Jessie's War (Civil War Steam)

by Connors, Meggan

  He regarded her for a moment, his dark eyes intense and interested. The smile he gave her didn’t quite reach his eyes as he placed his weapon inside his jacket.

  He held out his hand to her. “Jessica White, I’m Beauregard Fontaine. You have no idea how hard you are to find.”

  She recognized the voice, if not the man.

  Standing in front of her was the man who’d killed Hiram.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Pleasure to meet you.”

  Jessie stared at the hand Fontaine extended in her direction and said nothing. After a moment, he lowered his hand.

  She remained silent.

  “Trust me, Miss White.”

  Jessie raised her eyes to his, but held her tongue.

  After a time, his flinty eyes narrowed. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  She backed up a step. “You’re a Confederate. In a Union territory.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I certainly am,” he said in a drawl that hadn’t been there a moment before. “As for my being here, you and I both know Deseret is about as Union as Mexico. I’m within my rights to be here. You’re Paiute. You’re trespassing as much as I am.”

  “You’re a Confederate,” she repeated.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Fontaine stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “We’re not after anything your own people aren’t after. You Indians forged your treaties with the Union for your own independent nations. That’s all we’re looking for—an independent nation and the ability to control our own destinies. Quite like our forefathers. We’re not so different from you. Your struggles are our struggles.”

  “You killed my brother.”

  “War is often brutal, and I, personally, had nothing to do with that. I understand your pain. I, too, have lost a brother.” He extended his hand. “Come, Miss White. Let’s get you to your father.”

  Jessie stepped away and found her back pressed against the wall of her little prison. “You abducted him.”

  “No, Miss White, we’ve liberated him.”

  “Then where is he? Why isn’t he here?” she demanded. “Why didn’t he come home?”

  “He’s working on a project. He sent me to get you, but we’ve been unable to find you. The man you were with is dangerous—a murderer and a hostage-taker. A thief. Good thing I came along with I did. He’d have killed you if he had the chance.”

  His voice was so calm and reasonable, she almost believed him. If not for Luke, she may have fallen prey to the pretty story he concocted. After all, her father had often become so engrossed in his projects he’d forget to eat. When he became lost in an idea, he lost track of everything else.

  Not only that, but she already had recognized the danger in Jameson, in Parker. Of course he’d done some of the things Fontaine accused him of, if not all of them. But Luke trusted him with his life and hers, and she would do no less.

  She squared her shoulders. “You killed Hiram.”

  A predatory smile spread across Fontaine’s features. Something shifted behind his eyes. “I thought you may have been close by. You have no idea how put out I was to discover Andersen’s little Paiute and Jessica White were one and the same.” He moved to put his hand on her shoulder.

  Jessie jerked away.

  He dropped his hand. “I’m not a bad man. Why not come with me and join your father? He misses you terribly. I can’t imagine how much you must have suffered thinking he was dead.”

  “No.”

  “This can’t be about Andersen, can it?” Fontaine’s eyes narrowed briefly before he smoothed his features. “He was an evil man. He kidnapped your father and stole from both of you. He was a war profiteer and a murderer. If anyone killed your brother, it would be Andersen and men like him. The war continues because of men like him. It’s time to end it.”

  He stepped forward and crowded her body with his. “Don’t you think it’s time for the war to end? Come with me, Miss White.”

  Jessie watched him in the dim glow of the lantern as the light flickered and played across his features. She’d said much the same words to Luke and his team not two hours before.

  “I’m not like the men you were with. Those men are dangerous, and would kill you before letting you go. But me, I’m under orders to keep you alive. The Confederate States of America seeks only to protect you. I would do nothing to hurt you.”

  Jessie’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Oh, they didn’t tell you? They’ve been lying to you this entire time. They’re not out to save you. They’re only interested in themselves. Come with me and I will make sure you’re safe.”

  If not for Luke, and for the sacrifice Jameson had just made, Jessie would have believed him. Only she already knew what the team’s orders were. It didn’t matter how reasonable Fontaine’s arguments were. After living with war for most of her life, the time had come for her to choose a side.

  No longer would she pretend neutrality in a war that had stolen so much from her.

  “No.”

  She chose Jameson, Whitfield, and Elizabeth. Even Parker. She chose Gideon.

  She chose Luke.

  Fontaine’s mouth tightened. “If that’s how you want to play this, Miss White.” His drawl lost all its warmth, and he stepped back out the door. “This could be a pleasant experience. I’d rather have you come willingly than have to force you.”

  “It is easier that way,” she agreed. She squared her shoulders and willed her spine to harden.

  Fontaine’s brows knit, and a line formed between them. Stepping forward again, he reached out to touch her hair.

  Disgust tightened her throat, and Jessie fought to keep her eyes open. She back up even further and attempted to smooth her expression.

  A sneer briefly flashed across his face. “I’m glad we understand one another.”

  With those parting words, he slammed the door and locked her in. She hoped he planned to keep her locked up long enough for Luke to come get her, but her Confederate captor had other plans. Less than a few minutes after he’d left, Jessie smelled smoke.

  No.

  Her mother had died in a fire. Like she had told Luke, she would rather be shot than go through that, and she knew he understood—he’d never let her go out that way. He knew how Jessie had been tormented by the thought of her mother screaming as she burned.

  “Get me out!” she screamed, pulling desperately on the door. “Get me out!”

  Fontaine flung open the door, grabbed a blanket and yanked her out into the restaurant. She looked into the saloon and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  The dining room was littered with bodies, including several women. Fire engulfed the wall behind the bar, and hungry flames licked at the floorboards and some of the corpses. No longer able to control her stomach, Jessie doubled over and retched.

  Fontaine grabbed her by the arm and dragged her after him. He shoved her against the wall and lit a fuse on a cylindrical object—some sort of explosive, she guessed. She focused on that rather than the grisly image in the saloon, though she’d never forget what she’d seen. Those images would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  He smiled, and Jessie would have been blind if she’d missed the malice in it. “Thermite grenade.” He motioned to the bodies on the floor.

  She didn’t follow his gesture—she kept her eyes firmly locked on his face.

  “See, Miss White? If I wanted you dead, you would be. I don’t want you dead. I want you compliant.”

  He casually tossed the grenade into the saloon, pulled her into his arms, and held a cloth over her face.

  She fought against the strength of his arms as the world began to dim.

  Jerking the door open, he shoved her through it. “Fire!”

  Windows exploded and the world went dark.

  * * * *

  She lurched on a sea of darkness, her head throbbing. It was so dark, she could see nothing, and no sound reached her ears. Dizzy and nauseous, she stretched along the fl
oor of her dark prison, and found herself alone.

  Suddenly, the movement ceased, and moments later, light scorched her eyes as someone opened the door and bright light flooded in to burn away the darkness. She blinked rapidly, her eyes watering. Fontaine reached in, grabbed Jessie’s arm, and hauled her out onto pavement.

  He dragged her after him, and within seconds, another man had a hold on her other arm. She blinked again and realized precisely where she was.

  The airship station.

  “No!” Jessie screamed. Twisting against their arms, first to the left and then to the right, she writhed like a fish in a net.

  With his free hand, Fontaine backhanded her across the face, and her scream died.

  “That’s better,” he grumbled.

  He and his companion dragged her up the steps to the platform and threw her into the belly of an airship, climbed in and shut the door. Fontaine shoved her against his compatriot. “You stay here and watch her. Tie her up if you have to. But she goes nowhere. Do you hear me? Nowhere.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Jessie. “You can’t get out of here, so don’t get any bright ideas. Just because I don’t want you dead doesn’t mean I won’t make this unpleasant.”

  The engines whirred faintly as the blue silver sparked to life and the airship pulled free of the gravity holding it to Earth. Fontaine scowled at his companion and marched off in the direction of the bridge.

  “Sit,” the man said.

  Jessie squared her shoulders and disobeyed.

  “You speak English?” he said loudly. “Sit.” When she did nothing, he shoved her and yelled, “Sit!”

  He put his hands on his hips and glared at her, and in so doing, revealed both a silver gripped pistol and a long bowie knife. But the pistol was wrong on his hip, and it took her a second to realize it was canted in the wrong direction—designed to be pulled forward from the holster. Fontaine’s compatriot was a left-handed man wearing his pistol on his right hip.

  Fool. Everyone knew better than to try to cross draw or wear a gun like that.

  This man wasn’t the man Fontaine was. He was nothing more than a tool, a lackey, probably no better equipped to fight than a porter in a hotel, and maybe less so.

  So she held her ground, and waited for him to come at her. She didn’t have long to wait.

  “Sit!” He stepped forward to push her back.

  Instead of reeling from him, Jessie stepped into him. He shoved her hard, and it hurt like hell when she crashed into the wall and bounced back off. She came away with his gun.

  They both froze.

  Taking a step backward, Jessie raised the pistol and cocked it. “Don’t even think it,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “You’ll be the third man I’ve killed in less than two weeks. Don’t think for even a second I won’t do it.” She didn’t want to have to resort to that, but would if she had to.

  The man stepped back and put his hands in the air.

  Relief flooded through her, and she tried to think of Elizabeth’s jovial calm. “Good. Now why don’t you be a good lad and show me how to get off this boat.”

  Her words sounded odd even to her.

  But her new hostage didn’t seem to notice. He led her down a narrow, winding staircase and deep into the bowels of the ship. Down here, Jessie heard the whir of the propellers, but not the roar of the engines firing.

  From what she knew of airships, the engines should be loud. But many cities—most, in fact—had ordinances forbidding the use of steam engines during take off and landing, and for a certain number of miles in and around the city. So instead of using the engines, the necessary electricity within city limits was generated via battery packets. Four of them, housed in different locations on the ship.

  The lack of noise meant this ship still operated on battery power. If she disabled one of the battery banks, it would cause a drop in the strength of the electrical current, and the airship would stop climbing at worst, and, at best, would gradually descend.

  No fiery crashes, nothing dramatic. A gradual descent as one section lost power, giving the captain plenty of time to fire the engines and regain altitude.

  It wasn’t the best plan—hell, it wasn’t even a good plan—but it would have to do. She didn’t have anything else, and she was getting off this beast.

  Her hostage pointed to the cargo doors and to a two different baskets. One was metal, coated in blue silver, and large enough to carry several heavy pallets and several men on horseback. The other was simpler, designed only to drop maybe a few men standing, or a single pallet, and was nothing more than a simple wooden basket, secured by a rope as thick as Jessie’s arm.

  “There’s your exit, but we’re too high up now.”

  He was probably right. Even now, Jessie fought the sensation of vertigo as the airship continued the climb. They’d been in the air for a few minutes—it didn’t take long for a dirigible to climb to great heights.

  “Where’s the switch for the battery bank?”

  “No way I’m telling you that.”

  She shoved the gun into his back, at the base of his ribcage. Hard.

  He grunted in surprise.

  “Tell me, or you can die and I’ll find it anyway. I don’t want to die. We’re not going to crash.”

  He paused for a moment too long.

  She jabbed the gun in even more. “Tell me.”

  He pointed to a black box mounted to the wall next to a steel door. “Over there,” he said miserably. “Listen lady, I have a family…”

  “Be a good boy and I’ll let you live,” Jessie told him. “Kneel.”

  “This is just a job. I don’t care what you do. Please don’t kill me.”

  Fear and tears caused his voice to waver, and she felt sorry for him. She understood what it was to be afraid like that. “Kneel,” she said softly.

  He slowly went to his knees, broken sobs escaping.

  She took one last look at the back of her would-be captor’s head and hit him with the butt of the pistol. He collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

  Opening the cargo bay doors, she positioned the heavy basket so it dangled over the empty air, carefully avoiding looking down. She wasn’t going to think about what her return trip to Earth would entail. She simply needed to convince herself everything would work out fine.

  Once Jessie had positioned the basket, she moved to the lockbox containing the switch to turn on and off the batteries housed behind the steel doors. It was locked, as she suspected it would be. With the butt of the pistol, she smashed the lock until the thing broke. Opening the box, she yanked down the lever to shut the batteries off.

  The airship slowed precipitously and did an unexpected lurch. Jessie’s stomach lurched right along with it.

  She sat on the floor of the cargo bay and dangled her feet into the basket. Tried to keep her eyes on the basket, not allowing herself to look at the ground beneath it. Leaning back, she pulled the lever to release the basket and hurtled into empty space.

  For a second, nothing existed but the fall. Nothing between Jessie and the rapidly approaching earth but a whole lot of empty sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, she thought she was dead and this moment her inexorable fall from grace.

  And then she hit the basket and crumpled to the floor as the basket continued its descent, slowed by the rope holding it. The basket reached the end of the line and jerked hard, and Jessie bounced around the bottom of it. She clawed her way to standing—her legs shook so badly she could barely stand and she still felt like she was still falling—and peered over the side.

  She was about fifty feet off the ground and over frozen marshland. It was good, but not good enough. Several hundred yards away, a spit of land protruded into the lake. A small town had risen up nearby.

  If the airship continued to descend, she might be close enough to the ground to jump out. Maybe right on that spit of land, if she were lucky and her ancestors chose now to smile upon her.

  It was high time
they did.

  She looked up at the dark underbelly of the airship, and then down at the frozen marsh below and Great Salt Lake not far off.

  And she realized she was an idiot.

  Even though the airship had slowed to the point where it was rapidly losing altitude, the speed was still too fast for her to jump onto land and not break something. She didn’t hold out hope she’d make land, and she didn’t want to fall into the lake. It wasn’t frozen, but swimming in the middle of winter was not an idea she relished. Even she knew she wouldn’t survive in those waters for more than a few minutes.

  Now over water, she was only about twenty feet off the ground, but two hundred yards from shore. Two hundred yards in a partially frozen lake was a death sentence. She needed to get a little bit closer to shore, so she could jump and maybe have a chance of making it.

  The airship bellowed as the steam engines roared to life, and the blue silver coating the skein shimmered a pearlescent blue as electricity arced through it.

  The descent slowed and ceased. She would get no closer to the ground.

  She raised the gun and shot the rope. It frayed, but did not break.

  She shot again. And again. She shot until she ran out of bullets. The basket spun as the rope frayed and unraveled.

  It broke, and she plunged into the frigid waters of the Great Salt Lake.

  The water cushioned her fall, but nothing prepared her for the bite of that water, of the cold that cut at her like thousands of tiny knives. It caused her legs to cramp, her heart to seize and froze her lungs.

  Jessie surfaced, bobbed, gasped for air and went under again. Kicking desperately, she broke free of the basket and kicked toward shore. Her feet hit the bottom and she tried to stand.

  Her legs buckled, and she went under again.

  Her vision tunneled, until she saw nothing but the small, brown spit of land that was her salvation. So close. The water was shallow. She could make it.

  She clung to that hope, because she had nothing else. Hope and determination and the strength of her will. She would make it because she had no other choice.

  Because if Jessie lost hope, she lost Luke.

  Her hands touched bottom, and she pushed off toward the surface. Tried to get her feet underneath her. Her head broke the surface of the water and she sucked in a desperate breath.