Night of Fire

by Nico Rosso

  The ride smoothed and her joints unlocked. The Colt swung in her hand, searching for a target. Still cranking the grip on his shotgun, the front Whisperer seemed determined to take them down. He was the first to fire, and he would be the first to pay.

  She fired, cocked the pistol and fired again. The first bullet kicked up dirt next to the Whisperer. The next one caught him in the shoulder and sent him staggering backward into the mining machine.

  Tom smiled, impressed. “Hell of a shot with a short barrel.”

  They wheeled in the air. The wind whistled by, cut by buckshot. It truly was like a dance. Tom aimed his Rattler with one hand while controlling the charger with the other. At just the right moment in a sweeping arc through the sky, he fired three booming shots from his revolver. One guard fell to the dirt, clutching a wounded leg.

  A high whine pierced the air. Two of the Whisperers had drawn their ether pistols and fired screaming shots at Rosa and Tom. It was enough to have the sky ripped apart by those bullets—she hated to think what a direct hit would do to their bodies.

  With the long range of the ether pistols against the normal reach of her and Tom’s guns, the odds tipped far against them.

  Tom made a wide circle around the machine, zigzagging to avoid the gunfire. “Told you these guys wouldn’t talk.”

  “But they’ll listen.” Rosa holstered her pistol and drew the Gatling rifle from the scabbard.

  Tom fired a couple more shots. “Belts are in those pouches behind the left saddlebag. Unhook one and feed the rounds from it.”

  She yanked one of the heavy waxed canvas bags from the saddle and pulled the lead end of the cartridge belt from it. Flipping open the top of the Gatling rifle, she fed the belt into the breech, making sure all the teeth were lined up with the fabric. The gun snapped shut like a predator on prey. She wound the clockwork tight and brought the weapon to her shoulder.

  Tom called back, “She kicks like a mustang.”

  Pulling the stock hard against her shoulder, she aimed at the Whisperers below and eased the trigger. The barrels spun, drawing the rounds in, and the first cartridge went off. It was like holding rolling thunder. Bullets sprayed. The rifle jumped in her hands. Her whole body shook, but she kept her aim steady and drove the Whisperers to cover.

  The shots from the guards slowed down. She took the rifle from her shoulder to rewind the tension mechanism. Tom ejected some spent shells from his pistol and reloaded. He doubled back through the air to avoid crashing into a tall stand of trees.

  “They’re not stopping.”

  The guards might be hiding, but the machine continued on its slow and steady course toward Thornville.

  She would not quit. “We have to turn them back.” There was no one else to do it.

  Tom didn’t hesitate, turning the charger hard and diving toward the rolling machine. “Mind if I have this dance, ma’am?

  “Gracias, señor.”

  “This time we get to choose the music.”

  This was what she missed when he’d left. Tom understood her and backed her all the way. Even returning as a veteran, he carried the same confidence, as if together they could make anything right. “With a beat we can kick up some dust to.”

  “Like something from that fancy pipe organ that fella rolled through town. Concerto in forty-four caliber.”

  For three summer nights the whole town had come out to listen to that Italian man from San Francisco lecture about music and play the most intricate webs of notes. Rosa had sat with Tom, hip to hip, high in a tree at the edge of Thornville.

  That was peaceful. This was not. But Dios, did it still feel right being next to Tom again.

  She swung the rifle around, preparing to fire from the left side of the flying horse. “Cut right.”

  “Figures you’d lead.” He swerved the charger as a new barrage started from the Whisperers.

  “I’m the one with the badge.”

  Tom made a hard move, taking the charger right, like she asked. The Whisperers lined up with the Gatling rifle’s sights. One of the men had a bead on her and prepared to fire. She pulled the trigger first.

  The Gatling rifle chattered, and the bullets drew a line across the polished wood of the moving machine. The Whisperer was hit just as he blasted at Rosa. He spun to the ground, dead. The buckshot whizzed past her like poisonous insects.

  “Close shave.” Tom switched his revolver to his left hand and fired at the Whisperers, keeping them from lining up clear shots. “You all right?”

  She paused to wind the rifle again. A man lay in the dirt, dead because of her. And if she’d hesitated, it would have been her blood on the ground. The machine kept moving. There was no sign of the fight easing. “I’m right.”

  The machine shuddered, engines chugging harder as it lumbered up the side of a hill. The Whisperers still moved with it, finding cover around the machine and in the nearby trees. From there they took potshots at the elusive charger.

  Tom kept his steady balance, as if he were racing around barrels in a ring. “Their shotguns won’t carry this range. But we ain’t scaring them off either.”

  A bullet from an ether pistol sliced up and ricocheted off the nose of the charger. Hot metal flew in shards. Tom pulled hard on the reins to get them out of the line of fire. He gritted his teeth, anger flaring on his face as he turned from side to side in the saddle, trying to find who fired.

  Another shot flashed out from the tree line below. It zipped over Rosa and Tom’s heads. She pointed where it came from and instinctively dug her heels into the metal flanks of the charger. “Behind that laurel.”

  He sped the charger low, rushing for the trees. She slung the Gatling rifle over her shoulder and drew her pistol for close fighting.

  Tree trunks sped past in a blur as Tom snaked into the forest. She breathed in the cool shade. At least they had some natural cover here instead of being exposed in the air. Tom leaned lower over the charger, cranking the speed.

  A Whisperer dove out of the way as they rounded a stand of scrub. He scrambled in the dirt, losing his grip on his shotgun. He whispered to the others as he crawled to deeper cover behind a fallen tree.

  She tightened her grip on her pistol. “They know we’re in here.”

  Tom didn’t let up, rising up over a thick branch, then diving back toward the ground. “Good. Don’t care much for shooting a man in the back.”

  The tall, shaggy laurel was just a hundred yards away. Tom cocked his pistol. She held hers ready. Beyond the trees, the mining machine continued to rumble up the hill.

  Dark shapes of the Whisperers flitted through the forest. They moved in perfect coordination, shifting from cover to cover. The sunlight that reached through the leaves glinted off the barrels of their guns.

  The laurel was straight in front of Tom and Rosa. He pulled the reins, bringing the charger up as if it were a rearing horse. The move flushed the Whisperer away from the tree, ether pistol drawn. Tom was fast, firing twice into the man’s chest. The masked guard flew backward into the tree trunk then spun into the shadows.

  As the charger leveled off, Rosa turned to cover their backs. Two Whisperers stepped out from behind cover at the same time. Her first shot punched through a man’s shoulder. He dropped his shotgun and dove back behind the cover.

  Firing again, she only managed to chip splinters from the tree where the second Whisperer prepared to fire. He barely flinched. Then a blast from next to Rosa took the man off his feet. His shot went high, buckshot tearing leaves high above her head.

  She turned to see Tom, smoke streaming from one of the shotgun barrels on his Rattler. He swung around and fired again. The short barrel threw out a huge tongue of fire and smoke. Shotgun pellets rattled the low scrub and sent a Whisperer running for deeper cover.

  Tom brought the charger high again. They brushed through thin branches and leaves to
the sky above. The mining machine had rolled ahead, and they moved to catch up. Tom reloaded his pistol as they flew. Rosa took a moment to do the same.

  He closed his pistol and spun the cylinder, checking the action. “I see you didn’t take Parker’s marriage offer. Any other fellows taking you for a turn on the floor?”

  He had no right to ask. “This ain’t the time.”

  “What, ’cause of this fight?” He glanced from side to side, checking for threats. “Tell the truth, I didn’t dawdle with any fillies last three years. Too busy fighting the Hapsburgs. Lucky for you, too.”

  She didn’t want to feel relief at knowing he hadn’t been with anyone else. “Flattering yourself, Señor Knox.”

  “If I’d been chasing petticoats, I wouldn’t have gotten so good at making war.”

  He was good at this. The charger soared higher and made a wide loop around the mining machine as it neared the peak of the hill. The Whisperers were more cautious, sticking to cover and shadows.

  Hell, Tom was putting his life on the line for her and the town. The least she could do was be honest. “Played around with a dude from Santa Barbara for a bit when I was down there inspecting cargo for contraband.” And it felt good to needle Tom, let him know what he’d missed.

  He glanced toward the coast. His hat shaded his goggled eyes, but the sunlight showed his thin, grim mouth. “Don’t tell me he broke your heart. Because I got plenty more bullets.”

  “Save them for the Crandall men. I broke his heart.”

  The line of Tom’s mouth curved into a grin. “That’s my girl.”

  “I’m not your girl.”

  The smile disappeared.

  Tom put the charger into a dive toward the machine as it crested the hill. The hulking structure creaked and swayed violently. It tipped back for a moment, then surged forward onto the down slope. Once it was down this hill and on flat land, Parker’s spread would be right in its path.

  God protect any of the masked guards who got in her way while her blood still roiled with the echoes of her past with Tom. “If we knocked out those treads it would slow down,” she said, “maybe even stop.”

  “Bullets won’t do it. And I didn’t think to pack any dynamite for a relaxing trip home.”

  The machine kicked up dirt on the downhill, picking up speed.

  “If we can get close enough, I can jump on.” She scanned the machine for some way into the interior. “It needs a body to drive it. We’ll just knock him out.”

  “If we can get close.” He turned the charger to double back. Their movement was tracked by the Whisperers with ready guns.

  “There, on the left.” A small metal ladder led from the ground all the way up the side of the machine. Several hatches along the route gave access to the inside. “That’s where I’m going.”

  “I’ll take you there.” No hesitation, just action. He flew straight for the spot.

  Whisperers came out shooting. The bark of Tom’s Rattler and Rosa’s .45 sent them back. The machine came closer and closer, the air turning hot from the engines. Because of the soya beans used to make it, tetrol exhaust smelled like frying food.

  She didn’t know what she’d do once she was inside the rumbling building, but at least she’d be on the ground. Last time her feet were on solid earth was in the quiet shade with Tom. Even then she didn’t know which way was up.

  They were near enough for her to see the metal handle at the side of the lowest hatch. There was no lock, so she’d only have to throw the latch to gain entrance. Easy, right? She cocked her pistol and fired at one more masked guard, making him dive for cover behind a rock. The wood and metal of the machine creaked and ticked. If it were an apartment building, it could have housed at least a hundred people. Instead, the insides were filled with conveyer belts and grinding wheels. And a driver to be stopped.

  They were only about ten feet from the door when Tom turned the charger away sharply, nearly throwing her from the mechanical horse. He wrestled with the reins in one hand, his other reached back to keep her on the craft.

  “What in hell . . . ?” she sputtered.

  He didn’t answer, just kept flying the charger in jagged lines away from the rolling machine. A crackling roar like a forest fire erupted behind them. Bullets fanned past, darkening the sky. It was no shotgun, or even an ether pistol.

  Bouncing nimbly over the dirt track road were two iron stagecoaches. Tall metal-studded wheels ate up the ground, propelling the black carriages forward. Tetrol engines hummed with the effort of moving the metal coaches. An armored driver sat on top of each, pulling levers that kept them in dogged pursuit. And from wide slots next to the drivers, Gatling guns sent endless streams of death toward Rosa and Tom.

  A FISTFIGHT WITH ROUGHNECKS wasn’t unheard of. Hell, even throwing down against some Whisperers with rotary shotguns might not make the county newspaper. But iron coaches with blazing Gatling guns—that was war.

  With one arm still reaching back to Rosa, Tom twisted the charger through the air, using every trick he’d learned in training and on the battlefield. He’d fought his way from death enough times to keep the boys up all night with saloon stories, but damn if he didn’t hate having Rosa in the line of fire. Sure she was the sheriff and stood up strongly to a fight, but he’d do anything to keep her from getting hurt.

  The bullets kept dogging them. It seemed as if these sons of bitches had experience shooting at Sky Chargers, but they’d never tangled with him directly. They’d learn some pain as soon as he got some breathing room.

  “Crandall Mining must really want this territory. How much silver’s in these hills?”

  She pulled herself tighter to his body, balancing on the charger. “Enough to kill a sheriff for.”

  “You ain’t dying.”

  After a quick dip in the air, he yanked the charger hard to the right. “We’re using their machine as cover. No way they’re shooting up that merchandise.”

  “I hate running.” She still aimed her .45 at the iron coaches, as if a single bullet could do them any harm.

  “This ain’t running. This is circling.”

  The charger turned harder and the pursuing coaches couldn’t keep up. They were fast, but lacked maneuverability. Tom flew behind the mining machine, and the Gatling guns finally stopped chattering.

  But new gunshots rang out from the trees lining the hillside. Whisperers cranked their shotguns, sending blast after blast skyward. The Crandall guards had to dash from cover to cover to keep up with the rolling mining machine gathering speed on the downhill.

  Rosa fired back at the Whisperers, keeping them pinned. “We can’t circle forever.”

  As if on cue, the iron coaches rounded the front of the mining machine and started firing again.

  “If this was a fair fight,” Tom said, “we’d have ether field guns on swivel mounts that could take those coaches out.” If he had just one more rider from the Upland Rangers they could even the odds.

  She unslung the Gatling rifle from her shoulder and wound the action. “Don’t think these pinche cabrónes would show up to a fair fight.”

  He brought them over the top of the mining machine, but the damned thing was moving so fast it was hard to keep using it for cover. The coaches continued their pursuit, machine guns firing at every opportunity.

  Rosa let loose a barrage of her own from the Gatling rifle. Ether-powered bullets rained down and sparked off the metal coaches. The black steel armored plates on the drivers were dented, but they weren’t hurt. And it would take a hell of a lucky shot to get a bullet through the eye slots cut into their cylindrical helmets.

  She saved any more ammo and grunted in frustration. “We don’t stop them, they’ll take everything.”

  He searched the terrain for any advantage. Far ahead, some large trees grew from the side of a tall mountain. If they could knock those over . . .
but how? They had no TNT or heavy artillery.

  Rosa leaned tight to him and spoke into his ear excitedly. “Remember when you chased me in the forest on the other side of the river?”

  It had started when they were children, innocent play. As they grew, the game became far less innocent. Beside that river was where their passion had truly started, on a warm spring night. From then on, they’d found every opportunity to meet there. “I’d be real happy to talk about those old times, or even relive them . . . after we’re through not getting killed.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up on that.”

  “At least another kiss when we’re done.”

  “Listen.” The fist she had balled in his shirt shook him to focus. “You thought you were chasing me, but it was always me leading you.”

  “To that grassy spot next to the river.”

  She shook him again. “So let the iron coaches think they’re chasing you, then lead them into the tracks of the mining machine.”

  They dove low, drawing the attention of the coaches. “No wonder you’re the sheriff.”

  Taking the bait, the coaches tore up the ground with their iron wheels, dogging him and Rosa. He kept the charger moving in a jagged line. The Crandall men weren’t able to line up their sights, but they kept up their pursuit.

  “That’s right, you big cockroaches.” Rosa’s voice betrayed no fear.

  Tom brought them around the front corner of the machine and pulled up quick on the reins. The charger rose quickly, then turned in the opposite direction. Below, one of the coaches couldn’t maneuver quickly enough and slid sideways in the dirt before jamming under the rolling treads of the mining device. Metal ground against metal. The coach buckled, losing a wheel and getting half crushed under the rolling tread of the machine. The armored driver clumsily jumped off while the gunner from inside slammed his door open and fled. Just in time. The tetrol engine screamed for a second, then exploded, blasting into the front of the mining machine.

  Groaning metal and wood lurched forward. Tom yanked on the controls, but couldn’t get them away fast enough. He and Rosa were slammed sideways into the top edge of the machine. His leg and shoulder were jarred by the heavy wood. He spun around and bounced away.