How many of these men and women would turn on us given half the chance?
God, I understood Marian’s rage, all too well. No wonder she wanted to see her fellow townsfolk brought low. If our positions were reversed, if I lost Griffin the way she lost Benjamin, I wouldn’t have left a single house in Fallow standing.
They were running now. Coming for me in a group, with enough numbers to overwhelm if I let them reach me. And maybe there was something of savage satisfaction in me, when I reached into the sky and called down the wind
It howled like an unleashed animal. The blast ripped down the street, tearing a sign loose from a storefront. The sign flew through the air, striking one of the men on the arm. He cried out, and several of the corrupted staggered under the force of the gale.
In the hands of the wind, the desiccated earth rose in a cloud of dust. Within moments, it transformed into a wall of brown, a sandstorm that blotted out all visibility only a few feet from me. I glimpsed the corrupted flinging up their arms, trying to protect their eyes and still stagger closer, but the stinging dust storm kept them back
I wanted to do more than keep them back. I wanted to hurt them.
But Griffin would only remind me some of them might be innocent of any wrongdoing. Miss Tate was among them, just as the Reynolds could have easily been, had we not warned them away from the community dance.
“Whyborne!” Griffin shouted from behind me.
I let the wind go. The dust hung in the air, a loose cloud that began to slowly settle to earth.
Nella drove a cart drawn by two horses into the street, Griffin, Creigh, and Christine all piled into the back. I ran to join them, and Griffin and Christine pulled me into the moving cart.
I glanced back, saw the corrupted regrouping. They were coated in dust, and many wiped at their eyes, but Marian clearly didn’t intend for us to get away so easily.
Griffin’s hand rested on my shoulder. “Well done, my dear.”
I put my hand over his as the cart raced out of town, down the unnaturally straight road. At least the utter flatness of the landscape would keep it in sight of the corrupted longer, once we abandoned it. With luck, they wouldn’t realize Nella was alone until we’d dealt with Marian.
“Thank you,” I said. “Now comes the difficult part. We have to kill Marian, but we also need to make certain the train doesn’t leave town.” I turned to Creigh. “Mrs. Creigh, I have a proposition for you.”
~ * ~
Night had fallen by the time we reached the grain elevators.
Our plan, such as it had been, seemed to have worked. After hiding in a barn while the group of corrupted followed Nella farther and farther out of Fallow, we’d slipped back into town as the sun slid below the horizon. Christine had sought out a vantage point from which to fire on Marian, assuming she was at the grain elevators with her minions. Griffin went with her, while Creigh and I made our way to the elevators and the train spur.
The glow of lanterns painted the scene in ruddy red, and the train’s headlight cast its beam down the spur toward the main line. The scents of hot iron and burning coal filled the air, mingled with dust and tons of corn. The whistle screamed again, making me jump.
Dozens of people milled around the train and elevators. Most of the town must have been involved in bringing in the final bits of harvest and then filling the boxcars. In addition, a large group of cinereous lurked along the track, clearly keeping watch.
Blast.
“We should set the grain elevators on fire,” Creigh suggested. The two of us crouched in the shadow of the freight office. “They’re probably full of grain dust right now. Apply the right spark, and they’ll go up as if they were filled with dynamite.”
“No,” I said. I could see smaller figures moving in the lantern light, though I couldn’t make out their faces at a distance. “There are children amongst the elevators. Innocents. If we set off a grain dust explosion, we’ll kill them along with the cinereous.” Not to mention Iskander. I hadn’t seen him yet, but he must be here somewhere.
Creigh let out an impatient hiss of disgust. “This is precisely why you’ll lose to the masters. You’re not willing to make the necessary sacrifices.”
We didn’t have time to argue. “I need to get to the front of the train,” I murmured. “If we can sabotage the engine, we can insure all the grain stays here in Fallow. Then we can worry about destroying it.”
A jumble of carts and wagons stood all around the elevators and train spur. Presumably they’d brought the last of the corrupted harvest to the elevators, then been abandoned. We slipped from shadow to shadow, careful to keep the wagons between us and the light. Trembling horses and mules stood between the traces of some, their eyes showing white. Other wagons appeared to have been dragged here using manpower alone.
The door on the final boxcar slammed shut. “All aboard!” Vernon called.
All but holding my breath, I crouched down and peered beneath the wagon we currently hid behind. The gravel of the rail bed crunched as Vernon made his way to the caboose. A bandage swathed his head, concealing the wound Creigh had dealt him in the field. “Next stop: Widdershins.”
“I can’t wait,” Marian said, stepping around from the far side of the train and into view.
My knees turned to water at the sight of her. Creigh’s spell must have somehow kept the corruption in check, because in less than a day it had transformed her utterly. But not into a gray-skinned horror, but something else. Something almost as beautiful as it was revolting.
The nubs on her forehead had sprouted, turning into fungal spikes reminiscent of the horns of a stag. Her skin had taken on a sickly white smoothness. A sort of lacy, veil-like growth fell delicately from her forehead, over her eyes, then fused again with her cheeks. Her clothing was replaced with layers of growth reminiscent of bracket mushrooms, encircling her as stiff as the skirts of half a century past. Clusters of growths like fat tentacles erupted from each shoulder in some parody of wings, their orange color shocking against the whiteness of her rubbery flesh.
There came the crack of a rifle, and Marian’s head burst apart.
Chapter 34
Griffin
Christine and I stole two more horses from the livery stable, tying them up on the far side of the building whose roof she’d chosen as a perch. Few structures in Fallow were more than a story tall, and we were able to scramble onto the tin roof with the help of a convenient telegraph pole.
The darkness of the night meant we’d likely go unseen—but it also meant we dared use no light ourselves, without giving away our location. We crawled on our bellies across the roof, until we could peer over the edge and see the railroad spur and train.
“Will this do?” I whispered to Christine.
“It will have to.” She settled in, sighting through her rifle, her finger resting just behind the trigger. “Now where is Marian?”
I squinted at the figures of the cinereous lined watchfully along the track. Whyborne would somehow have to get past them to reach the train. “Do you see Iskander anywhere?”
“No. Nor Marian.”
Vernon appeared, walking up the track toward the caboose. Even at this distance, I could make out the triumphant grin on his face.
“Should I try for Vernon?” Christine asked. “That would draw Marian out, I’m guessing.”
I half wanted to say yes. But if she fired now, she’d give away our position. If she didn’t get a clear shot at Marian before the cinereous found us, we’d be in desperate trouble. “No,” I said. “Wait for Marian. She’s too much of a threat to waste what might be our only chance.”
We didn’t wait long.
The sight of the horror Marian had become turned my stomach. Christine cursed softly in Arabic—then fired.
The bullet punched directly through Marian’s head, scattering chunks of something spongey and curiously homogenous, like the interior of a mushroom. She staggered from the impact.
But she didn’t fall.
“Marian!” cried Vernon, and started to run to her. Then stopped when she raised a hand.
Marian straightened slowly. The hole in the side of her head where the bullet had entered sealed, and the rest began to grow back at a frightening rate.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Christine said, lowering the rifle. “I hope we have another plan.”
Marian’s antler-crowned head swiveled in our direction. “Destroy them,” she ordered. Then she turned back to Vernon. “Get on the train. It’s time to go to our new home.”
Even as she spoke, the train let out a blast of steam and began to grind into motion. Marian strode toward the front of the train, while Vernon climbed onto the caboose.
And the cinereous began to move en masse in our direction.
Chapter 35
Whyborne
“Oh, of all the damnable luck,” Creigh said.
I stared in horror at the white chunks lying on the ground, which had been a part of Marian’s head. She’d healed so quickly—and she hadn’t even fallen when the bullet spread her head everywhere.
How in the world were we to kill her?
The train lurched into motion. Smoke belched from the stack, and the whistle howled into the night.
The cinereous were moving now, with purpose. The lantern light gleamed off the slick, sickly gray of their skins. The stench of mildew now fought with the stink of the train. They’d be on us at any moment, and our flimsy hiding spot would be discovered.
Everything was going wrong. I was nowhere near the head of the train, and though it was moving slowly now, it would soon overcome the inertia of tons of corn and reach a speed I couldn’t hope to match.
“We need to get to the train!” I said. “Before it leaves us behind!”
“If we’d set fire to the elevators as I suggested,” Creigh began.
“No,” I said. “Not fire. Ice. Can you cast a spell in tandem with me?”
She looked startled—then nodded. “Yes.”
I rose to my feet and stepped out from behind the cart. The nearest of the cinereous immediately shifted their attention to me.
Good.
Creigh followed me. “Now,” she said, and began to chant.
I didn’t take her hand, as I had Persephone’s when we’d cast a spell together. But I joined my voice to Creigh’s. Even though I didn’t need to speak the Aklo words, I hoped doing so would more completely blend our power.
I felt the world stir. The temperature around us plummeted, and frost began to spread over the ground. My body hummed like a tuning fork, my voice modulating and harmonizing with Creigh’s.
The fingers of the cinereous brushed against me, just as our chant reached its crescendo.
Cold snapped out from us, and the cinereous froze in place. Quite literally.
Creigh slumped, gasping—the spell had taken a great deal from her, it seemed. But then she laughed, reached out, and snapped off the crumbling hand of the nearest cinereous. “Well done, Dr. Whyborne.”
The train whistle screamed.
Her eyes widened. “Go!” she barked. The few remaining cinereous were coming up on us now, and she turned to face them. “I’ll hold them off. Get on the train. If Marian reaches Widdershins and feeds on the vortex, we’re all doomed.”
I broke and ran for the train, even as the last of the cinereous descended on her. The train rapidly picked up speed, so I put my head down and raced alongside as fast as I could. Boxcars rolled past, faster and faster, and I caught a glimpse of the caboose coming up behind me. Within moments, it would be alongside, and I’d either miss the train altogether or find myself fighting Vernon.
I leapt for the rungs welded to the side of the last boxcar.
One hand closed securely on the iron rung—but the fingers of the other slipped, and neither foot found purchase. For a terrifying moment, I swung free. The rail ties flashed past beneath my dangling feet. The iron wheels would surely crush me if I fell beneath them.
Then my scrabbling fingers found purchase, taking some of the strain from my shoulder. A moment later, my feet rested on the lowest rung. I clung to the side of the boxcar, my face pressed against the metal, my lungs gasping for breath.
I couldn’t waste time. I needed to move, before someone realized I’d boarded the train.
Once my limbs had stopped trembling too badly, I pulled myself up the ladder to the roof of the boxcar. The wind caught my hair and screamed past my ears. Swallowing hard, I scrambled across the roof and stared at the gap to the next car.
Then I lifted my gaze. There were a great many cars between me and the engine.
I looked back at the gap. It wasn’t that big, surely. Men working on the trains made the jump with ease all the time.
Gathering the rags of my courage, I backed up a few steps, then dashed forward and leapt.
Chapter 36
Griffin
Christine and I scrambled off the roof and to the ground. The horses we’d stolen from the livery stable were already tossing their heads and blowing at the smell of rot on the dry wind. We mounted with difficulty, and I firmed my hold on the reins. Hopefully the skills I’d honed while chasing down train robbers in the west were still with me.
Our horses began to balk even before we came in sight of the corrupted. I tightened my grip with my knees, and urged my mount forward. In one hand I held the reins, and in the other the revolver I’d taken from the general store.
Then we came around the side of the depot, and I gaped at what I saw. A great patch of frost coated the ground in a circle around Creigh. Some of the cinereous stood, literally frozen, their damaged bodies crumbling and flaking as they began to thaw.
But others made their way toward her still. I fired, but the bullet only slammed into the shoulder of one. My second shot took it through the head, and it fell.
Then my horse let out a whinny of fear, half-rearing in its desperation to get away from them. I tightened my grip on the reins. “Where is Whyborne?” I shouted.
“On the train!” Creigh said. “Go! While you can still catch up! I’ll hold them off.”
Christine tossed her pistol to Creigh, who caught it with a nod. We wheeled our horses, circling around the cinereous, before giving the frightened beasts their head. As they plunged up the track, I heard shots ring out behind us.
I leaned in close to my steed’s mane as we pounded alongside the rails, the train picking up speed even as we did. The lights of the caboose drew slowly nearer, but it wouldn’t be long before the train outpaced the horses.
I urged my mount faster. It put on a final burst of speed, bringing me even with the caboose. I grabbed the rail, said a prayer, and swung from horse to platform.
The door opened, and Vernon stepped out, an ax in his hand.
I ducked, and the blade of the ax bit into the railing inches from me. As he lifted it again, I brought my knee up, but my aim was off and I made contact with his thigh instead of his crotch. Even so, he grunted and staggered slightly.
A bullet from Christine’s rifle buried itself in the side of the caboose. Vernon jumped, and I took the opportunity to slam my fist into his stomach. As he doubled over, I seized hold of the haft of the ax, just above where he held it. We struggled for possession—then he lurched suddenly forward, shoving the ax and himself at me.
My back struck the railing, and only my grip on the ax kept me from toppling over and onto the tracks. Vernon grinned and pinned me against it, the ax handle pressing against my neck now.
“You should have stayed in Widdershins,” he growled. The rail dug into my back, and the muscles of my arms shook as I strove to keep the handle from my windpipe. “No—you should’ve stayed in New York, died there with your real family, and left us decent folk alone.”
Christine swung onto the platform and kicked Vernon in the knee.
He staggered to the side, and I surged forward, off the rail. Letting go of the ax, I drew my revolver. “Vernon, stop, or—”
He raise
d the ax, prefatory to splitting my head like a block of wood.
I fired.
The ax fell from his hands onto the platform. For a moment, he stared at me aghast. Then he collapsed slowly backward, over the side of the platform. I looked back and glimpsed his motionless body lying on the tracks, before the train left him behind.
“Good riddance,” Christine said.
I put away my revolver and picked up the ax. “We have to get to the front of the train,” I said. “That’s where Marian will be.”
Christine nodded. I tucked the ax through my belt, grasped the ladder leading to the roof of the caboose, and began to climb.
Chapter 37
Whyborne
I was doing surprisingly well at leaping from one car to the next, in that I’d cleared half the train and not yet fallen to my death.
The train hurtled into the night, moving far faster than the eighteen miles per hour freight locomotives were supposed to restrict themselves to. Then again, even human engineers tended to ignore the limit; I shouldn’t have been surprised Marian chose to do so as well.
The wind tore at my hair as I crossed yet another boxcar. When I reached the gap, I paused, crouching at the edge. I couldn’t let myself think about how fast we were moving, or what would happen if I misjudged and fell between the cars. I just had to keep going.
I pulled my hand back, and a knife slammed into the metal precisely where my fingers had rested only seconds before.
I scrambled wildly back, heart pounding. A dark head emerged from between the cars as a figure climbed the ladder.
Iskander.
“No, stop!” I said—stupidly, because he couldn’t even if he had wished to.
He made no reply, only drew his other knife as well. Their blades flashed in the night as he approached.
I laid frost on the knives, hoping to force him to drop them. The blades went white, but he only shifted his grip slightly, as if to get a more secure hold.
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