Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts

by Heather Massey

  She cleared her throat to speak, but he jumped through the opening and onto the ground without a backward glance. He strode away in a westerly direction.

  Violet called out his name, but he didn’t respond. In a panic, she rushed to the car’s edge and searched the area. The distance to the ground was much too far for her to navigate. Logan’s hat bobbed among the group of milling passengers. The crowd was sweeping him away like a leaf upon a river. A chill coursed down her spine. She’d have to act now or risk losing him forever.

  Escape wouldn’t be easy. Both entrances to the parlor car had buckled like accordions and refused to budge. Thankfully, she was far from the only stranded woman. Several male passengers were in the process of laying a plank against the car’s edge. Violet descended it with the assistance of a pot-bellied gentleman and immediately started following Logan.

  But wait–what about the project? She stopped and glanced back at the train. Should she rescue her father or ensure that his greatest invention remain secure? Joseph had gone to great lengths to protect it during the journey, but the violent attack had introduced a new set of parameters. Given the amount of damage incurred, accidental discovery was a distinct possibility.

  Indecision tore at her for a few agonizing moments, especially since she knew her father would have wanted her to stay with the train. In the end, she decided to pursue a rescue plan. She’d rather risk her father’s wrath over a destroyed invention than his death.

  Blinking back tears, Violet resumed her search for Logan. Dust stirred by footsteps made her sneeze while the scents of unfamiliar chaparral tickled her nose. Around her, the passengers of the Golden Arrow Express absorbed their surroundings in a stupor. They moved slowly, as if trudging through muck. Several cars ahead, Violet passed a group of passengers and train staff pooling their efforts to erect a medical tent. The frequent, anguished moans drifting past indicated a high number of injuries.

  Many anxious breaths later, Violet spotted Logan about a stone’s throw from the north side of the train. Relief surged through her. She headed straight for him.

  Out here on the wild terrain, his tall, lean form seemed a natural fit. During her approach, he sorted through objects scattered on the ground. He was filling a large suitcase with various items, presumably his belongings.

  He was one of many attempting to reclaim a semblance of order following the catastrophe. However, Logan was different. His actions conveyed an undertone of purpose, mysterious though it was. Confident that he was her ideal candidate, Violet lifted her skirts and hurried to his side.

  “Logan, I need a word with you, please. It’s urgent.”

  He held a small, ornate clock in his hands. After eyeing it briefly, he cast it aside. “I’m sorry about your father, but there’s nothing I can do.” He squatted and reached out to sort through an array of other nearby items.

  “I beg to differ. I need to rescue my father, and you seem like a man who knows this countryside.”

  “That sure narrows it down.” He picked up a small leather pouch whose contents clinked softly. He added it to the half-full suitcase before turning to regard her from beneath the low-angled brim of his hat. “Clearly, you don’t have any idea how large this territory is. Be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”

  Violet crossed her arms in frustration. The habit used to drive her mother batty. “That’s why a native New Englander like me needs a person with your knowledge. Logan, those…things had to be following someone’s orders. They acted with specific intent, one that involves my father. I’ve deduced that the base of operation is somewhere in this area.”

  “You don’t say.” He rummaged through a heap of men’s clothing. Finding a dark brown dustcoat, he tried it on. A roll of his shoulders seemed to indicate the garment was a good fit.

  Violet tensed. His tone had bordered on sarcastic. She hoped she had misread him. “Well, I’ve ruled out as much as I can. But more information is necessary. Do you know anything that can help me find him?”

  Logan’s gaze narrowed. Wearing the dustcoat made him appear larger, more formidable. “I’m not your man, Miss Whitcomb. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get a move on.” He tossed a few more items into the suitcase, sealed it shut, and hefted it over his shoulder.

  Her head spun. Logan was acting as if he wanted nothing to do with her. How was that possible after their amiable encounter on the train? She rushed forward and blocked his path. With steadfast determination, she grabbed his arm. “My father’s life is at stake! Do you have any information about the person responsible for his abduction? Any at all?”

  He jerked his arm from her grasp. An angry fire lit his eyes. “What makes you think I know a damn thing about anything? A man’s past is his own. Quit prying into mine!”

  The harsh retort echoed like a thunderclap in her ears. He began to walk away. She stared numbly at his retreating back. “I wasn’t trying to pry. I was merely inquiring about–”

  Then Violet paused with a flash of insight. She had asked him about information related to her father’s abductor–and in response, he had revealed far more than he probably intended. She squared her shoulders and raised her voice. “I’m not interested in your past, unless your past has something to do with my father’s abduction !”

  He barged ahead, his gait more forceful than before.

  She shouted after him. “I’m begging you, Logan, if you know anything, please tell me! I’ve already lost my mother.” The memory tore a sob from her throat before she could stop it. “I can’t lose my father, too. I simply can’t !”

  As if an invisible wall suddenly blocked his path, Logan stopped. Violet sensed opportunity. She rushed over to him. His gaze was impossibly distant, but she persisted. “Please, Logan. If you know anything…for the sake of mankind, I implore you to tell me!”

  Despite her impassioned plea, he remained silent and still for so long it seemed as though a powerful magician had frozen the sands of Time. His empty gaze revealed nothing.

  Violet shivered when a cool breeze slid chilly fingers along her exposed head and neck. The minutes crawled onward. Had he forgotten she was there? To say the man seemed tortured by something was putting it mildly. But if she pushed him too far, he might change his mind. So she waited.

  A ring of carrion birds circled overhead. Their raucous cries were a striking contrast to Logan’s brooding silence. As the fowl wheeled away in search of more interesting prey, he finally spoke. “They call him the Iron Scorpion.”

  Violet pressed a hand to the fiery red broach at her neck. It had belonged to her mother. “He sounds terrible.”

  “He is.” Logan dropped the suitcase and regarded her with arms crossed. “He rules a nearby territory in complete defiance of the law.” He grimaced. “Only Hell on Earth is more accurate.”

  “Who is he?”

  “No one knows where he came from. But they do know that he’s an evil son of a bi–an evil man. About sixteen years ago, he came to Wyoming under a false name looking to set up shop–told the locals he was some kinda doctor or something.

  “Then he discovered a flowing spring and a mighty ore deposit about forty miles north of here. Problem was, the land in question belonged to the McCoys. They were a large, hardworking family. For over a decade, they fixed up the homestead real nice. But as soon as Mr. McCoy filed for a deed of title, the Iron Scorpion struck.”

  Dread knotted her stomach. She feared the worst. “What did he do?”

  “Killed them. He brought killing machines with him, the most awful dark things you ever saw. Then the bastard burned every structure to the ground. From the ashes, he forged his twisted empire. He did something strange to the land, too. Nothing’ll grow there anymore.” He visibly shuddered. “That is to say, nothing natural.”

  Violet had never heard of anything so atrocious. “What does this madman want?”

  Logan shrugged. “The usual, I suppose. Money. Power. Control. He pays off the local marshals so they won’t interfer
e. Drives off anyone with a mind to settle or build a ranch. To make things worse, he steals what food he wants from the surrounding farms.”

  “He sounds like a tyrant.”

  Logan nodded. “He also built a fortress that’s impossible to escape. Leastways, I never heard tell of anyone going in there and coming out alive.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Until today, something’s been preventing that freak from expanding. I think he overlooked the fact that he’d need a steady supply of labor for his mine. In spite of his wealth, he can’t pay locals enough to work for him on account of the stories.”

  Violet stepped closer to Logan. The scientist in her was intrigued. But as a woman, she longed for his warmth and protection. “What kinds of stories?”

  “He…does things to people. Makes them…less than human.”

  Violet blanched at his ominous words even while indignation swelled within her. “Such behavior is reprehensible. Someone should stop him.”

  “Who? You?” Logan shook his head. “But my story ain’t finished yet, Miss Whitcomb. The youngest McCoy witnessed that asshole butchering his family.” Logan turned and spat. “Then he escaped, but it wasn’t the Iron Scorpion that drove him off. It was fear.”

  Pieces of a mental puzzle clicked together. Violet zeroed in on Logan’s temple scar. The realization slammed into her like a cannon ball. It was him! She spoke in a whisper. “Logan…you…you were the boy. You were injured during the attack.” His pained expression didn’t deny it. She regarded him with deep sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”

  Logan expelled a forceful breath as though exorcising a demon. “Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  “That land is yours by rights. Have you ever attempted to overthrow him?”

  His expression turned stony. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He glanced down. “I have my reasons.”

  “But surely there’s a way–”

  “I appreciate your concern, but it’s not a topic I’m going to discuss any further.” He pointed north. Violet couldn’t help but notice the harmonious lines of his hand. “To reach the Iron Scorpion’s fortress, travel due north. It’s surrounded by scorched earth as far as the eye can see. You can’t miss it.” Abruptly, he turned to leave.

  “Wait...where are you going?”

  “Back into obscurity, Miss Whitcomb.”

  “But Logan, think of my father. He’s all the family I have in the world. He’s also a very important person to this country. We have to rescue him!”

  His laugh was cold, sharp, and quick. “‘We’?” he tossed over his shoulder. He shook his head. “I may have a lot of faults, but crazy ain’t one of them.” He began heading west, propelled swiftly by his long strides. His suitcase lay forgotten.

  Violet jogged to keep up. “Well perhaps it’s time for a little craziness,” she said breathlessly. “We should organize a rescue party.”

  “Hell no. And stop followin’ me.”

  Violet blocked his path once again, this time laying both hands at his shoulders. It was like trying to prevent a boulder from rolling downhill, but she persisted nonetheless. “How can you turn your back on another of his victims after what he did to your family?” When he didn’t answer, desperation fed her next remark. “What would your mother say about your refusal to help?”

  Logan grabbed her arms. Fearing she had gone too far, Violet resisted with a vigorous twisting motion. In response, he tightened his grip and drew her closer. She had no choice but to look at him.

  His gaze burned like a volcano–one apparently fed by painful memories. “You got some nerve, lady. I told you already, I’m not your man. Now leave me the hell alone!”

  Then he pushed her away so forcefully that she landed on the ground with an audible thud . The contact knocked the breath from her. Violet stared up at him in shock. The stinging rejection prompted a thick spill of tears down both of her cheeks. This wasn’t how she’d meant for things to turn out at all .

  Logan stood with a scowl, staring at nothing in particular. Both of his fists were clenched by his side. Oh, dear . She’d stirred memories best left alone.

  She eased herself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…oh, how I’ve insulted you! Concern about my father’s welfare has diluted my good judgment.” Cautiously, she stood and adjusted her dress. Rubbing her hand against an aching hip, she spoke contritely. “Please forgive me, if you can.”

  Still as a rock, Logan said nothing.

  Violet decided to leave at once. Her own safety demanded it. Even from what little she’d seen, Logan was a man full of conflicted, unpredictable emotions. She’d figure out another way to rescue her father. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Logan. You’ve given me a chance beyond everything I’d hoped.”

  Silence was his answer. His closed expression was like a battle-axe to her heart.

  Violet couldn’t bear the sight any longer. By her own overbearing hand, she’d ruined any hope of a future association with the man–the very handsome, debonair man of her dreams.

  “Well, then,” she began, her hands twisting together feverishly, “good-bye.”

  Then she turned and headed back to the train to seek help or at least the resources she’d need to mount a rescue. I’ll find you, Papa, even if I have to battle the Iron Scorpion myself. It took her more than a few passes to cleanse her cheeks of the relentless tears that followed.

  As she walked, the surrounding landscape seemed less picturesque and more untamed. Dangerous, too–what kind of deviant creations did the Iron Scorpion command? Her imagination ran wild with visions of underground monstrosities clawing their way from subterranean regions unknown to swallow her whole.

  The enemy aside, how would she navigate the savage terrain? It might take her weeks or even months to find this horrible villain. Perhaps she was too late. The gruesome thought came before she could stop it: Perhaps her father was already dead.

  Clamping a hand to her mouth, Violet began to run. She’d barely traversed a wagon length when a tall, imposing figure jumped in front of her. He halted her advance with a firm hand against her left shoulder. She yelped in surprise and stumbled back. Upon regaining her footing, her eyes widened in recognition.

  Logan’s voice came low and measured. “Against my better judgment, I’m going to ask you a question.”

  She nodded, lips sealed, fearful that even a mere syllable might send him running again.

  “What would the Iron Scorpion want with your father?” His narrowed eyes echoed his suspicious tone.

  Violet exhaled slowly. A shrewd question, indeed. As she mentally reviewed the information Logan had shared about the Iron Scorpion, a chilling insight lodged itself in her brain. This villain desired something that only Joseph Whitcomb could create–in fact, had already created.

  But the project was classified. Revealing its existence prematurely would send shockwaves throughout the world, especially in these uncontrolled conditions. Pinkerton agent or no, could she trust this man Logan? Less than a heartbeat later, she concluded that if she were to gain any further assistance from him, she had no choice. Her father’s life depended on her making the correct decision.

  “Come with me back to the train. It’s better if I show you.” When he hesitated, Violet poured all the authority she could muster into her voice. “Trust me. It will be worth your while.”

  Logan acquiesced with a curt nod. “It better be. Lead on.”

  * * * *

  They proceeded to the Golden Arrow in silence. Violet couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Logan. He’d pushed his hat far down his forehead, and his scowl continued unabated. His haunted nature fascinated her to no end.

  Though her stride bespoke confidence, panic mounted. Violet was about to discover the fate of her father’s project. If this Iron Scorpion’s minions had abducted it, then the battle was over before it had even begun. She didn’t regret her decision to put her father first, but if the project was compromised she’d
still have to answer for it. She clenched her hands so hard the nails bit into her palms.

  They reached the train within minutes. Violet prayed silently for luck as she navigated all manner of debris to reach the refrigerator car. Only the conductor, her father and she knew about the secret storage compartment therein.

  Months before the journey, Joseph Whitcomb had paid an exorbitant fee for its construction. Additionally, he had overseen every step of the proceedings. Violet had thought his slavish attention to detail a symptom of an overworked mind, but in retrospect, she now understood her father’s precaution. The realization sobered her: though her family had been safe until now, scientists were obviously not immune to espionage.

  Passengers and train personnel alike ignored them as they approached the entryway. The door hung open, attached by a solitary hinge. Violet eyed the empty containers both small and large trailing out the opening. Their presence indicated a recent raid.

  Logan assembled a makeshift stairway using various crates. They climbed aboard, Violet in the lead.

  Inside, the air was still cold, prompting her to rub her arms. She glanced around. Numerous marked boxes were stacked in every available space. Many of them contained eggs, cheeses, and dressed meats. She motioned for Logan to follow her down one of the narrow aisles.

  He remained near the entryway, blending with the shadows. His hand rested against the butt of his weapon. “I’ll stay here,” he said quietly, “and stand guard.”

  Violet bestowed him a sympathetic look. “There’s nothing to fear.” But at his intrepid expression, she shrugged. “As you wish.”

  She moved deeper into the car. Her destination was the forward wall, actually a false wooden front. Searching in the dim light, Violet slid her fingers along the corner to her left and located the hidden release. When she pressed it, an audible pop and slight vibration indicated she could now remove the entire panel. So she pulled. Then pulled some more. But the stubborn panel barely budged.