“On three.” Ashton counted.
We yanked, to no avail. The wheel seemed immovable at first. The rust was almost solid around the shaft where the wheel met the door.
I panted with the effort, my muscles quivering as I strained. The mechanica on my neck snapped a trail of white-hot power down my spine, and I shouted with pain. Sparks erupted from my hands, the devices on my arms, leaping to the metal door. The gloves on Ashton’s hands smoked, the smell of leather mingling with the odor of the heated metal.
And then the wheel gave. Just a bit at first, and then more readily.
“I knew it,” Hunley said excitedly. “Keep going.”
I shot at look at Ashton. She was truly more reckless than I imagined. After a few more turns, air pushed through from behind the wheel. “Do you smell that?” I asked.
Ashton nodded. “Stale air,” he rasped, grunting with the work of turning the stubborn wheel. “At least we know the compartment is not flooded.”
The final turns came easily, and the doors released from the threshold with a dusty hiss. We swung them open, and Hunley moved out in front of us with her candle. The chamber, larger than any of the other rooms thus far, stretched beyond the candle light, but what I saw took my breath away.
Metal from floor to ceiling, the walls were broken only by a single large porthole with convex glass much like the ones through which I had just witnessed the undersea creatures. Black beyond gave no view of what it was supposed to provide a view to. I looked around, perplexed. Cobwebbed panels of dials and switches lined one wall. Various hoses and brass equipment hung on the walls on giant hooks.
We ventured deeper, Hunley raising the light. A form came into view and she screamed, dropping the candle. I caught it before it hit the floor, my eyes riveted on the figure of a man standing against the far wall. It was not until I advanced that I realized what I was looking at.
“Is that what I think it is?” Ashton asked, crossing over to it with me.
A large, brass suit hung underneath a tangle of hoses and wires like some sort of metal marionette. Suspended from the ceiling, the suit appeared to stand on its own with the large, round helmet facing straight at us. Thick wires stretched across the wide viewing window in the front of the head piece.
“A diving suit?” I walked up to it, fascinated by the sheer workmanship of the contraption. From the spherical joints to the polished rivets holding it together, I ran my fingers over the surface, not believing what I was seeing. “Diving bells, I have seen, but this…”
“According to the supply records it is an ambient armor. There is a breathing pump and an engine that drives oxygen to the helmet.”
“How do you suppose this will help us?” Ashton asked, turning to Hunley.
Stepping through a curtain of spider webs hanging near the suit, Hunley pointed to the large window. “I believe what is beyond that porthole is what you need.”
“What is this place?” I asked, walking to the porthole and attempting to peer out.
“It was more than a bunker for elite members of the government,” Hunley explained. “As we explored this facility and located files in an inner control room, we realized it was once used for under-sea mining.”
“Pardon?” Ashton looked at her askance. “That was abandoned as soon as the seas ceased to be navigable after the quakes.”
“Apparently not,” I said and took a walk around the suit. “You know this is not complete, correct?”
Hunley and Ashton looked over at me.
She nodded. “Yes. I know. I read something about that in a maintenance log.” She walked over to the panels and appeared to be looking for something. A panel against the wall held papers and schematics curled and stained with the wet air. She pulled one down, squinting at it.
“How can this help us, Pru, if it is not operational?” Ashton asked, walking over.
My gaze went to a slumped pile of canvas on the ground near the suit. I picked it up, inspecting it. And then, I understood. The material was a diving skin. Gum rubber encased in layers of waxed twill and canvas. Waterproof, but not temperature sustaining. “You want me to dive for you,” I said and held up the suit.
Ashton’s face contorted with disbelief.
“Without the ambient armor, it is impossible,” he said. “The pressure and cold alone—”
“Not for her,” Hunley cut across him. “We could never open the chamber, but we never truly attempted to because we knew the diving suit was inoperable. There would be no point. But we never counted on Blackburn.”
“You are right,” I said and glanced at the deep black pressing against the porthole’s glass. A trill of fear pulled through me, stealing my breath. “I might survive the cold, possibly the weight of the sea as well.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Ashton walked towards me, his face a mask of incredulity. He stopped, his head shaking. “Do not entertain this idea. The equipment is old. There is no telling if part or all of it will fail. If a hose cracks because age has made it brittle or a rivet disengages on the helmet because it’s been rotting in this chamber for nearly a decade, there is no way to save you.” He turned me to face him, his hands covering my shoulders. “Charlie, tell her she is mad.”
“What is on the other side of that glass, Hunley?” I asked instead. “Is it worth it?”
She handed me the candle and Ashton came over as she unfurled the paper she had taken from the wall. It was a schematic. I could scarcely comprehend what it illustrated. A large machine with protruding windows and powered by a massive propeller. It had fins, like those of a fish, in fact its entire structure mimicked the large cylindrical shape of a giant whale. Long appendages protruded from its underbelly. The large claw-like feet appeared to be designed to grasp at the ground below it.
“What is this monstrosity?” Ashton breathed.
“It is a submersible vessel,” I said and my heart paced up.
“An undersea ship?” Ashton tilted his head, pointing to the schematic. “Not a diving bell, but a vessel that moves under its own power…through the sea?”
“Yes,” Hunley said, her eyes reflecting the dancing flame of the candle. “It’s called The Chasm Walker.”
24
Sheriff Sebastian Riley walked the planks of the port, the brim of his hat down, brown duster flapping in the increasing wind.
The Weather Master, Percy, hunched against the gusts, shivering as they walked. “There is no rising above this one, Sheriff,” Percy continued. “By my calculations it is too high. We can chance going below and hope the worst of it sails overhead.”
“The gale blows toward us?” Riley asked, stepping over a downed merchant stall. Most of the vendors were busy trying to secure their living quarters or air ships. Those who could detach and drift had already done so, yet thousands remained in the ports.
“Yes, it gives any air vessels heading in our direction from Europe a strong tailwind.”
“Possibly enabling them to hit us with an invasion sooner.” Riley gritted his teeth on the last word. “Any news from your outposts?”
“Nothing but normal activity; trading ships, passenger vessels, the odd Union Aero Squad ship patrolling the blockade. No sign of any formations.”
“Probably timing it to hit us at night or from a blind spot near the horizon.” Riley stopped at the foot of the port’s lookout tower, craned his neck to peer up, and wondered if he should chance taking a small balloon basket up there.
“Sheriff!” Cephas scurried up to him, nearly tripping as he dodged a group of harried travelers carting luggage to a departing vessel. He held several missives in his hands, the thin sheets of aethergraph paper whipping violently in the building squall. “We’ve received a response.” Fine mist fogged the spectacles sitting askew on his nose.
Riley raised a brow, surprised. Taking the messages, he let out a groan.
“What is it?” Percy asked, raising on his toes to read over Riley’s shoulder.
“It is the Texiana c
ity-state,” Riley said, a band of worry tightening around his chest. “The governor has refused our request to seek safety near their dome until he meets with the other governors. They plan to convene.”
“But we can’t wait for that!” Percy wailed.
“They were our last hope,” Cephas intoned, crestfallen.
“Why?” Percy cried, his eyes darting from Cephas and back to Riley. “The Texiana governor hates the Peaceful Union. He ceded from the nation, for crying out loud.”
“Because protecting us would mean wading in on the Coalition’s fight with us. They cannot weather another attack. Not after the Reaper invasion.”
Percy’s face went pale, and the wind stood his downy hair on end as if to point out his despair. “So that’s it, then? We just wait to be slaughtered?”
“We get as many off these ports as we still can.” Riley looked out at the dearth of vessels remaining. It didn’t look good.
“But we have almost no more ships. The passenger vessels are making their last runs. We cannot cajole captains into risking another pass. They’re afraid of getting shot from the sky by the Coalition’s armada or caught in the storm.” Percy’s arms flapped at his sides, defeated.
“Sheriff, we are getting aether messages from those that make it to city-states on the ground. The governors have enacted massive security sweeps by Union soldiers. Some are saying they aim to try and make it out in the Wasteland.” Cephas shot a look at his ship.
Riley knew the man’s wife and child were on his mind. Their craft was tethered because it had no balloon or dirigible bladder. It used the buoyance of the rotors and other lighter-than-air structures at the port to stay in the sky.
“Those wretched governors.” Percy smoothed his hair, shifting from foot to foot. “Bad enough they won’t lift a finger to stave off this invasion, but they’re picking us off as we try to find safety?”
“Wanted outlaws from Outer City are raining down on them like manna,” Riley said. “Not sure if they aren’t safer up here fighting it out. Besides, we’ve made it abundantly clear over the years we want nothing to do with the Peaceful Union. Mite hypocritical to go crying for their help now.”
Percy scowled, but didn’t argue.
“Well, we have to do something,” Cephas intoned. “We are running out of time and options.”
“I know that,” Riley said evenly. His gaze went to the dark cloudbank building on the horizon. Already the winds whipped the connected vessels against the slips, nearly banging the hulls to pieces. “They’ll expect us to be in the sky.”
“And you don’t?” Cephas asked. “What are you thinking, Sheriff?”
Percy hugged himself just as the first bits of hail drummed down on them.
They tapped on the brim of Riley’s hat and scattered along the walkway.
People picked up their already frantic pace, using whatever was in their hands to protect their heads as they criss-crossed the port, readying to either flee the storm or battening down to fight the impending invasion.
His gaze went to the mid-wife’s domicile. Lilah fought for her life against the tracer fire wounds and the resulting fever. Poor Jack would not leave his mother’s side, not even to eat. He sat nibbling on fruit at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t be moved, not without risking her more harm. How would she fare if he had to try to hide her in the hurling sands and heat of the Wasteland?
The wind knocked over the makeshift repairs to the port after the frigate’s crash. Canvas covering a barrel whipped in the buffeting air.
Tilting his head, Riley turned to Cephas. “What if we weren’t where they expected?” Riley walked to the lookout railing and peered down at the vast drop. “What if we used the storm to hide us?”
“I don’t think I like your meaning.” Cephas looked around, rubbing his bald pate. “We’re too big to do what you’re thinking.”
“What?” Percy asked, his eyes frantic. “What are you talking about?”
“We slow the rotors. As much as we can without stalling out,” Riley said, in motion, striding towards the first of the merchant stalls. “And we let the ballast gasses go on as many structures as possible. The attached dirigibles need to as well.”
“To what end?” Percy cried, struggling to keep up with Riley’s pace. “Are you trying to sink us?”
Riley turned to the men, his mouth a grim line. “Yes.”
“You’ve lost your mind.” Percy backed up.
“Not entirely, but enough to get us under the storm.” Riley pointed to the nearest rotor tower. “We start with that one.”
“What you are planning to try may very well cause the whole of Outer City to plummet to the earth.” Cephas shook his head. “We let too much of the gasses out or slow the rotors too much…”
“Then we do it right,” Riley said. “Talk with the port mechanics. We can figure it out.”
“We are too bulky. The winds alone may crack us apart,” Cephas argued.
“Then we get over the ocean. As fast as we can. We can make it in a day, less if we start moving before we lower,” Riley said resolutely.
“The sea?” Cephas nodded, apparently understanding. “So if we do crash, it will not be on solid ground.”
“No, it will be over a roiling sea with lava spurts and quakes and poisonous waters,” Percy cried. “We will die in those waters if the storm doesn’t shred us apart first.”
“We might,” Riley agreed. “But we will most definitely meet our demise if we try to fight off the armada up here. The storm will give us cover. If we are low enough it will make it harder for their ships to maneuver.”
“And the wind and rains?” Percy asked. “This is no winter squall, Sheriff. It’s a Nor’easter or worse. This hail is nothing. Sleet, snow…all of it’s coming our way.”
“I hope so,” Riley said. “If it tears us apart, then the armada will suffer the same. Let nature even out the odds.”
Riley looked at Cephas, waiting.
“It is our best chance,” Cephas said, rubbing his face with both hands and letting out a moan. “What little a chance it is.”
Riley nodded, turning to his Weather Master. “Percy, man the aethergraphs. Spread the word to all the ports. It only works if we all do this together.”
“They will never agree to this ludicrous plan—”
“Then make them!” Riley shouted. “Remind them that the Coalition will decimate everyone up here. It’s not just infected men they fear. It’s women and children. The whole of Outer City is in danger with nowhere to run. This is our only chance to live through this.”
Percy stepped back, his face a mask of shock, before nodding quickly and running toward the weather shack.
“It will work,” Riley said.
Cephas nodded, his face tight. After a moment, he motioned toward the jailhouse. “Kiril wants to talk to you.”
“What does he want?”
“Says he has something to tell you.”
“I’ve heard everything he has to say.”
“Not this.” Cephas shook his head. “You didn’t know this.”
Riley sighed and headed in that direction. Climbing the steps, he paused with his hand on the door. Taking a breath, he yanked it open and peered at his second-in-command sitting on a cot in a cell. “What do you want?”
Kiril stood, his expression full of remorse. “I told them where she was,” he said finally.
“I know that. You stirred up a mutinous mob and tried to take her at gunpoint. I’ve not forgotten.” Riley turned to leave.
“No…” Something in Kiril’s voice stopped him cold. “I-I told them before then.”
Thoroughly baffled, Riley turned and glared at a man he thought of as a friend. “Why would you do that?”
“She’s afflicted. Infectious possibly, Sebastian,” Kiril said quietly, looking down. “I don’t have any truck with what others are saying about the new type of Trembling Sickness being her fault, but to have her where you eat? Walking around meetings like
she was…well, like she wasn’t a walking corpse.”
“She is not like the others, you know that.” Riley crossed his arms, blaming himself for not knowing what his friend was thinking sooner. Unable to stop what happened because he was too blind or tired or scared once he’d finally found Charlotte. “And you know what she did for all of us in that air ship. She gave herself over to Arecibo to save everyone on that vessel.”
“I understood that.” Kiril nodded. “I truly did understand why you were looking for her at first, but then… Sebastian, she’s a monster.”
“We’ve got plenty of altered people up here.” Riley shook his head. “She’s no different.”
“Not talking about what she looks like.” Kiril buried his hands in his trouser pockets. “You know what they say she’s done.”
“Well, I take those legends with a grain of salt—”
“I seen it,” Kiril cut in. “With my own eyes.”
“What are you talking about?” Riley stepped closer, his fingers wrapping around the bars.
“Her and a group of those Trembler Knights attacked an air ship. Was carrying some sort of official they wanted. I was doing a night sail.”
Riley’s lip twitched. He’d suspected Kiril had been making blockade runs. He’d looked the other way because the black market was one of the few reliable sources of medicine.
“And? What do you think you saw?”
“Your girl, leading the pack of monsters, taking out everyone and everything on that ship. I watched it through my spyglass. She was fast and strong, but worst of all, she was ruthless, Sebastian. They took some man captive, and then she set fire to the dirigible’s air sacks. She sent them to the water.”
Riley stared at his friend, his chest tight with a reality he couldn’t wrap his mind around. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because that’s why I told them where she was. That’s how they knew, and then they came, not like they said, but they attacked.” Kiril’s voice broke. “And Lilah…Mara…I didn’t know what would happen.”
“OK, well then, if your remorseful confession is over, I have a lot to do to try and save this city from being blown to the ground.” Riley let go of the bars and headed for the door. “I don’t see why I need to know this now. The damage is done.”
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