Dark Age

by Robert T. Bradley

  ‘Tabitha? Wait, no!’ Baxter grabbed the rock from her hands. By her feet, the orb lay smashed in several pieces.

  ‘What have you done?’ He threw the rock away.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she shouted. ‘One of these things, it killed my father.’

  ‘This protected us! If it weren’t for it, loads more would be dead in the attack. Even me, or you.’

  ‘We’re better on our own,’ she said.

  ‘On our own? Out here? Are you mad, Tabitha? You might know the city, but trust me there are things out here terrifying enough to turn you blue.’

  Then he heard it. A click, followed by a clunk. Then a series of several clicks.

  Tabitha drew in breath to speak, and Baxter slammed his hand on her mouth sealing it. He put a finger to his lips and crept back around the rock face.

  The clunks and clicks drew louder, then a shuffling sound of fabrics. ‘Wait here,’ he whispered and peered around the rock.

  There, it’s head concealed inside his sleeping bag, was a male Rabid.

  Baxter jolted on the spot, his skin tightened around him. He placed his hand up to Tabitha trying to caution her, alerting her they had company. Slowly he raised his peacemaker, Tabitha hurried to retract her own.

  He took aim.

  From behind the rock, above them, a series of gentle clicks. A string of thick blood poured onto Tabitha’s arm. Baxter noticed and looked up.

  A Rabid grabbed Tabitha and teeth snapped at her face, clicking and clunking. She screamed.

  Baxter grabbed the Rabids neck. The one at the camp, alerted, leaped at Baxter and got on his back. Baxter dropped his gun.

  The Rabids tore at his clothes, the tough leather, like armour, held fast against their desperate savage hunger. Baxter bent backward, fell to the ground and rolled hard against the rock, trapping the Rabid’s arm. It let go of him, Baxter grabbed the one on Tabitha. Punched it hard, and again harder. The thing bit and tore away her leather-protected neck. The other dived at Baxter, knocked him off the others. It slashed and chomped its gummy mouth at Baxter’s face, its breath like toxic gas. Suddenly a horn bellowed through the sky. The Rabids, frightened, let go of their prey, a fear Baxter recognised from the presence of the alpha predator. The one hunting them had arrived for its kill.

  IX

  On board the Gypsy Moth, the Captain peered down her periscope and saw the foul creatures.

  ‘There, Mr Shanks, six Rabids attacking some poor animals. Ready yourselves for an attack run.’

  ‘Aye, captain – look lively lads and lasses, latch in and hold the flanks, we’ve diving down, bit of the old death from above,’ Shanks shouted.

  The crew cheered as the ship banked upward, creaking flexed pine. The sails caught a gust, filled them out, the silk stretched tight under hot pressure and accelerated the ship’s descent toward the target.

  ‘Hold her steady, Shanks.’ The Captain latched to the deck.

  X

  Baxter punched a Rabid in the face, grabbed his pistol from the ground, aimed and fired, missing the other one. ‘Quick, Tabs. Run.’

  Baxter grabbed her sleeve, pulled hard, fast and far away from them. The Rabids chased in frenzy. Baxter shot one in the face. He quickly reloaded, rounds falling on the floor. He stopped and grabbed one, fumbled it into the chamber.

  ‘Shoot it, Baxter, shoot it.’ Tabitha screamed.

  The airship loomed above them; a javelin, spiteful against the air, rushed forward at breakneck speeds, and two large protruding guns at the front of the ship stuck out and fired two blasts. Two mounds of earth exploded beside them. Baxter looked up and watched as two bombs released from the ship’s hull. The ship banked back up, shooting over the Rabids heads. The bombs curved, bending toward their target, it was the perfect shot.

  Baxter stopped, grabbed Tabitha and dived behind a rock.

  The bombs collided into the ground, sending earth and torn-away diseased limbs skyward. The instant heat and fire exploded the creatures to a pulp of gore and mud. The shockwave rushed toward Baxter and Tabitha. ‘Brace yourself, Tabs!’

  Baxter closed everything on his body as the shockwave hit the rock face. A wave of fire eclipsed it with the pair safe in its centre.

  The fire stopped and Baxter peered around the rock and looked up at the airship. A giant bug-like design, small and hijacked by mechanic’s metal, pipes with tubes running along the hull and engaging a gas balloon built inside the ship’s hull, as though eager to tame its airborne freedoms. Three large sails flapped beside the hull in the winds. The deck looked polished and brand new despite the many square patches made of iron and steel plating which covered random spots like a machine’s bandage for old flesh wounds. The ship was a star broken away from the heavens, only to find the master race of men wanting nothing more than to tame it. The airship came to a hover above them, and Baxter reached in his pockets for more rounds and loaded his pistol. Tabitha crouched by the rock. ‘Get up, Tabs,’ he said. ‘Get up now.’ Many figures moved about on the airships deck, they threw rope ladders over the side, and bodies of animated folk rattled down from them.

  ‘Are you okay, Baxter?’ Tabitha got to her feet, her shirt under her leather jacket torn and ripped; she tried to tuck it in. Baxter helped her. He knew this next encounter was dealing with air dogs, they might want Tabitha. He struggled to hear her words past the ringing in his ears.

  ‘Yeah, I’m – I can’t quite hear you. What are you doing? Get down, Tabs.’ He pulled at her leather trouser.

  ‘What? It’s okay, they’re plonks like father.’

  ‘They might think we’re Rabids. And they could be bandits,’ he said.

  ‘Bandits? They’re not bandits, Baxter.’

  ‘Stay down, Tabs.’ He pressed her shoulder.

  Baxter watched as a gang of confident men and women stood at the bottom of the rope ladders, waiting for their last crewmember. A well-dressed crowd, they had an official air for a crew of a ship which had undoubtedly seen its fair share of action. The last crewmember grabbed a rope and swung down from the bow of the ship, landing with athletic precision on the moorland. She walked out in front of the other members. She seemed different. As she got closer, Baxter noticed her youth, perhaps a few years older than him. Her hips rocked from side to side, battling for the space they occupied.

  ‘Come out from behind those rocks, you two.’ Said the woman.

  Baxter stood, Tabitha shortly followed.

  The woman’s chin, Baxter noted, cut around the bottom of her face as though levelled off with a sharp knife. Her lips were plump and cheekbones pronounced with two matching sapphires embedded above them, although beautiful, her eyes riddled with suspicion.

  ‘Well, you don’t look like you’re infected,’ said the woman, after looking at each of them intently. ‘What business do you have way out here, hunters? Aircrew?’ She raised a perfectly pruned eyebrow. ‘Bandits?’

  Baxter’s lips had sealed themselves shut, it was a good job his mind had gone blank and any notion of a learned language had evaporated out of his brain.

  ‘We’re hunting a pack of wolves,’ said Tabitha, ‘they’ve been terrorising our village.’

  Baxter nodded in agreement.

  ‘How refreshing. It’s not every day you hear the woman speak first, certainly not out here.’ She looked back at her crew, ‘Moorlanders.’ They all laughed heartedly.

  Tabitha’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’ve lost our bearings, trying to make our way back home.’

  ‘Which settlement?’ she asked.

  Tabitha struggled with the answer.

  ‘Gateshead,’ Baxter said.

  ‘Gateshead? Why’d anyone refer such a shithole as a settlement, I’ll never know. You could have made up some other outpost. Silkmore? William Yard? Staddiscombe…’

  ‘Because it is,’ Tabitha interrupted and stepped closer to her.

  How is she not intimidated, Baxter wondered.

  ‘You don’t sound like you’re from Gateshead.’
The woman scorned at her and then pointed a fingered glove back at Baxter. ‘You do.’

  ‘I’ve not said anything,’ Baxter stood up straight.

  ‘You didn’t need to,’ replied the captain.

  Tabitha made a face and Baxter wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Forgive me,’ the woman said looking at them both. ‘You hear all sorts of revolting characters inhabit these moors.’ She gave Tabitha another look, ‘I was simply careful I wasn’t dealing with any of them, especially bandits.’

  ‘No, we’re not bandits,’ said Baxter, finally able to string some words together.

  The woman let out another laugh. She cocked her head and caught a reflection of light coming from their camp. She stood upright, looked around Baxter. Applied her goggles and adjusted their eye rings.

  ‘Well, my dears, I’m afraid… we are.’ She bowed in unison with the rest of the crew. ‘At least…’ she looked around at the moorland, ‘out here we are.’

  The crew drew their pistols. Baxter shot his arms up, yet caught himself fascinated by the modified guns pointed at him. ‘Are those scopes mounted to your pistols?’

  ‘Sure are,’ said one of the crewmen.

  ‘They look powerful, and well-constructed,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said the crewman, ‘I modified this my-’

  The woman stood between them. ‘Over there, in your camp something is shining at me.’

  ‘Junk,’ Baxter said.

  She raised an eyebrow and tilted her pistol. ‘Why don’t you show me your junk, young sir.’

  The barrel of her gun poked into the small of his back, pushing him toward it.

  ‘What is it, a clock?’

  Half of the orb’s casing had come away, revealing Baxter’s clockwork.

  ‘Like I said its junk, it was a clockwork warning device,’ he said, ‘nothing of value, a simple motion detector.’

  ‘Yeah,’ sparked Tabitha, ‘had it worked, it would’ve warned us air scum like you lot was inbound.’

  Baxter closed his eyes, wishing to erase the words he’d just heard.

  The woman raised another eyebrow as the rest of her crew laughed at the insult and continued to pick up one of the Orbs shattered halves.

  ‘Look what I’ve found, Folly.’ She threw a section of metal over her head.

  Mr Folly caught it. ‘Jackpot, it’s silver, Captain.’

  ‘It’s silver, Captain,’ she repeated in Baxter’s face making him blush.

  ‘Crew, take their belongings, empty their guns but leave the ammo by our ship. We don’t want our two new friends without any means to defend themselves – I’m sorry, Moorlanders, but I’m keeping your best interests at heart. Oh, and I’ll be taking this as well, thanks.’ She pointed at the pelt. ‘I know it’s cold down here on the moor, sweetie, you should feel how chilly it gets up in those clouds.’ She snatched the fur pelt out of Baxter’s hands. ‘If you make it to the city, maybe I’ll take you up for a ride?’

  Baxter gulped. ‘It’s a wolf pelt,’ he said blustered, ‘I skinned the animal myself.’

  She wrapped it around her shoulders and nestled her face in it. ‘How thoughtful, Mr...?’

  ‘Nightingale.’

  A few of the crew members looked at each other.

  She moved in close to his face and lipped her words in a way he knew instantly he’d never forget.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Nightingale. I love it.’

  A smile, out of nowhere sprung upon her face, revealing to Baxter a row of perfectly aligned teeth. With a wink, she left them as promised with the ammo by the ship and took off, heading back up to the clouds in the direction of the city.

  Baxter didn’t move and watched the ship disappear.

  ‘You might as well have given her the rest of the food as well.’ Tabitha collected up their remaining items. ‘Are you going to get our guns?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, walking off to the landing site.

  He peered over to where the explosion had taken place. Lots of body parts, scorched earth and blood; his stomach walls touched each other, forcing a mouthful of bile. It burnt his tongue as he retched it over the fell, hoping Tabitha wasn’t watching.

  Moments later he ran back to Tabitha a smile on his face saying, ‘Look, they’ve left us an extra gun, one of the modified ones, and a few more boxes of rounds!’

  Tabitha didn’t change her expression.

  ‘Do you want it?’ He held it out for her.

  Tabitha secured her bag and ignored the gesture. ‘I’m going home, Bax. I knew this was a bad idea.’

  ‘No, Tabs, don’t. I need you.’ He dropped the equipment.

  ‘You don’t need me, why don’t you go and catch up with your new best pal, airwoman Captain balloon tits!’

  Baxter laughed. ‘Come on, they’ve only taken the Orb, and you didn’t want it around. So in a way she’s done you a favour, right?’

  Tabitha didn’t say anything and marched out of the camp.

  ‘Tabs, please don’t go. We’ll keep to the road this time, ok, rather than trekking over the moor. We’ll find a port I’m sure, and we’re less likely to get attacked–’

  ‘Or robbed,’ she said.

  ‘I promise you, come on Tabs; it’s barely even been a week. Just give me a few more, and I’ll walk you back to the Village myself.’

  She looked up at him and said nothing, but had an expression like waiting for him to say something else.

  ‘I’ll pay for you to go on one of those airships back,’ he said.

  ‘No thanks.’ Tabitha kicked the heads off a group of dandelions.

  ‘All right, whatever you want. Tabs, you have your mother, waiting for you, I have no one.’

  She paused and slipped her weight onto one side. ‘Fine,’ she said finally. ‘You’re carrying the extra rounds, not me, and no, you can keep the bloody gun.’

  XI

  The night sky tapestry faded in the wake of civilised settlements. Baxter and Tabitha plodded their tired bodies onward, guided by the yellow hue. The rail network riddled the landscape at the horizon where the city walls absorbed lines like veins.

  Port Staddiscombe sat on the side of a hill with five bridges across the moorland landscape, offering the city trains full of travellers, dreamers and schemers disguised as well-to-doers a nightly refuge.

  Known for its deep mine carved into the Coombe, the port was one of Britannia’s oldest. It buzzed daily with influx, and the main street featured the best view of the city wall from any of the outer towns.

  ‘I wonder if it’s to keep us out?’ Giving the tired Tabitha a light jab with his hip toward the city wall, Baxter waited for a response.

  ‘Walls don’t interest me; it’s what they contain.’ Tabitha wrapped her slipping coat back around her.

  ‘They’re there to keep the Rabids out.’ Baxter said.

  ‘And us lot,’ she said.

  The only Inn at the end of the high road sang with a nauseating hymn of drunks. Baxter tapped his empty pockets. ‘How much money do you have?’

  ‘Well after your girlfriend robbed us, not a lot.’ Tabitha looked away from him. ‘I took all I could find in the house when I left and tucked it in my bra. The rest, your girl had.’

  ‘She didn’t take any of our money. And stop calling her “my girl”.’

  Tabitha’s nose crinkled. ‘Why do you think I was smashing up it, Baxter? Silver, brass, copper, we could have sold it.’

  ‘You could have mentioned your plan; I thought you had money?’ said Baxter.

  She fumbled in her bosom. ‘We have a few pence, at best.’

  ‘It’ll be enough for now, I’m sure. Shall we see if they have a room?’ Baxter pointed at the inn. ‘I’m sure if needs must, we could always try and find a doss house?’

  She stopped walking. ‘Please tell me you’re joking Beechcroft, Nightingale, whatever your bloody name is. Surely you know what happens if you stay the night in one of them?’

  ‘Yeah...’ his eyes turned to s
lits, ‘I’m sure it’s mostly made up.’

  ‘It isn’t.’ She shook her head. ‘If you’re young and healthy, they get you blind drunk, then in the dead of night sell you to workhouses or, worse, you wake up the next day deep in one of those God-awful mines.’

  ‘If it’s the Inn we’re staying,’ he grabbed her belt and yanked up her pistol, ‘then be sure to have this exposed, keep your jacket open as we walk in so they’ll see.’

  ‘Be gentle, Mr…’

  ‘Nightingale.’ Baxter stood straight.

  ‘Why have you decided to name yourself after a clock, Mr Baxter Nightingale?’

  ‘Because it is my name, in the city.’

  ‘But we’re not in the city.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  She pulled away from him, crossed her arms and wrinkled her eyes. ‘What’s going on Baxter?’

  ‘It’s my father’s name, okay? We took my mother’s when we moved from the city, made the most amount of sense.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like the truth, Baxter… whatever your name is.’

  ‘It’s what my father told me. All he and my uncle ever told me.’

  He stepped closer and tucked her shirt behind her belt, revealing her pistol. She felt malleable. ‘Sorry, I’m used to handling wolves, not women,’ he said, letting go of her.

  ‘Yes, thanks, I can take care of myself,’ she said.

  Baxter adjusted his own clothing. The peacemaker protruded out of the top of his trouser, granting easy access if needed. The jade hilt in the light had a shine to it. ‘keep your pistol exposed, it will stop men giving you any unwanted trouble.’

  ‘Thank you.’ she said as he took the lead. ‘Good advice.’