Ghostwalkers (44 page)

“Actually I'm not. I saw enough down in those caverns to make a believer out of me,” said Grey. “What bothers me is what we can do about it. Deray has an army. We don't.”

Saint's reply was a smile. He had heavily lidded eyes and they were useful, it seemed to Grey, for the scientist to keep his thoughts to himself. He was a hard man to read.

Grey turned to Looks Away. “Tell me about—,” he began, then snapped his mouth shut. He had almost asked what had happened to Lucky Bob Pearl. But, Jenny was right there. Instead, Grey said, “Tell me about the worm.”

“That was all Doctor Saint,” said Looks Away. “Look, I have to back up a little. After we left town yesterday morning, we missed Doctor Saint's return by less than two hours.”

“Unfortunate timing,” said Saint, nodding.

“I wanted to ride after you,” said Jenny. “But—.”

“But I convinced her to stay here in town,” said Saint. “Once she explained what was happening I realized that we needed to step up our preparations for what was inevitably going to happen. She told me about the undead attacking the town.”

“Did she tell you about the flying machine?” asked Grey.

Jenny blinked. “Flying…?”

Grey explained what he'd seen, though his description was sparse. Looks Away nodded, and added, “I think it might have had a gas-envelope and motors to drive it. I only saw it for a few moments, but that was my impression. The body was like a frigate, but it had a balloon instead of sails.”

“A frigate of the clouds,” mused Saint. “How elegant.”

“It scared the hell out of me,” said Grey. “It's unnatural.”

“Unnatural? No. Only primitive minds regard science as something to be feared. Surely, Mr. Torrance, you are not so dim as that. This is an age of invention. What you saw was a lighter-than-airship. There's no magic to it. There are several already in use around the world. Lovely things. Like whales in the air.”

“Not sure ‘lovely' is a word I'd paint on the side of what I saw,” said Grey.

“I expect not,” agreed Saint. “If I were to encounter one over a battlefield, I suppose I would use a completely different set of adjectives. However my comment stands. The designs for such machines are elegant. It's something that has been in trial-and-error stages for centuries. Da Vinci, bless his heart, designed one, although it was unworkable. Nice thought, though. I have my own sketches somewhere…”

“Doctor,” said Looks Away gently.

“Ah, yes, yes, my boy,” said Saint with a grandfatherly chuckle. “The airship you saw was very likely the command vessel used by Deray. From what I've been told, the storm seemed to accompany the attack, correct?”

Grey nodded. “It was a weird storm. Like the undead were using it as some kind of camouflage.”

“Very likely they were. There have been a number of very interesting papers on using the properties of ghost rock to seed the clouds, and there is sufficient energetic discharge to initiate lightning.” He stopped and smiled self-consciously. “I do go on, don't I?”

“Short version of that,” said Grey, “is that Deray can control storms, raise the dead, and fly through the air.”

“Well … that's oversimplified, but…”

“But yes,” said Jenny.

“Yes,” agreed Looks Away.

“And he has those mechanical carriages. Tanks, he calls them,” said Grey. “And rifles a lot like your Kingdom guns.”

“That's very disturbing,” murmured Doctor Saint. “Making the weapons is not complicated, not for a scientist. Mass-producing the ammunition for it … well, that's the thing. Either Deray has found a limitless supply of ghost rock, or his research is driving his designs in the same direction as what I came up with.”

The room fell into silence.

Then Jenny said, “And that metal man? Samson?”

“Yes,” said Saint, “please tell me about that again. Describe it in as much detail as possible.”

They did, with Grey and Looks Away taking turns to fill in what little they knew. Saint did not look happy.

“That is most troubling. A mechanical soldier powered by the rock would be a formidable thing.”

“You don't say,” murmured Grey.

“No, what I mean is that building such a thing is difficult enough. Many engineers and scientists have tried. The Wasatch Railroad has been using mechanical workers for years so they can keep pace with the vertical expansion of cities like New York and Chicago. With land acreage at a premium, everyone knows that we have to build up in order to grow. Steelworkers who are themselves made of steel would be invaluable. Metal men make for a new kind of slave labor force that never complain and no one will ever go to war to free them. Why should they? They're steam and iron and gears. But, Grey, those machines are crude and even clumsy in comparison to this. Samson is beyond anything I've ever even heard about. Something like that could not possibly have been built simply for labor.”

“No argument. I don't think Deray is trying to build affordable office space,” said Grey sourly. “Samson is a killer.”

“I agree,” said Saint, “and that's what is so troubling. One of the problems we've faced when considering either mechanical armor or independently operating machine men is the speed. They are simply not fast enough to be of use in combat because a field piece—a howitzer, say—could take them down.”

“Samson was faster than goddamn lightning,” said Grey.

“Right. That is the key. Deray has discovered a way to make his machines move at great speed. That is a truly, truly frightening thought.” Saint puffed his pipe and for a moment he did nothing more than stare at the smoke.

Grey said, “You still haven't told me about the worm.”

“Ah,” said Looks Away with a grin. “Remember that Kingdom cannon I showed you at the doctor's shop?”

“Oh,” said Grey. “How'd you—?”

“It took twenty men and a lot of sweat to put that son of a whore on the back of my best wagon,” said Jenny. “And then it took us all damn night to drive out there. We got halfway to Chesterfield's spread by dawn.”

“What made you risk it?” asked Grey, alarmed. “That road is treacherous.”

“This young lady,” said Saint, “has eyes like a cat. She can see better in the dark than I ever could. She found paths that a goat wouldn't take. I must admit that I was sweating lead ingots all the way.”

Jenny gave him a small enigmatic smile and glanced down at her hand for a moment. “I'm a lot like my pa,” she said. “He was always a good night hunter, too.”

“You brought the Kingdom cannon out there, and you shot the worm?”

“Yes,” said Saint, “and yes.”

“And not before time, either,” said Looks Away. “I thought we'd bloody well had it.”

“We should have had it,” said Grey. “We've been coasting on borrowed luck since the attack on the town.”

Again Jenny looked down at her hands. Again there was that small half-smile. Grey wondered what it meant.

“If we have the Kingdom cannon,” said Grey after giving it all some thought, “doesn't that mean we stand a chance? Even against Samson?”

“A chance?” mused Doctor Saint slowly, tasting that concept. “A small chance, perhaps. The Kingdom cannon is a prototype. I have enough ghost rock for maybe five rounds—and even then it's likely the internal works will overheat after the second or third shot. It's also an unwieldy thing. We would need to direct Samson into its direct line of fire.”

“Damn. What about the Kingdom rifle? That thing was pretty handy.”

“Yes, and the fact that it did not overheat is encouraging,” said Saint. “It's never been fired that many times before.”

“Not to bring us all down,” said Looks Away, “but there was a considerable span of time between most of its uses. I don't know what would have happened if I'd fired shot upon shot.”

“Damn,” repeated Grey. “How many of those guns do you have?”

“Including the one you ‘borrowed'?” asked Saint.

“Yes.”

“Two. The other needs some work, but I think I can get it operational in under an hour.”

“Good, that's better than—.

“That is not the issue,” said Saint. “I have a number of other weapons in various stages of assembly and function. Even a handgun that you might find quite comfortable.”

“Still sounds good to me.”

“However we don't have enough ammunition,” said Saint. “More precisely, I don't have enough ghost rock to make the guns work.”

For the first time since he'd awakened, Grey smiled. “Tell me, Doc,” he said quietly, “have you looked in my saddlebag?”

 

Chapter Seventy-Five

Jenny took Saint outside to where Picky and Queenie were being groomed. Grey said he'd join them as soon as he was dressed. He asked Looks Away to stay behind for a moment.

“There are some big gaps in my memory,” Grey admitted as he pulled on the clothes Jenny had laid out for him. “And there's also some gaps in your side of the story.”

“Ah,” said Looks Away, nodding. “You're wondering why I didn't mention Lucky Bob.”

“No, I pretty much get why you didn't mention him. What I want to know is what happened to him?”

But the Sioux shook his head. “You were knocked out,” he said. “I wasn't. After Doctor Saint killed the worm, I went looking for Lucky Bob. I was hoping to find him alive but injured. I thought it might be useful for us to interrogate one of the more powerful undead. Or, maybe drag him back to see if Brother Joe could work some kind of white man religious mojo on him. Exorcise his demons, so to speak.”

“And—?”

“And he was gone. I found blood but no body.”

Grey began buttoning his shirt. “Shit.”

“I know. If Brother Joe is correct, then Lucky Bob's body was possessed at the point of death. The body is apparently able to heal itself.”

Grey shook his head. “This is all so damn complicated. A week ago dead was dead, now there's all kinds of different death? Corpses that try to eat you. Demons stealing bodies. Why can't the world be the world again?”

The Sioux's face was sad. “Believe me, old chap, I dearly wish we could roll back the clock to the way things were. You'd like to roll it back a week. My people would like to roll it back four hundred years.”

“Ouch,” said Grey, wincing as if actually punched. Looks Away spread his hands.

“However the world is the world, old fellow,” he said. “If it's moved on, then surely we need to dig in with our spurs and ride to catch up.”

“A cowboy metaphor,” said Grey. “Nice.”

“Apt, though.”

“I guess.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. They had been brushed, but there were lingering stains on them. The blood of monsters. He paused, holding the second boot between his fingers and letting it dangle. “I should tell Jenny about her dad.”

“It'll hurt her. He seems to have embraced his new nature. Maybe all that was Lucky Bob is gone now and only the manitou remains. Either way…”

“I know, but it doesn't feel right to lie to her. Even lying by omission.”

Looks Away cocked his head and appraised Grey. “You're a strange man, my friend.”

Grey said nothing.

“Down in the cavern, Veronica said some things…”

“I know,” said Grey as he pulled on the second boot. He stood up. “I don't want to talk about it.”

But Looks Away shifted to stand in front of the door. “I rather think the time is past to be coy. If we have to accept that we're in a world where demons and monsters are a fact of life, then I suppose we need to be open to other possibilities. Prophecies come to mind. Mircalla and then Veronica. What is it exactly that they are talking about?”

Grey sighed and turned away. “It's nothing. Ghost stories and bullshit. Let it go.”

“Really?” Looks Away said, stretching the word out. “A vampire-witch and a ghost take the time to make cryptic pronouncements about you and I'm supposed to dismiss it out of hand? Sorry, old chap, but we've come too far together for that to be possible anymore. The woman I loved was killed. The woman you seem to be falling for was very nearly killed. We're preparing to go into battle against a necromancer who can raise the dead and arm them with the world's most advanced weaponry. You—or perhaps your ‘destiny'—seems to be tied to all this. So, no, I will not let it go. Bollocks to that. There's not one chance in ten trillion that I am going to let it go.”

“We don't have time for—.”

The Sioux scientist leaned back against the closed door. “Make time.”

Grey sighed and sat back down. For nearly a full minute he said nothing, but instead stared mutely at his callused hands, watching his fingers knot and unknot. Finally he sighed out the ball of tension that had formed in his chest.

“It was the Battle of Ballard Creek. No, don't worry, you won't have heard of it. No one has. It wasn't what historians would call an ‘important' battle. It wasn't even an important massacre.” Grey shook his head. “Except to me. It's real damn important to me. You see I was leading a platoon of Union soldiers on a reconnaissance mission in Mississippi. We'd had intelligence reports that Confederate troops were building some kind of super cannon. It was supposed to be able to fire shells twice as far as anything we had in the north. The brass in Washington were afraid that it was something that could change the course of the war. My platoon was one of a dozen that were sent to find the testing ground.”

“Ah. I heard those rumors, too. It was a lie, as I understand.”

“Sure. It was a deliberate leak. The CSA intelligence division leaked a dozen different versions of the story and then monitored who reacted and how. It was all a pretty sophisticated plan to identify double-agents in their own network and to ferret out our spies. They put a lot of scalps on the walls with it, too.”