She steered it straight toward the Iron Scorpion. She spared a glance through the window slit, but could only see Logan’s dangling boots. The sight put her in mind of a gruesome hanging. She prayed she wasn’t too late.
Violet fed full power to the carriage. Faster and faster, the huffing beast sped toward the Iron Scorpion, straight to its underside. The distance between them closed at a precipitous rate. She braced for impact.
The crash jarred her from head to toe. A great shuddering arose. The carriage’s boiler hissed in protest. Inside the cab, the shock of impact sent debris flying. As Violet peeled herself from the floor, a new pain arose. She flicked out her tongue. Blood coated her lip where she’d bit it. Well, it was a small price to pay for Logan’s life.
She exited the carriage and clambered down. Around her, the battle still raged. She noticed Arthur continuing to fire at the Iron Scorpion. But where was Logan?
“I told you to stay put. Don’t you scientists know how to follow orders?”
Startled, Violet glanced up. There, kneeling atop the carriage with his arm around his middle and a scowl on his face, was Logan. Alive.
Relief coursed through her. “The parameters had changed. Your orders were no longer relevant.”
“We don’t have time for them big words, Professor.” Logan still scowled, but a hint of admiration in his tone ran counterpoint to his words.
Violet gasped and pointed upward. “Look out!”
One of the Iron Scorpion’s pincers came at them. Logan jumped off the carriage and then dropped into a roll. Violet extended a hand and helped him up. Then it became a game of cat and mouse when the Iron Scorpion began to chase them anew.
“Go find a gun!” Logan roared.
Both of them scattered in search of weapons. Among the fallen guards, Violet located two revolvers. Her hands shook, but she managed to check the chambers. Both were shoot-ready.
Not far away, Logan hefted a formidable-looking double-barreled shotgun. He stuffed extra shells into his pockets. Freshly armed, they headed back into the fray.
Steam enveloped the Iron Scorpion as it redoubled its attack. Violet, Logan, and Arthur shot toward it, dodging legs and pincers and barbed tail. Violet searched for a weak point her bullets could penetrate. Did they truly possess the manpower to defeat it? That’s when the idea hit her: they did, but only if they could access and destroy the creature’s weakest point.
“Arthur!” Violet shouted. “The boiler! Destroy the boiler!”
The automaton’s head swiveled back and forth. He seemed confused.
Violet leaped out of the way when an incoming pincer threatened to pin her to the nearest wall. “Under the tail, Arthur. Look for it at the base of the body!”
With unswerving determination, the automaton began stalking toward the Iron Scorpion’s tail. Violet nodded in approval.
Logan passed by on her right. “You get behind those crates. I’ll distract it.”
As instructed, she edged back toward the crates, but slowly. Was this her lot, to merely stand by and watch? To her utter dismay, Logan headed toward the area in front of the Iron Scorpion. He began waving his arms in order to deliberately draw the creature’s attention. Violet wanted to shut her eyes, yet she couldn’t look away.
Logan sidestepped this way and that. Each time, the pincers descended like giant twin arrows. Then he’d run and flip into a tight roll before leaping back onto his feet. But soon, his reaction time slowed. The pincers missed him by a few feet, then by mere inches. Violet surmised that exhaustion was overtaking him.
She glanced nervously at the Iron Scorpion’s tail end. Had Arthur found the boiler yet? She wiped at the sweat clogging her eyes. When her vision cleared, her heart nearly stopped. Logan was trapped beneath one of the creature’s legs! His limbs flailed as one of the pincers moved in for the kill. Desperate to keep him safe, Violet rushed to his side.
Assessing the situation, she discovered the leg had pinned the edge of his vest–not his body as she’d feared. At least she could start breathing again.
“Violet, get out of here!” Logan pushed at her when she placed her shoulder against the rough metal of the Iron Scorpion’s leg. Perhaps not unsurprisingly, it refused to budge.
She reached for his vest. If she could release Logan from it, he’d be free.
Her peripheral vision yielded the black smear of a pincer edging ever closer. Logan kicked out a leg toward it. His face burned crimson with exertion.
Violet’s terror extended to her shaking hands. The vest was stuck across one of his shoulders. She moaned in frustration.
Logan batted her arms away. “Go on, get out of here!”
“I won’t leave you!”
The pincer fanned open wide–wide enough to grasp and crush them both. Now one of its sharp edges pressed against her back. Gripped by fear, Violet shut her eyes. Then she heard a tearing sound. Opening her eyes, she discovered Logan using one of his daggers to rip apart his vest. He slipped from the torn clothing and rushed to his feet. Hope gave her strength. They leaped away to avoid the snapping pincer.
“That was close,” Violet said breathlessly.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“We’d better check on Arthur.”
“Follow me,” Logan responded, “and stay close.”
Violet wasn’t inclined to object. She and Logan raced toward the Iron Scorpion’s tail.
Once they arrived, she understood the delay. The creature was moving around so much that Arthur was having a devil of a time opening the hatch containing the boiler. He had managed to wrench it a quarter of the way open, but they needed more access if they were going to properly disable it.
Arthur persisted. He leapt toward the opening, anchored his feet against the threshold, and grasped the hatch’s edge. Then he pulled…and pulled…and pulled some more.
On her left, Logan aimed at the Iron Scorpion’s carapace and fired off a couple rounds from the shotgun. The sound was deafening. She detected a new crack in the dome.
“Oh, well done, Logan!”
Unexpectedly, the Iron Scorpion changed position. The tail end swung away, carrying Arthur with it. Violet and Logan sprinted after them.
They arrived at Arthur’s new position only to discover the automaton pinned between the Iron Scorpion’s back end and a wall. More shocking than that, Arthur was pointing.
Violet followed the line of his finger. During his wild ride, he had completely torn off the hatch. She espied a glimpse of the convoluted engine within the Iron Scorpion. And, of course, the great, swollen, barrel-shaped boiler. Pride swelled within her, the feeling so strong she was like a balloon about to burst. Oh, Arthur!
Logan was shouting at her. She whipped her gaze around. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Fire your guns, Violet! He wants us to fire at the boiler!”
“You can’t be serious. Arthur’s in the way!”
“If we don’t fire, he can’t escape.” Logan cocked the rifle and aimed. “Courage, Violet. You told me that Arthur exists for the ‘betterment of humanity.’ Well, here’s his chance to prove it.”
She bit her lip–hard. The flash of pain helped her focus. Logan was right. She raised both revolvers and cocked the triggers. “Ready when you are,” she told Logan.
“Go!” he commanded.
They fired.
Bullets and shells streamed toward the boiler. Logan reloaded at least twice, his hands a blur. Violet fired until she emptied both chambers, hitting the boiler dead center every time.
“Pull back!” Logan yelled.
They ran for cover in a narrow fissure of stone. Logan wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders. Violet covered her face. Moments later, she heard a loud and terrible cracking sound. An ear-splitting explosion quickly followed. She peeked between her fingers to monitor the scene.
Above them, the Iron Scorpion’s metal hide creaked and wailed. Steam hissed out of various cracks in angry geysers. The creature tottered hard
to the rear, its forelegs swinging maniacally in the air.
A gaping hole formed in the creature’s abdomen. Steam and boiling water poured out at a furious rate. Propelled by the force, the Iron Scorpion crashed into the opposite wall. Eight legs grasped desperately at the air for purchase, finding none. One by one, they grew eerily still. Then the entire mechanical beast tipped forward, descending with the force of an avalanche.
Through the ensuing dust cloud, Violet glanced anxiously about. Where was Arthur? There was no sign of the automaton. She hoped he had avoided the blast. He had evolved enough for that kind of precise calculation–hadn’t he?
Eager for closure, Violet stumbled from their hiding place. Was their ordeal truly over?
Logan stepped out and re-loaded his shotgun. With a determined grunt, he started running toward the Iron Scorpion.
She sighed. Perhaps the ending hadn’t been written quite yet. Violet jogged after him. She tripped over a hard, immobile object and crashed to the ground. Whirling around, she discovered the source of her fall.
Arthur lay in the dust, arms and legs splayed wide. His hat lay to one side, crushed and streaked with dirt. Burn marks tarnished his once gleaming metal skin. His charred poncho still smoked in places. Dents plastered his body, including a particularly severe one on his right temple.
“Arthur?”
No response came. The utter lack of movement made Violet’s eyes burn. “Oh, no. Oh, no!”
Scooting forward, she laid a tremulous hand upon the automaton’s cheek. She searched its dark, empty eyes. The soft amber glow to which she’d grown accustomed over the past few years had died, snuffed out like a candle.
She wanted to scream, but her throat had tightened beyond breach. At a time when Arthur had begun to develop into something new, something wonderful, this tragedy ruined him. No, it wasn’t only the tragedy–it was her incredibly poor judgment. It’s all your fault . He wouldn’t even have been here if it hadn’t been for her rash decision.
It was true. Arthur was dead, and she had no one to blame but herself.
Grief turned into resolve even as a steady march of tears trickled down her face. She would never forget the brave automaton’s sacrifice. “I will see that justice is served,” Violet whispered fiercely. “That I promise you.”
She bent and kissed Arthur’s cold, dirty cheek. Then she ran to catch up with Logan.
He’d waited for her, and now regarded her with a solemn expression. When he extended his arm, she slipped her hand into his. As one, they advanced toward the Iron Scorpion.
Toward destiny.
As they rounded the creature’s front, Violet saw that the explosion and subsequent crash had knocked open the carapace. A man’s figure was visible, leaning at an odd angle.
Quietly, Logan climbed toward the figure. Violet was suddenly eager to gaze upon the face of the man who had kidnapped her father and threatened the world’s future. She followed her partner, the jumble of legs providing a number of steps and handholds.
A few feet away from the carapace, Logan rose to his full height. Hefting his shotgun, he studied the figure below him. The muscles of his back and arms appeared corded and bunched, like a lion ready to attack.
Violet clambered up and peered around him. Her stomach lurched at the sight.
The Iron Scorpion–the man–appeared to be a human-automaton hybrid, one with extremely grotesque features. Science can’t possibly be responsible for this…this sickness.
But the proof was all too real. The man was ensconced in an elaborate, mechanized seat, possibly a detachable wheelchair. His black-gloved hands rested upon a control panel of switches and levers. Tubes filled with a reddish-brown liquid crisscrossed his thin, twisted body. From the odd lumps slithering beneath his dark clothing, Violet wondered how many of the tubes burrowed beneath his skin.
She forced her gaze to his head. Metal plates covered half of his pale face and hairless skull. A trickle of blood leaked from beneath one of the plates. His closed right eye appeared normal, but the left had been replaced with some kind of oversized glass sphere. Hideous scarring radiated outward from the socket. A sight enhancement device? Violet shuddered. This man was mad enough to experiment on his own body. What he might do with a limitless supply of human victims was something she feared to speculate about.
He also looked familiar, but she couldn’t place his features. Had one of her father’s colleagues gone rogue? She couldn’t discount the possibility.
With chilling insight, Violet now understood the other reason why the Iron Scorpion was so determined to steal her father’s knowledge–he wanted a new body. A mechanical one. An unbreakable one.
An immortal one.
As these thoughts swirled restlessly in her mind, Logan cocked his gun and aimed it at the Iron Scorpion.
Gasping, Violet tried to force his arm down. “Logan…have mercy.” She gestured toward the inert man. “He’s probably already dead,” she whispered.
Logan scowled, his gaze never leaving the man’s face. “I couldn’t trust my uncle when he was alive. Dead or not, I sure as hell ain’t gonna trust him now.” Logan shook off her hand. “He killed my family, Violet. I have to make sure he doesn’t survive to kill anyone else.”
“Your…your uncle?” was all she could manage to eke out. The enormity of his confession slammed into her. Now the resemblance between the two men, albeit a faint one, became apparent. The Iron Scorpion was so disfigured, it was easy to miss. “I recall you telling me that no one knew who he was.”
Logan shook his head. “What I told you was that no one, including me, knew where he came from . I knew who he was, all right. It’s just that I don’t care to talk about him much.”
Violet stared at him. Now she truly understood Logan’s fear of this place–and his anger. His family had been ripped away from him at a young age. The threat had come from someone they least expected. Subsequently, the Iron Scorpion had nearly ruined his life. No wonder he had difficulty trusting people–particularly Arthur.
But she couldn’t let him turn into a cold-blooded killer. “I’m so sorry, Logan. But we defeated him. His reign of terror is over. Let the law take over from here. Justice will be served, I assure you.”
“Violet,” he said through gritted teeth, “I stopped believing in justice when my family was taken from me. Now quit your preachin’.” He raised his shotgun. Aimed it right between the Iron Scorpion’s eyes.
“I won’t. You’re better than this, Logan. Leave him be. He can’t possibly–ahh…ohhh…oww!”
Violet looked down. A long, sharp metal object, thick as her little finger, protruded from her right thigh. Wrenching agony forced her to her knees.
“Violet!”
She barely heard him through her haze of pain. Logan studied the wound and grimaced. Blood seeped from the puncture, quickly soaking the surrounding material. He pulled her hard against his solid chest, holding her tightly. Violet clutched at his arms and gritted her teeth. Then he extracted the metallic intruder.
She allowed herself one primal grunt of pain. Survival foremost on her mind, she bunched up the fabric of her dress in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. She dearly hoped the dart hadn’t been poisonous. Whatever you do, don’t pass out!
A low chuckle reached her ears. She raised her head and discovered the Iron Scorpion staring at her. A hole in his right glove revealed the firing mechanism. The man’s emaciated chest rose feebly with each wheeze but the look he cast her was granite hard. Violet flinched beneath the unnatural power in the man’s soul-killing gaze.
“Never underestimate me,” he said. His scratchy voice sounded like a pack of skittering roaches. “Not now. Not ever!” He raised his hand for another shot.
Logan launched himself between her and the Iron Scorpion. He cocked the hammer of his shotgun. “Turn away, Violet.”
Violet screwed her eyes shut and did as he requested. Once, twice, three times, gunfire exploded behind her. The sting of gunpowder assailed her
nose. A stream of something wet hit her hair and back. A coppery odor flooded the air, prompting her to stiffen in horror. Then tears spilled down her cheeks, followed by uncontrollable shudders. Please, please let it be over now. She’d had all the adventure she could stomach for one day.
As the final blast faded away, Logan cleared his throat. “I reckon you just underestimated me for the last time, you goddamn bastard.”
* * * *
In the aftermath of the battle with the Iron Scorpion, tending to wounds became the first order of business. Procuring hot water and reasonably clean bandages in the fortress’ vast labyrinth took over an hour. Logan suffered raw lacerations where the Iron Scorpion’s pincer had grabbed him, but fortunately, all of them were superficial wounds.
Surprisingly, none of the Iron Scorpion’s former workers opposed them. In fact, a few had even approached them with helpful supplies such as ointments and rags.
Violet surmised that despite the Iron Scorpion’s extensive domination, he’d done little to inspire their respect.
Arthur’s wounds, unfortunately, ran much more deeply. The automaton was still inoperable. Violet feared the worst, but nevertheless, Joseph created a primary wet cell battery from the laboratory to begin recharging his creation. In a few hours, Arthur had enough power for basic motor functions like bending and walking. In that way, Joseph and Logan were able to guide the automaton onto one of the iron steam carriages. Logan covered him with a blanket and secured it with rope to protect him from the elements. Joseph then packed additional supplies in order to continue his ministrations during their return journey.
Violet couldn’t yet allow herself to hope that her father would be successful in restoring Arthur to his former glory. Her eyes stung at the thought of Arthur’s newfound essence–soul?–being lost forever.
Next, Violet, her father, and Logan took turns bathing in a utilitarian washroom. They had only rags and tepid water, but it was enough. Using her fingers, she managed to subdue the tangled mess of her hair into a respectable braid again. Except for the atrocious state of her clothes and a throb emanating from her leg wound, she felt wonderfully refreshed.
Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts Page 15