‘Grand. We’ll retreat that way.’ She began to test how mobile Franco was, his heavy limps punctuated with groans and hisses. At least he was mobile, which was a positive thing to focus on.
‘What about the Bluecoats?’ Jacques seemed genuinely concerned for the marshal’s men who were doing their best at withholding Wilheim’s vengeance.
‘What about them? They’re doing their job; we do ours. They knew what they were in for.’
‘Doing their job. Right,’ Jacques stated, spying one crumpled on the floor a good twenty yards away. ‘Remind me never to sign up.’
‘You a lawman. That’s a funny one.’ Corinne crawled over to the group, breathing deeply. She rolled onto her back and began to feed a fresh batch of ammo into a shotgun. When done she snapped the trigger guard back and forth to load the first shell into the chamber.
‘As funny as you keeping your trap closed but this is a day of high amusements, ain’t it?’ Jacques spied the weapon in her hands, not quite believing she had acquired something considerably powerful. ‘Swap?’ It was worth a try at least.
‘Not on your life.’
Misu readjusted the man’s arm over her shoulder to make it more comfortable, then brushed the hair from his eyes. ‘Are you ready to go?’ she asked Franco who had finally begun to take stock of the mayhem around him.
‘Very much,’ he grunted, summoning what little strength he could muster. ‘Did you see what he did to my train?’ He squinted at the blurry shape that resembled the carcass of the Gambler’s Den, now attracting bullets as if it was magnetic.
‘I know. I’m pissed too, but that can wait. Jacques, do you think you can cover us?’
‘I knew you had a reason to drag me all the way out here.’ Jacques winked, hurriedly reloading his firearm. The cylinder returned with a snap and the hammer was thumbed back in preparation.
‘And you?’ she asked Corinne flatly who smirked.
‘Nothing you need worry about. Huddle up, ladies,’ Corinne yelled as much as her throat would permit to everyone in earshot. She took to her feet and unloaded a contingent of buckshot, blasting chunks from wooden crates and sending men scattering. Jacques began to withdraw, patiently ensuring every shot met its mark though counting the bodies weaving behind the Bluecoats he had noticed a noticeable omission. He called to Misu and pointed at the huddled figure tightly wedged behind an overturned goods truck. She wasn’t injured from what they could both tell, but barely moving on observation.
‘Colette!’ Misu called to the fiery woman who was edging around the side of the loading bay, the closest in proximity to investigate. She pointed to the figure between them to which she paid an affirmative nod.
* * *
Colette attempted to make every shot count, knowing full well that rash firing would have her run out of ammunition sooner rather than later. The times when she fired were accurate, missing only by some quick effort of her quarry. Her firing stopped and she approached Elizabeth. The woman’s eyes were tightly closed as she held the revolver against her head, repeating an inaudible prayer. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she rocked back and forth in fear.
Lowering herself Colette hurried over, calling Elizabeth’s name to snap her out of whatever panic had beset her. Suddenly, between the blubbering, the words became audible.
‘I can’t do it, I can’t do it, I can’t do it,’ Elizabeth mumbled in terror. The weapon jittered in her hand, fingers white from the severity of her grip. ‘I can’t do this any more – all the dying. I can’t shut it out. It’s everywhere …!’
‘Elizabeth, it’s okay,’ Colette hushed, trying to encourage her to lower her gun with a hand. ‘Listen to me: open your eyes, sweetheart.’
‘What’s happening?’ Misu shouted, barely audible, struggling to maintain Franco’s weight who looked in quite considerable pain.
Rather than call out a response, Colette shook her hazel hair side to side, pointed to her forehead three times. Clearly something wasn’t quite right with her and wasting time talking about it was going to do nothing but bring about further fatalities. A bullet stung the air overhead. Someone cried out their last breath.
‘Then get her out of here!’ Misu called, disappearing behind some stacked containers.
Colette knelt once more. ‘It’s okay, I promise. I’ll protect you. Come on, let’s get you to safety.’
Tear-soaked eyes blinked open. ‘R-really?’ she stuttered.
‘Really.’ Colette offered her hand out. ‘We’ll go someplace quiet. Take my hand.’
Elizabeth sniffed, wiping her face and giving a broken smile. Her relief was obvious but as Colette tried to hoist her up, she had been unaware of the crook who ducked past, though he noticed the women from the corner of his eye.
The both froze in surprise.
With a wail, Elizabeth leant to the side and stabbed the air with her weapon. The revolver chamber spun in turn. The man was scattered on the floor with a fraction of his head missing.
Imminently the gun fell from her fingers and she broke into sobs, tightly tugging against Colette’s dress.
* * *
Corinne peeked around her cover. Wilheim frantically edged behind his goons, making sure there were sufficient bodies or material between him and danger. He moved towards the doors back into the factory for a getaway no doubt. Escape, to him, was paramount, no matter how many fell for him to do so.
But Corinne wouldn’t be having any of that.
Here the monster was, almost fifty yards away and stumbling in confusion. This could be ended swiftly and decisively. All of his torment could be scrubbed away with a single trigger pull. All that was needed was an uncluttered route from barrel to body. It would be criminal for him to escape the law once again.
‘You get Franco to safety,’ she growled to Misu. ‘Wilheim is mine!’
Before Misu could object she vaulted over the crate, let fly a shot, and ducked down once more to avoid retaliation. She repeated this as Misu called for her over and over, clearly being ignored.
* * *
Wyld looked up from her place behind a cart, alarmed at the calls over the chatter of gunfire. The showgirls were sticking behind their cover as per orders, with the exception of one who sprinted onward, skirt flailing with murder in mind. The moment Misu caught sight of Wyld, she gestured repeatedly to Corinne who seemingly had a death wish. Understanding, Wyld charged out from her hiding place, first on all fours and then into a dash to intercept.
‘Wilheim!’ Corinne screamed, now quite taken with bloodlust. The shotgun bucked in her grip as she charged for him, his gross visage moving through the maze of clutter.
Wyld ran as quickly as her feet could carry her, ducking as the wooden crates burst with splinters with every shot wide of the mark. As Corinne’s firearm emptied, she jerked to the side, confused as to why her legs suddenly wobbled with every step. A sharp shockwave of pain flooded from her shoulder, removing all grip from her fingers. In her haste she had missed one of the goons who had her dead in his sights, his gun barrel smouldering from a freshly fired shot.
But she didn’t miss him drawing back to finish the job.
Time slowed down. As the hammer clicked into place, it was the goon’s turn now to twist, a sudden punch of red erupting in his chest causing him to fall backward. Wyld dived through the air, grabbed Corinne, and brought her sliding across the ground and back to cover.
Misu saw everything, powerless to help. Too far to make a clean shot. Too far to save her friend. All she could do was cry out in alarm.
It took Corinne a moment before she realized what had happened, noticing blood now streaming down her arm. Wyld immediately took Corinne’s hand in her own and pushed it firmly on the wound. It did little but exacerbate the sunken bullet, causing Corinne to shrilly cry out, but it did at least help the bleeding.
‘Keep that held tightly, keep the pressure firm. I don’t care how much it stings, you keep it there until I say so!’
Corinne attempted an
objection, but her head fell back onto the concrete with a gasp. Wyld waved out towards Misu who had hoisted Franco up onto his feet, barking at the Bluecoats to swoop in and secure them from harm, shuddering at the Bluecoats laying down suppressing fire. The factory doors were blocked off by the law, forcing the criminals back. With both ends of the train shed bolted up, Wilheim’s men had nowhere to retreat to. Wyld waved on to Misu who gave the go-ahead for the next part of the plan. Get everyone out in one piece and let Juniper finish up. That was the arrangement. That was the deal.
‘Ladies!’ Misu called out above the din. ‘We are leaving!’
Marshal Juniper ordered the Bluecoats to move in and deflect any heat directed to those who withdrew. Bullets flew and thankfully the casualties were non-existent, with exception of one.
Corinne’s eyes blinked as darkness swamped her for a moment. Eventually she focused on a new face that loomed over her, with a brilliant sun-drenched halo, a flock of red hair falling about her like curtains that now blotted out the light.
‘Hand away please.’ Katerina withdrew Corinne’s shivering sticky fingers, binding the wound with a makeshift tourniquet.
‘I thought you were an angel …’
Katerina laughed, keeping the good humour as her makeshift bandage aggravated the bullet sunk inside.
‘I’m sorry to say you’re still among the living. Hold on tight.’ Corinne was pulled up, and carried backward, accompanied by Wyld who fired this way and that to the faces that protruded into view. She backed up to the doors, thankful for the Bluecoats filling in the gaps of her defence.
‘More haste please, more haste!’ Misu called to them before ebbing her way backwards with Franco, leaving just them and Jacques remaining from the Morning Star. ‘You can die another day but until that comes, I want you moving!’
Before they could reach the doors to the factory interior they were pinned down by a surprising offensive.
* * *
Wilheim barked his demands. He wasn’t going to get caught, not like this, not here of all places. He had much grander works to perform. Today would not be the day for him to be taken down. This disgrace had gone on for long enough.
* * *
Alarmed, the Bluecoats suddenly scattered in confusion. Misu hadn’t seen the cause, neither did Franco, who tried to identify the source of the commotion, but Jacques had. He had heard the hiss as it cut the air, growing louder by the second. He had seen the sparks litter the air as they spat from the fuse wire. He had seen one of the lit sticks of dynamite that had been tossed towards them in desperation. It travelled along the floor and rested behind some crates.
‘Oh hell!’ Jacques exclaimed as his face fell.
Chapter 32
Bloodshed and mercy
Crashing through the front factory doors and into the sun-drenched outside, the procession of showgirls began their escape. Corinne was helped considerably by Katerina who made light of the injury as an excuse to take time off work, with Wyld covering their withdrawal.
They were waved on by the occasional Bluecoat, who hugged corners of worn buildings and provided security from anyone stupid enough to pick up a weapon against them. The last thing anybody needed was the surprise of a missed sentry foiling their retreat with a hail of bullets, rendering this all for naught. The showgirls sprinted forward on weary legs, stumbling at times, though they pulled one another from the sand to carry on. The Morning Star waited down the hill, already taking on injured Bluecoats.
Colette kept herself at the back of the line, her weapon held at eye level, checking every shadow and corner for any surprises, escorting Elizabeth as best she could. By the time they had all reached the train platform, the pair almost collapsed from exhaustion, Elizabeth gripping her hands tightly together and muttering a small prayer of thanks.
‘What’s with her?’ Katerina asked, wiping spots of blood from her own face.
‘Shock I think. She’ll be fine when we’re far from here,’ Colette stated, checking up the hillside at the small trickle of their own.
Katerina pressed Elizabeth’s head to her bosom, whispering that everything was all right, though they all knew they were hollow words. All they could do now was wait.
Corinne, wild-eyed and panting, watched some of her number break into tears, others tending to any wounded. The Bluecoat captain beckoned their prisoners into a carriage. Gruff, shackled persons, most sporting injuries, were prodded onward by the Bluecoats, who threatened repercussions should they try anything foolish.
She fought the urge to fall to her knees herself, and welcomed the support from Ferry, who braced her with a large arm. He had held back upon Misu’s demand, roughly handling any who became far too vocal in regards of their treatment. After all, if he was harmed, then who could drive the train to their escape?
‘Easy, easy! You’re safe now, you’re all safe,’ Ferry grunted, taking as much of Corinne’s weight as possible.
‘She’s hurt,’ Wyld added, tossing her guns down and checking the now blooded cloth wrapped around the limb. Corinne gulped large, deep breaths to force the fire from her lungs as Wyld fell on her behind in exhaustion.
‘We’ll handle it. Get the others on board and make sure they’re looked after. How many of Wilheim’s men do we have?’ Wyld asked.
‘Thirteen so far at my count. From my understanding there’s been a few fatalities.’
Wyld wiped the sweat from her cheeks, scanning the faces before her. It was only now that she had managed to take stock of who she had led out. ‘Who are we missing from our end?’
Ferry filled in the gaps. ‘Misu ain’t back yet. Neither is that Jacques fella. Neither is the boss man.’
‘Any sign of Juniper?’
‘I’ve not seen him.’ Ferry called to the captain opposite. ‘Hey! Has Juniper got out yet?’ he shouted, watching the occasionally bloodied Bluecoat materialize from the factory doors, plumes of dust whipping with each emerging body.
‘Not yet, there’s still a few of ours coming out. We’ve got another twenty at least. How many of yours are safe?’
‘We’re missing three at my count.’
‘Three,’ the captain replied in surprise. ‘From what I’ve been told, it’s a miracle any of your staff have made it out at all. You’ve got some tough folks!’
‘That we do. Only a couple of wounds, nothing serious on all accounts. Are any of your men going back in?’
The captain shook his head firmly. ‘No, we’ve got orders to hold the detainees from the marshal himself. Get them out and hold the line.’
‘You’re leaving him to it?’ Ferry queried, almost astonished that a wave of reinforcements would not be considered.
‘The marshal knows what he’s doing.’
All on the platform flinched at the crescendo of loud blasts, which blew out the loading bay windows. Pillars of smoke escaped through the broken frames, mushrooming outward in thick, dark plumes.
Ferry stared wide-eyed in alarm. ‘I sure hope you’re right about that.’
* * *
The explosion knocked everyone off their feet, sending a blast of debris into the air. Smoke and dust and sand filled the air, reducing the visibility to almost nothing. Few voices were heard by the lucky ones whose ears did not ring, mostly from Juniper who was scrambling onto his feet and demanding his men get back up. The factory was filled with a blinding haze, thick and disorientating, a heaving sprawl of sand and dust and smoke violently ejecting as if the ground had yawned aloud.
Shadows of figures ran and fired and fell, sending out flashes of light in the confusion. It was the Bluecoats’ turn to retreat as things descended into madness. Bullets punched brick and crate, the dense air impossible to see through.
Misu groaned aloud, rolling onto her side. She and Franco had been launched backward from the blast wave, crumpled atop splintered wood. Through the dust small slips of paper fluttered down, the well-written tokens of affection once attached to the Gambler’s Den raining down around them.
She wearily squinted, the world now at an obtuse angle and swimming. Smouldering scraps of paper fell before her, their writing jumbled and difficult to decipher until the swirling shapes conjoined as one.
Misu pushed herself up onto her hands, shaking the stationary man beside her.
* * *
Franco whined, holding his ribs. His body pounded in a blaze of pain, pain from joints that had been locked in place for days, of bruised muscles that had not moved and complained at doing so. He was unsure if the blast had caused additional pain or simply aggravated the torture he had been subjected to.
‘Come on, come on, get up … we’re getting out of here,’ Misu insisted.
Franco retched smoke from his throat in response.
* * *
‘Hey. Hey! Get on your feet now!’ Misu ordered, violently shaking him. She pulled him up, slipping twice with her own feet unsteady, but accomplishing that much at least. Disorientated, she was unable to ascertain where the exit was. She could see nothing in the dense smoke. Not her allies. Nor the pair of Wilheim’s men who were now stumbling their way towards them.
* * *
Jacques hadn’t fared any better. Unluckily for him he had been much closer to the explosion. His head pounded, a collection of bells having set up shop in his ears blotted out everything else but their ringing. His fingers were singed, as was a cheek, but as he went to kick out his feet, he yelped in surprise and a considerable amount of pain.
He dared to look down, finding a protrusion of wood that had sunk into his right thigh. Around him lay a covering of Red Root, the contents of crates that had exploded all around. The lengths of twig crunched under his weight, jabbing painfully, though his leg was infinitely more concerning. He wrapped a hand around it, counted to three, and ripped the protrusion from the flesh. As it was tossed aside he clenched the wound immediately, cursing loudly with as many expletives as he could muster. His shirtsleeve made a crude tourniquet but it was sufficient until he got back to the train.
And then he heard her, cutting through the chimes. Misu called out, demanding Franco rise to his feet. Jacques quickly scanned the smoke, making out shadows and shapes, and flashes of light where revolvers fired. Miraculously he saw them, a pair of conjoined figures, stumbling where the smoke and dust thinned.
Den of Stars Page 34