Why?” Nate asked, his voice croaking. “Why are you helping him?

  Marshal Davies looked down at him as if he had asked why the sky was blue. “Money. They are paying me a lot of money.”

  Nate groaned again as Davies walked away. He rolled his head over toward the others.

  Husk was on the ground, holding his leg at the knee. Even in the dim light, Nate could see blood.

  The hunchbacks seemed to have recovered. Biggs had grabbed Ozzie away from Blake, who sat huddled away from Parvis. The little hunchback squealed giggles and poked him with his impossibly long arms. He only moaned like an infant. Ozzie wriggled against Biggs’s grip.

  “Ozzie!” Nate called.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. She shouted as she tried to take swings at the hunchback. Biggs grunted in return.

  A pair of black boots came into Nate’s view. He rolled to look up.

  Ticks stood over him. His long, black mustache twitched.

  “Oh, how I want to kill you,” Ticks said. “But Burr has bigger plans for you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The steamwagon rocked as it crawled down the street. Its springs wer
e designed to absorb hurried bouncing over rocks; moving slowly made it sway as if they were aboard a ship. Ozzie Jacey couldn’t see much through the few cracks in the wooden shell that imprisoned them, but she could hear the black-mustached rail marshal shouting even over the hiss of the boiler and the roar of the crowd outside.

  No one spoke inside. Tom Husk sprawled on the floor, his shackled hands holding his leg where he had been shot in the knee. Sheriff Blake was curled up in a corner, still shaking and sweating. Even Nathan Kemp looked defeated with his head resting in his hands. Each of them mumbled from time to time, whether out of pain, fear, or woe. She seemed to be the only one who had any wits about her.

  Two hunchbacks sat in the rear corners of the wagon near the wooden door: the short one, Parvis, and the thin one who had been with Husk when they found him at the station. Neither of them spoke outside of hisses and chortles.

  The blast at the levee seemed to have gotten the attention of everyone in the city. Ozzie imagined the rail marshals were already out looking for them, and it seemed reasonable for the Lake Providence police to respond with their shining badges since they’d attempted to flood the city, but she had not expected the state militia to arrive with a lumbering bullwagon meant to gore its way through war defenses. A militia medic had patched up what was left of Husk’s leg. The police had shackles for them all, and the rail marshals with their monstrous hunchbacks forced them into the prison-wagon. She had tried to fight them, but there were too many.

  Still, she had to fight.

  When the steamwagon came to a stop and the engine gave its final huff of lost pressure, Ozzie got ready. As soon as her feet touched the ground, wherever they were, she would bolt. It would take a bit of doing to get around the layers of guards, but she had to do it. She had to go find help. Maybe Blake’s deputies could rescue the others or Dr. Sims could talk some sense into Burr. Ozzie shook her head. How could Burr still be alive?

  The hunchbacks stood. The thin one prodded her to stay back.