Coilhunter - A Science Fiction Western Adventure (A Coilhunter Chronicles Novel) (The Coilhunter Chronicles Book 1)

by Dean F. Wilson

   “But I thought—”

   “You thought wrong! You've only gone and made a mess of things. Oh God. Ruby's gonna kill me.” She paced around the room, letting the bedsheets inadvertently mop up some of the man's blood.

   “I'm sorry,” the Coilhunter said. “I was just trying to help.”

   “Well, don't!”

   “I'll fix it with Ruby.”

   “Can you fix it with him?” she roared, pointing to the patron on the floor. “Just … just go!” She pushed Nox back out into the corridor and slammed the door, where he could still hear her sobs.

   “I told you,” Sally said. Amber said nothing.

   Nox grumbled.

   “Some of them like the pain,” Sally added, gently slapping herself on the rear. “All of them like the money.” She looked at Amber, who looked away.

   “There are other ways to earn that,” Nox said.

   “What, like bounty huntin'?” Sally cocked her head. “Well, good night then.”

   Amber led her further upstairs, bringing her to a room on one end of the corridor. Nox went to his room on the other side. It had a comfortable bed, which he wasn't used to, but there was something about being in a place like this, where everyone had someone—even if they were bought—that made him feel incredibly lonely.

  Sally locked the door in her room.

   “Amber?” she asked. “Where'd you get that name?”

   “Well, I couldn't really use my own, could I? Essa doesn't have the right ring to it here.”

   “Yeah, but … Amber?”

   “Shut up. It's better than Handcart Sally.”

   Sally sauntered over to the bed and sat down beside Essa. “Sis, you've got to be careful here.”

   “I am careful,” Essa protested.

   “Not careful enough.” Sally pulled the contraceptive amulet out of her pocket. She was almost surprised it was still intact, after everything she'd been through. She'd spent everything she had—or, more truthfully, everything she'd borrowed—to get it. She'd almost spent her life.

   “You shouldn't have.”

   “I had to.”

   “How much did it cost?” Essa asked. She clenched her fists, refusing the jewel.

   “Never mind the cost.”

   “I have to mind it. It'll get you killed!”

   “Well, if you don't want a dune-belly, you better take this.”

   “But … Blood Johnson.”

   “Don't you worry 'bout him.”

   “I'm worried about you.”

   Sally shrugged. “It's too late now anyway.”

   “Don't say that.”

   “That's the Coilhunter out there.”

   Essa's face went pale. “C-c-can't you run?”

   “I already tried. Tried runnin' from Blood too.” She sunk her head and sighed. “I'm tired of it, sis. Tired of it all. I'd like to wake up one day and not feel like half the world wants my head.”

   They fell silent. Essa might have wanted to wake up one day and not feel like half the Ruby District wanted her body. Then again, she didn't seem as upset by the work as Sally was.

   Essa took the amulet and put it around her neck. “I don't feel any different.”

   “Maybe that's a good thing. No demon buns bakin' away.”

   Essa forced a smile. “I'm happy here, Sally. You don't need to worry about me.”

   “I do. That's what big sisters are for.”

  Later that night, when Essa was sound asleep, Sally snuck out onto the communal balcony. The night air was chill and refreshing.

   “Couldn't sleep, huh?” Nox asked her. He was resting, cross-legged, against the wall, staring up at the stars. There was a good view of them that night.

   “I kept gettin' the feelin' there was a bounty hunter nearby,” she said.

   “Good intuition.” He stared at her. “So it wasn't for you.”

   “Huh?”

   “The amulet.”

   “So there was a bounty hunter nearby. Eavesdroppin' an' all.”

   “You coulda told me you were doin' a good deed.”

   She laughed. “Would you have believed me?”

   He gave the slightest shrug. “Probably not.”

   “Well then.” She smirked at him. “Does that muddy that image you have of me?”

   “A bit.”

   “Good.”

   They stared out at the night sky for a little longer.

   “So, what's keepin' you up?” she asked.

   “Same thing that always does.”

   “Crime?”

   “Criminals.”

   She hung her arms over the balcony wall. For a moment, he thought maybe she was going to jump. “I don't think you'll ever get asleep then.”

   “Maybe not.”

   “You never answered me out in the desert.”

   “About what?”

   “What made you.”

   He flicked the rim of his hat. “The Wild North made me.”

   “It made us all, criminals and everything.”

   “Guess I've gotta remake the desert then.”

   She turned back to him. “Y'know, you're always lookin' to save everyone.” She shook her head, letting those golden waves quiver. “But who's gonna save you?”

  21 – DEPARTURE

  Nox didn't just spend the night staring at the stars. When Sally eventually went to bed, he headed downstairs to find the first of his supply crates already there. He had to hand it to Ruby. She was damn efficient. Then again, he was paying well above market price for these.

   Nox pulled out some of the tools inside. They weren't quite as good as his own—after all, he'd made them himself—but they'd do the trick. Then he got to work repairing the various attachments on his arms, most especially the tracking device on his left wrist. It took him most of the night, or whatever was left of it, until he fell asleep against the crate.

   He heard a sound like gunfire and stirred with a snap, pointing the pistols he'd been using as a pillow. Some found comfort in fluff and feathers, but the Coilhunter found it in cold, hard iron.

   “You don't sleep easy, do ya?” Sally asked. She kicked the crate again. It didn't quite sound like gunfire now.

   Nox grumbled and got to his feet. He put his guns away slowly. He was surprised to find the other supplies already lined up for him. One of the crates was just bullets. He didn't fancy playing childhood cowboy again when he needed to be the real thing.

   “I think this is our sign that it's time to go,” he said.

   “No breakfast?”

   “No rest for the wicked.”

   “Well, we've already rested. I wanna eat.”

   Nox grumbled again and followed Sally into the dining area. Some of the scantily-clad women were there again, this time serving food and drink. Ruby waved from her own table on the far end. They joined her, though in Nox's case quite reluctantly.

   “Did you enjoy the night?” Ruby asked.

   “It was better than the day, that's for sure,” Sally said. She started into the food without asking, taking a big bite out of a chicken leg.

   “I knew you'd like our Amber.”

   Sally smiled at Nox. “Sure did.”

   Ruby stared at the Coilhunter. “And you liked your supplies, I see.” She turned back to Sally. “Amazing, huh? With everything on offer here, he gets off tightening bolts and fiddling with springs. Not the kind of screwing I'm into, but hey, whatever sieves your sand!”

   Sally mumbled her agreement. She wolfed that food down like a starving animal.

   “You not eatin'?” she asked Nox.

   “I'll eat later.”

   “He's table-shy,” Ruby said, “on account of the mask.”

   “Never thought of that,” Sally replied mid-chomp. “Thought it was just for show.”

   “You've nothing to wor
ry about here,” Ruby told the Coilhunter. “No one gives two tosses what you look like, so long as you pay.”

   Nox stood up sharply. “You've got ten minutes,” he told Sally. “I'll wait outside.”

   He walked off, leaving Sally to stuff her mouth even quicker. “He's a sensitive one,” she mumbled. She stuffed a bread-roll in her pocket for the road.

   Ruby nodded solemnly. “You have no idea.”

  When Sally had finished—or rather, when she'd spotted the Coilhunter pacing back and forth outside—she raced off, lifting her straw hat to Ruby. With all the people you could get involved with in the Wild North, she was glad her sister was under Ruby's wing, even if the job wasn't pretty. After all, it could've been Blood Johnson instead—and she was soon to be reminded of just how ugly that job of hers really was.

   Nox had already gone through much of the supplies, whittling them down to the bare essentials. He had bullets strapped across his chest, and his belt was full. It seemed he'd tinkered with more of his toys while he was waiting.

   “Right then,” he said. “We go west.”

   “How are we gonna get out there? I hope you don't expect us to walk. Even Blood Johnson wasn't that cruel.”

   “I don't,” Nox said. He pressed a button on his wrist. The monowheel pulled up beside him of its own accord.

   “Coulda done with that yesterday.”

   Nox tapped his wrist. “If this hadn't been busted, sure.”

   “So,” she said, running her fingers along the rope strapped to the Coilhunter's belt. “You want me with or without the noose?”

   “Without. If you were gonna run again, you woulda ran last night.”

   “Maybe I just wanted a good night's sleep first.”

   “You ain't helpin' your case.”

   She said no more. She was about to hop in the box in the back when she noticed the metal duck perched inside.

   “Well, now I know where they got the name.”

   “What name?” Nox could think of a dozen they'd given him over the years.

   “Mr. Wacky and Mr. Quacky.”

   Nox raised an eyebrow. “Who uses that?”

   Sally shrugged. “I've heard it around. Mostly the kids.”

   Nox grumbled. “I prefer the other names.”

   “I think they have worse ones, y'know.”

   Nox started the monowheel up. “I'm sure they do.”

  22 – CAMPFIRE CHAT

  They travelled for a long time, swiftly leaving the red glow of that desert haven behind them and entering under the harsher red glow of the sun again. It didn't quite beat them down as bad this time, but it kept on beating.

   It was a long way still to the wastelands in the west. Sally dozed in the box at the back, her legs dangling over the edge, her head bobbing back and forward. She had the duck in her arms, clutching it almost like a bedtime bear. It reminded Nox of little Ambrose. He didn't like the reminder.

   They didn't stop until the light got real low and the night frost set in. They huddled around a campfire, where Sally cooked some beans from the supply.

   “You must be sidelappin',” she said.

   He shrugged.

   “Come on. I don't want you faintin' at the wheel.” She handed him a bowl of beans.

   He tried to stifle his sigh, then slowly began turning a bolt on the side of his mask. It swung open, revealing the blackened, disfigured skin beneath. He was glad it was night.

   Sally didn't flinch like he thought she would, like so many others did in the past. “How'd it happen?” She kept on eating. He was surprised it didn't ruin her appetite. Maybe nothing did.

   “A fire,” he said. He shovelled the beans in. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was. He also wanted to just get it over with so he could shut the mask again. He usually ate alone.

   “What kinda fire?” she asked with a slurp.

   “The one that burns.”

   She rolled her eyes.

   “The one that killed my family.”

   “Ah.”

   “That's why we're chasin' Waltman's ghost.”

   “What if … he doesn't have the answer?”

   He knew his stare was sinister with the campfire flickers. “You better hope he does.”

  They slept around the campfire, though the Coilhunter slept a little farther away from it than she did. He found it hard to drift off at first, but then exhaustion took him. It didn't take him anywhere pretty. It took him back to that night, back to the fire.

  23 – BAD DREAMS

  The fire started downstairs. Just a little flame, but it grew big fast, and spread throughout the house. It was nighttime when it happened, so the fire stood out starkly against the blackness, but it also caught them unaware. It caught them sleeping.

   Nox saw it from a distance. The house blazing. His house. His family. Everything else faded into the blackness of the night. All that existed was the flames.

   He sped along in the monowheel towards it, burning rubber, even burning his leg against the heated engine as he pushed it beyond its limits. He felt the burn more than ever, the taunting of the flames.

   He arrived to screams. He leapt from the monowheel, letting it crash to the ground around him. He jumped and ran, straight towards the fire, towards the sealed doors, meant to stop intruders.

   “Nathaniel!” his wife screamed from up above. He stood back until he could see her at the upstairs window, clutching his daughter Ambrose close to her. “Daddy!” the girl screamed. That scream was now seared into his mind.

   The smoke gathered around them, strong and suffocating.

   “Jump,” Nox urged. It was a long drop. “I'll catch you.”

   Emma helped Ambrose up onto the window sill. Her nightgown billowed in the breeze.

   “I can't,” Ambrose said, her teeth chattering.

   “You can, honey,” Nox said. “Don't worry. I'll catch you.”

   Her feet teetered on the edge. For a moment, it almost looked like her mother was going to push her out. The flames were getting closer. The smoke was getting thicker.

   Then there was a sound like a clap of thunder, and Ambrose fell. Nox was shaken by the sound, and it was luck or fate that ensured his arms were where they needed to be to catch the girl. He heard Emma scream above, but Ambrose was strangely silent. He looked down at her to see a patch of blood on her nightgown, near her stomach.

   “What's this?” she asked faintly, mopping up some of the blood with her hand.

   Nox turned. He could see nothing in the darkness all around. All he could see was the image of Ambrose in his mind.

   “There's someone out there!” Emma shouted. He saw her pointing into the darkness.

   Nox tried to set Ambrose down, but the girl clutched his arm. Her grip was very weak. “Why is this night darker?” she asked. Her hand fell limp.

   Then there was another bang, and Emma tumbled from the window, landing with a thud on the ground below. Nox pulled his pistol out, holding it with his own blood-covered hands, with Ambrose's blood. He fired a single shot into the darkness, but he didn't know where he was shooting.

   He knelt down to Emma, but she was already dead.

   “Dad!” little Aaron shouted from the house. His voice was far off. He wasn't at that window.

   Nox let go of Emma's quickly-cooling hand and raced around the outside of the house, keeping his pistol raised. He saw Aaron hanging halfway out another window, ready to let go and break his legs. Nox held out his arms to catch him.

   The thunder came again. The glass of the window smashed from the bullet, and Aaron yelped. It missed him, but he crawled back inside, back to where the flames were waiting, to the safety of the smothering smoke.

   Nox unloaded every bullet into the darkness around. “God damn you!” he roared.

   There was no answer.

   He looked back up to the window, but Aaron
wasn't there.

   “Aaron!” he shouted up.

   The boy never came back.

   Nox raced around the building, kicking in the nearest door. The fire was everywhere, just like the darkness outside was everywhere, just like the shooter seemed to be everywhere too.

   Wisdom would have pushed him back outside, but love and desperation pushed him in. The flames danced their deadly dance, gnawing away at the wood, bobbing here and darting there. Inside the mouth of the house, the flames spat at him, catching the ends of his trouser legs, clutching the tips of his hair.

   He bounded up the stairs, through the black smoke, coughing and choking, guided only by his intuitive knowledge of the building, of his home on the edge of Loggersridge, now turned into a horror. He tripped, banging his knee on the edge of a step. It almost sounded like the blast of a bullet. The pain of it only distracted from the growing pain of the fire.

   He crawled out onto the upstairs landing, pulling himself along the bannister rails with one hand, holding his singed shirt over his mouth with the other. The smoke stung his eyes like phantom needles. It stung his lungs as well.

   “Aaron!” he barked, his voice hoarse.

   There was no answer.

   He tried to stand up, but was overcome by dizziness. The smoke didn't just sting now—it stabbed. His vision was blurred and blackened. He almost didn't realise he was gasping for air.

   He stumbled on towards the child's bedroom, collapsing against the wall and pushing himself back to his unsteady feet. He faltered at the doorway, then fell, barely able to brace himself against the impact.

   His hand caught something that wasn't just the floor. It was another hand, a smaller hand. It felt tiny and tender in his. The fire hadn't gotten to it yet.

   “Aaron,” he whispered, reaching out for the boy. He clutched that little hand, but it didn't clutch back.

   For a moment, he thought that this was it, that this was how it would end. His consciousness faded for a moment as the smoke gathered around them like guests at a funeral. Then the fire lapped at his feet, and the burn brought it all back, gave him new vigour, a new thirst for life.