wuh-hooomm, wuh-hooomm
The maddening pulsation fills the air.
The lights of the metal-melting beam generator begin their sequential chase. Repeatedly running the length of the bowl ended rod in faster and faster cadences, the lights imply a sense of the thing’s excitement.
The lights and pulsating throb come together in a climactic release!
{{{SKRRR-BZZZCK-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}
The great steam plant immediately glows bright with sudden heat and explodes under the tremendous fury of her boilers and furnaces. I think we have just witnessed one of the mightiest explosions in history. Everything around that plant is instantly destroyed. We are stunned at the violent eruption.
“Get back to it, boys! We have to protect that train!”
“Yessir, Sherriff!”
We immediately tear into the spikes holding the rails to the ties. This pitiful old train loaded with Birmingham’s last desperate fleeing citizens is now in mortal danger.
The monster picks its way down the mountain and begins sweeping the community with its destructive beam. Fires quickly sprout like active and dancing wildflowers of despair. Many buildings are equipped with their own boilers and furnaces for heat and the generation of energy for the many steam-driven devices we have come to rely on. These wonderful devices are now all potential molten liabilities in our present quandary.
The stubborn railroad spikes do not want to relinquish their hold upon the ties.
The tripod legs of the devilish device smash houses and topple all structures before their terrible might.
I work with focused attention, but cannot help but look up at the sound of my hometown being torn asunder.
I raise my head in time to see the wonderful Benjamin Arms Hotel burst into fiery blazes. Its copper and brass accouterments that give it such a delightful appearance now burn brightly in in a heartbreaking conflagration. Her rooftop restaurant is engulfed in flames. Gouts of fire shoot skyward from her ‘Lifterator’ shaft.
The giant monster strides forward to kick the burning building. The Benjamin Arms Hotel is Birmingham’s most luxurious accommodation treasured landmark. In a shower of brick and molten art, the illustrious fiery edifice falls before the brute’s indomitable might.
The confident bully swaggers on.
One touch of that beam on any railroad track in the city, and there are a lot of them, will send searing heat to us and the escaping train.
All the brave folks working on the rail are aware of that component of the danger.
We soon have the connectors loose from the rail.
Lavender beams sweep the city. Molten steel, copper, brass and iron spread fiery destruction wherever the ray touches.
The loudly crackling metal melting beam jangles our nerves with its harsh and harried blasts.
{{{SKRRR-BZZZCK-CK-CK-CK-CK!!!}}}
We pry the rails apart and swiftly secure them with logs just as the horrible beam makes contact with the rail. Several of us get scorched hands from the closeness of the break. We have narrowly saved the hundreds of poor souls on that last train of escape.
We can see that the railroad ties are catching fire one by one moving towards us. We have to work hard to bend the heavy steel rails back to where they will not make contact with the heated metal and carry the horrible heat any further. The railroad ties that are still connected to the glowing orange rails soon burst into flame. Acrid creosote from the wooden railroad beams burns our eyes and makes it difficult to breathe.
Sheriff Woodley calls for everyone’s attention.
“Every man is ordered to run for his life and make out the best he can. You boys have done good, but now is the time to skedaddle. Thank you, and good luck to you.”
With this last request of her citizenry, our sheriff has the sad task of relinquishing his city to her monstrous destroyer. I know the sheriff takes his responsibilities seriously and it is a painful exercise for him to admit surrender. I can see in his clear blue eyes, the pain of letting his city down. His countenance is a grim mask, bathed in the flickering light of his city’s cremation. It is a tough thing for me to see in someone I admire so much.
“That goes for you too, Ichabod. You go find that pretty girl that was fool enough to fall for you and you get her to safety, ya hear?”
“Yessir.” I fib to the grim peacekeeper.
I return to where I have left Miss Plumtartt and the babies, Bolt and Clementine. It is tough to get there through all the raging fires. The entire valley for as far as I can see is fully engulfed in flame.
“The sheriff says we need to get out of town, Miss Plumtartt.”
“Then who shall be here to monitor, and if the opportunity arise, defy the insidious invader?”
I have no answer for the brainy beauty.
I struggle to find safety for my family. Soon, it is a struggle just to find us some air. We are very nearly being roasted alive.
I employ the same method of concealment from the creature as I had used earlier. That is, I keep an object between myself and his questing eye and destructive beams. Heavy brick buildings shield most of the rays, I think. In addition, the confusion of the burning city keeps us out of the monster’s vision.
Walking in its rollicking method, the contraption makes its way down the same thoroughfare that Miss Plumtartt and I had employed just a few days prior. That would be the wide Twentieth Street. Glowing trolley tracks illuminate the horror with an orange light from below as burning structures provide a yellow light from the sides. At the bottom of the hill, the monster then merely steps over the intervening blocks in a catty-corner maneuver. Sturdy brick buildings are kicked aside and trampled underfoot. The bars and saloons of the cobblestoned Morris Avenue burst into flame at the pass of the lavender ray. The beam is now steadily controlled, though, as opposed to swinging wildly as had been witnessed earlier. It is my impression that the cursed conqueror is being more careful in what he destroys. He spreads his wanton destruction in every direction but one. Steadily Northward and Eastward comes our foe. His path brings him nearly straight for us, I fear, but then I see where he has slightly adjusted his course. The pilot is on a collision course with the pride of this city’s iron-producing industry: the Sloss Furnaces, the first major ‘blast’ furnaces built in the South.
The leviathan suspends the use of his metal scorching ray. He drives his coach to the towering edifices of the Sloss Furnace compound. The proud blast furnaces and accompanying buildings rival and surpass the Martian’s conveyance in height.
“This city’s marauder has taken a fancy to the iron furnaces, Mr. Temperance, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Birmingham has all the necessary ingredients for the iron industry: coal, coke, and iron ore. The iron then becomes the basis for steel production. This is the foundation of our city’s blooming success. I wonder if this rascal has something in mind for the iron foundry?”
The mechanical walker bounces its knee joints high around its panned head as it spins a few times.
Is it doing some sort of victory dance?
---
“I really would feel better about proceeding, if I was not distracted by the need to protect you, Miss Plumtartt.”
“Your kind thoughts as to my security are appreciated, Mr. Temperance; however, I have no intention of letting someone else fight the battle for our planet on my behalf. Now then, how do you propose that we proceed at this juncture, eh hem?”
~sigh~ “As you wish, Miss Plumtartt. It seems that our foreign friend has settled down on the grounds of the Sloss Furnace facility. The fires of Birmingham have now largely burned themselves out. The remains of the dead city wither after her forceful cremation; the smoldering husk grows more quiet.”
“I say, the Sloss facility, in contrast, roars with dynamic life and vibrates the air for blocks in all directions with her fevered vitality. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Temperance?”
“Yes Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt, Ma’am. Well, I reckon if that Martian fell
er is up to something, it probably ain’t no good. I suppose we ought to go and see what he is cranking away at.”
“Righto, a capital plan, Mr. Temperance. We shall, how do you like to say, ‘reconnoiter’ the situation?”
“Rather, Miss Plumtartt. Good show.”
I receive a dubious scowl.
“Hey there, Mr. Bolt, how about you stick around here and take care of Clementine while Miss Plumtartt and I go see what this boogerbear is doing?”
“Roof!”
---
“Dang, this city is disquietingly quiet, ain’t it Ma’am.”
“Quite so, Mr. Temperance, but chin up, we must prevail. We now enjoy the cover of darkness as you pick our path for a surreptitious arrival.”
“There ain’t a creature a stirring nowheres, except for this monster that has taken up habitation at our city’s most prominent landmark. He is making a terrible racket. What’s more, he seems to have the whole plant running along at the greatest pace I have ever witnessed. From here we can see the rows of stacked coal ovens heating the water that is converted to steam. Thick smoke from their stacks smothers the city. The harnessed steam pressure turns an engine that creates the wind to ‘blast’ the furnace. It is said to be the largest steam engine on Earth. It is banging away so fast, I can’t hardly comprehend it. The roar of the giant gas ovens is drowned out by the twin, ten-story blast furnaces themselves. They ain’t supposed to be run so hot. Belching, spitting, roaring and swearing, these blast furnaces light the entire valley with their vertical breath.”
“The orange flames do convey a sense of dwelling within Hades’ red glow, and though frightening shadows dance among the towers and silos of the plants fully blazing furnaces, I feel that the Martian’s attentions are safely drawn in other directions. I am confident in the stealth of our approach.”
“I hope so, Ma’am.”
“One moment please, as I wrap a scarf about my face, Mr. Temperance. This air is so heavily suffused with the fumes of burning coal and ore, that it stings my eyes, and the stench of the oppressive atmosphere is making breathing difficult.”
“Are you gonna be all right, Ma’am?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Temperance. I am not unaccustomed to the strong odours of production, but the air is getting a bit thick, one might say.”
“I think I’ll follow your example and use this out-sized, red handkerchief to sift my intake.”
“I am not normally one to complain, Mr. Temperance, but my visibility has been reduced to nil. Gritty particulates assault my eyes.”
“Me too, Miss Plumtartt, but I think I can remedy that. This place was evacuated in a hurry. Maybe some of the workmen left their safety goggles behind.”
“With this wish in mind, let us hastily peruse the contents of this, the first Sloss structure we encounter, eh hem?”
“Yes Ma’am, this here over-sized, tin-roof work shed is where pig iron is cast in the sand.”
“Perhaps we shall discover the protection we require here, eh hem?”
“Yes, Ma’am, Miss Plumtartt. Here we go, just like we thought. Some workmen discarded their goggles in a hurry to flee the plant. Let’s be be careful to discard them back the way we found ‘em when we are ready to go.”
“Of course, Mr. Temperance.”
“With the heavy goggles in place, and the bottom portion of our faces covered by scarf and bandanna, we are a frightful looking pair, Miss Plumtartt.”
“We are not here to win the Bristol Beauty Bouquet, Mr. Temperance. Let us repulse, our repulsive invader.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The further we make our way into the overstressed plant, the louder the overriding racket becomes. Endless tangles of pipes, conveying pressurized steam, grow as jungle vines about the works. Each of these iron conduits shakes and squeals with outrageous pressures being exerted within. Steam bursts from pipe joints as they are asked to convey energies beyond their tolerances.
Blobs of molten slag are cast throughout the grounds in flaming globules. As degenerate volcanoes, purging the impurities of the boiled ore across the site, they spit the hateful loogies from the overflowing lips of their fevered furnaces’ upturned mouths.
Rows of huge, steel, silos rise up before us. These ingenious devices of Sloss take the dangerous, combustible gas of the furnace to fuel their air-heating ovens that then feed right back into the furnace again. These silo-looking ‘cowper’ ovens are glowing with too much heat. Pushed to their extremes, they scorch the air being blasted into the base of the furnace. The smell of melting clay is almost unbreathable. Heat waves ripple the air around the coal ovens, the silo ovens, and the five foot in diameter conduits projecting from the silos. Rising over everything else, we can see the main blast furnaces. They too warble the very air with aggressive waves of heat.
Through the veil of smoke, soot, steam, unbearable clatter, and searing heat, Miss Plumtartt and I stumble upon a large brick cathedral. Climbing over four stories into the air, it extends for almost a hundred yards.
“Let’s duck in here.” I attempt to communicate to Miss Plumtartt, but the racket caused by the furious pace of the plant is overwhelming. I resort to hand signals to convey my intentions.
The interior of this building is more chaotic than the artificial storm raging outside. This is the blowing engine building. Good grief, these engines are enormous! One after another, eight mammoth steam engines fill this hall from end to end. Towering above us, they stand forty feet tall. The colossal steam engines extend an equal distance into the Earth. Pistons big enough to sit four people to dinner send their compressed air to force heat to the furnaces, but they were never built to be pushed to this fantastic fury! The giant, thirty foot wheels that flank the sides of each Titan spin at incomprehensible speeds. The howling of these steam beasts is intolerable! The behemoths scream to be released from their torture. The whole engine house feels as if it is going to fly apart! The concrete floor beneath our feet is in such a vibration that we scarcely make contact. The atmosphere pulsates with the uncanny amount of energy and movement being exerted. It is terrifying to be so close to the hyper-active, steel hurricanes, but tangles of rattling, hot pipe force us to make our way along a narrow, metal grate, directly next to the living machinery. We hurry as best we can through this hall of unbound leviathans and exit through the opposite side.
Piles of ore and detritus of production now provide cover for movement. The maelstrom of ash, soot, smoke, and heavier detritus is as dense as any fog, but a lot more painful.
“Miss Plumtartt, look out!” I cry, but it is too late. The jaws of a merciless monster gape over our heads!
“Tut, tut, Mr. Temperance, ‘tis but an abandoned steam-shovel. Though the bucket, with its hinged jaw swinging open, does convey the image of a Paleolithic creature, for all intents and purposes, this monster bodes us no harm.”
“Yikes! It’s the Martian war machine! We have walked right up on it!”
“Not to worry sir, you mistake this four legged water tower for our thrice limbed foe.”
“Oh, yes, Ma’am. Say, now I see the real three-legged mechanical walker, Miss Plumtartt. I think the man from Mars is over yonder, around the other side of the blast furnace. Let’s just ease around this material conveying tower and see if we don’t get a look at him.”
“Of course, Mr. Temperance, lead on, sir.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Oh, there he is! I’ll move back so you can sneak a peek, Miss Plumtartt.”
“I say, what a peculiar fellow he is. The three legs and three arms work with a freakish synchronicity; Yes, he is just as you described him; however, you did not mention the gentleman’s unfortunate growth along his back, eh hem?”
“Hunh, he is sorely hunchbacked, ain’t he? Well, I reckon I didn’t mention it on account of it not being there last night when he chased me around the legs of his walker with that blaster of his.”
“Indeed, I find that observation worth noting, Mr. Temperance.”
“Y
es, Ma’am.”
“My word. Look there! We have company, Mr. Temperance. Indeed, so it would seem, for from our position of concealment, I am able to make out the silhouette of a large man. He surreptitiously creeps among the gigantic steel apparatus and brick buildings of the Sloss Furnace complexities to observe the Martian, much as we are doing, it would seem, eh hem?”
“Yes Ma’am, and since he is human, and sneaking around trying not to be seen by the Martian, I think it’s reasonable to assume that he is an ally. I’ll just slip over and say hello.”
“Exercise caution, Mr. Temperance. He is a burly fellow, and visibly tense. He clasps an inordinately large, heavy wrench and is giving every indication of being at a heightened state of readiness in anticipation of its use.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
My fellow Martian observer does not observe me as I come to make his acquaintance.
Maybe a direct approach is inadvisable on this tightly wound and heavily armed bear. I try a safer method of making contact rather than tapping him on the shoulder.
From a discreet distance, and after having pulled down my neckerchief that I have affixed around the lower portions of my face and pushed up the goggles from my eyes, I hazard a discreet:
“Pssst!”
He whirls upon me and nearly flings the weighty instrument in his hand. This hefty skulker is built like a sack of watermelons. His eyes spit the huge vegetable’s seeds at me in a venomous and accusing glare.
“Please wait, friend! I am human, like you!”
He stays his strike.
A wide, jutting jaw, bristling with wiry bearding, thrusts itself out. Flaring eyes reflect a radiance of incredible menace from beneath knotted brows. Authoritative daggers bore holes through me from his accusing appraisal.
“Who’re you, and what are you doing in my, that is, I mean these furnaces?”
I think I am in more danger from this threatening man, than the invader I am here to stop.
“My name is Ichab...”
“Shaddap, runt. You ain’t got no business here. Scram! I’m too busy to deal with the likes of you, boy.”
For the Love of Temperance (The Adventures of Ichabod Temperance Book 3) Page 6