Night of Fire

by Nico Rosso

  UNDER A SLIVER of a moon, she had snuck out of her house and met him by the river. They’d made love, eaten blackberries and shared a bottle of beer he’d stolen from Francis’s saloon. They’d talked about the Yukon, and how they would perfect paraffin cloth for rainproof coats for the prospectors and make more money than they could spend. She had slept in his arms, breathing easily, her dark hair fanned over his chest.

  This night Rosa was restless sitting against him. She faded in and out of sleep, sometimes gasping herself awake. Orienting herself, she’d stare at his face for a moment. But he didn’t know if she found what she was looking for there. Eventually, she’d close her eyes and drift off again.

  He counted off time by the chips of bark he threw in the small fire. The Crandall men kept working, and he kept thinking about how Rosa looked on top of him, hair hanging over her shoulders as the pleasure took her. Having her, real, in his arms, was more than any fantasy he could conjure. It wrecked him.

  A last taste of what he could never have because of what he’d done. Wounds that wouldn’t heal. His gut twisted. He was a damned man, paying for the sins of the idiot he used to be.

  Rosa woke again with a short gasp. She steadied herself and warmed her hands over the fire.

  Her voice was smoky, and he tried to savor the intimacy. “You should get some rest. I’ll take over the watch.”

  Far below them the Crandall men continued their labor. He tossed a small stone in their direction and it landed on the soft soil in the shadows a few feet away. “At least we had a better evening than they did.”

  She gave a little laugh, then busied herself collecting chips of bark and small twigs from around where she sat. “Sleep.”

  Not only was his body trained to fight from being in the war, but it was trained to snatch any shred of rest where it could. He folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. And he tumbled into darkness with Rosa against his shoulder.

  Usually, sleeping this close to a fight, his dreams were filled with broken hammers on pistols, bullets with no primers, or ether tanks with no lift. Tonight images of Rosa danced through his mind. Why does a guy running from a fight join the Army? It ran over and over again in his head. She accused him with the question. She absolved him with it. It was her knife and bandage. It was her own wound, and he needed to stop the bleeding.

  The surface of sleep rushed toward him. The cold night air slapped him in the face. He stretched his arms and rolled his neck, coming more awake. Rosa was still right next to him. The small fire showed the concern in her eyes as she looked him over.

  “Might’ve been sleep, but it didn’t look like rest.”

  He warmed his hands over the flames. “How long was I out?”

  “Hour, two?”

  The canteen water was icy. He took small sips and gave it to her. She drank a little, keeping her eyes on him.

  “I’ve had mine,” he said. “You can sleep again.”

  “Couldn’t if I tried.” She pressed the canteen back into his hand and he stashed it under the poncho.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his hands on his face. “Don’t think I want to fall back into that sleep.” The sky was still and dark, but dawn might not be too far off.

  She gestured toward the mining machine at the base of the mountain. “They’re still working. Tried to fire it up a little while ago, but it sounded like they still hadn’t fixed the treads, and couldn’t get it rolling.”

  That was the simple fight, as straight as the barrels of his Gatling rifle. With her, the past and the present clashed with no clear battle lines. Victory seemed impossible. But he wouldn’t be a coward and take refuge in the bullets and shotgun blasts below.

  The words came slowly as he discovered them. “Wasn’t running from the fight. Not from your parents or a commitment to you.” She watched him, fire glistening off her dark eyes. “I was running from myself. I wasn’t the kind of man I needed to be.”

  She studied him. “What are you now?”

  “Ain’t for me to judge. All I know is that the man I was couldn’t have been what you deserved.”

  Her eyes continued to search his face. “Whatever you did in the Army worked. You came back a different man.”

  The terror of the first blast of the first cannon at the first battle still heated his blood. “Lost myself on the front lines. Had to rebuild.”

  “But you’re not completely changed.” A small smile curved her full lips. “You can still tear it up.”

  “Fighting’s the only thing I’m good at.”

  She spoke in a small voice. “Not the only thing.”

  If there’d been much tinder on the mountaintop the whole range would’ve burned from the sparks that flew from their lovemaking.

  “You’ve changed, too.” He knocked the side of her boot with his. “Never saw you stand up to your parents the way you did. They ain’t too happy about you being sheriff.”

  “I’m not trying to make them happy anymore.” Her heel dug a little trench in the dirt. “It took a lot to get us to change. Like the way they use TNT blasts to shape the sides of a Sky Train’s armor.”

  He rubbed at his shoulder. “When I was shot, I got knocked from my charger. The sky was impossibly bright. I had no breath, and didn’t think I could move. Seconds felt like years that slipped by too fast. I was going to die on that spot.” He broke a twig in half and tossed it in the fire. “Sitting next to you is worse.”

  She stilled as he continued to speak. “I fought back from the wound to live. I got no idea how to get all the way back to you.”

  “I . . .” She tried to corral her thoughts. “We . . .” Her smile was gone, her mouth a serious line.

  He laughed, but there was little joy in it. “Wouldn’t this have been easier if you’d married Parker? Sitting next to you right now is like starving to death next to an apple tree.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but an apple tree . . .”

  The tension drained away. It was so damned easy to talk to her.

  “I think you know what I mean,” he said.

  “Well, you definitely didn’t come back a poet.”

  “Fancy words won’t help much with those Crandall jackasses.”

  “But they help to come a-courtin’.”

  “Didn’t need them with you a few hours ago.”

  His blood was up. He could see just the hint of blush on her cheeks. Words might not resolve the knots between them, but their bodies were ready for more. They were already so close. A kiss was just inches away. Her lips parted. Her gaze held his. He had to taste her again.

  An entirely new heat flared through him. Something was wrong. He was on his feet, Rattler in hand before he realized the sound he heard was the Sky Charger humming to life.

  Rosa stood with him, pistol at the ready. She whispered, “What is it?”

  “Someone here with us.” He stalked closer to where the charger rested. The sky was still dark, the trees thick. He couldn’t see the craft or anyone else.

  “How could anyone get up here?”

  “Ain’t my concern right now.” The charger’s rear engine kicked on with a hiss and high whine. “They’re stealing my horse.”

  What a dang fool. He wanted to kick himself for not pulling the catalyst pins from the ether tank. But Rosa was right. How did anyone get up there? No sense in stalking forward anymore. This was a full-on chase.

  A black shape moved among the dark tree branches, only about ten feet up. Rosa hurried alongside Tom, brushing through the low scrub. Their bodies knocked into each other as they stumbled along an unseen path.

  “Only take a shot if you got the man,” he said. “Can’t damage the charger.”

  “Got it.” She cursed as a tree branch slapped her across the face.

  Whoever stole the charger didn’t have much experience on the craft. It bucked
and careened across the sky, blocking the stars with its silhouette. Tom pulled a small whistle from one of the pouches on his gun belt, but before he could bring it to his lips, he kicked a large rock and flew through the air.

  Black shadows spun all around him. There was no horizon, and he had no idea which way was up or down until he landed hard on the ground. A tree root slammed into his thigh. The wind was knocked from him. He lost his grip on the whistle.

  Rosa shuffled quickly through the darkness. “Tom. Tom! You all right?”

  Gasping a new breath, he could finally speak. “Fine. Keep track of him.” He pawed through the dirt for the whistle. “I’ll catch up.”

  Her footsteps receded toward another stand of dark trees. Tom couldn’t see her or the stolen charger. Where was that damn whistle? There were rocks and twigs, and probably some animal bones, but not what he needed. Then a stick clinked against something metal, and he homed in on the sound. Finally, the whistle was back in his hand. He sprang to his feet.

  He dusted off the whistle and ran in the direction he’d last heard Rosa. “You there?”

  “This way.” To his left, further down the hill.

  “Get ready.” He blew the whistle, cutting into the night with the shrill sound. There, just past a stand of trees, the charger lowered toward the ground.

  Tom approached. The man on the craft panicked, trying everything he could to get the charger back in the air, but Tom knew nothing would work. The man pulled an ether pistol and started looking around for a target.

  Where the hell was Rosa? Most of the shadows were too damn dark to see into.

  The charger was only five feet from the ground when the man swung his ether pistol in Tom’s direction. He was just bringing his Rattler around when a flash of light lit up the forest to his right.

  The tongue of fire from Rosa’s pistol revealed her face, stern and focused. The crack of the shot echoed loudly and the bullet slammed into the man’s shoulder. He toppled from the charger and landed, groaning, somewhere further down the hill.

  Tom rushed to where Rosa stood. Starlight glinted off her badge and the barrel of her pistol as she turned on him.

  “Tom,” he said. “It’s Tom.”

  She blew out a sigh. “I’d kill for a little moonlight.”

  They moved together toward where the man fell. “Made a fine shot without it.”

  The charger rested on the ground, and Tom turned the engine off as they passed it.

  “You whistled it down?” She patted its metal side. “Thought it was just a machine.”

  “Each charger has a failsafe inside, tuned to a specific whistle. When it’s blown, the charger automatically lowers.”

  “Handy.”

  The hill steepened, and they picked their way slower, trying to get to where the man was moaning in pain.

  “I wouldn’t have needed it if I’d been smarter. These Crandall guys are crafty.”

  She put her hand on his arm to steady her footing. “But to get up here? That takes wings . . .”

  Tension rippled through her and into Tom’s body. They both had their guns out. He squinted into the night to see what disturbed her. She leaned into him, turning his body toward something darting across the sky. Too big for a hunting owl. It was a man.

  Tom tugged her toward the ground, taking cover behind a collection of mossy rocks. “Damn ether pack. That’s military technology.”

  “Crandall’s got enough money to buy anything.” She cocked her pistol. “Except Thornville.”

  The man with the ether pack flew down below them, toward the wounded Crandall thug. Tom took a peek from behind the rocks, but it was too dark to see them.

  “At least we know how they got up here.”

  “Not just to steal the charger.” Her voice was colder than a winter wind. “That could’ve been to draw us out. They were here to kill me.”

  The thought iced his blood. “Not while I’m drawing breath.”

  Below, the Crandall men whispered. Clothing rustled and boots scraped on loose rocks. Then the still air was shattered by a barrage of shots from ether pistols. Green and yellow flames spit from the guns. Bullets slammed into the rocks around Tom and Rosa.

  She hunkered into deeper cover. “Looks like they’re trying to finish the job.”

  “They’ll learn what that gets them.” He found an apple-sized rock and pressed it into her hand. “When I go, throw this behind them.”

  At the first pause in the shooting, Tom broke cover to aim at the two men. The one in the ether pack carried the other straight up into the air. Rosa threw the rock and it landed with a clatter behind the Crandall men. They turned and fired into the darkness. Tom squeezed the secondary shotgun trigger. The Rattler boomed.

  The thug with the ether pack yelled in pain as the pellets hit his leg. He spun through the air, nearly losing his grip of the other man.

  Tom tried to keep their dark, whirling shape in his sights. “They ain’t whispering now.”

  They swung through the sky, quickly descending from the top of the mountain and into the deep black of the valley below.

  Rosa holstered her pistol. “Those two won’t be back, but others will.”

  Tom swiveled out the shotgun barrels under the Rattler, ejected the spent shell and slid a fresh one into place. “We gotta break camp. Of course, they knew to come looking at the highest vantage.”

  “But we’re not finding another place to hide,” Rosa said. “We’re taking it to them.” Damn if the fight in her didn’t send a hot thrill through him. “You’ve got my gun and anything else I can give.”

  They hauled themselves up the incline toward where the charger waited.

  He allowed himself a little chuckle. “At least they didn’t show up when we were . . .”

  “Those bastards knew better. They’d have gotten shot a lot faster if they interrupted what we had going.”

  A quick field check of the charger showed it to be unharmed. Tom fired up the engine and swung into the saddle. She hopped on behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist for the ascent. He might make it through the battle with the Crandall Mining men, but having Rosa close without having her at all could kill him. He remembered their sex, her dark eyes at the fire, and how his words were just words and didn’t seem to solve anything.

  They flew up to the stand of trees that had been their brief camp. Tom dismounted to stomp out the fire while Rosa collected whatever gear had been used. In less than a minute, all the evidence of their stay at the top of the mountain was gone. It wouldn’t be that easy to erase it from his mind.

  Back on the charger, they skimmed just over the dark trees, using the night as their camouflage. Midway down the mountain, Tom cut the engine, leaving them only with the slight hum of the ether tanks and the gentle breeze whistling.

  “No motor?” Her whisper was more intimate than he wanted.

  “Gravity’ll take us the rest of the way and they won’t hear us coming.” He steered toward a deep black notch in the hills, not too far from the mining machine. “What’s your plan?”

  “See how close we can get. You said a direct attack wouldn’t work, but maybe a little sabotage will slow them up.”

  Below, a welding torch hissed with unnatural flame and someone banged on a piece of metal with a hammer. “These fools don’t discourage easily.”

  She was harder than a cold winter rain. “They’ll learn.”

  He brought the charger through the trees into the dark notch. They split the quiet air and landed on soft leaves. This time, Tom pulled the catalyst pin from the main tank before they started the thee-hundred-yard trek toward the mining machine.

  The leaves and fertile soil absorbed the sound of their careful footsteps. Hidden in the shadows, they navigated toward the sound of the continuous work on the Crandall device.

  She kept her voice
no louder than a butterfly wing. “Just like when we were sneaking around in the forest as kids.”

  “Stalking prey is one thing.” He whispered back. “But I won’t sneak around that other stuff anymore. Anyone wants to know what I feel, I’ll tell them. Anyone who doesn’t like it can twist.”

  They walked on through the forest in silence. About a hundred yards from the machine, they slowed their pace. Perimeter guards could be anywhere. Tom and Rosa slipped silently from tree to tree. Fifty yards farther, the forest thinned. At twenty yards, they hid behind a large oak.

  She stayed low, and he stood as they peered toward the rear of the device. A small field hospital had been set up, where several men were being tended in the light of a yellow quartz lamp. The man who’d stolen the charger was there with a bandaged shoulder. His companion sat with his back to the rear treads of the machine, his leg bound in a white dressing. Even the wounded Crandall men wore their Whisperer masks and had weapons nearby.

  “Tough fellas,” Tom remarked. He’d been careful to fill all the chambers in his Rattler with live ammo.

  “They bleed enough to get scared off.”

  He gave her a pat on the shoulder, feeling the solid strength of her body. “Never said they were tougher than you.”

  They shifted to the other side of the tree. The main work on the mining machine’s tread was being done on the far corner. Work lights cast the men’s long shadows across the dirt path, revealing constant activity.

  Rosa tilted her head toward another tree, and they sprinted to it. They were close enough to smell the oil and tetrol of the mining machine. It was a hulking block of darkness in the wilderness, sharp angles unnaturally blocking out the stars.

  He crouched down next to her as they examined the nearest part of the machine, only about fifty feet away. “We’re here. What now, Sheriff?”

  “I think those are crates strapped on there,” she whispered. He barely made out the dark shapes she pointed to. They lined a platform that ran all along the side of the machine. “It’s the closest thing we can reach. Might help us, or hurt them if we take whatever’s in there.”

  “It’ll prove a point, too. They’re not untouchable.”