Luke ran.
“Get him!” Mrs. Mayfield screamed.
The Iron Gunslinger bounded after him, making the ground tremor. Luke ran to his sister in her iron cage. His hand grazed hers, and then the Iron Gunslinger's fist came down upon them. He ducked, and Laura backed away. The blow left a hole in the cage.
Luke ran again, this time past Oddcopper and the other construct, which looked like a radio perched on a thin torso, with two wheels, one large and one small, beneath. It feigned death as the Iron Gunslinger came close, slumping its arms forward just like Oddcopper.
Luke ran straight for the Coilhunter, still buried beneath so many constructs. He leapt over Nox, his foot clipping the head of one of the creatures. Then the Iron Gunslinger came, and many of the other constructs baulked in its presence, abandoning their positions. Some that stayed were bowled over in the larger fiend's advance.
Nox cast off the few remaining foes and got to his feet. He instinctively reached for his belt, but there was nothing there. No gadgets. No guns. What was the Coilhunter without them? He knew he'd find out soon enough.
The surviving constructs came for him again, but he shoved them off. Some crowded around Mrs. Mayfield like a moving shield. She yelled and taunted, and it almost seemed like she was in some kind of communication, calling for more. That was the last thing Nox needed right now.
As he hauled a construct off his shoulder, tearing one of its arms off in the process, he saw Oddcopper power up again. He watched the little construct spin into action, glance at the empty ground where he had previously tried to reach the rifle, then search around to find it. Once he did, he charged forward, picking up the gun. He looked at Nox, still struggling with the leaping constructs, and then at Laura, who had just escaped through the hole in her cage. She reached her hand out for the rifle, then yanked it from Oddcopper's grasp. She hadn't gotten the chance to make her shot before. No construct was stopping her now.
She didn't take so long to aim or fire. She knew who she had to kill, the mastermind of all of this, the one who was more a mother to machines than her and Luke. She saw the constructs crowd around her target, and saw her calling for backup. So she aimed between the gaps and fired.
Her mother howled, and the constructs seemed to howl in unison.
“Stop or I'll kill her,” Laura shouted at the Iron Gunslinger. It skidded to a halt, and Luke stopped too. He looked at Laura, and then his mother, who was clutching her bleeding shoulder.
There was only one more bullet in the rifle. Even in the chaos of it all, Nox was keeping count. Laura would need to make it count too. She looked at the Coilhunter, as if she hoped he had a plan. He did.
“You could've been one of us,” Mrs. Mayfield told her daughter. By rights, she should've already been. Us should've been a family. But Mrs. Mayfield had made a home for herself in the Rust Valley. She had plenty of other sons and daughters, even if they were all made of copper and iron.
“Tell it to back away,” Laura said.
Mrs. Mayfield looked at the Iron Gunslinger. “Back away.”
Laura looked at the constructs crowded around the Coilhunter. “And them.”
Mrs. Mayfield beckoned them over to her, adding to her shield.
“Sooner or later,” Mrs. Mayfield said, “this is gonna happen, this mergin' of the two. If it's not me, it'll be someone else. Maybe they'll use it for the war. Or maybe, like me, they'll see it's bigger even than that.”
“Not if it ends with you,” Laura said.
“It doesn't end here, Laura. I'll just start over.”
“No,” Laura said. “You won't.” She fired, and the bullet struck her mother straight between the eyes. She'd had enough practice. Her hand wasn't unsteady like Luke's was. Her conviction was unwavering.
As Mrs. Mayfield collapsed into a pool of blood, the constructs went crazy, dispersing in all directions, though most of them came for the trio of living beings that had killed their human leader.
Nox charged towards Luke, grabbing him by the waist and launching a grappling hook up to the top of a scrapyard wall. It pulled them up, even as some of the scrap came tumbling down in the process. He set the boy at the pinnacle, pointed to the copter just two streets away, which could now be reached by running along the tops of the walls.
“Run, Luke.”
Laura scrambled up after them, but even as she did, the Iron Gunslinger came too. It pulled at the scrap, unsettling the uneasy support between each stray piece. Laura started to slip back down, but the Coilhunter caught her and hauled her up. Luke grabbed her hand, and the two of them began to run across the top of the wall.
But the Coilhunter didn't run. As the Iron Gunslinger threatened to tear down the path the kids were running across, Nox knew he had no other choice. He had to step back into the arena, with no gadgets and no gun. He had to face the Iron Gunslinger one last time.
45 – THE LAST DRAW OF THE IRON GUN
Nox leapt down on top of the Iron Gunslinger, knocking it to the ground. He rolled to the side, straight into another construct, knocking it down as well. The horde of constructs was smaller now, but without his guns, the Coilhunter felt smaller too. He'd always said he wasn't a warrior, and here he was fighting a whole army. He had to get it back to one on one.
So he fired the grappling hook at one of the other scrapyard walls, letting it grab something that looked a little precarious, like it was a support for the rest. He yanked hard, and the scrap cascaded down on top of many of the assembled constructs, burying them deep beneath. He barely waited for the hook to recoil back into the launcher before he did the same on another wall, leaving just him and the Iron Gunslinger.
The larger construct got back to its feet. It stared down the Coilhunter. He didn't stare back. Instead, he was looking around the area for something to use. His armour was gone, along with his belt and guns. For all he knew, it was buried beneath one of the mountains of junk he'd just made.
Then he saw his salvation: the bladed arm of one of the smaller constructs, reaching up through one of the scrap heaps. Nox didn't need his weapons. The whole Rust Valley was littered with them.
He ran, and the Iron Gunslinger ran, but he reached the arm first. He pulled it free from its socket and held it up like a spear, bracing for the larger construct's charge. As it bounded into him, he drove the blade forward into one of its many eyes, one of those new ones it had collected after the previous battle. In the process, he cleaved off the smaller construct that had tried to merge itself with its master, making it a little less than it was before. Yet it was still formidable.
It whacked him in the chest with the back of one of its gauntleted hands, knocking him across the way. He landed with a thud on the ground, groaning. But he didn't wait for the pain to pass. He let the adrenaline drive him, getting back to his feet, and reaching out for another piece of scrap. He threw anything he could pull free at it, though most of it just clattered off the creature's frame.
Then it charged again, and he spun out of the way, striking another eye with a metal bar he'd just acquired. The construct ground to a halt in a cloud of dust, turning slowly. Every eye it lost made it harder to find the Coilhunter, and harder to hit him too. It came once more, and he dived, smashing the bar against another iron iris.
Then he seemed to disappear entirely, as if he had those little smoke bombs he used so often. Instead, he hid inside the dust kicked up by the Iron Gunslinger's frantic charges. It turned on the spot, scouring the area for him with its two remaining eyes.
Then the Coilhunter appeared suddenly, using a saw-arm to tear through one, before he disappeared again, throwing the arm away as a distraction. The Iron Gunslinger swiped at nothing. It punched at air, sending the dust sprawling again.
The Coilhunter came again, bashing apart its final eye. It was blind, like so many of the criminals the Coilhunter faced. He couldn't use a blast of light. He had to use cold, hard iron.
Then the Iron Gunslinger felt something around one of its ankl
es: a wire. Nox pulled hard, bringing the construct to the ground. It sprawled there for a moment, fighting ghosts. Nox had heard of the so-called machine spirits that the tribes so often talked about. He wondered if this construct fought them now. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it fought him.
Nox pulled another bladed arm loose from the scrap heaps and brought it to the Iron Gunslinger. He threw a few spare scraps away, letting the sounds draw the construct's attention, let it think that he wasn't there, standing over it, scrapyard spear poised to strike. He drove it in, deep between the metal plates, into its ticking heart, into the cogs and springs. He worked it like a lever, shoving and pulling, until he could hear the parts inside coming loose.
The Iron Gunslinger struggled for a moment, reaching one iron claw up, before it slumped to the ground and went entirely still. Its maker, Mrs. Mayfield, who'd made this creature as the mirror image of the Coilhunter, was gone. She wasn't there to nurse it back to health. She wasn't there to make a new one. If there was a special kind of hybrid Hell, then maybe the monster and the maker would meet there, and maybe in the fire she'd continue her work.
46 – ARM'S LENGTH
But the Rust Valley had more monsters.
Even as the Iron Gunslinger stopped its struggle, more constructs flooded the area, called by the sound of battle and metal, and by Mrs. Mayfield's final summons. Not all of them were beholden to her. Not all saw the merits of the hybrid race. But most of them saw the merit in catching the Coilhunter, in tearing him apart for that little bit of metal inside.
He ran, leaping up the scrap heaps, stumbling and tumbling down, skidding across battered vehicle doors, tripping over bars and bits of wire. As he climbed, he saw the small silhouettes of the kids racing along the top of one of the next scrapyard walls, then scrambling down the side to make the final run to the copter just ahead.
He followed, feeling the pain of his injuries now, and the weight of his exhaustion. It would've been so easy to give up now, to say that he'd done his bit, that the children would make it out, and he'd stopped the secret evil of the Rust Valley. But there were other evils out there too. Who'd be there to take on those? No. He had to continue. He had to fight on.
So he gave it his all. He didn't have much else to give. He struggled forward, letting the sight of the copter beckon him, letting the sound of the constructs behind him push him on. He fired another grappling hook, letting the mechanism do some of the work for him, helping him climb that final mountain, before he let gravity take down him down the other side.
* * *
The kids charged on in a cloud of dust, with Oddcopper and his rolling companion zig-zagging along behind them. The copter was close, but Death was close too.
Luke raced towards the copter, his satchel bobbing, his hair flaying. Then a clockwork construct rose from the debris, hoisting itself up on two legs made out of piston pumps, standing tall and unsteady, as if it were on stilts. It had long, curved arms, which ended with hands made of fingers of glass, enough to stab and shred the boy to pieces. Its tiny little head, barely big enough to power its long, thin body, turned to the child, and its limbs flexed in anticipation.
Luke had propelled himself forward with so much speed that now he could barely stop. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropped, and he tried to stop, skidding in the sand before the construct. Then one of its legs came down close, and then an arm swung at him. He ducked just in time, crying out.
Laura let out a terrifying scream, like a mother lion protecting her cub, and she launched herself at the construct, leaping up at its torso and grabbing hold. Her legs dangled, and the new weight she added to the construct made it even more unsteady. It moved about, trying to balance itself, and trying to shake the girl from it. She hung on by her fingernails, screaming.
Luke clambered up and ran after them, ducking a swinging arm and dodging another. One of the glass fingers caught the edge of his cheek, and he yelped as it left a small cut. He wrapped his arms around one of its legs and tried to pull it down, but instead the creature pulled him along with it.
Then it lost its balance altogether and crashed down to the ground, laying on its back. Laura rolled off, and the construct kicked Luke away into the nearby debris. The boy cringed as he braced himself, with one arm skint, and one hand full of abrasions.
“Luke!” Laura shouted, beckoning to him.
He forced himself up and made a dash for it, past the fallen construct.
Yet, just as he did, the construct swung from the ground, and Luke saw the hand of glass approach his face. He dropped to the ground, skidding beneath the swinging arm, then clambered and crawled, slipping on a sheet of metal, and throwing himself forward, until he caught Laura's bloodied hand with his own.
They raced towards the copter, reaching one of the hatch doors. Laura pulled at the handle, but it wouldn't budge.
“Come on!” Luke cried, looking around as the construct struggled up.
“It's stuck!”
They banged at the door, hearing a mumbled response from inside.
“Open up!” they screamed in unison, leaving bloodied hand prints on the door.
They heard a clang, and then the groan of gears, followed by the creak of a door opening farther away. They glanced around, spotting Porridge's head peeking out from another hatch. They didn't know the man, but with all his bright colours in that valley of grey and black, they pretty quickly knew he wasn't with the Clockwork Commune.
“This way!” the man shrieked.
They raced inside, followed by Oddcopper and his even odder consort, barely getting in before Porridge slammed and sealed the door. Porridge yelped at the sight of the constructs, until the kids calmed him down, though even then he seemed a bag of nerves—and a bright, gaudy bag at that.
“Hurry!” the man cried, trying to lodge a box against the entrance. All of them, human and construct, helped him shove it into place.
Then the blade of a saw came through the hull, and Porridge howled even louder than before.
“We have to fly,” he said.
“What about Nox?” Luke asked.
The man hesitated. “He'll find a way.”
Porridge dashed across the grating and leapt into the pilot's seat. He fired the copter up, which brought the vessel into the air, slow and sluggish. The whole thing groaned and coughed, and no one, not even Porridge himself, felt it was safe to fly. Yet it wasn't safe on the ground either.
The construct that had embedded the saw into the hull lost its hold and fell to the ground, smashing apart below. The copter continued its uneasy ascent, coughing out thick plumes of smoke worse than the Coilhunter's mask. It spluttered and rumbled, and the rivets seemed about to pop.
“There!” Luke shouted, pointing through one of the bubble windows at Nox limping down below. “We need to land. We've gotta get him!”
“We can't land now,” Porridge said.
“Then crash,” Laura said. She didn't know that for this vessel, that meant pretty much the same thing.
Porridge looked at them with eyes that said he wasn't entirely sure he believed what he was about to say. “He'll find a way.”
And Nox did.
He fired the grapnel up one last time. It grasped on, but it was an uneasy hold. The wire wound tight, pulling him up. Luke and Laura opened one of the other doors and reached out to haul him in.
Yet the Coilhunter had barely got inside when one of the copter's engines conked out. The whole vessel tumbled in the sky, sending all of them rolling around inside, all except Porridge in his track-locked chair. As they tumbled, and as the next engine kicked in and new propellers powered up to lift them all again, the door swung wide, and out fell Luke.
47 – THE LITTLE THINGS THAT COUNT
Nox grabbed the boy's arm as he slipped down. Luke swung for a moment, yelping as his satchel slid off his shoulder. He tried to catch it with his other arm, then with his foot, but he ended up just kicking it away. It fell to the ground, the strap flappi
ng against the breeze. Luke was lucky he didn't fall down after it. Nox pulled him up.
“My satchel,” the child said.
“Leave it.”
“But my drawings.”
You'd think after all they'd been through, that would've been the last thing on his mind. That was until what the boy said next.
“They're all I have left of 'em.”
Nox knew what he meant. He'd seen those family pictures. He had one of his own, back in his hideout, though it was taken by Five-pence Tully many years before. It didn't seem like Luke had one of those pictures, drawn by the hand of light. He had to make do with a drawing of his own.
So, Nox rolled his eyes, and rolled up his sleeves. “Wait here,” he ordered.
He yanked the grappling hook from his right arm, latching it onto one of the firmer parts of the copter's interior, tugging the wire to make sure it was taut. Then he leapt outside, letting his weight unravel the cord. He swung for a moment, until one of the natural dips of the copter brought him close to the ground. He reached his other arm down and snatched up the satchel.
He could hear the shrill cries of Porridge up above as he asked the kids what the Coilhunter was doing. He could also hear the scurrying and ticking of a horde of constructs far behind him. No matter how many of them he gunned down, there were always more. He supposed they weren't that different to men after all.
He pulled down hard, which normally triggered the mechanism for the wire's recoil, but it didn't work. He tried again, looking across at the advancing wall of mismatched metal. He put the satchel around his shoulder, then tried to climb up the wire. He was glad he was wearing gloves, because it dug deep into his skin.
He was about halfway up when the horde arrived below him, clamouring in their own iron tongue. He was just about to think of how good it was that he wasn't down there with them when he felt a sudden drop. The copter had made another dip, and he was now just inches above the clamps and cleavers, the scoops and saws. He felt the edge of something sharp nick his boot.
Rustkiller - A Science Fiction Western Adventure (The Coilhunter Chronicles Book 2) Page 14