Her eyes glanced toward Tom's body, and the gray man smiled. “Feel free to loot whatever you want from the mechanical man's corpse, my dear. I already have everything I need.” He turned and ran in the other direction, the Bomb Lance hobbling after him.
She raised the gun and aimed it at the fleeing figures, fully intending to stop them both by whatever means necessary. “Sarah!”
“What?” she shouted angrily, then turned and looked at her father. Blood had soaked the snow where he landed.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
She looked at him, then at Tom's shattered body, and finally at Nathaniel descending from the sky toward the park. This time she was sure that what she felt on her face were tears.
“Tell me it isn't you,” she said, turning toward him.
“What are you talking about? And why are you wearing Wickham's mask?” He seemed confused, and Sarah realized that her face was hidden from him.
“Promise me that you aren't the traitor,” she pleaded, her voice raw with emotion. Once again it was a stranger's voice that was coming out of her.
“Sarah, it's time to stop this nonsense. There is no traitor.” He tried to sit up, but only managed to groan as the harpoon shifted in his arm. He reminded her of Nathan on that morning on the bridge—children, playing with toys, until they got hurt….
“There is. I'm sure of it, and I hope and pray it isn't you.” She shoved the pistol into the pocket of her coat and walked past Tom's corpse. “Wickham told me that he didn't think you were involved, and if that's the case then it must be either the Submersible or the Iron-Clad.” She was talking to herself as much as him, letting the words flow out of her. “I know that Nathaniel isn't capable of doing anything like this. He loves you too much.” She did what was almost a curtsey as she reached down to pick up Tom's empty heart. It was solid and heavy, but somehow still lighter than she had imagined it would be. The surface was scratched, and it made an unpleasant sound that spoke of broken metal inside of it.
“I told you to stay away from this! Now look at me! Look at us….”
Something else was sticking out from Tom's broken body—a battered notebook with a black leather cover.
“No, Father.” She reached out, tugged the book free, and then stuffed it into the pocket of her coat. “Not until I know for sure.” Across the park she could see that Nathan had landed and was sprinting toward them.
Clutching Tom's heart to her chest, she turned and ran away into the night.
ANDREW MAYER has been creating video games for almost two decades, including designing the original Dogz and Catz digital pets. He currently lives in Portland, Oregon, and posts his musings on writing and media at www.andrewpmayer.com.
This is his first novel.
The Falling Machine Page 31