Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts

by Heather Massey

  After the latest episode, during which he had dug his fingers hard into her upper arm, Violet scowled. Hmpf. ‘Improvise, I reckon.’ What kind of plan is that for a Pinkerton? Then guilt plucked at her. She hadn’t exactly provided a brilliant alternative herself. Some partner you are . Would she ever acclimate to the concept of “adventure?”

  Violet feared the ache in her back from carrying the Titan had taken up permanent residence. She supposed she could have asked Arthur to carry it, but Logan had bequeathed the responsibility to her . Not only was she determined to contribute to the mission, but she dearly wanted to impress Logan with her resolve.

  They went round and round for a few more minutes. Logan allowed them a brief rest in a cramped room lit by a single rusty gas lamp. Arthur stood against the closed door, his intractable bulk security against intruders. The whole place reeked of sulfur. Violet felt a massive headache forming, yet the thought of whatever torture her father must be enduring tempered the pain. Gingerly, she rested her sore bottom on a crate and eased the steam gun pack from her shoulders.

  Poised in a deceptively casual manner against the opposite wall, Logan spoke quietly. “This here wild goose chase is pointless. Every room in this pit looks like every other goddamn room.” He sucked in a breath. “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

  Violet waved a hand dismissively. “It’s action, not language, that counts here. What should we do next?”

  He stroked his chin. The action seemed to light a fire in his eyes. “We should have a chat with one of the locals.”

  His choice of words belied the insidious-sounding intent behind them. Violet leaned forward, brows slanting. “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. I’ll ask one of the workers where he is. Well, more like persuade.” He hefted his Colt. “You stay here. Don’t open the door unless you hear four knocks.” Ordering Arthur to move aside, he headed for the door.

  The idea of being separated from Logan terrified her, even with Arthur as her bodyguard. She crossed the room and grabbed Logan’s arm. “Please hurry back!” she whispered fiercely.

  A shadow obscured his eyes, but his large, rough hand closed warmly over hers. “I aim to.”

  As he slipped out the door, Violet observed a swagger in his step she hadn’t noticed before. Curious.

  She’d barely had time to contemplate the change when four insistent knocks threatened to topple the entire fortress. That was the code! Her heart thumped extra hard. “Step aside, Arthur.” The automaton complied. Violet pulled the door open.

  A man came rushing toward her, limbs flailing. His shaven head, bloodshot eyes and gaunt cheeks lent him a ghoulish appearance. Violet failed to smother her cry of surprise as she scrambled out of his reach. But he was fast. Despite her best effort, he seized her bodice.

  “Let go of her, damn it!”

  Some of Violet’s terror subsided as Logan renewed his grip on the man’s collar and yanked him back.

  “Shut the door!” he directed to Arthur.

  The automaton swiftly sealed the entrance. To Violet’s immense shock, he resumed his previous role of guard without explicit instructions.

  But any praise would have to wait. The Iron Scorpion’s minion seemed intent upon gouging out her eyes, if his blackened, outstretched fingers were any indication. Their sharp metal tips clicked ominously within a hairsbreadth of her face. His foul breath prompted her to gag. Eventually, between Logan’s manhandling and Violet’s kicks, they managed to free her.

  Logan wrestled the prisoner facedown on the dirt floor. His hat flew off and sweat dripped down his face as he fought to subdue the agitated worker. Logan kneed him in the back, but the man’s combative movements threatened to dislodge him.

  “Find some rope!” he exclaimed during a split-second break in the action.

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere!”

  “Yes, right away,” she squeaked. She opened crates and overturned various containers. The prisoner bellowed his anger. The noise was bound to attract the attention of other workers, or whatever passed for security here. Violet quickened her pace, but her searched produced nothing. She turned back to Logan. “I can’t find any.”

  Teeth clenched, he called over his shoulder. “You! Metal Man! Help me out here.”

  Arthur marched forward.

  “Take my place. Hold him down so he can’t escape.”

  Violet’s jaw dropped open. “What are you–”

  But the venom-filled look on Logan’s face gave her pause. “Do you want to rescue your father or not?”

  Violet’s lack of response was all the answer he needed.

  Logan turned to Arthur. “Get down on your knees. Put your hands there and there.”

  Under Logan’s direction, Arthur placed his arms and legs strategically over the prisoner. Because of the automaton’s strength–that of twenty men–the man stayed put.

  Logan began circling the prisoner. “Violet, guard the door.”

  Pulling out her Schofield, she inched her way past the other three and pressed against the door to ensure it was completely shut. When she turned back, Logan was squatting before the prisoner.

  “Now then,” Logan drawled. “I’m going to make you a deal. You tell us where the Iron Scorpion is keeping that scientist he nabbed, and I might just let you keep all of your limbs. You understand me there…? I might .”

  The man made a guttural sound that was anything but cooperative.

  Logan tsked with a slow shake of his head. “Oh, my apologies, sir. Maybe I should’ve been clearer.” Following that statement, Logan whipped out a knife and slashed it across the man’s right ear. Blood welled profusely from the injury.

  The prisoner bellowed again and then cursed.

  Logan sighed in mock frustration. “You like this game, don’t you?” He issued a slash across the man’s forehead. More blood oozed forth. “I’ve got all the time in the world, and my friend here even more so. Tell us where the scientist is. Now.”

  He reached out to cut the man again, but Violet couldn’t bear to watch any more. She turned her back on the scene. But that just made things worse. Her overworked imagination produced vivid pictures to accompany the horrid gurgling sounds emanating from the prisoner as Logan continued his “interrogation.”

  Overwhelmed by the inhumanity of the situation, tears slipped down her cheeks. Her sheltered life had left her woefully inadequate for coping with that kind of violence, necessary though it was. One man’s torture against the safety of the country? The world? There was no dispute. The rational side of her understood the logic of the equation, but she couldn’t calculate the associated feelings as easily. Regardless of the outcome, her father’s rescue would inevitably involve more injury and pain–perhaps even death.

  As the interaction behind her continued, Violet wondered how damaged Logan had become–emotionally, psychologically–as a result of his childhood trauma. Would he always be drawn to a life of danger? Was he someone she could entrust with her life?

  More importantly, could she trust him with her heart?

  If he were open to healing, she’d do everything within her power to help him find peace once they were all safely away–whatever it took.

  Someone tapped her shoulder. Thoughts scattering, she jumped and waved her gun wildly about.

  “Whoa, there!” Logan neatly caught her wrist, forcing the barrel toward the ceiling. “It’s over now. I know where your father’s being imprisoned.”

  Violet had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard the man disclose the information. “Logan, I….”

  Concern lined his features. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t enjoy it, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was all an act, I swear.”

  Violet studied him. He seemed so sincere. All she knew was that she wanted to believe him. Besides, he was here, endangering his very life to help her. She hoped her eyes conveyed what her tongue couldn’t. I believe you . I believe in you .

  Violet
cleared her throat. “Is he…dead?”

  Logan shook his head. “Not worth the effort. I knocked him out cold. Here, help me pile some of this stuff on him in case he wakes up. Can’t have him running to the Iron Scorpion before we find your father.”

  Relieved that Logan had only disabled the man, Violet went to work. Soon, his entire body disappeared among a pile of heavy crates. Unless the man started screaming, examination of the room would reveal nothing unusual.

  When they finished, Logan tugged on his hat. Muscles practically creaking, Violet shrugged on the steam gun pack. When Logan drew his revolver, she and Arthur followed suit. Fully armed, she was ready for the next phase.

  Logan eased out the door, searching for signs of workers. Satisfied the corridor was empty, he turned right and gestured for Violet and Arthur to follow.

  At first, the search was no different than before. They spent more time eluding the ever-present workers than on their goal. The corrugated walls, latticed with mortared beams of thick wood and stone, all ran together after a time. Violet winced in pain with every step. Fiendish cramps and blisters had made mincemeat of her feet. She was tempted to question Logan’s sense of direction, but in the end bit her tongue, knowing the situation demanded her utmost patience.

  Soon, however, the nature of their surroundings changed. The corridors became narrower and the walls smoother. They also branched off into quiet, well-lit work spaces. Instead of shouts and grunts, the men traversing the passages spoke in low, mannered voices.

  Workers dressed in overalls and work coats became few and far between. They were replaced by men dressed in one-piece black garments that ran amok with brass buttons from neck to ankle. Every one of them had slicked their short hair severely back. Were they members of the Iron Scorpion’s inner circle?

  Logan led them up a steep staircase. At the top, a long, deserted hallway stretched, seemingly to infinity. Other corridors branched off from it. Violet smelled pungent odors–distinctly chemical in nature. Were they any closer to finding her father?

  They crept down the hall, Logan in the lead. He stopped and cocked an ear. “Hold on,” he whispered. “Did you hear that?”

  Violet shook her head, eager to keep moving.

  A low, slow, menacing growl began emanating from somewhere up ahead. Violet’s blood froze. The chilling sound raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Logan threw out a protective arm and began to ease back. In tandem, Violet retreated a few steps.

  The automaton, however, wasn’t as quick to reverse direction.

  “Arthur, come back!” Violet whispered.

  The automaton turned and marched toward them, feet clanking loudly in the still air.

  “No!” Logan mouthed in frustration. He shoved a finger against his lips, but it was too late.

  A canine form emerged from a side corridor several yards away. It was a massive wolf. Metal jaws bared a set of ferocious-looking metal teeth. Armor encased it from shoulder to rump, increasing its body size at least two-fold. A thick, spike studded iron collar ringed the wolf’s neck. The animal stalked toward them, its eyes twin pools of dark menace. A continuous growl issued from deep within its throat.

  “What do we do?” Violet whispered anxiously.

  “Don’t move–or breathe,” Logan cautioned, his gaze fixed squarely on their opponent.

  Violet obeyed without question.

  “Now,” he continued, “start to back up…slowly.”

  The wolf launched into a run. Metal jaws parted, it leaped into the air straight toward Logan’s throat.

  “No!” Violet shouted, her voice hoarse with dread. She raised her gun, but the animal moved so fast she couldn’t get a clear shot.

  Logan holstered his Colt. Reaching out, he grabbed the wolf by the collar. The slavering metal jaw closed tightly, narrowly missing his left ear. Using the animal’s momentum, he swung the beast behind him. Yowling, the wolf sailed through the air. Upon landing, it bounced and fell out of sight down the stairs.

  A dark, fast-moving shadow scaled one wall of the stairway. Sounds of the monstrous beast scrambling upward reached Violet’s ears. She stared in horror at the opening behind them, knowing it wouldn’t remain empty for long. “What do we–”

  Logan drew his gun. “Don’t talk! Run!”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her along after him. “This way, Arthur!” she called over her shoulder.

  The automaton fell into place behind her. They flew down the corridor.

  “How much longer?” Violet asked a few minutes later. They’d left the staircase far behind. Still, nonstop visions of the wolf’s jaw closing around her calf dominated her thoughts.

  “Not too long, I’d wager.” Logan barreled ahead, constantly assessing the environment while they ran. “That man told me we’d find your father in the main lab.”

  “Won’t it be guarded?”

  “I thought of that. Our friend pointed us to another entrance. There’s an unused tunnel that connects to the lab. We can enter it through a hatch marked with a T.”

  Relief brought tears to her eyes. “Let’s hurry, then.”

  Moments later, Logan led them into a narrow passage. Above them, the walls sloped inward, gradually turning to solid rock. Naked bulbs suspended by a crude wire provided weak lighting every thirty or so steps. The air felt stuffy and warm. As Violet ran over the uneven ground, she feared she might trip and bash her head against the wall.

  “Here we are,” Logan announced, stopping hard. His grip on her hand tightened, keeping her steady until she came to a halt.

  Standing beneath one of the bulbs, he gestured to a round, waist-level iron hatch on the wall. Like everything else in this place, its construction was crude. But the marker was there.

  We’ll be with you soon, Papa.

  An all-too-familiar sound floated down the passageway: growls.

  Violet turned around slowly, sweat coursing down her temples. She couldn’t see much beyond their present location, but the source of the sound coming down the dark passageway was unmistakable. At this point, survival trumped stealth. “The wolf! It found us!”

  “Get behind me.”

  Violet promptly complied.

  Logan grabbed the hatch’s handle and tugged. It refused to budge. He choked back a curse.

  The growling grew louder.

  He braced one foot against the wall and pulled harder on the handle. Veins bulged in his neck, yet the hatch still refused to yield.

  Was the hatch sealed with a lock? Violet peered at it closely, searching for any kind of mechanism. The dim light slowed the process to an alarming degree. If they required a key, heaven only knew where the workers kept one in this convoluted maze of a fortress. Regardless, they’d be the wolf’s conquest in a matter of minutes if they didn’t figure a way in.

  She obsessively checked the passageway for signs of the wolf’s approach. Logan continued jerking on the handle, to no avail. Violet frowned at the sight of his exertions. They couldn’t afford defeat, not now. She stood on tiptoe and angled her mouth toward the slits that served as Arthur’s ears and whispered her request.

  Faster than she could snap her fingers, the automaton firmly pushed Logan out of the way. His metallic hand closed around the handle. When he pulled, the hatch popped open without further protest.

  The wolf snarled. The rank odor of its unwashed hide flooded her nostrils. As if on cue, the animal stepped into the light of a bulb not ten feet away. Before her very eyes, it crouched low to the ground, ready to pounce.

  “Move!” Logan shouted. He motioned for Arthur to enter the tunnel first.

  The automaton dove for the opening of the crawl space and quickly disappeared from sight.

  Logan yanked Violet forward and thrust her inside. She fought to smother a cry when he shoved hard against her bottom. But the action provided much-needed momentum.

  The tunnel was pitch black. One painful smack informed her that its ceiling was mere inches above her head. She crawled forward
on hands and knees, following the sounds Arthur generated as his metallic limbs scraped along the rough surface. She heard Logan climb in and shut the hatch behind him.

  Loud barking ensued. The wolf’s hard claws scraped mercilessly against the barrier blocking its way.

  Logan caught up to her position. The heat of his body washed over her like a wave.

  “Faster!” he whispered fiercely.

  I’m moving as fast as I can! In this position, the Titan felt like an elephant perched on her back. Aptly named, too , she thought wryly. How far until they reached the main lab? Had they eluded the guard wolf completely?

  Behind her, the rasp of leather informed her that Logan was keeping pace easily. The fact that he was in the rear position didn’t escape her notice. He had chosen to act as her shield in case the wolf had attacked while they entered the tunnel. Tears pricked her eyes. She ardently hoped she’d have a chance to thank him later.

  Her forehead hit something hard. Clutching her aching head, an involuntary sob escaped. Seconds later, Logan slammed into her. She landed on her side with him sprawled on top.

  “Violet,” he panted, “don’t stop.”

  He rolled away and then returned with probing hands. Her breath whooshed out when they pushed up against the underside of her breasts. But he was trying to help right her, nothing else.

  “I didn’t,” she said shakily. Her hands and knees made contact with the floor. She reached into the darkness and patted the hard surface ahead of her. “Arthur stopped.” That gave her pause, and hope seeped into her voice. “We must have reached the end of the tunnel!”

  “Could be,” Logan said. The sound of rustling clothing followed his statement. “Might as well sit and catch our breath,” he added.

  Violet swallowed, a nigh impossible task given her parched throat. “Should we have Arthur open the hatch on this end?”

  “That’s a given. The real question is when.”

  Violet twisted into a sitting position, tugging her skirts into compliance with impatient fingers. Unintentionally, her thigh came to rest against Logan’s. Improper or not, she welcomed the contact. In fact, she never wanted it to end. “I don’t see the point in waiting.”