Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles)

by Silverwood, Cari

  “You need a toothbrush, boy. Bad breath is not going to win you any girlfriends.”

  “You talking to Cadrach?” Sten hollered back. “Knew you’d like each other.”

  Kaysana folded her arms and refused to dignify that with a reply.

  Once they left the wheat field, bursting out into the open, Sten slewed the machine to a stop. The engine ticked and clunked methodically. A startled sparrow zipped past the small right-hand window, wings flapping madly.

  “Know just how you feel, bird.” She leaned forward, hand on the back of Sten’s seat. “Why have you stopped?”

  “Where are we going? I’ve seen the early planning maps, I know we’re aiming for Perihelion, but that’s miles away up in the mountains. I’m not even sure where these roads go.”

  “Nearest town that might have a telegraph will do me. I’m supposed to report in. I need to sort out our position too.”

  Before them, the slope rolled down to a road, a hundred yards away. Sten pointed at the road. “That’ll do, then.” He gunned the engine, and they rolled down.

  The night before, there’d been vehicles on this road—she’d seen the headlights—yet now it was deserted except for carrion birds and the dead. The pathogen mustn’t have hit every square mile. From the way it took over her ship—her stomach dropped as she remembered her people again—she figured the effect must move about.

  “That man, the officer on your ship who went weird—” Sten yelled to be heard over the engine.

  “Ling?”

  “Yeah him—the one with the shiny eyes—he said something about the power growing as you reached the middle.”

  “Really? When did you hear this?” Alarm quaked through her. When I was unconscious, of course. While Ling had me at his mercy. That whole time had become dreamlike, yet she’d almost been killed and Sten had rescued her and she couldn’t remember any damn thing—not leaving the airship, the flight down, nothing.

  She slumped back in her seat. What else didn’t she know? “Is that all he said?”

  “Only that he was the right hand of God…’cept I chopped that one off, so he was really the left hand.”

  “Do you ever stop joking?”

  “Not if I can help it. Keeps life in perspective.”

  “Hmm. Let’s just get to the next town.” But she smiled, if a little sadly.

  After a few minutes of watching the cycle weave and zoom between the road debris, she faced her fear. “Tell me everything you saw happen on the ship when the plague hit us.”

  His shoulders shifted. “Some of it was nasty.”

  “Don’t spare me.” But she tensed.

  “Right.”

  When he got to how he’d found her and described Ling and how she’d been tied, she found herself staring at the floor.

  He paused. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Sure I am.”

  Only one good piece of info came of it.

  “There was scuttlebutt rumor among the mercs that some of the zombs captured weren’t really zombs. That they went back to normal after a while and never did more than want to fuck an awful lot. They were a bit out of it at times, confused, some got fevers, but that was it.”

  “Oh shit.” There I go, swearing again. He’s corrupting me. She collapsed back onto the leather. “You’re saying that’s…us?”

  “Could be. The one’s who are zombies stay zombies, though.”

  The explanation of her bizarre behavior made her feel like someone had pulled a plug. Anxiety drained away. If true, she’d be herself again eventually, no more lusting after Sten’s touch. No more caving in to his advances. No more incredible sexual highs…

  She stared at the back of Sten’s head, trying to figure him out. She’d never had to sit with a frankenstruct before, or talked with one. Despite his forceful ways, he seemed almost normal.

  She needed to keep her distance. Do that and this odd behavior of hers would be less a challenge. Strategy said that every attack had its counter. She just needed to find the counter to this. Kaysana bit her lip, let her head flop back against the seat. How?

  Cadrach panted at her, his evil yellow eyes narrowed, then he bowed his head and licked her arm.

  She bit back a swear word. “I know you’re on his side. No need to get all friendly.”

  After a whine, he curled out his tongue and panted as if laughing at her.

  “And that won’t work either, wolfie. There was nothing in this agreement that said I had to like you.”

  They came to the outskirts of a town and zipped past a sign.

  “What was that? Katagoh?”

  “Sorry. Can’t read.”

  That fact kept her speechless for a few minutes.

  As they drove farther, dogs, cats, and two horses trotted out, birds swooped, but nothing live and human stirred. The odd growl came from Cadrach when an animal came too close to the window. Some corpses rotted on the footpaths, and a stomach-turning smell wafted in. A few steam cars were stranded on the road. One car was lodged half inside a shop front, but mostly the timber and painted brick buildings showed little signs of damage. As always, clothes were strewn here and there. People had gotten naked here, like on the Art of War.

  Sten turned in and parked in the deserted street outside the telegraph office. They both scanned the road and houses. When she opened the door, Cadrach hopped out over the top of her, ambled to a post, and peed on it.

  “Can he detect zombies? It would be useful.”

  Sten scratched his head. “Not sure. When I got back to the landing platform with you, he was growling at the door I came through, and he didn’t stop until I took off. Guess we’ll see soon enough.”

  As they walked toward the entrance of the telegraph office, she asked the obvious. “If you can’t read, how’d you find this place?”

  “I ain’t stupid.” He smiled, unsheathed the shotgun, prodded open the door with his foot, and checked the inside.

  What did that mean? She guessed there were clues as to what a telegraph office looked like. The overhead wires, for starters. The shop front next door caught her eye. Clothes! She tented out the front of the shirt, looked back at the shop.

  “Next stop. In there.” She pointed. Sten merely raised an eyebrow and jiggled the door some more.

  Kaysana shook her head but followed him into the telegraph office. Floorboards creaked underfoot. Sten cruised the shotgun barrel in a sideways arc across the room.

  “Look behind the counter,” she murmured.

  The wall clock was silent—the hour and minute hands lifeless, making it three o'clock forever. Behind the room-width sales counter lurked nothing except more squeaky floorboards. Sten flipped back the counter, approached the door that led deeper into the building, then turned the knob. The door swung slowly open. Sun sneaked past Sten’s broad shoulders, splashing light on the rug-covered floor and the opposite wall. The handle tapped into the wall.

  Again, like some strange sniffing proboscis, he used the shotgun barrel to investigate the room. Notice boards, chair, papers, books, wires strung across to a desk, and the telegraph set all shiny and brass.

  “Nothing.” She sucked in air, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

  The office was empty of anything living or undead, unless spiders and cockroaches counted.

  Firing up the telegraph was a simple matter. It still took twenty long minutes to get a reply from Air Fleet HQ, what with exchanging of password codes. At last she sat back in the chair and contemplated the now stilled metal apparatus.

  “I’ve told them about frankenstructs not necessarily being resistant, also that a fair few women have been resistant to this plague.

  “And the PME have given us more details. They’ve admitted to researching biowarfare. This is some sort of telepathic virogen, and they confirmed that Perihelion in the Mahalangur mountains is the source. The virogen radiates out like waxing and waning tides. They messed up and blasted their own scientists a month ago. If their calculations are co
rrect, it’ll infect most of Greater Europe before it collapses in on itself.

  “There’s a secondary base we need to find below Perihelion. That’s our destination.” And that—she mentally crossed her fingers—was where the PME said she would find the answer to destroying the plague. Thank the heavens. A weapon of some sort, or a cure even, would be a godsend.

  “A telepathic virowhatsit?”

  “Virogen. They're saying it’s like a virus but transmitted telepathically, straight into people’s minds.” She tapped her temple. “Which is maybe why some get it worse than others. Different immune systems.”

  “So when everything goes all wobbly, that’s this virothing being sent out and infecting people?”

  “They didn’t say, but…maybe. The raised men…that they haven’t explained.”

  “Well”—Sten noisily sucked in his lip—“I’ve seen malaria. Some get it in the brain. Others seem to just get fevers. Maybe the raised men are just where this virowhatsit misses destroying all the brain?”

  “Yes, could be. Smarter, faster, makes sense. Though Ling was hearing voices too.” She stared at the desk. Gut shot and he could still stand up and wrestle her.

  “Damn. Strange. Well, least now we know where to go.” Sten sat on the corner of the desk. The timber creaked from his weight. He cocked an eyebrow.

  As subtly as she could, she pushed the chair back a little, away from him.

  “This country is in chaos. There is some automaton guarding Perihelion, and I need you absolutely committed to coming with me. It’ll be dangerous.”

  She’d been opening a few desk drawers as she spoke and found a packet of gobstoppers. Well, well. So much better than beef jerky. Though she’d asked the question, now she knew she didn’t want a no. If he left her, she’d feel odd, bereft. So strange. She needed her head examined really soon. She popped a gobstopper into her mouth.

  “I’m coming with you.” He paused, smiled, then grinned. “Maybe in you.”

  The gobstopper nearly choked her. By the time Sten had thumped her on the back and she’d spat the sweet out onto the desk, watched it roll around in sticky, slobbery circles, she’d gotten her breath back. “Bad joke,” she grumbled.

  “You deserved it. As if you could do this by yourself. And jeez, I know it’s dangerous. Let’s go get some clothes for you.” He put his hand under her elbow and helped her up despite her protests.

  When she passed through the doorway of the shop next door, everything wobbled, rippled. Sound screamed into a whistle and a hum. She squeaked as the room whited out, and fell to one knee, dirt on the floor grinding into her skin.

  “It’s happening again.” Sten’s voice grated out above her. He grabbed her, hands at her waist, hauled her upright, and set her on her feet, gripping her midriff to steady her.

  Dizzy, she blinked at him while sanity returned.

  “I’m…right, thank you.”

  The shop had everything, and all of it was ridiculous. Slave Costumes Galore, the gold embossed business cards said. Well. If she wanted to traipse around as a harem girl or squeeze into a corset with her tits out, she was in the right place.

  “Let’s find another shop.” She tapped the card on the marble shop counter.

  Without an internal light on, the place was lost in the subdued yellowish light filtering through the front window.

  “Nope. Here’s your clothes.” Sten emerged from the aisle between the clothes racks and held up a skimpy leather outfit on a hanger.

  “No way.” She shook her head. “Nothing that jeopardizes my air fleet standing. Walking around in that”—she backed away—“would do so and therefore end our agreement.”

  “Uh-uh.” Sten grabbed her elbow. “It won’t. Who’s to see? Zombies? Wear it, and this.” He had a tan half mask hooked on the hanger—with little catlike ears pricked up at the top and gold tabby markings striped across the leather. “Nobody’ll know it’s you.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, paused, caught up in trying to figure out their agreement. “No. There may still be some normal humans. Hell, Sten. We have a world to save, and you want me dressed up like a cat?”

  “A big, lickable pussy cat, yes.” His voice was hoarse. His eyes gleamed with lust. “Obey, remember?” He tossed the clothes onto the counter. “You can’t do this every time I come up with a new twist you don’t like.”

  “Sten, this is just one of those sexual urges. Block it out. You can’t be making up new—”

  Without giving her time to react, he pulled her to him, then picked her up around the waist.

  “Hey!” She struggled, but his big hands grabbed hers and gripped them tight at the small of her back. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to spank you.” He hooked a timber chair with his foot and sat with her across his lap, head down.

  “What? Why?” She spluttered, still thrashing, but the hand at her back pushed her firmly onto his lap, held her easily. Awareness of their size and strength difference left her suddenly floundering. She was small, and he was so damned big. His other hand pushed up the shirt, smoothed across her bottom. Toes shoving at the floor, she tried to rise. The first blow fell with a whack, reverberated through her, sent a liquid message into her flesh. Shocked, she stiffened.

  “No,” she said in a hushed voice. “You can’t do this.”

  “No?” In quick succession, he struck her again and again, alternating from one ass cheek to the other. His large hand gripped and pressed her wrists into the small of her back.

  Ohh.

  Kaysana made one last frantic squirming effort to free herself. If she moved her legs, he hit harder. If she stayed still…

  Warmth built, turning hotter and hotter. Panting, hair falling across her eyes, she stayed put—half-afraid to move, half anticipating the rush of the next blow. Each smack seemed to force a louder gasp from her mouth. Her bottom, of its own accord, rose up to meet his hand.

  “Good.” Sten’s spanking hand slid down her cleft, and his finger dipped inside her just enough to make her close her eyes. “You’re very wet, Kaysana.”

  She could hear the wry amusement in his tone but didn’t care, too lost in the mesmerizing slip and slide of his fingers between her folds and the stir of heat whenever a finger forged in deeper.

  “How far will you let me go, Kaysana? Hmm?”

  “No fa—” She jerked as one finger delved into her vagina, inches deeper. Her walls closed on him, tight, then let go. The floor under the chair, Sten’s feet, met her fogged gaze. Upside down on his lap, with him probing inside her. She groaned. “This isn’t kissing.”

  “No?”

  He shifted. She felt him bend, and his lips met just above her nether hole, his tongue licked a little way into her ass crack.

  “Nooo.” Her whispered word trailed off as his fingers moved in, three into her pussy. Then his thumb nudged against the other circle of muscle, swirling saliva from the trail of his tongue and her juices around the hole, lubricating her. She tugged at where he gripped her wrists, felt the steel in his grasp. Inescapable. She wriggled. “Mmm.”

  “You like that?” His words, spoken as if into her very skin, sped straight through her like a steaming arrow.

  Her clitoris throbbed, the little nub standing out so high and hard she knew he would feel the movement on his thigh. The heat from her bottom sent a warm message flowing everywhere, softening her thoughts, making it nearly impossible to think.

  “Ahh, you do.”

  Every sensation screwed up inside her so tight she could barely breathe. She shoved her ass up onto his fingers as much as she could, writhed. Her last resistance fell away. She wanted him inside her—fingers, cock, tongue, anything would do as long as it happened soon.

  The place within that had changed suddenly solidified like concrete, real. Then like desert sand stripped by a blast of wind from some hidden treasure, something inside her went. Gone, permanently.

  Kaysana gulped, panted. What had she lost? But all she k
new was desire for the man whose knee she lay over.

  Then he stood and set her on her feet, as calmly as someone rearranging a shop dummy.

  “Put on the clothes.”

  Numb, trembling, yet at the loss of his touch feeling the world crawl slowly back in, Kaysana raised her head and looked up at Sten. What had happened a few seconds ago? Something…odd.

  “Now.”

  She focused hard on him, frowned, drew herself straighter. Her vision expanded. The colors returned to the shop around them.

  Until he reached out and touched her arm. Nirvana struck. His skin on hers was like opium to an addict. She inhaled his scent, lowered her eyes.

  “Now, Kaysana.”

  She heaved a sigh, took the clothes and the pair of thigh-high tan boots, stripped naked, and dressed in the fawn leather microtop, did up the buckle that went under her breasts, and slipped on the little flared skirt. The thin leaves of leather barely reached midthigh. Each time she’d faltered while dressing, Sten touched her. Each time her head cleared of his influence, she figured out anew how his presence drugged her senses, and then touch and the thought was gone again.

  No underwear?

  “Um.” She shook her head, licked her lips. “Stop touching me. It’s messing with my mind.”

  “I noticed.” The lines around his eyes softened, and he smiled. “I like it. Don’t you?” He ran his fingernail over the double curve where her breasts swelled above the neckline of the top.

  “Yes.” She trembled again. “And no.”

  “Wait.” Sten fitted the mask over her head, fishing out strands of hair from under the strap before fastening up the buckle at the back. The thin leather smelled new and pungent. “Need this.” From the counter, he picked up another leather item and brought it to her neck.

  A collar and leash? What am I, a pet? “Uh-uh.” Hurriedly she stepped away. Her back and buttocks hit the counter with a thunk.

  “Yes.” He crowded her, left her nowhere to go, slipped the collar around her neck, and closed it. With a slick winding motion, he wrapped the leather leash several times around his fist.