On the count of three, Kate and Jacob stood and both fired one shot towards the doorway. Kate saw hers hit a stanchion to the right and then a small explosion just above it. Without exchanging a further glance, they went their separate ways.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Amos had counted down and managed to fall to the floor moments before the pistol exploded. The detonation had set several wooden crates on fire and thrown Reynolds head first into a metal stairwell, knocking him unconscious. Amos picked himself up and walked over to the prone figure of Reynolds. He knelt down and rolled him over, noticing the tattoo of a wasp on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger of his right hand, before relieving him of his gun and brass identification plaque.
Amos was well aware that despite the earlier explosions and the confusion they had caused that his present location would soon be overrun with guards. He swapped his own plaque for Reynolds before tucking the stolen revolver into the waistband of his trousers. He ran up the metal steps of the stairwell looking down onto the hangar floor. He surveyed a scene of carnage. Fires were raging where the pistols had overloaded and the guards were struggling to cope.
He watched as another crew raced towards the newest fire, before he decided to run along the walkway high in the roof space towards the airship. Once directly above he saw the Nydrolium gas canisters being loaded into a freight compartment. They were obviously going to complete the filling of the nacelles somewhere else
Amos contemplated his next move. He had no electric pistols left and had nothing else he could drop onto the airship causing further delay. He could start shooting but only had a pocket full of shells. They wouldn’t last long against all of these guards and would be of little use against the airships Gatling guns. Amos decided he only had one option. Leave, and hope he had bought Miss Jennings enough time.
He followed the walkway to the side of the hanger which was next to the river. Security would undoubtedly be tight, but the only person who knew what he looked like was unconscious and several hundred yards away. Amos also had his identification plaque.
He ran down a long flight of steps to be confronted by another security automaton. The machine casually scanned him, oblivious to the chaos surrounding it, before moving away satisfied it had done its job. Amos strode through the door which took him onto the quayside. He approached one guard and shouted, “Get inside and help with fire control.”
The guard started running and Amos turned to the few remaining men on the quayside and the waiting steamer, “Everyone else too. Get those fires under control.
” The men stopped whatever they were doing and followed the instructions, some a little too slowly for Amos’s liking. As they ran past, Amos grabbed one by the shoulder, making sure he was seen by enough of the guards, “Not you. We’ll stay here and make sure nothing happens to this boat. Get back on board and make sure it’s ready to move if necessary.”
Amos watched the man run up the gangway before checking the quayside for other crew or guards. Most of them had gone inside the main hangar leaving the small steamer unattended. Amos casually strolled aboard and made his way to the bridge where he found two men. The captain was easily dealt with, Amos landing the butt of his revolver on the back of his head. The first mate was a different proposition and had no intention of going down without a fight.
As the captain fell to the floor Amos saw from the corner of his eye the first mate reaching for the holster next to his hip. Amos had the advantage of already having his revolver in his hand. He pointed straight at the first mate’s head and pulled back the hammer. The first mate hesitated for a second before making a grab for his weapon. Amos pulled the trigger without a moment’s hesitation and the shot knocked the first mate off his feet and into the wooden wall of the bridge.
An unexpected noise made Amos turn. It was the man Amos had ordered back onto the ship. He was staring speechlessly at the body of the first mate.
“How many people are in the boiler room?” demanded Amos.
“N…None,” stammered the man. “It’s fully automated.”
“Good,” said Amos pulling the revolver’s hammer back again and pointing at the terrified man. Amos looked closely at him. He saw the man was in fact a boy, probably no older than the boy soldier who had been riddled with bullets by the airship in the hangar behind him. Amos waved the gun motioning for the boy to go onto the deck. When he had reached a metal rail on the boat’s port gunwale Amos pointed the gun straight at his face.
“Jump,” said Amos, “and swim away.”
The boy practically fell over the rail and Amos heard a reassuring splash. He leaned over the rail and watched as the boy swam to the far bank of the river. Satisfied he was alone on the vessel, Amos jumped back onto the quay and removed the mooring line before re-boarding and heading for the Thames.
The small steamer had only been under way for a couple of minutes before Amos saw the airship taking off. He momentarily considered joining the boy in the river as he realised the airship was facing him, but with a dexterity that belied its size the airship turned and headed north.
His relief was short lived.
As he watched the airship disappear, Amos noticed several specks launching into the air from the hangar. The specks grew larger until Amos realised they were guards wearing jet packs. Realising his revolver wouldn’t have enough range, Amos looked around for anything else he could use. There was nothing. He searched the two men in the cabin, but again found nothing useful.
Amos reached for a pair of binoculars and looked back towards the hanger before noticing the guards were only a couple of hundred yards away. He went onto the stern of the steamer, took aim with his revolver and pulled the trigger. He missed. They were too far away and by the time they were in range it would be too late, there were too many of them.
He ran back into the bridge, desperately looking for something he could use. His eyes skimmed across the controls either side of the ship’s wheel when he noticed something unusual, a brass lever to the far right of the control panel. Amos could account for everything else in front of him, but this lever was isolated, distanced from the rest almost as though its use was forbidden.
Amos pulled the lever down as far as it would go. A noise behind him made him reach for his gun until he realised the floor in the middle of the stern was sliding open. A rectangle appeared with two halves of steel flooring retreating from each other. It was only then that Amos realised the whole boat was made of metal and not wood. He watched in amazement as a black leather chair at one end of a large steam powered Gatling gun rose from below the deck.
Amos sat in the chair and smiled as the copper hoses angrily hissed as they filled with steam. He placed his feet on the steering pedals and pressed them in turn. The turret the gun was mounted on turned to the left and then the right. He looked at the side of the gun to see a chain of bullets hanging down to a full ammunition box under the seat. Amos smiled again before taking aim and firing.
The large calibre bullets ripped through the first guard and into the jet pack behind him. The chemicals from the ruptured cylinders mixed turning the metal frame white hot. Amos shielded his eyes as the remnants dropped messily out of the sky. The Gatling gun hissed as it started to turn and Amos took aim again. The second guard twisted in mid-air but he wasn’t quick enough. A hail of shells tore through his side, missing the jet pack completely. The body slumped forward and the pack jerked uncontrollably towards the river bank.
Amos ignored the inevitable outcome and looked back towards the sky. The remaining guards were splitting up and going round either side of the steamer. A bullet ricocheted off the back off the leather seat. Everything was reinforced with steel thought Amos as he turned gun to the left and began firing
The nearest jet pack plummeted to the ground as another bullet shattered the glass of the bridge just behind him. Several more shots hit the deck and Amos realised that however powerful the gun may be there were too many targets to aim at. It was only a
matter of time before he was overrun. Another shot, this time ricocheting off the barrel of the Gatlin gun. Amos slammed his foot down hard and the gun turned to the left. It was too slow. By the time he had turned the gun around his target had already moved.
He turned the gun back to the right to see the rest of the attacking aeronauts had pulled back and stopped their attack. Amos didn’t have to wait long to find out why. The steamer juddered as it hit the muddy river bank on its starboard side. Amos almost slid off the leather chair, saving himself only by grabbing the handles of the Gatling gun before he landed on the deck.
He looked to the sky to see his attackers moving towards the steamer and again splitting into two groups, moving either side of the small boat. Amos jumped from the seat and ran back to the bridge before they were in range. He turned the wheel as hard as he could and pushed the throttle lever fully forward.
Shots started to rain down on the bridge as the steamer started to move forward once again. Amos steered around the next bend, constantly on the look-out for more attacks. They were slow in coming. They must realise the cabin is reinforced with steel, he thought. That means they know they have to get low to attack through the window of the bridge. The thought had just entered his mind when one of the aeronauts landed on the bow. Amos aimed his revolver through an open side window and pulled the trigger. The man was propelled back and over the low rail.
More shots peppered the roof of the bridge. Amos managed to fire a couple of shots to dissuade one of the men from landing, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it became an impossible task. He considered jumping into the river, but quickly dismissed the idea. It had worked before, but the crew of the airship that attacked him on the Charles River had only been interested in getting his cargo and leaving as quickly as they could. This was different. Here they were looking for him, there were no distractions, and they weren’t looking to take prisoners. Amos was under no illusion that they had orders to kill him.
Amos was trying to think of options other than jumping into the river when he heard a loud splash off the port bow. He ran to the front of the steamer in time to see a man in a jet pack slowly sinking into the river, desperately trying to get the bulky pack off his back. Amos watched as the man disappeared into the cold, murky water and realised he had run out of fuel, just as he had a couple of days ago, landing in this very same river.
He looked round to see half the remaining aeronauts were already descending at various speeds. The rest were holding back, seemingly uncertain of the reasons why the attack had suddenly stopped.
Amos turned the ship’s wheel again to take the next bend in the river. As the steamer followed the path of the river Amos looked above the trees lining both sides of the river and saw the reason some aeronauts were holding back. A huge Royal Aerial Fleet airship was skimming the top of the trees and heading towards the burning factory. Amos saw the ship’s name, ‘H.M.A. VALIANT’ proudly displayed on the side of the gondola.
For a brief moment panic cursed through his body as three steam-powered guns began to move and aim at his steamer. They fired and his blood ran cold until he realised several of the jet packs had been cut out of the sky with a surgical precision he could only marvel at.
“They must think an innocent steamer is being attacked,” he said after remembering to breathe again.
Amos smiled to himself and hoped that his recue was down to Miss Jennings and her safe delivery to a police station rather than blind luck of the arrival of one Her Majesty’s airships.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Finch had not been surprised when two shots had been fired. Most of the people in the local pubs were in his paymasters employ. Showing a photograph of Doctor Jacob McKinley to a young boy and paying him a few coins to watch out for him and hot-foot it over to his house with the information was straightforward. Finch didn’t live far away and he was at the yard well before Jacob.
What did surprise him was that one of the shots was an explosive shell. He jumped back into the relative safety of the hut and considered his options. They would undoubtedly split up; one keeping his attention, the other would try to rescue the girl. He only needed to keep one of them busy. Looking down at the smouldering remains of the husks, Finch saw his way out. He grabbed a dimly burning oil lamp from the nearby table and unscrewed the filler cap on the base. He then edged warily out of the hut to the stanchion nearest the door. Finch’s eyes darted around the yard before he turned and poured the oil from the lamp onto the wooden door and then smashed the lamp against the drenched wood. It only took a couple of seconds before the flames had taken hold. Finch grabbed his cane and moved to a small clearing at the side of the hut.
Jacob had managed to scramble around the makeshift wall and was about to look over the top when he heard a voice shouting to him.
“How was your journey, Doctor? Not entirely uneventful I understand.”
Jacob resisted the urge to climb to the top of the pile and look over. If Finch was talking to him he wasn’t going after Kate.
“I heard you and your lady friend were coming,” said Finch, “we have eyes everywhere. Including your house which has been watched for a couple of days now.”
Jacob’s blood ran cold. He had never even thought his house would have been under surveillance. But as the crimes included kidnap and murder, he thought, perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised.
“We sent a group of men, Levellers I think most people call them, to stop you from getting here. I suppose I should congratulate you for getting through. You weren’t supposed to. They had instructions to kill both of you.”
Finch looked up as a couple of husks rolled down the pile. He raised his revolver and pulled the trigger. The shot cracked open a moving husk.
Kate moved as quickly as she could to the far side of the wall near the covered part of the yard. She crept to the top of the pile and looked down towards the hut. She saw a man, undoubtedly Finch, crouching by the door. Kate hauled herself up and was about to take aim with the shotgun when the man stood up and disappeared around the side of the hut. Moments later she heard him shouting out to Jacob and a shot being fired. She was worried but had seen enough to know that Jacob could handle himself. Kate looked back down towards the hut and saw wisps of smoke twisting up the front door. In only a few seconds the smoke became dark and dense, and she could see flames flickering slowly upwards.
Kate looked around for another way in, but another howl of fear made up her mind. She forced her way up and dived over the top of the husks, sliding down the other side and landing unceremoniously on her side. She pushed herself to her feet and ran to the door. On her left, lying in the dirt was the body of the man she had shot. The sight made her jump and
she began to point the shotgun at him when she realised there would be no need. Her aim had been very effective. Kate stared at the corpse. She had seen the victim of a gunshot wound before but she had never been the cause. A loud crack caught her attention as the heat caused the wooden door to fracture.
She kicked at the burning door. It was already half-open and scraped the dirt floor as the rusty hinges creaked in protest. The flames had by now spread past the door frame and into the rest of the hut, burning the walls and the sparse furniture. Kate checked the shotgun again to make sure it was loaded and ran in.
Jacob managed to get his head level with the peak of the coconut shells. He looked down to see Kate sliding down the side of the wall and landing safely, ifsomewhat clumsily, at the bottom. He then saw the smoke coming from the hut. Jacob punched his left arm through the wall of husks and gripped the brass rod. Another shot from Jacob’s wrist fired down toward the ground and exploded. He drew his arm back, but the device caught on the husks and one of the pressurised air canisters snapped free and began to roll down the other side. He was about to reach out to grab the canister when Finch started speaking again.
“It doesn’t matter you know, that you’re here I mean. I know your lady friend has gone after the girl. The fi
re should keep her busy. But even if she does get her out it doesn’t matter. We’ve got everything we want. You’re too late Doctor.”
Jacob looked at the small gauge which showed how much air pressure was left, less than ten percent. It took twenty percent to fire a shot any meaningful distance. Despite having two shells left Jacob knew he would only be able to use one. And he would have to get a lot closer for it to be effective.
“Why did you kidnap my daughter? Why did you kidnap those boys and murder Lord Ashbury’s son?” said Jacob, trying to give Kate as much time as he could. He started to shuffle further away from the burning hut, “How do you expect to get a ransom paid when you don’t send a ransom note and then you kill him? How do we even know if Lord Cargill’s son is alive?”
“A ransom note was left for Lord Cargill and it’s already been paid Doctor McKinley,” said Finch. “Like I said, we’ve already got what we want.”
“How do you know me?”
“I don’t know you,” said Finch, “but I knew your wife.”
Kate ran into the hut as quickly as she could, checking her pockets for the shotgun cartridges with one hand and holding the shotgun in the other. She looked around. The flames had reached the ceiling and were now caressing a wooden table on the far wall.
“Grace,” she shouted as loudly as she could.
A child’s voice wailed near the back of the room. Kate hurried towards the table, looking for a rear door when she realised the sound was coming from beneath her feet. She dragged the table away from the wall and saw a metal ring in the floorboards. Kate pulled at the ring and a large trap door opened and leaned against the wall.
Kate looked into the gloom but couldn’t even see to the bottom of the stairs that led into the basement. She called out again and tried to entice Grace to climb the stairs to safety, but the only reply she could hear was that of a child sobbing. Kate cradled the shotgun in her right arm and gingerly stepped down into the basement.
Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1) Page 25