by Jacob Magnus
Chapter 7
“No,” said Caerlion, leaning over the back of the pilot’s chair, coffee in one hand, notepad in the other. “Skip Ironstead, stop at Salter’s Reach.”
“Salter’s Reach is abandoned,” said Flint over his shoulder. “No one goes there now.”
Diana hunkered down in her chair, fiddling with a little bit of wood she’d picked up at the forest village. She’d been that way most of the day, and Flint was starting to wonder if she was okay.
“Not many, perhaps,” said Caerlion.
Flint shook his head. “No, seriously, it’s a burned-out ruin. There’s nothing there.”
Caerlion sipped coffee, and sighed. “Refuse to go?”
“Well no, you’re the boss and everything, but-”
“So… No problem?”
Flint’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Like I said, it burned down, it’s a smoky, ashen ruin. The air is foul and there’s no food, no clean water, nothing but a lot of char. Are you really sure you want to go there?”
Caerlion slipped the notepad into the pocket of his blue suit jacket. The pink tie had returned. “Find ash that disturbing, sir? Or something else nettling the skin?”
“Salter’s Reach was never popular… It’s just a bend in the river away from Cold Lake.”
Caerlion laughed. “Splendid. Swimming in order.”
Flint stood and turned to continue the argument, but Caerlion had already slipped through the cabin door. His head began to throb, and he slumped back into his seat. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll go the Reach. Never mind about the ash, never mind the stink. Never mind the monster in the lake.”
“Commendable attitude,” said Caerlion.
Flint slammed the cabin door shut.
“Internal doors aren’t armoured, remember,” said Diana, still focused on her wooden toy.
He leaned over her chair. “Telling me about my own rig now? What’s your point?”
She glanced up at him, a flash of red, then turned back to her toy. “Don’t break the rig, Flint. We still need it.”
“We need a lot of things.” He slumped into his seat and checked the gauges. They’d already burned through five percent of the water they’d taken on at the river, which was fine, but they had eaten all the bacon and most of the eggs and vegetables, and they were running low on coffee. He’d been hoping to resupply at Ironstead, look in on Pask and Tarrah, and maybe hear some news about the race, anything to forget about Caerlion and the guns. Now, it seemed, he wouldn’t get even that much distraction, and they’d all have to survive without meat for a few days. He looked at the empty mug sitting on the dash. He could probably live without meat for a bit, but the coffee… He always hit the caffeine hard on a long run, and it seemed that this was one thing that he and Caerlion shared.
“You shouldn’t drink so much of that,” said Diana.
He started to reply, then turned to her, a quizzical look in his eyes. “You couldn’t know...”
“Flint, you’ve had four mugs of coffee today, one for breakfast, and one for every time you’ve seen Caerlion. You can’t keep your hands off the coffee pot, and I don’t care how old you are in adult years, there’s no way that’s healthy.”
He frowned at her. “How about you? You’ve spent all day hiding in here. I mean, it’s probably good that he’s stopped pretending to teach you things, but should you really curl up and play with a toy all the time?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m a child, Flint. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“Well that makes sense, but I still don’t like it.”
They glared at each other for a few seconds, and then they both started laughing.
Flint rubbed his face and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Diana. My life used to be much, much simpler.”
She shot him a wicked look. “Long, long ago, when dinosaurs roamed the land?”
“Last week.”
“Kangaroos, then.”
He nodded. “Kangaroos.”
After a bit, she reached up and put a small object on the dashboard. Flint leaned forward and picked it up. He held a tiny figurine carved from a piece of dark red wood, a beast with four stout legs, a barrel body with a little tail at one end and, at the other, a thick, jutting head with two tiny stubby ears and two shadowy eyes. At the end of the beast’s broad nose thrust a miniscule horn.
He looked at her, mouth open, eyes shining. “You did this?”
She opened her hands, and showed him a piece of wood and a tiny knife blade with an odd handle. He looked closer, and saw the snake design on the metal, and the splintered end where the handle had been broken. He started to speak, but she put a hand on his mouth, and shook her head.
Nodding, he sat back down, and set the miniature rhino back on the dash, facing forward, at the window and the way.
+
A dark mass rose ahead soon after Flint turned off the main way, and followed a lesser branch that ran roughly parallel to the Gideon river and led to the stretch known as Salter’s Reach. When he saw the approaching darkness, a taste like burnt wood arose in his mouth, and smoke seemed to tickle his tongue. He thought about turning, but an image of the pact in the shadows came before his mind, and he shook his head. He could break his word at any point, but he had an uneasy sense that Caerlion was waiting for just that. He wouldn’t give the lunatic the satisfaction. No, he’d keep his word, and then he’d see. Yes, they’d all see. He drove on, and the darkness grew.
By then the sun had begun to sink in the west, and the great way had begun the gentle curve that would take it north, to a string of settlements in the desert, before it swept back around and carried the riggers to Glory Point and the end of the race. The drive to Salter’s Reach took the Rhino southeast, put the sun at the hulk’s left rear wing, and cast a bestial, horned shadow. Flint grinned when he saw it, and watched it run with the rig until the smoke clouds thickened and swallowed it. Then his smile faded and he switched on the external lights, and they flashed off countless tiny scraps of dust, but did little to pierce the mass of darkness that lay heavy about the way.
Diana stirred in her seat, yawned, and opened her eyes. “I- Oh! Did I sleep that late?”
He shook his head, trying to concentrate on following the way. He found it harder to distinguish the smooth dark surface of the way from the blackened earth on either side.
She flicked a curious glance at him, and then leaned forward. “It’s so dark. I thought it was night, but that’s not…”
“You can sleep more, Diana.”
He brow wrinkled. “You said Salter’s Reach burned down.”
“That I did.”
“That can’t have happened yesterday, but it looks like it’s still burning. I mean,” she said, waving her hands, “where is all this smoke coming from?” She faced him. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
He continued to peer into the smoke. “One of many reasons I didn’t want to come here.”
“Was there a forest or something?”
“The folks who live- Used to lived here, they would talk about mines, some sort of black rock.”
“Black rock?”
“Said it was used for fires in the old world.”
She snapped her fingers. “Coal!”
He raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have got to read more, Flint.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Someone told me that once.”
She chuckled. “Okay, so it’s still burning here, in the mines, underground, and pumping out smoke into the air.” She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know why Caerlion wants to meet someone here. Doesn’t seem like a sane person would want to come here at all.”
Flint threw her a look, her mouth fell open, and she covered it with one hand.
“Ah, I got it,” she said.
He nodded.
“I hope we don’t have to go out there. How would we even breathe?”
He had started to answer, when a massive skelet
al building thrust out of the shadows. Diana shrieked. Flint swerved left, got past it, and found a second one rushing up in front. Hands tight on the wheel, he steered the rig into the narrow gap between the two ruins, and felt the hulk shake as the right wing scraped down the length of the right-hand structure. Diana bared her teeth and put her hands over her ears. Flint held course until he’d got the Rhino out from between the two buildings, and then curved left in a gentle arc, and settled the vehicle down.
“Wait, Flint, wait,” said Diana.
He frowned, waiting for the gentle shake that would tell him he’d touched ground.
“You can’t park here. The Rhino weighs, like, a billion kilograms.”
“So?”
“If the mines are all burning, the ground has got to be weak. We could crash right through and be stuck in a furnace.”
“Yes, right,” he said, with more vehemence than he’d intended. “One more of the many reasons I did not want to come here. Caerlion thinks he’s got it all worked out, but this was always a bad idea.”
She stared at him, red eyes wide. “If you agree with me… Why have you stopped the rig?”
He killed the engine, and turned to face her. “Look,” he said, pointing a finger straight down. “We’re back on the way. I lost sight of it for a spell, out there in the smoke, and that’s why-”
“Why you almost smashed that burned-out building.”
“Um, yeah. But I found it again. Now listen, the way is the strongest surface here. Everything you said is true, and I don’t even want to step outside the rig, but the whole length of the way is made of the toughest, most durable materials the old world was able to produce. You can beat it, you can burn it, you can even set off bombs on it. The way holds. The way always holds. If you do somehow damage it, the surface heals over time.”
She blinked. “It’s alive?”
He shrugged. “That or good as.”
She leaned in closer. “Okay Flint, that’s great. But you said there’s a lake nearby, and with all this burnt stuff around here, I’ve got to ask you, the old world made the way and they made the fire monsters, so what happens when you put the weapons of the old world against the way? What happens then, Flint?”
He sagged back in his seat. “Let’s hope we don’t find out.”
Just then the cabin door swung open and Caerlion walked in. He spread his hands out, and put one on the back of each chair, and then he leaned forward and peered out of the window at the burnt settlement and the choking black clouds that drifted through it.
Flint cleared his throat. “So… Do you want us to drop you off anywhere particular, or shall we just say goodbye now?”
The corners of Caerlion’s mouth twitched up, and he half-closed his eyes. “Promise half-kept, no promise at all.”
“Yes, well, I would usually agree with that, Caerlion, but you asked me to take you here, and I have.”
“Intermediate destination, sir. Voyage together incomplete.”
Before their time in the forest, Flint had somehow adapted to Caerlion’s unusual manner of speaking, but since he’d learned it was an act, every exchange with the man ticked up his blood pressure. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the strain out of his voice. “Wonderful. So where is next on this voyage of yours?”
Caerlion lifted his hand from Diana’s seat, and pointed out into the clouds.
Flint rubbed his jaw, considered it, and then shook his head. “No, no, no way. That out there is an extremely bad place. I can’t breathe that air, and I don’t think you can either.”
Caerlion smiled. “Think it’s all made up on the fly? Masks, respirators, lifesaving equipment, packed in bag under bed. Planned, this, long time planned.”
“Alright, fine, so you’ve thought of everything. Three masks, is it?”
“Two. Girl stays.”
“How about-”
“Girl stays. Harmless.”
He sighed. “I guess these guns will take up space. Should I clear out some room in the hold?”
“Hold’s almost empty, sir.”
“At least tell me how many guns we’re loading onto the rig. Those things need metal bullets, too, don’t they. Metal’s heavy. Are we taking on crates of ammunition? That might slow the rig down, make us burn more fuel.”
Caerlion turned his back on them and walked to the door.
“Come on, help me out. I’m helping you import weapons, at least tell me something.”
“Be ready.”
+
Flint fiddled with the respirator. The rubber straps gripped the back of his head, and the seal pressed against his swollen temple, making his bruise throb with pain. The clear plastic faceplate fogged with the moisture of his breath, and the air around, thick with smoke, further worsened visibility. That might have been acceptable, but the air he breathed through the respirator had an acrid tang, and he wondered if the device was just a broken antique. He hadn’t changed his clothes, and his combat trousers were going from khaki to dirty black before his eyes. His shirt and boots still looked okay, though he feared he’d have to toss them later.
Caerlion led the way, a small leather case in his left hand, the pistol in his right. His own blue suit bloomed with black patches as Flinted watched, but Caerlion showed no reaction. He had, however, left the pink tie back in the Rhino. The fake tutor ambled through the ruined town, forcing Flint to linger as they walked past the burned-out shell of the general store, where a few charred wooden beams still clung to scorched concrete pillars. Then they walked along a row of townhouses missing their roofs and most of each adjoining wall. It looked as if a giant burning finger had pushed down through the first roof, and then swept along the line of houses, consuming the contents in a linear inferno. When Flint saw that swathe of destruction, he recalled his one brief glimpse of an old world weapon, the gout of steam that had spewed from the water, the glowing light, green then red, and the moment of horror when the air itself had caught fire.
He shuddered, closed in on Caerlion, and tapped him on the shoulder. The respirator muffled his voice, made it strange in his own ears. “How much further?”
“Look behind you, rigger.”
He tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard right. Then he swung around, and jerked back, almost barging into Caerlion. Where before the ruined townhouses had appeared gutted and hollow, he now saw a pack of dirty, shadowy figures emerge from behind shattered walls, and slip down protruding girders. They moved in an eerie silence, and the seething, smoke-dark air made it impossible to tell how many they were. Even their size, age and sex blurred and faded in that dense smoke.
They fanned out and formed a wide, rough circle around the newcomers. Flint looked them over for weapons or signs of violence. He saw no more guns, but he did see a range of makeshift weapons; they hefted a length of reinforcing bar here, a primitive axe there. He felt his back itch. With their numbers and their weapons, if it turned out that Caerlion had made a mistake, it could take more than a single handgun to cut free of this crowd.
Two figures stepped closer, a massive brute with a mohawk and a weightlifter’s steel bar, a plate loaded at one end, resting over one shoulder. His partner was a spindly woman with a topknot, small, empty hands, and eyes of cobalt. Both of them were so saturated with ashes that Flint found it impossible to tell the colour or cut of their clothes, or even where their clothing ended and their skin began. What shocked him more was their lack of respirators, masks, or other protection from the foul air. The woman spoke first. “Show us.”
Caerlion took a step in front of Flint, and raised the leather bag. “Right here,” he said.
The woman laughed. “Lion of Woe,” she said. “Do you think the people have become children since you left?”
Caerlion lowered the bag, cocked his head, and shook one finger, as if reprimanding an unruly pupil. “Bear of Ash,” he said. “You-”
“Apples,” she shot back, her cobalt eyes slitted.
“Of course,” said Caerlion, and co
ntinued without pause. “You know what I carry. And you know, better than any among the people, how delicate a command module is. The moment I open this bag, the atmosphere in this benighted place will contaminate them, and the chips will be useless.”
The woman called Bear folded her arms across her chest. “Not all the people rejoiced when the Lion went to trade.”
Caerlion stiffened, and then he took a step towards the woman. The burly man at her side raised the weightlifter’s bar, swung it overhead, and let the end with the plate fall, to crash down to the earth. Flint felt the ground shake, and saw Caerlion bend his knees and sink his weight down, as if preparing to spring. Out of the protective metal skin of the Rhino, surrounded by a soot-covered rabble, Flint felt exposed and vulnerable. He wanted to get out of there as fast as he could, and he didn’t like the tension rising between Bear and Caerlion.
He stepped in front of Caerlion. “Look, we haven’t met, but I’m Flint, a rigger, and whatever’s going on between you two I don’t know and I don’t care. What I do know...” Caerlion stepped towards him, but Flint put a hand on his chest. “What I do know is that whatever this crazy man has in that bag, he very nearly killed me to bring it to you. If I could take off this stinking mask I’d show you the bruises, but I can tell you it still hurts whenever I talk.”
Caerlion tried to brush his arm aside, but Flint held it rigid, so the tutor tried words. “So why don’t you let me talk, Flint?”
Flint ignored him. He felt heat rising in his chest, and now he’d begun to speak, he couldn’t finish halfway, he had to say it all and let the way carry him where it would. “We’ve got this deal; I bring him to you, and he disappears back into the wild lands, or wherever. Now I really want to be done with this, because in the short time I’ve known this guy, I’ve grown to hate him, and I’m not talking about any old hate, I’m talking about a pure, perfect hate, the kind that usually takes a lifetime to build. And Bear, Bear of Apples, is it?”
The woman pursed her lips and nodded.
“Right,” he nodded, and leaned closer. “Well, Bear of Apples, I think you and I have something in common.”
The woman gazed at him, a speculative glint in those cobalt eyes. Caerlion shoved forward and shot Flint a furious look. The mask muffled his words, but not his irritation. “Will you just shut up, you ignorant rigger?”
Flint shook his head. “Nope. Our deal said nothing about kind words and kisses.”
“May I remind you I still have the gun?”
Flint nodded. “Sure. And the one time you used it, you managed to destroy a single, homemade chair.”
Caerlion snarled and pressed close to Flint, but Bear smirked and put a hand between them. “That’s enough. Lion, I’ll take your gift. Just knowing you’ve got to live with this rigger is good enough for me.”
Caerlion handed her the bag. “Then our business is finished.”
“This bit is,” she said, and passed it to the large silent man who stood by watching. Then she turned back. “But-”
He drew back and raised the pistol to Flint’s head. “Rigger, you have your wish; our deal is done.”
+
Flint stared at the muzzle of the pistol, that tiny, deadly hole a darker black against the soot-drenched air. He saw the mocking humour in Caerlion’s eyes, through the man’s misty respirator faceplate. He saw the crowd of ashy people spread out and watching, expressionless. He thought of the Rhino, of all the mistakes he’d made on this journey. Should have run, a small voice told him. Should have got in and run when you had the chance. Should have left this madman behind, tricked him and dumped him at Smelt, pushed him off the cliff to smash with Vern. Should have tossed him like a sack of scrap, fired up the turbines, and smoked him with the exhaust.
Too late now, he knew; too late for those thoughts. And what about Diana? Locked in the rig, she would be safe, but she couldn’t start the engines, she couldn’t take the rig out of this burned-out ruin. She couldn’t even open the door. After Caerlion shot him, she would be stranded in the Rhino, trapped, and with warmth, water and air aplenty, she would have no choice but to slowly starve to death.
“You’re a filthy monster,” he said, his guts cold, his skin clammy.
Caerlion shook his head. “No, Flint. I’m a beautiful hero. You think you riggers are the last nobles in the land? Feel like a knight riding a titanium steed? Well I’m a ranger, you fool. I don’t need a huge machine to make me feel like a man.”
“No,” said Flint. “All you need is a weapon.”
Caerlion growled. “I’m going to break a personal rule, Flint. I’m going to enjoy this.” He pressed the muzzle of the gun against Flint’s faceplate. “Goodbye, rigger.”
Bear rested a hand on Caerlion’s arm. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to postpone that particular pleasure,” she said, and flashed white teeth in a wicked grin.
Caerlion held the weapon in place, but turned his head to face her. “My part is done. The rigger is a loose end. We can’t let him run; his machine is too dangerous.”
Flint’s mind had seized up, but now it started to loosen, and he realised something. “Where are the guns, Caerlion?”
“I’ve got all the guns you need, right here,” said Caerlion.
“There are more of you out there,” said Flint.
Behind the faceplate, Caerlion’s eyes narrowed. “Not your concern, rigger.”
Bear leaned in close to Caerlion. “I hate to pickle your potato, dear Lion, but actually… Actually, it might be.”
Caerlion started to look uneasy. “What are you talking about?”
“Listening post six picked up a lot of radio chatter. It seems some of the riggers got a little excited, and too many of them tried to cross Pig Bridge at the same time.”
Flint grimaced. “That sounds bad. Many injured?”
“Don’t you worry about them,” said Caerlion. “Worry about this,” and he prodded Flint’s head with the gun.
“Your new friend asks a good question,” said Bear. “We haven’t been able to contact Wolf or her driver, and the delivery team hasn’t seen them. So...”
“You need me,” said Flint, and he grinned behind the respirator. “You need a rig to get up there and check on your partner, and if they went off the Pig Bridge, you need a rig to collect your fifty crates of guns, and carry them back to the bay.”
Caerlion held the gun against his head and scowled into his eyes. Then he moved the muzzle down, and pressed it against his left bicep. “I don’t need all of you, rigger.”
A sick feeling grew in Flint’s belly, and he fought a powerful urge to run. He knew, that if he broke, if he ran, he would die. “Go ahead, you twisted son of a snake. We’re a full tank away from medical care. Think you can keep me alive through shock and blood loss, all the way to Pig Bridge and back to the bay? Go ahead. Try.”
Caerlion closed his eyes and lowered the gun. He turned away from Flint and Bear, and started back towards the rig. Flint watched him walk away, put a hand over his faceplate, and sighed. The soot-covered woman called Bear touched his arm. “You’re brave, for a naked rigger.”
He knew what she meant. “Tell me one thing, Bear of Apples. I know there are more of you out there.”
She tensed. “I won’t endanger the people.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. No, I want to know something else. You have things I haven’t seen, weapons out of the old world. Tell me... Is there another city out here?”
The ash that covered her face made her expression unreadable, but when she pulled back, crossed her arms and put one hand to her chin, he could see her considering it, and that pause made him more certain he’d hit close to the mark. At last she gave her answer. “There are more of us, rigger.”
“Flint. Flint of the Rhino.”
“So. Flint of the Rhino, if we had not made this deal, the bay would truly be the last city. But listen,” she said, and drew close to him, “the Lion of Woe went to you to make this deal,
and he loves nothing but destruction, and that is well, for we have nothing else to sell. The people agreed to the trade because our machines would die without these command modules, but the one who sold them to us… If you love freedom, that one is your true enemy.”
Bear turned, walked away, and never looked back. Flint watched her and her team march away and vanish into the billowing smoke clouds. Then he turned and saw Caerlion standing by the Rhino, watching him.
+
Once in the rig, Flint took his boots off and walked barefoot to the bathroom, a small chamber with cream panels and a mirror that reflected his filth-laden appearance without mercy. It took two showers for Flint to feel clean, and he ended up tossing his clothes in the trash. No matter how much he loved that shirt, and especially his boots, he knew he would never wash out that acrid stench. He changed while Caerlion washed, choosing blue jeans, a white polo shirt and a pair of white loafers, headed to the kitchen, and started to make a pot of coffee, but then he remembered how low they were getting, and how Diana would hit him with a look of reproach. He felt that if he drank more coffee, it would disappoint her, and for some reason that made him uncomfortable. He grimaced, and poured himself a tall glass of water. Then he checked that Caerlion was still showering, and headed for the pilot’s cabin, where he found Diana playing with a couple of red wooden animals.
“You made a dog and a cat,” he said, and sat down with a smile.
“It’s a wolf and a lion.” She frowned at him.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” That made him uneasy. Had she heard them talking somehow?
She giggled. “No, you were right, this is Mr Fluffles, and this is Mrs Chomper.”
He gave her a blank look.
“You see, Mr Fluffles has all this long, fluffy fur, and-”
He leaned forward and touched her shoulder. “Diana, do you trust me?”
She froze, stared up at him with wide red eyes, and then she nodded.
“Good, because I want to do something incredibly dangerous, and we have to do it now. Will you help me?”
She chewed her lip, and then she nodded.
He felt sweat moisten his palms. “He’s in the shower. You need to go down the corridor to the end, and through the hatch to the hold. You got that?”
“Down the corridor, through the hatch.”
“Right. There’s a manual lock on the other side of the hatch. You need to-”
“A lock?”
He nodded. “A lock, like a metal wheel. You need to shut the hatch, shut it tight. You’ll have to push hard. Then turn the wheel right, like this,” and he showed her with his hands. “Until it won’t go any further.”
She swallowed. “Flint, I don’t understand.”
“It’s going to be okay. Just shut that hatch and lock it, and don’t come out until I tell you.”
She looked at him. “How will I know it’s you?”
He looked around the cabin, and his eyes alighted on the red wooden rhino sitting on the dash. “I’ll knock, once for the horn, and then four times for the feet. Got it?”
“Once for the horn, four for the feet. But Flint, what are you going to do?”
He shook his head. “No time, Diana. Just go.”
She snatched up her toys and ran to the door. Then she paused and looked back. “Good luck, rigger.”
He grinned. “Go.”
+
His heart beat faster as he kicked the rig up to high speed, and sent it hurtling straight up the way, to pass through the town, running straight with the river Gideon. Every second put the great way further behind, but the ash clouds still lay thick about him, as heavy, he thought, as the weight that had fallen on him when Caerlion had put the gun to his head. “We had a deal,” he whispered. Yes, Caerlion had offered him the trade, back in the dark forest, and Flint, seeing no choice, had agreed, had given his word. He’d done his part, faithful even in this hellscape, and what had Caerlion done? What had that stinking faker done?
“Put a gun to my head,” he said, and slammed his fist against the dash. He shook his head. “Never again, you murderous bastard, never again.”
He spun up the turbine to full thrust, and the Rhino trembled with the effort. He knew he didn’t have long. Caerlion might think the motion meant they were heading to Pig Bridge, but if he realised Flint’s real destination, he would do something nasty, Flint knew, so he pushed the Rhino to the limits of speed, for even on this, his shortest run, every second mattered.
Sure enough, the cabin door swung open, Caerlion strode in, and for a moment Flint thought he hadn’t washed at all, because the man wore black from his shoes to the collar of his shirt. However, his face and smooth head were clean and florid from the hot shower, and he brought a scent of fresh laundry and soap. For once the colourful bow ties were missing, but he still wore those blue-framed, pink-tinted spectacles. “En route already? Good man.”
Flint studied the gauges. “Should be there sooner than you think.”
Caerlion leaned over the back of the pilot’s seat. “Rig okay? Seems rather shaky.”
“The least of our problems,” said Flint, and winced when he realised he’d begun to imitate Caerlion’s weird speech patterns.
Caerlion started to say something, but fell silent when the thick dark clouds parted, and revealed a large lake a short way ahead, waters glimmering under a blue summer sky. The sunlight revealed countless ash particles coating the front window, so Flint hit the wash button, and the rig hosed down the windows with jets of water. The water blasted away the dirt and soot, and left the Rhino’s bubble eyes as clear as the sky and the water in the lake.
Caerlion cleared his throat. “Is this wise?”
Flint watched the way ahead shrink. After a short distance, it curved left, ending the stretch of river called Salter’s Reach, and followed the edge of Cold Lake. Flint ignored the curve, and continued over a gentle grassy bank, to the edge of the water.
He heard the chair squeal as Caerlion dug his fingers into the leather. “Turn back.”
Flint cut speed, triggered the air brakes, and eased the rig down the bank to the edge of the water. He didn’t turn.
The gun appeared, barrel resting on his shoulder. “I won’t tell you again.”
Flint killed the engine, looked out across the calm surface of the lake, and saw not a single cloud reflected in the water. He drew in a deep breath, and sighed. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.”
Caerlion came around the chair, grabbed his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, rigger, but it ends now. You’re going to start the engine, turn us around, and run as fast as you can to the Pig. You got me?”
“Yes,” said Flint. He grinned. “I got you.” He leaned closer to Caerlion. “I got you now.” He pushed free of the man’s grip, and then faced at the water. “Look, it’s starting.”
Both men turned and saw a green light shimmer from deep in the lake.
Caerlion bared his teeth. “Flint, that thing will destroy us all.”
Flint nodded. “That’s the idea.”
Caerlion stared at him, face pale, jaw hanging loose. “You’re crazy.”
The light grew brighter.
Caerlion jabbed the gun into his chest. “Flint, I will give you two seconds to sit behind that wheel and take us out of here.”
Flint shook his head. “I gave you my word.” He spoke through his teeth. “You held me in darkness and forced me to choose, my freedom or her life. I chose, Caerlion, I chose. I kept my end of the deal, and what did you do? What did you do, Caerlion?”
The other man swallowed. “It’s turning red.”
“You put a gun against my head.”
“I didn’t hurt the girl. I didn’t even touch her.”
“You would have murdered me and left her to starve. You would have turned my rig into a tomb.”
Caerlion’s jaw trembled. “It’ll kill her too.”
“What do you ca
re? I’ve had enough of you, you filthy monster. Give me the gun.”
Caerlion looked from Flint to the glowing red light in the lake. He shook his head. “No,” he said. “You won’t let her die. You won’t let yourself die.” He put the gun against Flint’s forehead. “Drive.”
Flint showed him all his teeth. “If you kill me, you destroy your one chance of survival.”
The light burst from the lake in a spray of water that turned into a cloud of boiling red steam.
“She’ll die, Flint.”
“Better this than slow starvation. I will not serve you, Caerlion. Give me the gun.”
The boiling cloud erupted in a haze of shimmering fire, almost clear at the centre, then blue, and then yellow at the fringes, so hot the air rippled like flowing water, half revealing a golden skeletal figure at the centre. The burning mass hovered in the air, and then began a lazy sweep up towards the bank and the rig.
Sweat rolled down Caerlion’s face, and his eyes welled with tears. He looked from Flint to the approaching fire demon, and back again. He drew the gun back, looked into the muzzle, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he shivered all over, opened his eyes, and slammed the gun down on the dash.
Flint snatched the weapon and tossed it into a compartment on the left of the wheel. He locked it, pocketed the key, and then dropped into his seat, punched switches, started the engine, and scowled at the approaching death machine. The turbine coughed and rumbled, and the rig began to roll forward.
Caerlion dropped into the copilot’s seat and stared out of the window, his face sickly, whole body shaking. “Why don’t you turn?”
Flint held course, heading straight at the approaching fire.
“Turn, Flint, turn.”
He shook his head. “Too slow. We’ve got too much mass. The thing would hit us broadside halfway through the turn.” Just, he thought, the way the rock spike had taken out Old Horn.
The fires burned more and more yellow as the death machine advanced, concealing the gleaming skeleton. It began to gain speed, rushing at the Rhino. Flint gritted his teeth, raised the rig to full acceleration, and sent it streaking at the fire. As the two ancient machines raced straight at each other, he felt a fist grip his heart, and felt sure they would smash together, titans of the old world.
The fire grew until it filled the window, until it seemed it had consumed the lake and sky, and he could almost feel the heat on his skin, but he held course until he saw the Rhino’s horn, the radio spike, start to glow. Then, at the last moment, he swung the wheel left, and raced past the fire at full speed. Flames licked the window, raising blisters, and he knew the fire would scorch the right wing. He prayed it would hold. If the fires destroyed the wing, they would whirl and tumble into the water, and the fire would catch and consume them.
The right, then the rear screen erupted in flames, and then cleared, showing the flaming cloud of death some way back. As he watched, it started to sweep around to pursue the rig. He held the wheel, skimmed across the lake at full speed, and took it around left in a loose arc, until it left the water, climbed up the bank, and rejoined the way. He watched the rear screen, and saw the fiery blaze fall behind. He kept burning gas at the maximum rate, kept the engines howling, kept the turbine spinning at full speed, and kept the Rhino running until the way turned from the lake, curved around, and took them back to the great way. Even then, when the cloud of fire was a distant speck of light in the rear screen, he pushed the rig, running at the limit.
Caerlion stood, skin clammy, black shirt damp with sweat. He stared down at Flint with hollow eyes, shook his head, and stumbled out of the cockpit.