Ghostwalkers (47 page)

“Hello the house!” called a voice and they turned to see Doctor Saint come hurrying up the side street. He wore another tweed suit—this one charcoal, perhaps in keeping with the mood of the day—and a top hat that looked freshly waxed and polished. Beneath his coat he had a gun belt strapped to his thick waist and the weapon in the holster was another of his odd copper-and-silver handguns, though this was a design Grey hadn't seen the night before. Behind him was a pair of strong young lads pushing a wooden cart with a canvas tarp tied down over its bulging contents. Another pair of boys pushed a second cart, equally laden. Doctor Saint directed them to position the carts in front of the porch steps.

Grey looked past the scientist to see that most of the townsfolk were heading their way. They were grim-faced and stern, though there was as much fear in their eyes as determination. Scared as they were, they wanted to make a fight of it. This was their town and Deray had already hurt them badly. Each of them carried a weapon of some kind—firearms and axes and a variety of farm tools.

Not enough,
thought Grey
. It's not going to be nearly enough.

Brother Joe was with them, his Bible clutched to his chest, eyes filled with anticipated pain. Grey set his cup on the rail and extended his hand as Saint joined him on the porch. The inventor nodded at the Lazarus pistol on Grey's hip.

“Are you sure you're comfortable using that, son?” he asked.

Grey shrugged. “Guess we'll find out.”

“Oh dear me, yes,” agreed Looks Away, “we will certainly find that out. Deray is not coming for tea and scones.”

“Fine day for it, though,” said the scientist with unexpected cheerfulness. A cold, damp wind was blowing through the town, sweeping up dried leaves and pieces of old newspaper.

“Is it?” asked Looks Away.

“It is indeed,” said Saint. He moistened a finger and held it up, then nodded to himself. “The storm is in the east but the wind is coming in from the ocean. That's good, my boys, that's very good.”

“In what way, exactly?” asked Grey.

“I'm delighted that you asked.” The scientist chuckled as if this was all great fun. He turned and jogged back to the steps, crossed to one of the two carts and began untying the ropes that held the tarp in place. Grey leaned close to Looks Away.

“Does he actually have a plan, or is he just crazy as a barn owl?”

The Sioux frowned. “I'll give you even odds either way.”

Saint called out to them as he held the corner of the tarp in one small, brown hand. When he spoke, he pitched his voice loud enough for the crowd to hear.

“You all know what's coming,” he said. “You've been told about Aleksander Deray and his machines. You've seen the walking dead. You know that we are facing an army of considerable size and power.”

The crowd stared at him in silent anticipation. The fear was now etched far more heavily on their faces than a moment ago.

Grey murmured, “Jesus. Some opener to a rousing call to arms.”

Looks Away said, “I suppose it's better than ‘we who are about to die salute you.'”

“Not much.”

The scientist did not hear this quiet exchange. Still smiling, he pointed to the sky above them all. “This is the modern age. We are already taking the first steps out of the darkness of the nineteenth century and into the world of wonder that is the twentieth.” He paused for effect, though Grey was certain that no one in the crowd was enthused by the march of scientific progress. “Thousands of years ago wars were fought hand to hand. Then the sword was invented, and those who wielded them triumphed over those who used clubs or fists. Then came the bow and arrow, then the crossbow, the cannon, the rifle. With each advancement in the science of warfare we see that the wise, the evolved triumph over the brutish. Not even the strongest and most skilled swordsman in the world can stand against a bullet, even if that bullet is fired from a gun in the hands of a weak man, a woman, or even a child.”

The crowd was listening now, and their eyes flicked now and again to whatever was under the tarps. Even Grey found himself interested.

“Aleksander Deray has his weapons,” continued Saint, “and I will grant you that they are formidable. In any ordinary battle he would sweep through a town like ours with impunity, with arrogance, and with certain knowledge of his superiority.”

“Wait for it,” said Looks Away, leaning forward over the rail, eyes alight.

“But what he does not know, my friends,” said Saint, “is that Paradise Falls is not his for the taking. We are not debris to be swept aside. We are not inconveniences to be disposed of. Oh no, that is not the case. I submit to you that we are not to be dismissed so readily. When Deray's minions bring their war to us, it is war they will find. We will not fall. I tell you now that when the storm breaks upon us, Deray will find that Paradise rises!”

With that he whipped back the tarp to reveal a cargo of hundreds of brightly colored rubber balloons. Each was filled with gas, and as the tarp fell away, they stirred and lifted and rose quickly into the air. Reds and blues, greens and yellows, oranges and purples and a few that were as white as snow. They drifted upward and were caught by the freshening breeze, then scattered and blown high above the town.

The crowd gasped at first, and here and there were small cheers. But these faded as the people understood what they were seeing. The big reveal, the scientist's secret weapon, were mere balloons.

One by one the looks of wonder changed to confusion and then to doubt. Finally they lowered their heads and glared at the scientist.

“That's it?” cried Mrs. O'Malley. “That's our secret weapon? Land's sakes, Doctor Saint, you're as mad as the moon. I do believe you've killed us all.”

The crowd became angry and hard words filled the air.

“Oh boy,” said Grey, and when he glanced at his friend he saw only confusion and embarrassment on the Sioux's face.

“No! No, wait,” yelled Saint, holding his hands up, “you don't understand…”

“We're all gonna die,” said one of the farmers, throwing down his pitch fork. “Lord a'mighty we're gonna die.”

The crowd surged around Saint, yelling at him, cursing him to hell, calling him names. Mothers pulled their children to them and wept openly. And all the time the doctor tried to calm them, tried to explain.

“I'd better do something,” said Looks Away as he leaped from the porch and waded through the crowd. He grabbed Saint by the shoulder and half pulled, half carried him through the press and pushed him roughly up onto the porch. Some of the people swung at the scientist, needing to hit something in order to vent their frustration.

“No!” pleaded Saint. “You must listen. You must!”

“Get him inside,” warned Grey as he shifted to block the stairs. He pushed a few people back, and though they were angry, he was bigger and stronger.

Finally Saint tore free of Looks Away, shoved the Sioux away from him, whipped the strange pistol from its holster, and wheeled on the crowd. “Shut up!” he roared.

Grey had his hand on his Colt in an instant. “Whoa! Whoa now, Doc.”

“No,” snapped Saint, “I want you and everyone to listen to me.”

The crowd fell into an uneasy silence, everyone casting glances at the gun clutched in Doctor Saint's hand.

“Now you people listen to me,” he growled. “I bring you hope and you turn on me? You ungrateful—.”

“Careful now, Doc,” warned Grey. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Doctor Saint gave him a withering stare, but then nodded. Holding the gun in his right hand, he dug something out of one of the voluminous pockets of his topcoat. He held out his hand to show a small metal box not much larger than a pack of playing cards. It was gold and had a black dial mounted on the top and several buttons along the side. He turned the dial with his thumb and then pressed a button. Nothing appeared to happen, but then a shadow moved across his face and everyone looked up to see one of the balloons—a bright blue one—come drifting back down. It stopped ten feet above the scientist and despite the wind it did not blow away. That's when Grey saw that there was a tiny box attached to its base, and on the box were two sets of little blades that spun like windmills during a hurricane.

“Do you fools think I came out here to play with children's toys?” said Saint, and the scolding tone in his voice was reflected in the looks of doubt that now clouded the faces of the crowd. “I'm not a toymaker … I am a maker of weapons, and these are something I designed for warfare. Modern warfare. Behold the Little Disaster. Do you even know what that word means? Disaster? It's a Greek word that means ‘bad star.' A pejorative, I'll admit, but in this case the ill fortune it carries is meant for our enemies. Watch and learn what I have made for you, for this fight.”

With another turn of the dial, Saint made the balloon move away. It rose to the very top of the house and then wafted over toward an old cottonwood tree that had died from lack of water. The Disaster entered the network of withered branches and then stopped again. Grey could not guess what the little maniac was up to with all this.

Then Doctor Saint raised the control box and pushed a different button.

Bang!

The balloon exploded into a fireball of painfully intense blue-white light. Electricity writhed like snakes in the air. The tree flew apart, showering the crowd and the street and everything around it with splinters that burned to ash before they landed. The shock wave knocked fifty people flat on their faces and broke the windows of every house for half a block.

Grey and Looks Away were plucked off their feet and slammed against the side of the house, and even Saint was sent sprawling. The echo of that blast knocked all other sound out of the world and left the entire crowd dazed.

It took a long time for Grey to make sense of who he was and what had happened. The blast had been that intense. He sat down hard with his back to the wall, legs splayed, mouth opening and closing, eyes blinking, ears ringing.

He watched Doctor Saint get back to his feet. The little scientist was chuckling even though he had a small cut over his eye that ran with blood. Beyond him, fixed hard against the storm clouds, the other balloons seemed frozen into the moment.

Disasters, waiting to happen.

One by one the townspeople climbed back to their feet. Shocked and wide-eyed, they picked up their weapons and stared with a mix of shock and wonder at Doctor Saint.

“Lord a'mighty,” repeated the farmer who had been complaining a minute before.

The scientist held the control box out. “I have spent many years attempting to rediscover the secret of Greek fire—that most elusive of the weapons of war. The incendiary that struck terror into the hearts of anyone who dared attack the Byzantine Empire. I have long suspected that the ancient Greeks found some substance similar to ghost rock and employed it as a weapon of war. I have done the same. Each of my little disasters is filled with ghost rock fumes and balanced with other chemical combinations of my own devising. I made fifty of them,” he said, then with asperity added, “It is unfortunate that you made me waste one to prove that you should trust what I say. Let's all hope we won't have needed that last one.”

As if in response to those words, thunder boomed on the edge of town. Lightning forked the sky, silhouetting the ugly shapes of flying creatures that were larger and more terrible than any birds. Legions of them were coming. And behind them, a ship rose in the east, seeming to come from nowhere, rising up between the peaks of two broken mountains. It was like a frigate from a painting of old pirates, with a deep keel and a fanlike rudder. Instead of sails, a vast envelope of silk and canvas, distended with gas and painted with the hideous face of Medusa the Gorgon. A thousand serpents writhed around her image.

On the plains below the ship, a line of machines rolled on clanking metal treads. And lines of armed men marched in squadrons, each of them carrying a strange rifle. Grey could not tell if Deray was supported by the foreign generals or if these were his own men. Not that it mattered—there were hundreds of them. Scores of living men, and hundreds upon hundreds of the walking dead. All of the corpses they'd seen heaped in the train cars. Soldiers from all over the divided country, including dead Sioux. Behind the column of tanks strode the metal giant, Samson, legs sweeping, arms swinging, lightning striking fire from its chest.

Grey got to his feet and turned to see the looks on the faces of the people of Paradise Falls. Even with the remaining Little Disasters hanging in the sky, even with the promise of the Lazarus pistols and Kingdom guns. Even with their own determination, they were few and marching toward them was an army the likes of which had never before been seen on Mother Earth. An army of science and magic, an army of flesh and steel, an army of the living and the dead.

“By the Queen's…,” began Looks Away, but words failed him and he simply stared.

“Good God,” whispered Grey. He glanced around at his friends, at the town, and then at the approaching army. This was going to be a slaughter. Everyone knew it. Jenny Pearl came out onto the porch and stood next to Grey. She slipped her cool hand into his and interlaced their fingers.

“Don't worry,” she said softly. So softly that only he could hear her. “Death isn't the end.”

The storm growled and the winds howled with the voices of the damned.

 

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Grey forced himself to shake off his shock and despair. He let go of Jenny's hand and slapped his hand hard on the rail. It sounded like a gunshot and people jumped.

“They're coming,” he barked. “You see it, I see it, we all do. They're coming. This is happening. You wanted to stay here and make a fight of it. Then by God that's what we're going to do. As of now, you've all seen what we're facing. You're shocked. Okay.” He paused and in a harsh, cold voice said, “Now get over it.”