“Yes. I want the complete destruction of Big Buck. The vile town is a stench in my nostrils. Besides, I need all the land around Abaddon for future testing and I don’t need prying eyes.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” That at least was honest.
“I’ll have all my foremen gathered inside the foundry. The trolls will be locked up in their mess hall. After the bombardment is completed, I’ll unleash my men on the ruined town with orders to kill anyone who might have survived, man, woman, or child. By then, you will have returned to Abaddon, Mr. Ross, having earned further laurels.”
“It sounds like an excellent plan, Mr. Perry.”
“I will observe the attack on Big Buck unfold from a high vantage point and oh, how I will enjoy it.” Perry’s eyes took on a demonic glint. “It is my intention to travel to Europe after the frigates are delivered. I want to see great buildings fall, people crushed and burned and blown to pieces. Do you understand? That is the fate most of humanity deserves, especially the racial trash, the stinking, diseased poor, and the mentally insane. I will ensure that a white elite survives to steer the world on a new course toward peace and prosperity, their boots on the necks of a servile population.” Perry smiled. “I do go on about my future Utopia, don’t I, Mr. Ross? But I’m sure you share my vision.”
Jacob nodded. “Yes, I do, Mr. Perry. I can close my eyes and see the future you plan.”
“Good man, Mr. Ross. By God, sir, once I intended to execute you, but I’m glad my mercy prevailed. You’re true blue.” Perry stretched in his chair. “Now I grow weary from my exertions of the morning. When I next see you, I hope you’ll be carrying Shawn O’Brien’s head under your arm.”
“Yes, sir. You can depend on it, Mr. Perry.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
The afternoon sun dropped lower in the sky and shadows lengthened along Main Street. Above City Hall, the flag hung listless in the breathless heat and over at the Abaddon loading platform, a locomotive vented steam.
Shawn O’Brien had the window of his hotel room open to catch whatever coolness was available but succeeded only in attracting rising dust and flies. Across the street at the saloon, a bored customer picked out the first few notes of “Rosie Lee” and then stopped.
“I’m hungry, Professor,” Flora March said.
“I’ll get you something later.” Shawn glanced at the soaked rug in front of the fireplace. “I see you had your bath.”
“Yeah, I had a bath, but I’m still wearing the same clothes,” Flora complained.
“When it gets dark, I’ll take you over to the New York Dress and Hat Shop. You can find what you need over there.”
“Except money,” Flora whined.
“I’ll give you some,” Shawn offered.
She smiled. “You know, Professor, you’re not a bad sort. I’m slowly cottoning to you.”
Shawn wasn’t listening to her. The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway grabbed all his attention and he drew his Colt. “Get over there into the corner, out of the line of fire.”
“Who the hell is it?” Flora looked scared.
A loud, aggressive knock rattled the door.
“I guess we’re about to find out.” Shawn walked to the door and stepped to the side, wary of shots though the thin timber. “Who is it? I can drill ya.”
“For God’s sake, open the door, Shawn. You sound like a frightened old lady.” Jake’s voice was low and as rough as a cob.
Shawn unlocked the door and stepped back.
Jake stood in the doorway wearing his usual threadbare pants, suspenders pulled over a washed-out blue shirt, a ragged bandana that had once been red, battered hat, scuffed boots, and a worn blue Colt shoved into a holster and cartridge belt that must have cost at least a dollar. “Helluva way to greet your long-lost brother.” He set down a bulging burlap sack.
He and Shawn hugged.
Jake said, grinning, “Damn, it’s good to see you still above ground.”
Shawn closed the door. “What brings you here?”
“Well, I’m here to kill you . . . on Mr. Perry’s orders.”
“Nice of him.”
“You don’t seem scared of my fast draw.”
“Not on your best day, Jacob O’Brien.”
Jacob smiled. “I recollect Luther Ironside telling me that very thing about you.”
“And now you mention Luther, how are the Colonel and Patrick and Sam’l?”
“Doing real well. Right after he gets back from Rome, Pa’s talking about buying an interest in the El Paso and Southwestern Railroad. He’s got a private audience with the Pope Leo, you know.”
“I know. Luther must be loving that.”
“Well, Luther is going along and he says he’s taking his gun. He reckons papists are not to be trusted. Patrick wants to go. You know how his head is always full of strange notions, but the colonel says he needs to stay home and help Sam run the ranch.”
“And Sam and his wife and younguns?” Shawn said, feeling suddenly homesick.
“They’re just fine. Sam is as serious as ever and he’s not one for gallivanting all over. His home is Dromore and he never wants to leave it.”
“And you, Jake. How are you?” Shawn finally asked.
“All right, I guess. But I’ve seen and heard things at Abaddon that a man should never see. I think Caleb Perry is as evil a man as ever lived and when I kill him, I’ll be doing the world a favor.” Jake shook his head. “Shawn, I don’t like where the world is headed. Imagine a future where steam-powered flying machines can level entire cities and kill thousands of people in a single afternoon. Bombs in the hands of madmen like Perry more powerful and destructive than any that have gone before. People penned up and destroyed because of their race . . . the list goes on and on.”
“None of that will ever happen, Jake. Flying machines are like horseless carriages, just a passing fad. The United States is a peace-loving nation and Europe is more civilized than ever before in its history. Wise heads in government will always prevail. Countries like Britain, Germany, and France will never go to war again so all that death and destruction Perry talks about will never come to pass.”
Jake shook his head. “Well, I just hope you’re right, Shawn. Hey, you haven’t introduced me to the young lady.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Jacob O’Brien, this is Miss Flora March.”
To Shawn’s surprise Flora dropped a little curtsey “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Brien, I’m sure.”
“Obviously you’re a well brought-up young lady, Miss March,” Jacob said, bowing. “It’s an honor.”
Shawn angled Flora a look but said nothing then turned his attention to Jacob “Well, where do we go from here?”
“Once it gets dark, you have to get out of town, Shawn, but just until tomorrow. The steamship’s flight is scheduled for noon. I want you back in town before then.” Jacob looked uncertain. “Do you have a place to go? You can’t take your horse. That would be too obvious.”
“There’s a place on the other side of the graveyard where we can hole up, but we need grub.”
“I’m hungry,” Flora whined again.
“Food in the sack,” Jacob said. “No coffee, but I shoved a bottle of wine in there.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Shawn said. “What’s your plan, Jake?”
“It’s a good one, Shawn. Just crackerjack.”
“I’m listening.”
Flora raided the sack and chewed on a beef sandwich. With her little finger, she pushed a breadcrumb into her mouth and said, “Me too.”
“It’s great,” Jacob said. “I mean, it’s brilliant.”
“We’re listening, Jake,” Shawn said, his impatience showing.
“Well, listen up, here it is . . .”
After Jacob finished talking, Shawn and Flora stared at him in stunned, slack-jawed silence.
“What do you think?” Jacob asked.
Shawn recovered first. “Jake, that’s the most crazy, hare-brained scheme I’ve ever hea
rd. You’ll break your neck in that damn flying machine thing. Do you even know how to drive it?”
“Fly it,” Jacob corrected.
“Whatever the hell you call it. I always knew you were loco, Jake, but this plan of yours hits a new height of craziness. It’s . . . it’s . . .
“Preposterous?” Jacob offered.
“Yeah, that’s it, preposterous . . . insane, demented, mad . . . and downright dangerous.”
“But it will work. Shawn, if I don’t stop Perry, by this time tomorrow Big Buck will be a smoking ruin and every man, woman, and child who calls the place home will be dead. Sure my plan is mad, but it’s the only one I’ve got that has a hope in hell of working.”
Shawn absorbed that. “Then at least let me come with you.”
Jacob shook his head. “No, brother, you’d be recognized in Abaddon and spoil the whole plan. Just be here tomorrow before noon. That’s when I’ll need your help most.”
“Jake, do you think you’re going to live through tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. A man can’t predict the time and manner of his death. I promise you that I’ll do my best to stay alive.”
“Is the cause worth that much risk?”
“It’s not about Manuel Cantrell any longer. It’s about stopping the spread of evil.” Jacob smiled. “Hell, I sound like a preacher.”
“If what you’ve been telling me about bombs and flying machines is really true, you can’t stop what’s to come. You can delay it maybe, but you can’t stop it.”
“I’m content to cause a delay,” Jacob said. “And if I survive, I’ll use the colonel’s influence in Washington to spread the word that the United States can’t stand idly by and let monsters like Caleb Perry plunge the world into barbarism.”
“You think they’ll listen?” Shawn asked.
“Sure, they’ll listen, because the alternative is too terrible to contemplate.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?” Shawn asked.
“Not a chance. It’s my plan and I’ll stick to it. Besides, it’s a good way to kill Caleb Perry and a bunch of others just like him.”
“Can the Mexicans really escape like you say?”
“I can’t say for sure all of them, but most will.”
Shawn smiled. “Well, maybe the politicians in Washington will listen to you about flying machines and bombs because you speak so well. You can’t spell worth a damn, but you can talk the talk.”
“I’ve always had a problem reading too, yet I can read music just fine,” Jake said. “Strange that, isn’t it?”
“Seems like.” Shawn hugged his brother close. “Whatever happens tomorrow, know this, Jake. I’m damn proud of you.”
“And so am I.” Flora popped a last piece of crust into her mouth.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Moonlight gleamed on the graveyard and turned the marble and granite headstones into slabs of polished iron. To the west, the sky above the Abaddon foundry glowed red and even at a distance its constant clamor scarred the beauty of the night.
“Not far now,” Shawn O’Brien said. “How are you holding up?”
“My feet hurt,” Flora March complained. “My boots are for show, not walking.”
“Our camping spot is just beyond the cemetery fence. Not far.”
“You’ve said that since we left Big Buck. Wait just a minute. I want to show you something. And I need a rest.”
Shawn stopped. Looking at her, he thought she looked quite pretty in the moonlight, not as hard around the mouth and eyes. “Show me.”
She reached into the pocket of her skirt and produced a small paper bag. “Look what your brother put in the grub sack. Motto hearts.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a kind of candy with stuff written on it.” She poked a finger into the bag, came up with something small, pink, and heart-shaped, and looked at it closely. “It says, I Love You. Ha.” She popped the candy into her mouth and then extended the bag to Shawn. “Want to try one, Professor?”
He shook his head. “I reckon not. I’m not much of a hand for candy.”
“Oh go on. Don’t be such a spoilsport.”
Shawn sighed and took a candy.
“What does it say?”
“It says, I Miss You.”
She frowned. “Well, that’s not very exciting, is it?”
“I guess not.” He dropped the heart into his shirt pocket. “I’ll save it for later.”
“Why would Jacob put heart candy in the grub sack?”
Shawn smiled. “Because he’s a very strange and wonderful person. Now let’s get going.”
“How far is it?” Flora asked.
“Not far,” Shawn said again.
“Then you’ll have to carry me. I can’t walk another step in these boots.”
“I don’t think—”
“Carry me,” she insisted. “I’m all used up and I need to be carried, Professor.”
Shawn shook his head, let out another long-suffering sigh, and picked up the girl effortlessly. He held her with one arm, grabbed the grub sack, and dumped it on her lap. “I carry you and you carry the grub. That’s the deal.”
Flora smiled and snuggled into Shawn’s shoulder. “You’re so big and strong, Professor.”
“That’s because you’re only the size of a nubbin’,” Shawn said, but he enjoyed the compliment.
* * *
With the resilience of the very young, Flora snored softly in Crop Hermon’s old lean-to while Shawn sat outside beside a hatful of fire. He was not drunk, but the wine had dulled his worry over what tomorrow would bring. At least a little.
He reached into his shirt pocket and brought out the heart-shaped candy. I Miss You. Yes, he missed Maria, her vivid beauty and the closeness they’d enjoyed during their exile from Big Buck.
Where is she now? Back home in Mexico probably. He didn’t want to think that there could be any other, perhaps crueler, answer, . . .
* * *
Maria Cantrell sat in a rocker opposite Cooley Holding, bonded by the fire that flickered scarlet in the hearth. His head was bent over a volume of Dickens and the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe lay closed on her lap. She felt uneasy, as though something terrible, something awful, was going to happen. Or was it Poe’s raven gently rapping, rapping at her chamber door? She listened into silence. No, it was the prairie wind and nothing more.
“Maria, are you feeling quite well?” Cooley asked.
She managed a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Can I get you a shawl?”
“No thank you, Cooley. I think I’ll just take a short stroll and catch some fresh air.”
The man closed his book. “I’ll come with you.”
“No,” she said a little too quickly. She smiled. “Sorry, Cooley, but I just want to be alone for a few minutes.”
“Are you sure? There are coyotes out there. Listen to them.”
“I’ll be quite all right.” She rose, walked to the door, and stepped outside into a rising south wind. Small black clouds edged with tarnished silver raced across the face of the moon and the air smelled of the pine woods to the north where the brown-eyed deer slept. She walked directly away from the house into darkness of the brush.
Behind her, mules stomped in the corral, made uneasy by the yips of hunting coyotes. Like a dark cloak, the sense of impending doom hung heavily on her. But for whom? Is it Cooley, the children, or me? Or could it be Manuel? No, my brother is dead. Jacob O’Brien then, or Shawn? Maria shivered in the coolness of the night, suddenly very afraid.
Then came the flying thing.
It flew so close that she felt the death-scented breath of its passing and the bat flap of its wings and then it was gone, a dark shape soaring upward, blacking out the stars. She knew instantly what the creature was, the dreadful Santa Muerte, the Angel of Death.
Maria cried out in fear and turned to run. Immediately, strong arms encircled her and she cried out again in her t
error and tried to struggle free.
“Maria! Maria! It’s me! It’s Cooley!”
She looked up into the man’s concerned face. He held her close, an immobile pillar of iron that nothing on earth could prevail against, not even Santa Muerte.
“I think it was the Angel of Death . . . I was so afraid,” she said, her face buried in his chest.
“I’m here now,” he said. “Maria, as long as there’s breath in my body, I’ll let no man, beast, or demon ever harm you.”
Suddenly Maria Cantrell was no longer afraid. She was safe in the strong arms of her man . . . and she knew with glorious certainty that nothing could ever hurt her again.
CHAPTER FIFTY
“I expected O’Brien’s head, not excuses,” Caleb Perry said to Jacob then. looked up at a gauge—big around as a dinner plate—attached to the steam pipe running across the ceiling of his office. “That damn pressure is too high.” He shouted, “Somebody!”
A moment later, a foreman in a bowler and goggles opened the door.
“Get a mechanic to check this pipe,” Perry said. “The pressure is way too high.”
“Sure will, boss.”
After the man left, Perry stared at Jacob without enthusiasm. “What happened?”
“He made a run for it, Mr. Perry. He didn’t even take time to get his horse.”
“Was there a woman with him?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“Good. I want to kill O’Brien and use his woman.”
“I’ll hunt for him again tomorrow,” Jacob promised.
“No, you have bigger and better things to do tomorrow. After the cannons and munitions are tested and Big Buck is destroyed, we’ll mount a search for him. He won’t get far without a horse and his woman will slow him down.”
“The steam frigate is ready to go, Mr. Perry,” Jacob said.
“And the crew?”
“They’ll do their job.”
“Talk to Egbert Killick and ask him if he plans to make any last-minute changes. And I want the mechanics to be on their toes.”
“Yes, sir.” The word sir scalded his tongue like acid.
“Right, Mr. Ross. Be on your way. You’ll make history tomorrow, the worst mass murderer since Genghis Khan. How does it feel?”
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