Sombre

  Halliday sighed, “this will be a challenge, Wilder.”

  There was a heavy metal shake and rumbling of tracks and Halliday gave way to two rumbling tanks approaching on the road from behind. An open topped jeep followed and swerved to miss her. One of its two occupants shouted at her, his voice young, full of hopped up inexperience. “Get outta’ the way, you stupid dame!”

  She retaliated. “Barbarian! Mind your manners, soldier! You rude little prig!” The serviceman turned and leered at her as they overtook the tanks and continued into the city. She shook her head and addressed her mare. “I’m not hugely opposed to slander as a rule, Wilder. But I will not be called a ‘dame’. Such terms are unbefitting and unnecessary!” Wilder went into a jaunty trot, heels high - she understood - and agreed. Left hand on the rein, Halliday’s right held the Remington ready at her hip. Smoke filled her nostrils as they entered Battallion’s main city dwelling. The random fallout of war was everywhere. Grimacing mothers with tear-soaked faces ran with children in hand, scampering for cover. A lost dog whimpered, a black Mastiff, on the loose from its home, tip-toeing in indecision. Fallen civilians and soldiers were being rushed away on stretchers.

  Strangely, a dozen well-dressed servicewomen, Beating Clock’s gleaming, hair perfectly coiffed, marched through the town singing a stirring rendition of the Andrew Sisters anthem, ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.’ Saluting the action with smiling, lipstick smacked mouths, voices smooth and jazz-filled;

  ‘He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

  He had a boogie style that no one else could play

  He was the top man at his craft

  But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

  He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille

  He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!’

  The group of women continued through the street, seemingly untouchable.

  “Woe Wilder!” Halliday shouted as she spotted a slew of aerial bombs fall and a building capitulate in fresh explosion; slabs of concrete rubble falling, dust and smoke blanketing the area. Rounds of gunfire flashed and echoed through the streets. There were shouts from soldiers from opposing sides, and subsequent screams of anguish as direct hits claimed more victims.

  Halliday pulled Wilder to relative shelter; a laneway between the walls of a barbershop and a cinema. “This place is quite volatile, Wilder. Not my wisest decision,” she said jumping from the saddle. Her boots splashed into the lane’s guttering.

  “Rightly or wrongly, we are here now. I shall guard us with my gun until we spot Lucretia.” She patted Wilder on her steam-soaked nose. “We’ll be out of here soon my mare.”

  Squatting, back against the wall, she peered around the corner of the cinema to her left. Another wave of action was elevating as tanks rolled through the street blasting holes through the facades of every building. A burning bomber fell from above, spiraling down like a drunken phoenix. It landed heavily in the centre of the street in an impressive display of combustion.

  “BACK WILDER!” A grenade rolled in front of Halliday and she threw herself backward. The blast lifted her high in the air, she somersaulted further down the laneway. Landing hard on her front, she heard her clockface crack. The dust cleared; she opened her eyes.

  “My god, this place is all sorts of painful!” she said and spat grime from her lips. The grenade had blown a large chunk from the wall she had just been using as a shield.

  Her legs didn’t feel right.

  She felt a moment of panic. Had they been blown off?

  “No, no, no!” Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she looked down. They were there, just numb. Blowing out a massive breath of panicky air, she put her gun down and tried rubbing some feeling back into them. Wilder’s snout was suddenly nuzzling her neck “You’re a clever thing, my mare. Are you scathed?” Halliday turned on her backside and faced the machanihorse. “You are!” Wilder’s Beating Clock-face glass had been cracked, as had her oil pressure, water and steam gauging windows. She was wet and greasy between her shoulders. Halliday shook her head, “You’re leaking a little. This needs to be over, so I can get you back to the Office’. My transportation needs repair.”

  Wilder flinched and whinnied.

  “What? Do not be offended. That is a wasted emotion for you, Wilder. You are my bleeding, leaking transport!”

  At her back, Halliday heard a revving motor. It filled the lane.

  “Oh, I see … that was for Lucretia.”

  A hot tyre was suddenly pressing into her back.

  Lucretia St Aimes revved her motor again and then killed it. Halliday twisted round and craned her neck, she peered up past the heavy front suspension and the illuminated head lamp of the cycle. Raven black hair hanging like rope, Lucretia leered down at her. Halliday gasped. The woman’s face was monstrous! Not unlike her own Morphia! Wild red eyes were set deeply into her skull, spidery veins covered her cheeks, her mouth was open, an animal-like scowl, baring broken teeth. She spoke gutturally,

  “What are you doing in Battallion, Halliday Knight? Don’t give me any bullshit about Sombre giving you a mission here, either!”

  Feeling having returned in her legs, Halliday stood up. She pointed accusingly, “You! You have your own Morphia!” She furrowed her brow. “How is it you’re not ripping me apart now?”

  The beastly woman’s crooked smile said it all.

  Halliday had a lot to learn about the Death-Witch, Lucretia St Aimes.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Death-Witch, The Hell-Flyer

  Two Gatherer’s, one machanihorse, one motorbike (with headless Nightmarer tied to back seat), stood in the lane of Battallion as the nightmare town’s endless war continued on around them.

  “You haven’t answered my question, Halliday. What are you doing here?” Lucretia let her features slide back to her usual dark beauty.

  Halliday got to her feet and dusted off her backside. She blew her fringe out of her face. “I have sought you out. I need to speak with you about this Ether person. You piqued my interest for once, Lucretia.”

  “And you’d risk another stroke for that?”

  “As it turns out, I would.” Halliday folded her arms. Lifting each leg up and down gingerly, she shook her feet and grimaced. “Now, if you could please tell me how you control your Morphia like that? And why you have one at all? That would be nice of you.”

  Lucretia’s face darkened. “You really think you can encroach on my mission and throw demands in my face, Halliday? I know you think Sombre’s sun rises and sets at your bootheels, woman, but you can pretty well piss off! I don’t have to tell you a thing!” She smiled and raised her eyebrows.

  Halliday despised the smugness. The woman loved this! Why had she expected anything different?

  Lucretia eyed Wilder. “Your skittish companion seems to be leaking. You might want to get her to The Menders, can’t have her insides drying out. I’d imagine that would cost her a stroke.” Lucretia went to kickstart her cycle. Halliday grabbed the handlebar. “You can’t just leave, Lucretia. We really need to talk.”

  Lucretia pushed Halliday’s hand away. “Actually, we really don’t. I need to get headless Jim here back to The Office.”

  “Jim can wait!” Halliday said shrilly. She was on the backfoot, this was all about to become a complete waste of time. She had to go somewhere she didn’t want to go with this damnable woman – there would be pleading involved. “Please Lucretia, please give me ten minutes of your time. I need to know who Ether is!”

  Lucretia gave her a hard laugh, “Why should I give you anything, Halliday? I know what you and the other Gatherer’s think of me.” She struck the kickstand and parked the bike.

  “We all speak to you. I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Puh! Rubbish, woman! You’re lying to me and yourself!” As if it were a mere after thought, Lucretia pulled a heavy revolver from a side-sack at the bikes saddle. She turned just as a half dozen soldiers rounded the co
rner of the lane.

  Instinctively, Halliday readied her Remington.

  “A dame! Two of them!” A very youthful looking soldier boy stared wide eyed, mouth agape, as his helmeted compatriots fell in behind. He wore his silver rimmed Beating Clock under his service coat, Halliday noticed his strokes were at nine.

  “Corrr! Ebony and ivory, boys,” said another slightly older one with a confident grin. “Sight for sore eyes. Wildcats too, by the look of em!”

  Halliday’s blood boiled, she couldn’t help herself, “I am no dame, you stupid man!” Before she could say more Lucretia unloaded and shot the soldier in the middle of the forehead, splitting the skull wide.

  “Jumpin’ Jesus, boys! She shot Davey!”

  “Lieutenant! What do we do? This isn’t the enemy is it?” Heavy Garand rifles were raised as the men spread out across the lane. “BACK DOWN! DROP YOUR WEAPONS!”

  Halliday opened fire, with an incredibly controlled and focused Lucretia St Aimes. The soldiers were dead in an instant.

  Lucretia lowered her revolver and smiled to herself. “Beauty is such a weapon, Halliday. Did you know that?” She returned to her motorcycle and swung a leg over. “I suggest you get out of here, Battallion isn’t good for anyone.” She kicked life into the motor, revving hard.

  Halliday wouldn’t let her go. With her arms out wide, she stood over the front wheel of the bike. “Meet me at the top of the hill, at the entry, where it’s safe! Please, Lucretia! Just ten minutes!”

  She gave Halliday the hardest of stares and then a nod. She backed her bike around the dead soldiers. The Death Witch was giving her a chance.

  Halliday ran for Wilder.

  S

  “This won’t take long, girl,” Halliday spoke to a trotting Wilder as she stood in the stirrups. Remington in hand, she covered them both through the smoky Battallion street. She watched the skies, as directly above, planes circled the city, ready to drop bombs with about as much thought as a flock of gulls clearing their colon’s. Battallion was dangerous, but a rather senseless place, Halliday surmised. Then again, a lot of Sombre was.

  At the top of the hill, Lucretia waited. Halliday knew she wouldn’t wait long. She eased her mare around two more passing jeeps. There was a hissing sound and wet steam on her mare’s neck. “You’re not well, Wilder, are you? I’ll be as quick as I can, this has to be I’m afraid.”

  “Quickly now, Halliday Knight! I want out of here,” Lucretia called out as they approached, “I notice your mare looks ready for the butchery.” The woman’s smile was needlessly savage.

  “She’ll be fine,” Halliday said and jumped from the saddle. Wilder didn’t move from her side, she nuzzled into her owner’s neck. Halliday felt around Wilder’s leaking nostrils, she was losing a lot of fluid. “She has a decent tank.”

  “One that is in dire need of a fix and replenish!” an Other-Self piped up in her head.

  “She’d rather talk to this awful wretch than tend to her mare! Stupid Hope’s Halliday!” said another.

  “Shut up all of you!” Halliday clenched her fists.

  Lucretia looked sideways and sat up straight on the bike. “Who’re you talking to, woman?”

  “My bleeding Other-selves!” she admitted. “Do you have those as well?”

  “What? You have voices in your head? Oh! Ha-Ha! No! Oh, for all that’s wrong in Sombre! That’s rich that is! Halliday Knight rides a scared horsey and has a head full of naysayers!” The Death-Witch held her chest and laughed until she coughed.

  “Are you finished? I’m sorry I told you, you devil’s hex!” Halliday said screwing her face up. “Let’s get this over with. Firstly, how do you control your Morphia like that?”

  Lucretia smiled smugly, she gathered her long locks, pulling them round to her back. “I’m resourceful Halliday. I use everything I own to do my job. My will is strong, stronger than my Morphia … you have no idea how strong.”

  “So, there is no trick to it?”

  “No. It’s not a trick,” she rolled her eyes. “You need strength. You have to be stronger than your monster. It makes you the ultimate.”

  “Oh,” Halliday said wondering straight away why she couldn’t do this. She could feel Wilder moaning gently. She thought she had better get to the point.

  “Who is this Ether? How do you know of him?”

  “He’s an ‘it’, and ‘it’s’ not from Sombre. And ‘it’s’ bad news for us all,” Lucretia’s expression changed, her mouth tightened. “Well, accept for me. I’ve been chosen as a point of contact.”

  “Why you?”

  “It sees me as it should. Superior. An autonomous warrior-type.”

  Halliday watched the woman’s black lips speaking the words; then the woman’s eyes believing nothing of what she herself was saying. Were her dark blue peepers even darker than just a moment ago. Halliday felt a twinge of pity.

  Was Lucretia worth this type of emotion? She didn’t think so. She cleared her throat, “How is it I could only feel this Ether, not see it? It was like ice!”

  “It was observing you, obviously. I have a good feeling that every Gatherer will cross its path. When they do, they might know it, they might not as well.” Lucretia went about retightening the ropes around the torso of her headless Nightmarer. She obviously wanted to leave.

  “Where’s the fellow’s head?” Halliday queried.

  “I have a flat pack of mush in a satchel. A tank ran it over. You don’t need to see it.”

  Just as Lucretia went to kickstart her machine, Halliday tried for one more question. “Where does it come from?”

  “The Isolate, Halliday. It comes from The Isolate. It’s cold there.” Raising her eyebrows, she smiled smugly and kicked the motor over. With a rev, she turned and pulled away.

  Halliday watched the Death-Witch, slip into The Funneling, black hair flying. It was over.

  She turned and faced Wilder with her hands on her hips. The mare’s whole front was now soaked with her leaking fuels.

  “Well, my dripping, oily companion, I need to get you-”

  ‘I’m coming down hard, Commander Acker! CRASH AND BURN BABY! This Woeful dove has a death wish! I’m riding her home! Tonevereturn!”

  Halliday shook her head, “Oh, good lord, not now, Em, you pathetic wretch!” She turned on her heel and peered up. The junker was spinning madly, with one wing left intact, black smoke patterning the sky - it’s deluded occupant taking the ride to the ground. She looked to her ailing Wilder, who snorted and nodded her head. “We have to. I’m sorry, my nag. Damn this dopey woman!” Halliday boarded Wilder and the mare set off toward the centre of Battallion in a lethargic trot, steam puffing from her joints.

  ‘Ka-Ching! I’ve touched down with a cerrrrunchhhhhhhh! Eerrrrrrr…!’

  “Oh, for all the stupidity in Sombre, Wilder! What a bane this Em Contusion is!”

  Halliday and Wilder entered the main street to a rampant battle royal – a fresh new wave of soldiers shouted commands in a European tongue. The grey coated fought the tan coated, their gun fire deafening. Hunched soldiers ran from one building to another, covering fire echoed through the area. Three tiger striped Panzer tanks blew random holes in one multi-storied establishment in an effort to topple the structure and create a barrier between the two warring factions.

  It was foolhardy, she knew it, yet how could she avoid it? This was her cross to bear.

  “I’m coming Em, hold on!” Halliday shut her eyes as Wilder galloped through a hail of gunfire. Em Contusion’s burning bomber had dumped nose first into the cabin of an army jeep. She was alone. “They allowed you a solo flight, Em?!”

  Exasperated, Halliday looked skyward. The wreckage sat in the shadows of the very building the tanks were trying to topple. Every shot was finding good purchase – it didn’t look like she would have long.

  “Find some cover, Wilder!” she bellowed leaping from the saddle.

  “Ughhh!” a stray bullet lodged in her shoulder. Biting her bottom lip, s
he caught her breath as she peered through the cracked cockpit cover. She could see Em’s shocked, ghastly face. Her neck was not on a good angle. “Broken neck … Hamish can fix that right up, Em.”

  Flames licked the one good wing, her only avenue up to the cockpit. With one eye on the capitulating building above, Halliday braved the blaze, and boosted herself up by the wing.

  “No! You blasted thing!” Fire caught the hem of her dress, she slapped at it. The heat was ferocious - she would burn up fast. With fumbling hands, she pulled at the cover and it broke open. Reaching in she snapped the clips on the safety harness and freed Em from the belts. She pulled at Em from under her arms. Her dress caught alight again as she attempted to wrench the Hell-Flyer from her seat.

  “Damn it all to hell, Em!” she cried slapping away at the flames. There was an obstruction. Em’s scrawny knees were caught under the throttle. “Wonderful! How the bleeding hell am I going to-!” Halliday was about to burn up, she had to do something – fast.

  “Break her legs! Use your weight, Hope’s Halliday! Stomp on them!” an Other-self piped up.

  Gasping with exertion, feet boiling in her leather boots, Halliday grabbed hold of the aerial mast and swung her herself into the cockpit. She jumped up and down on Em’s knees until she felt them crack.

  “You’re a broken bugger now, Em! Sorry!”

  Coughing, Halliday swung herself back out, and pulled Colonel Em Contusion free from the remnants of her abysmal solo flight. Overbalancing on the wing, both women fell awkwardly from the wreckage and hit the ground. Halliday rolled free from Em, slapping at what was left of her charred dress. Lying on her back, Halliday watched as a bout of concrete rained down from above. The panzer tanks had just about done what they had set out to do - demolish the core. The structural integrity of the building was breaking.

  “Wilder! Here, nag! ‘Hack!’ ‘Hack!’ ‘Hack!’

  Halliday rolled over and got to her feet. Wilder trotted up and nudged her head with her snout. “Get down will you, girl. I haven’t the energy to climb you.” Halliday lifted Em up by the collar as Wilder folded her piston driven knee joints down – hydraulics wonky and tired. The machanihorse was on her stomach. Halliday flopped a very deceased Em over the front of the saddle and then got on herself.