City of Steam (Blackburn Chronicles)

by Dominic K Alexander

  The machine was unrelenting and moved towards her a second time, but she pushed back again sliding away. Steam escaped from the holes Mac had shot in him and his movements were slow and jerky as he stepped closer. The machine stumbled several times and almost fell as he perused. She simply slid across the wet leaves in different directions escaping every time he came within reach. His slowness made it easy for her to stay away from his attacks.

  Sweat poured from Mac’s forehead as she continued sliding away from her attacker. After several seconds, she slid back with something hard digging into her back as she went. Feeling for the object revealed the Glock that had been dropped during the teleportation. With a sigh of relief, she grabbed the gun and slowly aimed at the machines eye. Holding her breath, she squeezed the trigger and the gun clicked. Wide eyed she squeezed again but the slide was locked back and the ammo was gone.

  If the machine had a face it would have shown satisfaction across it. Instead it moved as quick as possible towards its prey which lay on the ground frozen from fear. Once it was within inches of Mac a tree root wrapped around Mac’s arm and slid her a dozen feet from the monster. Then, without warning, two tree trunks slammed full force into the head of the machine. It exploded sending pieces of metal, gears, and boiling hot water in every direction. A massive mound of dirt shot up from the earth protecting Mac from the shrapnel then, when everything settled, the dirt fell flat again. All that remained of the machine was two legs. The trees, unsatisfied of the remnants threw their branches down onto the legs until nothing remained but broken pieces, then they stood straight again as if nothing had happened.

  Mac stared at the trees which didn’t move. The earth sat still looking no different from any forest she had ever been in. Birds flew back to their homes and bugs shifted leaves as they crawled under them. Mac’s body shook and she could only stare at her surroundings not sure what had just happened. The vision of the trees destroying her attacker burned into her memory. Am I next? She thought. But the trees didn’t move.

  Not knowing what else to do, Mac slowly stood looking and waiting for another attack. It didn’t come. She pressed the slide lock on her Glock and the slide slid quickly back into place with a loud snap. The trees still didn’t move, so she holstered her gun and started breathing slowly while looking around at her surroundings.

  “Um, thank you?” Mac said in a questioning tone. There was no response, but she thought she saw one of the branches on a nearby tree dip slightly. Rubbing her eyes and looking again showed the branch hadn’t moved. Its official, you’ve lost your mind. Mac thought. Simon lay lifeless on the ground, drenched from the steam, several feet away and she crept to him watching the trees while reaching down and picking him up. The object that brought them to this strange place sat underneath him.

  Mac looked at the object and hesitated before picking it up. The warm metal did not react at her touch and she let out a sigh of relief. The rawness of her throat burned with every breath, but it was a small price to pay, one that had almost cost her life.

  “Were you protecting that for me, Simon?” Mac said looking from Simon to the object. “That’s my boy, but next time I think you should take the big scary machine and I will keep guard of strange artifacts.” Simon just stared at her.

  Looking at the object revealed a beautifully crafted coin with a brilliant blue gem in its center and small gears running along the outside of the gem. She ran her fingers across the coin trying to move the gears, but nothing happened so she started shaking it in hopes of getting it to work. Not surprising, there was still no movement. Carefully pressing the gem also did nothing. How the heck does this thing work? She thought. Having no answer, she placed the coin in her pocket and turned her attention back to where she was.

  The dimly lit forest was full of the smell of a moist summer rain. Shadows covered most of the area except for a gap in the trees where light shined down in a straight line.

  “Am I supposed to follow this path?” Mac asked. The branch dipped slightly again and a plethora of goose bumps welled up over her. I wish I hadn’t seen that. She thought. “We’re not in Maine anymore, Simon.” She said trying to ease the tension. Simon stared at her, unresponsive. “Fine, Simon, no more bad puns. Let’s get out of here; this place gives me the willies. Hopefully these trees know where someone is that can help us.”

  Without a better option Mac followed the sun lit path laid out for her. Stepping through the forest with caution ended after the first hour. The only sounds were from the wildlife going on with their daily routine and the creaking of the trees as they moved to illuminate the path she followed. After a few more hours passed dusk set in and the path became barely discernible. The growls from Mac’s stomach became a plea for the end of this journey. They were soon answered.

  3.

  The cool damp night hours set in and the now moonlit trees led Mac to a small stream which cut through the forest’s center. She leapt at it like a wild cat finding its prey. The cool refreshing water ran down her dry throat satiating a thirst, brought on from the endless walking, and dulling the hunger slightly. The lack of pain in her throat brought a sigh of relief in her otherwise worried state of mind. The thought of no shelter or protection from the unknown area, which gradually became colder as the day inched closer to night, made her feel a fear she had not felt in many years.

  With a lack of sunlight to follow, the best option was to walk along the stream. As Mac turned to start moving again she almost ran into a low hanging branch. The end was flattened into the shape of a small wooden plate and filled with a variety of colorful berries and shelled nuts. Pausing to stare at the gift from the forest seemed to insult the tree which slowly started to move away from her.

  “Please, stop.” Mac said quickly stepping forward and reaching out a hand. “Thank you for the food. The trees where I’m from don’t normally move, and in the movies, they tend to throw apples at you.” A large apple hit her from behind and rolled away.

  “Very funny.” She said with a smile rubbing the back of her head. The tree shook slightly. Mac indulged her hunger on the nuts and berries before giving a small bow to the tree then once again followed the flow of water.

  As the night pressed on, the forest darkened quickly and the air filled with a thick fog. A foul-smelling breeze hit Mac and she covered her nose with her shirt to help block it. She pressed forward, but as she walked deeper into the fog the smell worsened to the point where she was about to turn around when a rustling noise froze her where she stood.

  “Hello?” She called out, voice shaking. “Is somebody there?” The thought of becoming an animal’s dinner ran through her mind. After slowly stepping back, the fog cleared slightly, and a large tuft of grass shifted in front of her. The trees were unresponsive to her looks for help. The only chance of escaping her would be attacker would be to run, but if she tried to run now the cold of the night and lack of shelter would certainly kill her, so she stopped and stared, waiting and hoping the attacker would not catch her scent.

  The grass shuffled a second time and Mac ran behind a tree like a scared child peering at the patch of rustling grass. Steam from her breaths came out in rapid succession and her heart beat quickly. Then a low moan came from the grass and a blackened hand broke free from the tuft and fell without another move. The sight of an obviously injured person broke the imaginative thoughts of death running through her and she immediately ran to help the person.

  The hand was badly burned, and moving the grass out of the way revealed an equally burned young man now lying unconscious, likely from the strain of trying to move. He looked like he was no older than 16 and Mac was relieved when he let out a shallow gasp for air since she thought he was dead. His tattered and burnt robes were coated in mud. The garments looked as if they were handmade and had seen better days. The caked-on mud and ash would certainly cause infection if they remained on him.

  Mac decided it was best to remove him from the infectious slop in the bog and find some shelt
er. She wrapped her arms under his, then pulled with all her might attempting to move back into the forest, then once there, stripped his dirty clothing off revealing the extent of wounds. Without immediate attention, he would not last the night. The dark red burns ran over half of the boy’s thin body and his bones showed through his hands and one shin. His hair was singed and dirty from the bog and only a small red streak could be made out at its actual color. The gruesome sight of his grim condition brought the nuts and berries back up her throat and she turned away, swallowing back hard.

  Knowing the best thing to do is keep the wound clean and moist she ran back to the bog and knelt next to some of the water. Finding an area somewhat cleaner than the others, she ripped a long strip of her wife beater shirt, then another, and another until she had several long bandages. Coating them in the cool water should help the boy with some minor relief, but help was desperately needed.

  Mac made her way back to the boy where she carefully wrapped the strips of cloth over his face, hands, and leg. After playing the role of nurse she stood looking for some sign of where to go. A cold breeze ran across her abdomen making her wish she didn’t need to tear so much of the already skimpy shirt off. The scent of burnt wood finally hit her and she looked around to see if the source was near, but the fog was too thick and there was no way to look through it. She slumped slightly knowing a half-naked girl and badly burned boy were lost with little hope of surviving the night.

  Not being one to give up so easily, she walked into the woods and found two long, thick branches, brought them back to the boy, then used his old clothing to wrap around the branches making a stretcher. Being as careful as possible she moved the boy little by little onto the makeshift gurney and looked satisfied at her work.

  Unsure if she would be able to move him on her own, she stood at one end of the gurney and lifted it carefully. It lifted rather easily so she took a step forward, then another. Pulling the boy was easy as he glided smoothly across the leaf covered earth. Moving him is a lot easier than I expected. She thought. It’s almost as if the ground is moving with us. Then it hit her; the ground was helping move the gurney. Mac stopped, pinched herself, and didn't wake up. With a small smile and shake of her head, from her strange notions, she walked along the edge of the bog and looked for help.

  The night passed slowly and the smell of burnt wood became stronger with every step. Every fifteen minutes Mac would take a break and look around to see if she could find the source of the smell. It also helped to take a breath since even with help moving the boy she was out of energy and exhaustion was on the edge of consuming her. There had to be someone who could help and she continued to push until someone was found, or she passed out. And with the cold bringing constant shivers and goosebumps over her; she was sure passing out would come sooner rather than later.

  Hunger and thirst again gripped her, but the trees remained silent. The stagnant bog water was still unappealing although she wasn’t sure for how much longer it would remain so. She didn’t want to get a parasite and seal her fate, but if fresh water wasn’t found soon she wouldn’t have any choice but to drink what was available. The fear of infection made her not want to use the bog water for the boy’s wounds, but there was little choice in the matter and every little while she would remoisten the bandages before moving on.

  The cold air and lack of food took their toll and weakness slowed them to a halt. Mac’s mouth was dry, but she had stopped caring an hour previous. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but her body shook enough that sleep would not come easily. The ringing in her ears and ache running through her head was more than she could bear and she slumped weakly against a tree and closed her eyes trying to blink the dryness away with no avail.

  Finally, as Mac lost the last bit of hope, an orange glow peeked through the fog in the distance. The flicker of light and smell of smoke promised to show the source of the fire, and by the look of it, the boys home. She pushed towards what could only be a mirage or worse, the last hope of a dying girl. It could be a glimpse into the hell brought on by the mistake which took her father. The warmth of embers and smell of burnt flesh could be nothing more than the devil himself coming to take her to an eternity of physical pain and suffering equal to the mental pain she had felt since that fateful day.

  The smoke took her breaths and brought her to the muddy ground in defeat. She was too weak from the exhaustion and couldn't escape. The boy fell with her, sliding off the gurney and into the mud, and destined to sleep forever where he lay. Wanting nothing more than for the desperation to live to finally come to an end, Mac dug her fingers deep into the earth below her and pulled her limp body to the flames. As she reached the edge of the burning camp, the flames raw power pressed against her face; she could feel the blisters forming. The deep burn was a pain beyond anything she had ever felt before. Her lifeless body fell flaccid to the mud, covering her face, and disallowing any air to fill her lungs. Deprived from fresh air, she was too weak to fight her eminent death, and in the darkest part of this nightmare she could not feel the beast pull her from the camp.

  4.

  A bright green light surrounded Mac filling her with a forgotten warmth. The pain brought on by the charred skin covering her body eased and the fear she had felt subsided into the back of her mind. The cool air once again filled her lungs freely before the light faded and darkness took the night once again.

  “Is this heaven?” Mac’s voice came out in a shallow rasp; her eyes still closed.

  “Just breathe.” The gentle voice of an angel replied. Mac inhaled deeply enjoying the fresh air that had escaped her not long ago. The frigid forest no longer attacked her senses and a warm sensation covered her like a thick blanket. Comfort embraced her and she began to dream forgetting how close death had once again come.

  The bright green light illuminated her eyes again, but Mac was too tired and too comfortable to look for its source. Instead, she rested, which was more satisfying than the hellish sleep she had felt for the past several years. Finally, the night passed and daylight broke through the trees waking her from a perfect slumber.

  Forcing her eyes open took a great effort. Her hand wiped at the sticky goop covering them, forcing it away, and freeing her from blindness. The woods were quiet and smoking logs from a fire sat close. Her young friend lay quietly on the ground not far from her, and she was certain too much time had passed and he had not survived the night. Not knowing where she was or who had built the fire was unsettling and upon examining the area from her earthy bed, there was no one else around.

  She carefully stood up to get a better look at the boy and the trees spun slowly while hunger pangs made her gag. The constant beatings and neglect to her body was answered with hurt and exhaustion, though it was not nearly as bad as it ought to be. After several seconds the world halted its dance and she stepped towards the boy with sorrow knowing she did not save him.

  The bandages had been stripped off and were instead replaced with a dark green sludge which was spread over his naked body. Mac gasped as she noticed the slow inhale and exhale of his abdomen. She was in awe over his survival through the night. Kneeling by his side she examined the wounds, pushing the sludge from his hands. She noticed, where bone had once shown, a thin clear skin now covered.

  "Please, don't remove the Adano paste from him." A voice said from behind Mac. She fell back startled at the new visitor. "There's no need to be afraid. Hurting you is not in my daily plan." He smiled, but the off humor was not amusing to Mac at the moment.

  "Who are you?" Mac asked.

  “Just a simple hunter." He replied while kneeling next to the boy where Mac had once knelt. She watched him lay fresh moistened bandages over the boy’s wounds. He was mechanically precise in his movements, but also very gentle as he laid strips of wet cloth one by one over the red burnt skin.

  "Does this hunter have a name, or do I just call you 'The Hunter'?" Mac said.

  "You need to wash the paste off your face." He said dodgi
ng the question and handing one of the wet pieces of cloth to Mac. "We need to get to the city. This place is not safe and we have been here too long already." The man looked around at the trees cautiously, then back to the boy.

  Mac took the rag from him and started to wipe the slime from her face. She was far from through with her interrogation, but the tingle of the Adano paste was numbing and annoying. She wanted nothing more than to be done with it, so she wiped it away while 'The Hunter' moved the boy onto the makeshift gurney and extinguished the remaining embers from the fire with a small skin of water.

  "How did you find us?" Mac asked.

  "I saw the fire while searching for game and came to see if anyone needed help." He replied with an arched eyebrow. "I saw a young girl crawling mindlessly into a fire. It didn't seem right to let her kill herself. But again, we don't have time to find out why someone might do that. We are still too close to the bog and need to find help for your friend."

  Instead of protesting, Mac looked down at the boy. "Is he going to survive?"

  "Not if we don't get him out of the forest." He replied impatiently. "The woods are a dangerous place and the bog is worse. I don't know how he survived crawling through it. There is a lot of death in that bog. “

  Mac moved back several feet and peered at 'The Hunter' with accusing eyes. "I never said I found him by the bog." He stood and stared for a second, then continued to pack up camp undeterred at the accusation.

  "He was covered in mud and smelled like a ferapin turd." He replied calmly.

  "What's a ferapin?" Mac asked trying not to look like she had just made an idiot out of herself.