‘We’re at the mark, let ’em fly!’
‘Fire!’ Katerina relayed at volume.
‘Firing!’ Corinne confirmed, jerking the firing lever.
The cannon erupted in a flare, launching a shell high into the blue and out into the gully, far ahead of the sand ship itself. The artillery was too far away to be of any threat to the vehicle but hitting it wasn’t the job of the Morning Star.
Before the shell struck the ground, it exploded violently, dabbing the clear desert air with a dash of thick black smoke. This was joined by others that burst around it, one by one, creating inky clouds that lingered in the still of the gully, where the crosswind was unable to touch. Repeatedly the cannon fired, completing a deep wall of pitch that the Messiah was careering towards.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The heist of a lifetime
Jackdaw straddled his horse, viewing the approaching clouds of dust through a spyglass. Through it he examined the bulk of the sand ship, looking for any irregularities.
The Jackrabbits watched as the sky was peppered with inky explosions, their contents falling gently like the onset of an artificial night, one that the Messiah was unable to avoid plunging into. They each pulled up their facemasks and fastened goggles to their eyes to protect themselves from the imminent onslaught.
‘Here’s our window. Jackrabbits, ride!’ Jackdaw announced.
With a snap of the reins, Jack led the procession on horseback, thundering down the mountain path with reckless speed. They rode off the slope and onto the flats of the gully that had been travelled, letting the animals reach an incredible pace. The ground shook from the ship’s treads, dancing the sand flat and sending boulders creeping this way and that. The horses galloped on, heads low and eyes afire.
Next came the wall of powder that was being kicked up by the vehicle’s travel. Approaching far enough out and at a sharp angle allowed the group to avoid the heavier debris, instead having to contend with the dust plumes. They each vanished into masses of orange, swallowed whole by the dust as they rode alongside the Messiah, thrashing the animals for their lives. Visibility was terrible but plentiful enough for the others to witness Jack’s hand signals. They were minutes away from the black that the Morning Star had deposited and had to act quickly.
Jackdaw whipped at his steed, watching the cover ahead come ever closer. The immense tracks that the sand ship propelled itself along with shook the ground, kicking up debris and dust by the score, causing his horse to want to buck away, an issue solved with corrective tugs of the reins. Behind, the Jackrabbits all fell into formation, each ready for the next step.
Jackdaw led the way. From his saddle pack, Jack removed a long piece of rope.
The maintenance gantries crisscrossed the outer panelling of the tracks, with a number of ladders rising up to the lowest deck. According to the schematics these were also used as fire escapes, containing a number of retractable ladders. For Jack, this was the ideal point of ingress. If they were to be used in an emergency, then they would need to have some sort of quick-release function.
Rummaging in his saddle pack, Jack pulled out a stick grenade, one of a handful that Ralust had managed to acquire for the job. He gripped the stick itself, twisted the head to prime it and counted, tossing it into the gantry and alongside one of the ladders. Only it didn’t stay at its intended target. The vibrations forced the grenade along the metal before creating a puffball explosion in the air above.
The Jackrabbits pulled their horses away immediately as a shingle of metal crashed down into the sand, narrowly avoided by Cole whose reactions were not as sharp as those he rode with. Miraculously, the shockwave dislodged one of the emergency ladders further ahead, sending it skidding down its housings and extending in sequence until jolting to a stop some thirteen feet from the ground.
Without pause, Jack kicked his heels into his horse, aligning himself. He slipped one foot from a stirrup, placed it onto the saddle and held it there, working up the nerve to remove the next. When he did, Jackdaw rose and took hold of one of the ladder’s rungs. He clawed at them hungrily, kicking his feet away from the horse who began to fall out of line and vanish into the dust. With a good deal of effort Jack heaved the rest of his body up until he found footing on the lowest rung, then began to ascend. Every foot made the ladder shake worse than it already was. His added weight compromised an already damaged assembly that, to his horror, was beginning to peel away from the gantry itself.
In a mad scramble Jack hauled himself to the ladder’s gantry before it slipped away from under his feet. This too crashed downwards forcing the Jackrabbits to scatter to avoid it. Marooned on a section of collapsed gantry, separated from the other ladders, things looked bleak until he spied a wound-up fire hose in a recess. Pulling out the mass, Jack tossed it over the gantry’s railing, sending it spiralling down until exhausted.
Alvina was the first to attempt the climb, taking the hose and gaining height hand over hand, making it look particularly effortless. When she reached the top, Jack silently congratulated her, waving to the next in line to make the climb.
Cole felt as if he was going to pass out. He knew full well how to climb; he just didn’t have to utilize the skills on a day-to-day basis, nor a life or death basis, which this was. He dangled from the hosepipe, pinching at it with his feet to propel himself upward. By the time he clawed onto the gantry Cole felt his arms were about to dislocate, their sockets furiously burning with exertion.
Then it was Blakestone’s turn.
Beneath his mask, Blakestone furiously cursed as the hose nozzle taunted him by drifting back and forth, within his reach for a moment and then out of it once more. Finally, his frustration got the better of him. He stretched his arm, driving his horse onward with sharp kicks into its side. The hose swung precariously close and with a yank he pulled it in and wrapped it around a hand before kicking himself free from his steed.
The sand ship rumbled on, massive spirals of dust clouding the air, flowing this way and that with the eager wind. The tepid blackness was almost upon them.
Blakestone dangled back and forth, driving himself upward with his powerful arms and the desire to not be crushed by the massive treads that flattened all beneath them. A couple of times he was shaken far too close, having to kick himself off tarnished panelling to avoid being chewed up by the upper track drives. When finally free, and through an uncoated part of his goggles, Blakestone took sight of the others beckoning to him and eventually ascended to their gantry. Just in time too.
That very moment, the sand ship struck the wall of smoke and all was engulfed in darkness. Ribbons of black threaded their way over every deck, seeping through each open window, and encompassed the vehicle. The outer deck’s lights flickered on in sequence, attempting to shun the darkness but did little in the way of illumination.
Blake was pulled up and he rolled onto his back and breathed as deep as he could through the facemask before the sand polluted the air once more. Jackdaw patted his cohort on the shoulder and gave him a minute before helping him onto his feet. The iron and steel that climbed along this level of the gantry felt as if it would shake free from its braces.
For Cole, he could feel the fillings bounce in his teeth and the lunch in his gut dance.
It was impossible to talk over the sound of the ship itself, so they each gestured, with Alvina taking the lead. Each corner was covered as they advanced, every rickety stairwell checked before marching up. Eventually they reached a maintenance door, forced it open and slammed it behind them in relief.
The storeroom inside was clear apart from the lines of racks that inhabited it, with boxes and crates sparsely squatting in their designated places. A cursory glance at eye level revealed nobody in the Jackrabbits’ vicinity.
The group pulled away their masks and took their first gasps of sweet, uninhibited air. Outside through a porthole, smoke clamoured over the decks, making visibility nigh on impossible. The goggles and ponchos were removed, tossed i
nto a pile with the debris that had collected on the way.
‘Is everyone good? Blake?’
Blakestone heaved breaths, spitting out a mouthful of debris that the smoke had collected in the back of his throat. The mask had done plenty but failed to filter everything out.
‘Don’t worry about me – I just need to catch my breath. Damn stuff tastes like tar,’ Blake grumbled, spitting out another fleck of black. Fortunately it hadn’t penetrated his eyewear. The smoke bombs that the Morning Star had provided would not only obscure visibility but also cause those deck side considerable irritation.
‘We need as many on board as possible to be downright sick with this stuff. Gets them out of the way much quicker. Besides –’ Jack checked through the glass to the outside ‘– it won’t be going on for too much longer.’
‘Do you what to know what’s curious?’ Alvina asked giving her rifle the once-over to ensure the sand hadn’t crept in places it shouldn’t. A plug on the barrel helped in this effort. She cocked her head a moment. ‘Listen. Do you all hear that?’
‘Nnnoooo?’ Cole replied, wondering what else she picked up on other than the overwhelming churning sound of the ship itself.
‘Exactly.’ Jack looked concerned, glancing to a red bell mounted on one of the walls. ‘There’s no alarm going off. I would figure someone might at least ring the bells. Blake, are you good to go?’
Blake was helped to his feet, stifling a further spasm of coughing. His legs quickly became sturdy, trying his best to shake the vile taste from his throat.
The small yelp from Cole demanded the attention of Blake and the others. Cole held a hand over his mouth, staring down one of the rack aisles. The Jackrabbits set themselves behind it to take in a view that none of them were expecting.
Sprawled on the floor was a body.
Jackdaw shimmied past ahead, weapon drawn and prepared for any surprises. The storeroom felt much more foreboding and more than once did a shadow give the illusion of moving.
‘They dead?’ Cole asked quietly.
‘No, Cole, they’re just taking a nap,’ Jack replied, stepping over the corpse and checking each end of the aisle.
‘What the hell is this, Jack? Think someone beat us to it?’ Alvina asked, following up behind. Cole tepidly took the rear, almost skidding in a patch of blood.
‘Just keep sharp.’ Jackdaw checked the corners with his weapon out. ‘Be on guard.’
Along the far wall was a line of tall steel lockers to house the larger parts of machinery in case of breakdown. Two of the doors were flapping open, striking the steel frames occasionally with the rocking of the ship. Jackdaw opened them both to their fullest, kneeling down and running his fingers over their interior. A bread crust and apple core in one. The other had copious amounts of boot marks, pointing door-wards.
Jack voiced his findings. ‘It was stowaways by the looks of things. Ain’t that wonderful.’
Blake tutted, examining the contorted way the body was splayed across the corridor, turning the corpse onto its back with a foot. There were numerous stab wounds to the torso, with one seemingly delivered to the left cheek.
‘Sloppy way to kill a man,’ he stated, frisking the stained overcoat. Each pocket was emptied until a wallet was produced. Blake scanned the contents and tossed it before them for all to see.
‘Seratto Private Security. Says here he was a deckhand – an employee on this here boat.’
‘That confirms your suspicions, boss,’ Cole added. Nerves were demanding he took his weapon in hand as insurance.
Alvina simply stared further down the adjoining corridor, past small traces of bloody footprints to the next junction. A labyrinth of steel, both wall and pipe stretched out before her, some harbouring miniature drifts of sand from previously open windows. She had caught sight of what nobody else had. Alvina took to a knee, scanning as far as she could through her rifle’s scope. Protruding from the turning was a single pair of legs, as weightless as the ones on the body they had just found.
‘Look,’ she simply said.
* * *
The advance by the Jackrabbits was slow and quiet, patiently moving along the lower deck with every corner and cubbyhole checked in case it held someone, as Blake put it, ‘stab happy’. The second body was just like the first, dashed with wounds, though this one harboured an amount to the neck. In their struggle, a blood-covered hand had struck the wall, decorating it with strikes of red, making the scene considerably more gory.
‘What is this?’ Cole asked, before being interrupted by a sudden, chilling scream. Nobody moved as it descended into nothing. ‘Jack … what have we just walked into?’ he muttered.
Jack took the lead, stepping over the dead man that obstructed the way. ‘I don’t know. Let’s find out.’
It didn’t take long before they found the source of the scream, only this time, the culprit was caught in the act, knife in hand. They hadn’t heard the Jackrabbits’ approach, nor them whispering their plans around the corner, just out of earshot.
‘Oh that’s great,’ Jack grunted falling flush against the wall. He had peeked around the corner momentarily, low and gradually so as to avoid detection. In that moment he had caught sight of what was occurring.
‘What is it?’ Cole asked, standing behind the others.
‘The Sanders Boys,’ Jack mumbled.
‘That shower of bastards? Here?’ Blake growled.
‘One of them. Where else would they be a thorn in our asses?’ Jackdaw closed his eyes and banged the back of his head against the wall in frustration. It was inevitable that this wouldn’t have gone smoothly. Someone or something somewhere had to contribute to a monumental screw-up and here it was blindsiding him and botching this job from the get-go. Damn everything.
‘What in the name of seven hells is a Sanders Boy doing on this here rig? It doesn’t make a lick of sense,’ Alvina protested.
‘If I had to pony up a guess, I would say the same as us.’ Blake had already drawn iron and was ready to jump at the very word. ‘Want me to drop him?’
‘No, we need to do this sneaky,’ Jack protested, pondering their next move, ‘and we don’t need to guess why they’re here.’
* * *
Joey Sanders stood over the still-rasping man before him. He struggled to speak with a throat full of blood. Desperate struggles for breath did nothing but eject sprays of red until the body gave its last spasm and remained still for evermore. The youngest of the Sanders Boys was quite proud of his handiwork. That was three for three, each one taken out with minimal fuss. Yes, he was quite proud as he took a roll-up to his mouth and snapped a match to light it. For a moment he cared not about the blood staining his shirt, the morbid knife protruding from the recently deceased’s shoulder, nor the still-hot revolver in his hand. All that concerned him was the gift of nicotine his smoke gave him and the momentary euphoria therein.
On the third draw, the roll-up was rudely ejected from his mouth by a punch that nearly took his jaw clean off. The revolver was kicked aside and its owner restrained by the scruff.
Blake did the heavy work, his bear-like hands almost totally enclosing the pale boy’s throat and lifting him a good foot from the ground.
‘Joey Sanders, as I live and breathe,’ Jack stated, dusting Joey’s coat down, though careful to avoid any patches of red. The Sanders sibling tilted his head this way and that among gargles to identify the man in front of him. It wasn’t until Jack removed his goggles that the proverbial penny dropped.
‘J-J-Jackdaw.’
‘Just the one “J”, thanking you. You have to get those nerves under control, son. Anyone would think you were up to mischief. What, pray tell, are you doing killing those poor fellows in such an unwholesome manner?’
Joey did nothing but burn a deeper shade of red.
‘Now you’re holding your tongue. Normally I would like that. It shows fortitude of character. Right now though, at this precise moment, I need you to talk like a drunkard. What are yo
u all doing here?’
‘You’ll get nothing. You and your friends will be left wanting,’ Joey said, struggling.
‘Do it,’ Jack stated. The command was given.
Blake let go, allowing Joey to stand on his own. The very moment he took in a mouthful of air it was violently ejected. A fist fired like a piston, sinking under his ribs with a wet thud. Something hard gave beneath Blake’s knuckles. Joey collapsed to his knees, choking violently.
‘Easy,’ Jack protested. ‘I said break something, not break everything. We need him to talk. How do you suppose he can do that if he can’t breathe?’
Blakestone squatted, taking a good handful of hair. ‘Tongue loosened up yet?’
Joey whimpered aloud, gasping deeply to suck in as much air as possible.
‘See? He’s fine. Needless worrying on your behalf.’
‘How many of you are there, Joey?’ Jack asked.
‘Plenty.’
‘I want a number.’
‘Four,’ Joey grunted, before adding, ‘four corpses I count before me. It’s only a matter of time until the family come looking for me and then … then … you’ll be as dead as that poor schmuck there.’
‘How wonderfully vague. We’re behind on time. Throw him overboard.’
Both Blakestone and Joey stared in puzzlement.
‘You mean dangle him over to get him to talk?’ Blake questioned, attempting to clarify. The door out to the deck was blessed with a porthole and with a quick spy through it, Jack saw that the smoke had now cleared, leaving nothing but the embers of the setting sun. He yanked the door open, letting the outside air in, wrenched Joey by his shirt to the railings and before objections could begin, tossed him over.
Joey immediately vanished into the miasma of dust, his screams drowned out by the Messiah’s churning tracks.
The others followed behind, witnessing this.
‘No I meant literally throw him over,’ Jack explained, quite irritated. ‘He’s dead weight and now we know the family is on board, we need to save the bullets. Do I have to do everything myself?’
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