Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (49 page)

“Doc!” Moira called out from the firing line. “We got’em on the run! All ok? Where’s Ian? Where’s Angela?”

“Angela’s running medical supplies to another doctor. Ian … isn’t here,” Dr. Llwellyn replied as he stood up and hurried over to a man clutching an ugly wound in his side.

“What?” Moira exclaimed. “Where is he?”

Thorias paused to gesture towards the pit down the hill. Moira glanced in that direction. In the distance, by the light of the stray fires, she could see the surviving Fomorians already starting to regroup.

Moira set her mouth in a hard line. “Then we go bring him out!”

Thorias winced at the sight of the ensign’s wound. It was messy; he had lost a noticeable amount of blood, but the young man
stood a slim chance of survival. The doctor shook his head then glanced over his shoulder at Moira.

“Use your head, Moira! We can’t go running off into the teeth of the Fomorians, no matter how much you believe you’ve broken them.” He gestured around at the survivors from the
Fair Winds
. “We have to help these people first.”

“We can’t leave him!” Moira snapped back.

“Don’t you think …” The doctor’s words caught in his throat. A large shape moved in the darkness. Light glinted off metal, spidery legs, while smoke plumed out a series of holes in the side of the monstrous war machine. Twin barrels atop the Arachnid body sparked with electricity while it prepared to fire.

“Down!” the doctor shouted, throwing himself at Moira to drag her to the ground.

The Arachnae Ironclad abruptly belched twin streams of water, hammering the ground with wild claws of lightning all around them!

T
he world exploded in a savage fury when as Thorias collided into Moira! Water hammered into them, spraying electricity in all directions. The high-pressure stream of liquid bashed into the doctor, slapping him aside like a discarded rag doll. He struck the ground, sliding over the grass, electricity clawing his body. Dimly he heard screams of pain. A part of his mind realized one scream was Moira’s, the other his own.

Every nerve, every fiber of his being was on fire; his body trembled while darkness tried to swallow him. Thorias clawed his way to consciousness with a mad panic. He blinked, vision blurred. Between crackling fire, gunshots, screams of the wounded, and a horrid persistent ringing, he could hear nothing clearly. Trembling, he hauled his arms under him and shoved upright. Everything around him was devastation.

Bodies were strewn about the hillside, Moira among them, laying like discarded toys of a giant child. Fires burned freely; smoke was as thick as fog, blocking the view of anything beyond a few feet. The doctor dragged a tattered sleeve across his eyes, desperate to clear his eyes. Suddenly a familiar sharp cry of grief latched onto his attention.

"Angela!" Thorias called out. Through the smoke, he could make out a werewolf-shaped figure.

"Doctor!" came the muffled reply, "Moira won't move! She won't move!"

"Coming!" he called back. He gripped his bandaged ribs under his shirt, then took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Suddenly, a monstrous shape lumbered out of the smoke and darkness: the Arachnae Ironclad! In a few steps it would be on top of them!

"Angela! Behind you!" the doctor cried out. Oblivious, the girl remained where she was.

Thorias, however, did not.

With a furious determination, he forced himself to his feet. Despite his throbbing head and cracked ribs, he ran. He raced through the hellish terrain as if possessed, stumbling through the smoke and flames. Bullets snapped around him while his eyes remained riveted on one goal: reaching Moira and Angela.

He collapsed to his knees next to Moira, heart clenched tight in his chest at what he saw. Burns laced along Moira's right arm and side; her clothes smoked as though they had been boiled. He glanced over his shoulder towards the Ironclad. The war machine had stopped advancing to turn and fire skyward. Thorias said a silent prayer of thanks for Anthony Hunter’s good timing at being a distraction, then focused on Moira.

Quickly, he reached forward to check her pulse. Angela watched him intently.

"She's alive," Thorias said quickly, "but she needs those burns treated.” He glanced over his shoulder again. The Ironclad had not moved, but was no longer firing. Their time was running out. He wanted them out of harm’s way, but Moira could not be moved. Not like this.

The ground shook with a deadly rattle of gears, followed by the angry sound of boiling water under high pressure. Angela shrieked in alarm, then started to charge the war machine to defend Moira and the doctor. Thorias caught her quickly by the shoulders, and promptly grunted in pain that burned white hot in his chest.

"No!" he said sharply. "This one's mine, young lady. Get me a medical bag, now!"

Angela's face was twisted into a mask of worry. "But it’s a machine, and you're a doctor!" she blurted out.

Thorias snatched up one of Moira's revolvers - fortunately it had survived intact so far - then expertly checked the ammunition. He shoved the revolver into his empty holster with a determined look.

"I wasn't born one," he said with a reassuring smile. "Now, get me that bag! Meanwhile, I have a bug to exterminate!”

"Yes, Doctor! I think I left at least one with Mother," Angela said with a quick nod before she bolted off across the hellish landscape.

Thorias ignored the pain in his ribs while he reached out to drag the damaged, sparking lightning pack closer to him. He turned it over until he found a maintenance panel on the side. He glanced up nervously when the Ironclad took another step forward.

"Bloody Fomorians and their ruddy plans." He looked down at the pack, yanked the panel open and rapidly analyzed the wiring inside. He turned over the image of the Ironclad in his mind, specifically where its tube and insulation connected the twin barrels to the machine’s main generator. The doctor then shoved a hand into the rat’s net of wires in the pack, quickly pulling wires free and establishing new connections.

“Time to close the patient,” he muttered aloud. Satisfied, he slammed the panel shut, flipped a power switch, then forced himself to his feet, facing the Arachnae Ironclad. Thorias took a deep breath, then bolted towards the war machine, carrying the altered pack!

Immediately, the cannons turned toward Thorias, as if the device or its pilots sensed the doctor's approach. Power hummed; electricity crackled greedily while the capacitors charged. Thorias ran faster, hob-nail boots hammering the grass, heart pounding in his ears; an eerie whine arose from the pack as its generator powered up out of control.

If that continues towards the others
, the doctor mused, then shoved the useless thought from his mind.
I can't miss
, the doctor's mouth set in a hard line,
not today
!

The Ironclad tracked the small figure running towards it, crouched on its spider-like legs, and fired! At the last moment, Thorias changed course. He hurled himself forward, tossing the pack up into the air! The pack sailed up in a graceful arc, glowing with a blue electric aura while he dove face-first onto the wet grass beneath the war machine! Thorias slid forward into a roll, tumbling out from under the Ironclad until he emerged behind it, clutching his sore mid-section.

Lightning crackled around the Ironclad’s twin cannons just as the pack reached them. The pack's batteries exploded as its generator shoved more energy into them than they could ever hold! Fire and smoke engulfed the cannons as a blood-chilling shriek of metal filled the air. The explosion dissipated, leaving behind a twisted dent in one of the large cannons atop the Ironclad.

Sparks raced wild along the barrel; water sprayed out of a dozen cracks. Denied its usual exit, the torrent exploded into the interior of the Ironclad itself! Muffled shouts of the crew could be heard in between the shrieks of abused metal. As Thorias got to his feet, the vehicle shuddered violently. Lightning played over its convulsing surface. Metal screamed as rivets exploded out like gunfire!

Electrified water gushed out of the broken machine, vomiting the two Fomorians onto the grass. Behind them, the boiler erupted skyward, spraying its contents like a fountain. The boiling hot water rained down through the smoke, turning quickly to steam.

Thorias sighed, exhaustion weighing on him heavily. He closed his eyes, then started to rise; abruptly he doubled over in agony. The doctor’s accumulated bruises and wounds from the past days lanced pain through his chest as the adrenaline and excitement bled away.

“Now they have a chance,” Dr. Llwellyn said under his breath. “Among this madness, at least they have a chance.” He grimaced as the stabbing pain in his ribs tried to steal his breath once more. “Now to see about Moira. Too many lives have been lost today, I won’t lose hers.”

The doctor glanced skyward, “Moira won’t get bandaged with me lollygagging here all day,” he growled, then took a slow deep breath. Slowly, finally, Thorias forced himself to his feet. He heard a knife being slid from its sheath behind him.

A feeling of pure ice ran through his veins.

I
nstinctively, the doctor spun around and stepped away from the sound. The simple motion spared him a knife in the back!

“You!” the doctor snarled, clutching his tender ribcage and putting another step of distance between himself and Peter Bauer.

Bauer, a massive figure even for Fomorians, was fully transformed, his clothes burnt and torn. In his left hand, he clutched a sharp Bowie knife, the blade dripping with blood. Running along the monster’s right side was a terrible, raw burn that was not healing with the usual accelerated rate Thorias might expect. Over Bauer’s left shoulder, Ian - burned and bleeding - hung limp like a bag of wet rags. Thorias’ mind spun, running through dozens of half-ideas, any method to recover Ian before he bled to death.

“Ja, me,” Bauer replied with an ugly sneer. The act twisted his scarred face into a demonic grimace. He stepped forward, brandishing the Bowie knife. “Doktor, I must admit, I am so very pleased to find you here: the man who deciphered mein people’s Hellgate formula. The shame of it being it had to be done by a Tuatha Dé Danann. Ah, but we will fix that, ja? Then no one will ever know the full truth. Only the truth I will give!”

Thorias tensed, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder. Bauer was talking too much for comfort. The doctor knew he was up to something. He drilled a hard look into the Fomorian captain. “Let the man go, Bauer. Ian’s done nothing to you.”

The Fomorian’s face twisted, his hands shaking from rage. “Nein! He did everything! Everything!”

“Impossible!” Thorias snapped. “He has nothing to do with your poison, nothing to do with your kidnappings, nothing--”

“We were trying to stop the oppression of the people by the ruling class over two years ago! But he stopped my bombs before they could do their work!” Bauer yelled, interrupting Dr. Llwellyn. “Mein men … all of them … were hanged for it! I lost everything because of him!” The Fomorian’s eyes bulged with hate. “But I will have my revenge on him and those with him … such as you!”

Dr. Llwellyn sidestepped, circling Bauer in an attempt to keep him at the same distance. When he did, for a moment, he heard something in the thick smoke not far behind him. The doctor glanced over his shoulder again, but saw nothing. When he looked forward, Bauer was smiling. Thorias narrowed his eyes, every sense was as alert as he could manage; the Fomorian was up to something unpleasant. Bauer was stalling. Thorias suspected the Fomorian was waiting for someone.

“You’ll never leave here by any means! Captain Hunter will make--” the doctor said.

“Hunter!” Bauer spat. “Strutting blowhard! I prepared something special for him! If the normal artillery does not kill him, the gas ammunition will! It will eat him from the inside slowly, far after this is done! Even if he brings my
Revenge
low, I still win!”

At that Thorias smiled.

“Provided no one has deduced a treatment,” Thorias replied calmly.

“There is no treatment!” The Fomorian snarled, tossing Ian off his shoulder to the ground. The pilot moaned incoherently but did not move.

Thorias winced slightly on watching his friend lay helpless at the Fomorian captain’s feet. The doctor needed to lure Bauer away from Ian. He also needed some way to handle the monstrous brute. Fists alone would not do. At the edge of his vision, he heard a crackle of electricity from somewhere nearby. An idea suddenly came to him. To make any of this work, he would have to play into the Fomorian’s trap. Hopefully, his own plan would win over Bauer’s.

“Of course there is,” Dr. Llwellyn replied, “just like there is one for your so-called ‘mystical’ elixir. It’s a poison, with no more occult qualities to it than cow urine!” The doctor took a step backwards as Bauer advanced, seething. “Oh yes,” Thorias continued, “I deduced a treatment for your ‘Mustard Gas’, just as I formulated a means to neutralize that Hellgate poison from the body of any addicted to it!”

“Then it will die with you!” Bauer screamed.

The Fomorian captain lunged forward, plunging the knife down towards Thorias’ chest. The doctor sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blade. Bauer slashed out immediately, however Dr. Llwellyn dropped to a crouch, hammering a stout fist into side of the Fomorian’s knee. The large man
yowled in pain and staggered backwards a step. Immediately, Thorias jumped up to back away and nearly stumbled into the hands of a burly, tattooed Fomorian!

“Ah!” Thorias exclaimed, just narrowly eluding the second brute’s grip. The doctor ducked behind his attacker and bolted for the Ironclad and the hole ripped open in its side. Behind him, his two attackers hurried after.

At the rent in the metal, Thorias paused, gasping in pain and out of breath. He glanced at the ruined equipment frantically.

“Confound it, where is it?” the doctor demanded. At that moment, he saw what he was looking for: the cables connecting the main capacitors to the Ironclad’s generators. Suddenly, the hulk of the war machine shifted to one side: his Fomorian pursuers were on him. He was out of time! He quickly jerked the cables loose, careful not to touch the exposed leads.