It was the evil machine that had landed him in all this trouble in the first place, and yet, now that he stood before it, bathed in its crackling glow, to Ulysses it seemed like nothing less than a beacon of hope; the path to his salvation. A way home.
From bitter past experience Ulysses knew that the device was already running up to speed. Someone was planning on teleporting out of there, that much was clear, and to Ulysses’ mind it could only be one person.
Darting anxious glances about him, his knuckles whitening around the butt of the gun held tight in his hand, Ulysses pressed himself flat behind a pillar, desperately searching for his quarry. His heart thundered in his chest.
Dashwood was here, he was sure of it. With the Icarus Cannon destroyed and Schloss Adlerhorst succumbing to the Iron Eagle’s attack, he was clearly planning on cutting his losses and getting out of there while he still could.
But not if I have anything to do with it, Ulysses promised himself.
He could hear the sounds of movement on the other side of the chamber. But what were they doing? Packing, by any chance?
“Ten minutes and counting,” came the tinny female voice of an Enigma machine, speaking German, from the other side of the crypt.
Ten minutes – more than enough time to bring Dashwood’s audacious scheme to an end, once and for all. And – another tempting thought suggested – time to make his own escape back to the future?
Warily, Ulysses peered around the column, and was immediately transfixed by the machine, resting atop its own specially fashioned wrought-iron dais.
Ulysses stared at the whirling rings of the device as it powered up to launch speed. It truly was a wonder of German engineering. With all the resources of the Third Reich at his disposal, Dashwood had achieved in a matter of months what Alexander Oddfellow had struggle to do in years. They had managed to build a prototype time machine, half a century earlier than it should have ever been possible.
Inhaling deeply and breathing out again slowly, focusing his mind completely on resolving this matter once and for all, Ulysses tightened his grip on his pistol and stepped out from behind the pillar…
…and immediately ducked back behind it again, hearing the screech of unoiled hinges as, somewhere on the other side of the chamber, a rusted steel door was forced open.
Ulysses froze, his heart pounding so hard he was sure whoever else was in the chamber with him could hear its echoing thuds bouncing off the walls.
He heard a sudden scrabbling sound come from somewhere behind him, over the thrumming whirr of the energising Sphere.
A booming clang echoed across the chamber as the protesting hinges suddenly gave and the door banged open. It was followed by the tap-tap-tap of running footsteps, and then a familiar voice exclaimed, “Damn! What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know,” came Cat’s voice in response to Hercules Quicksilver’s question.
Panic-stricken, Ulysses risked another glance from behind the pillar, realising that Hercules and his companion had no idea of the danger they were walking into, their amazement at the Sphere putting them off their guard.
He toyed with the idea of calling out to them, warning them that they were not alone. But he soon put that thought from his mind. Dashwood – and he was sure it was Dashwood who was lurking in the shadows at the back of the crypt – already knew they were here and was doubtless moving to deal with the threat at that very moment. If Ulysses called out to them, the only person who would benefit was Dashwood.
Creeping around the pillar, keeping the crumbling column between him and the Sphere, Ulysses made his way ever closer towards the crackling Sphere and the platform on which it stood.
He glimpsed movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked out of sight once more. His back to the next pillar, he peered across the chamber.
And then he saw them, still making their way towards the Sphere, Hercules leading the way.
“Nine minutes and counting,” came the Valkyrie voice of the Enigma engine.
In the time it took to blink, a shadow detached itself from behind another column and suddenly Dashwood was there, seizing Cat from behind, his right arm around her neck.
Cat’s startled cry became a choking wheeze as her assailant pulled his arm tight.
Ulysses stared in appalled horror at the man who had stolen fire from heaven, who had brought the future crashing so catastrophically into the past, who had tortured him to the very limits of sanity.
Even as Hercules made to go to the girl’s aid, Dashwood – his eerily glowing mask still covering his face – raised the gun in his right hand and put it to Cat’s head.
And in the time it took him to realise what was going on, Ulysses lurched towards them, breaking into a sudden sprint.
“NOT SO FAST!” the masked man called, as Hercules turned to face him. “I have your woman, so I wouldn’t try anything clever if I were you. Or anything stupid, for that matter...”
The gunman’s voice trailed off, and Hercules saw confusion in the man’s eyes, the only part of him visible through the glowing azure slits cut into the curious mask.
“Dashwood!” Hercules breathed as realisation struck him.
“Wait a minute,” the other spluttered. “You’re not Quicksilver.”
The man’s arm suddenly went limp and the gun slipped from Cat’s temple. This was all the opening Hercules needed.
“Oh, but I am,” he snarled and sprang at the man.
But in that moment, the man’s returned.
Without hesitation, he pointed the gun at Hercules and fired.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Life and Limb
HERCULES SUDDENLY FOUND himself flying sideways as something else hit him before the bullet could.
First there had been the sharp crack of the pistol firing, then a heavy collision from the right and, almost instantaneously, a stifled gasp from Cat. And then he hit the ground, his head slamming into the stone floor.
For a moment, Hercules simply lay there, his senses reeling, as he tried to work out if it was him who had been shot, waiting for the pain. But it never came.
However, the man who had barrelled into him didn’t appear to have been so lucky. Pushing the dead weight of the man from on top of him, Hercules saw with a mixture of surprise and disappointment that it was Shelley.
For a moment Hercules thought that he really was dead – that he had sacrificed his own life to save Hercules. He looked so peaceful that he might have been asleep. And there was something undeniably familiar about the set of his features.
But then Hercules saw the ragged hole in the man’s shoulder, the spreading blood soaking the scorched fabric of his jacket. And he saw Shelley’s chest rise and then fall, and give a feeble moan.
But there wasn’t time to think about the fallen now. The madman in the mask still needed dealing with.
Even as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees – shaking his head to clear his senses, his heart racing – Hercules was all too horribly aware that every moment he wasted getting up off the floor was another moment in which Dashwood could gun them both down and be done with them.
There was a sudden flurry of movement and a determined shout from Cat as she elbowed Dashwood in the stomach hard, following it up with a swift, sharp kick to the shins.
The masked man doubled up in pain, his grip about the girl’s neck loosening. The bold cat burglar made the most of the opportunity, slipping out of the headlock, spinning on her heel and executing a perfect roundhouse kick.
THE TOE OF Cat’s boot struck the man mid-forearm, sending the gun flying from his hand. He recoiled instantly, stumbling backwards, but Cat wasn’t going to let him get away that easily.
Leaning back to balance herself, she brought her leg around again, aiming directly at her captor’s head.
But the bastard was ready for her this time. Fast as a striking cobra he caught her foot in his left hand, stopping her kick dead.
Dashwood pu
lled her towards him, already off-balance, and swung her around. The rift in the wall yawned before her and then – eyes wide with fear – she was through it, teetering on the edge of the thousand foot drop beyond, the chill Alpine wind whipping her hair about her face.
“Enjoy your flight, bitch!” Dashwood spat as, with one final push, he released his grip.
Helpless to stop herself, arms flailing, Cat fell headfirst out of the hole in the castle wall.
BEFORE DASHWOOD HAD even let go of her, Hercules was scrambling across the floor, bounding over the stone flags as he hurled himself after her.
Ignoring Dashwood as he barged past him, Hercules dived half through the fissure, landing flat at the broken lip of the floor-to-ceiling rift, reaching for the falling Cat.
He felt the fabric of her body-glove slip through his fingers and then his hand snapped shut around her ankle.
Cat struck the side of the mountain, the impact knocking the air from her lungs, but she was still alive. He had saved her.
Over the keening voice of the wind, Hercules heard her startled cry.
“Don’t worry!” he shouted into the wind. “I’ve got you! It’s alright! You’re going to be alright!”
Bracing himself against the sides of the crack, teeth gritted from the strain on his exhausted body, Hercules hauled Cat back up the side of the mountain towards the relative safety of the madman’s lair.
He could feel the pulsing of the unfathomable machine resonating through the stones under him. A cascade of grit and stone chips rained down on him from the broken wall above, encouraging him to redouble his efforts.
He had no idea where the madman had gone, or what had happened to Shelley, but at this moment, all that mattered to him was Cat.
Hercules worked himself up into a sitting position, his feet braced against the sundered walls on either side of the breach, and now he could put both hands to the task of pulling Cat to safety.
The throbbing pulse rose in pitch, becoming an uncomfortable whining hum. The sound made his ears ache, forcing him to grit his teeth against the urge to cry out.
And he could feel it in his bones now, rattling the teeth in his head, and turning his bowels to water. Even his vision was beginning to blur.
With a seismic crack like tectonic plates shifting, Hercules felt the ground lurch under him. And then he was sliding forwards, towards the breach, suddenly riding a torrent of tumbling brick and earth and stone.
He kicked at the crumbling breach, his fear and panic giving birth to a bellow of rage and frustration. But it was no good. He couldn’t fight the death-throes of the castle.
The ground gave way beneath him completely and he joined the cascade of rubble as it spilled from the subsiding foundations of the castle.
Letting go of Cat with one hand, his clawing fingers grasped hold of something – a loosened brick, or a jagged tooth of stone – and for the briefest moment they were safe.
The throbbing of the sphere was a deep, resonant vibration that worked on the very bones of the mountain itself.
The stone came away in Hercules’ hand, and then the two of them were falling again. And now there was nothing left to hold onto.
CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO
The Final Countdown
A HUGE HAND grabbed him by the wrist, almost pulling his shoulder out of its socket. Hercules grunted, instinctively tightening his own grip on Cat’s ankle as her leg threatened to slip from his grasp. He heard her cry out in shock a second time. This was becoming something of an uncomfortable habit.
Hercules cautiously opened his eyes and looked up into the grinning face of Mr Edward Hyde.
“Gotcha,” the giant rumbled. “Again.”
Biceps bulging, Hyde hauled the two of them back from the brink, depositing them back inside the chamber – or what was left of it at least.
A significant part of the roof had come down, and Hercules was presented with an enormous landslide of bricks, in-fill and earth.
He stared at the mound, stupefied.
“The roof’s caved in,” was all he could think to say.
“It wasn’t me,” Hyde said, suddenly guarded.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“It just happened to come down when I got here. Same time as I saw you two going for an early bath.”
Hercules turned to the hulking Hyde standing in front of him, stooped like a gorilla, head hung low between his shoulders, knuckles dragging across the floor. He could see myriad cuts and abrasions, and several bullet wounds.
“You saved us,” he said in a small voice.
“I know,” Hyde rumbled, “it’s starting to become a bit of a habit, isn’t it? You ever thought of wearing a parachute?”
Cat looked up at Hyde’s looming presence, the same expression of shocked bewilderment etched onto her face. “You want to be careful, Mr Hyde,” she said almost dreamily, as if she was high on laudanum, “or you’ll have people thinking you’re one of the good guys.”
“God forbid,” the giant chuckled.
Hercules suddenly felt cold to the pit of his stomach.
“Shelley! Prisoner Zero!” he spluttered. “He saved my life.”
Hyde’s brow furrowed in suspicion and confusion. “No, that was me. Look, are you alright, or did a piece of falling rock give you a nasty bump on the head?”
“No, before.” Hercules hesitated, as the implications of what he was about to admit began to sank in at last, and threatened to overwhelm him. “He took a bullet that was intended for me.”
“No,” Hyde said, shaking his head. “Haven’t seen him.”
“That’s because he’s on the other side of this.” Hercules ran over to the mound of rubble, putting an ear to the pile of boulders and broken stones.
Hercules sprang back again as a rock shook loose from above, catching him on the ear. “Damn!”
“Yeah, precisely,” Hyde grunted. “You want to risk bringing that lot down on top of us?”
“He’s right,” Cat said, giving Hercules an imploring look. “We should get away from here while we still can.”
“If any more comes down,” Hyde said, looking up, “I’d probably survive – but you wouldn’t.”
Hercules regarded the cave-in a moment longer. He felt an unexpected pang of grief and guilt at the thought that there was nothing more they could do for the wretched man who had been prepared to give his life that Hercules and Cat might live. But Hyde’s logic was undeniable.
“There’s nothing more we can do for him now,” Cat said, putting a hand on Hercules’ arm.
“Yeah, he’s on his own now,” Hyde added, unhelpfully.
Hercules’ eyes met Cat’s. “Do you think he was my, I mean our –”
“All I know,” Cat interrupted him before he could say it, “is that whoever he is, he’s a hero. And that’s good enough for me.”
“And I never got to say…” The words stuck in his throat. “Where are the others?” he asked gruffly, turning away from the heap of shattered stones as he blinked back the tears.
“They were headed for the motor pool. Jinx said she thought she’d found a way off this mountain. They sent me to find you. We need to get out of here before the whole bastard castle comes crashing down on our heads.”
“Then we’d best not keep them waiting,” Hercules said, with forced joviality. “We don’t want to get a reputation for tardiness now, do we?”
And with that, taking Cat by the hand, he led them along the draughty corridor and away from the now-entombed sepulchral chamber.
ULYSSES QUICKSILVER OPENED his eyes, but all he could see was a blur of black shadows and ice-white light. He felt cold all over, numb as if frozen, and yet sweat was beading on his brow.
He had been shot enough times in his life to know that now was one of those times. He could feel the sick pain and a dull, throbbing ache in his right shoulder.
He blinked, and blinked again, and only then did he realise that the haziness he was seeing was
caused by the settling cloud of dust around him.
He sat up carefully. His head felt woozy. He knew he’d been losing blood. There in front of him, where the exit from the chamber should have been, was a pile of rock debris as high as the vaulted ceiling. He found himself wondering how much of the castle must have collapsed in the cave-in.
Ulysses felt the insistent throb in his bones and knew that they weren’t out of danger yet. He turned to the source of the pulsing ice-white light. The Sphere was still active, opening a tunnel through time and space, creating a hole in the skin of the world.
Between the Sphere and the Iron Eagle’s crash-landing, the ancient castle was tearing apart. If what Ulysses had witnessed on the Moon, more than fifty years into the future, was anything to go by, the Alpine stronghold would come down on top them, burying them beneath tonnes of rock and rubble.
Climbing groggily to his feet, Ulysses took in the sepulchral cavern in which he was now trapped. Any doors there might once have been were buried behind the landslide, with no chance of Ulysses ever uncovering them in time. There was only one way out of here now.
His left hand clamped over the bullet wound in his shoulder, Ulysses began to pace across the debris-strewn floor, darting between the pillars, his eye on the figure atop the steel dais on which stood the new, improved time-transmat.
He had been shot, he was losing blood, and he only had one eye left, but suddenly the universe had turned, and life had given him a second chance.
Dashwood was busy. From what Ulysses could see of the man, silhouetted against the Sphere’s pulsar glare, he appeared to be pulling on an over-sized glove over his left hand. And he was utterly ignorant of Ulysses’ presence.
He could only suppose that Dashwood had recklessly assumed Ulysses to be dead. Which he might as well be, if he were able to beam out of there, leaving Ulysses behind.
Anno Frankenstein Page 26