Wind Reapers, page 21
The Wind Reaper finished its turn just as a slew of sentinels launched from her decks. The air ship ahead lowered a ladder and the sinewy ropes lashed in the winds as it flew towards us.
“Riley,” I screamed, staggering in the kicked up dust. “Where are you?”
He materialized from the vapor, running with his hand out to me. We sprinted, the shadows of the sentinels darting across our bodies as they banked for position.
“If Ajala gets close enough she’ll take the air ship down. We have to get to it before then.” Riley glanced over, his breath coming in hitches through his mask. Blood seeped down his sleeve. “How’s your leg?”
“I can r-run for a while yet,” I panted, pushing back the quakes that threatened in my back.
The Wind Reaper crab-walked, gaining on us from the side as we sprinted for the air ship. I ran with everything that I had, gaze locked on the ladder just yards ahead. A blast from the deck of the metal giant rolled over us and a fireball rocketed in a path straight for us. I screamed, leaping for the airborne ladder. The cannon blast seared behind me, the whistle of air flaring my hair as my hands closed around ropes. I clung on, riding the outward swing. Below me, a heaviness on the ladder drew my gaze, and I gasped with relief at the sight of Riley hanging on.
“Go, go, go,” he shouted as he climbed. He clung next to me on the ladder, caging me to it with his arms as the air ship banked, pulling away. “It’s OK.” His muffled voice soothing despite the filter mask. “We made it.”
The image of the Wind Reaper came into view as we twisted in the wind. Something dangled from the vessel on a chain, and I reared back in horror when I recognized the helmet. Vanash’s body, tied like quarry to the nose of the Wind Reaper, swung like a pendulum with every step of that wretched vessel. Hands fisting with fury, I tracked the movement on the ship, searching.
A single form remained still amid the scurrying. Ajala stood on the deck, her arms raised as she took aim with a rifle.
Riley’s body tensed, bowing over me as he tried to shield me.
I pulled the crossbow from his holster, took a steadying breath and tracked across the sights as we swung beneath the air ship. I fired, launching the deadly darts even as the crack of her rifle resounded. I barely registered the sting of her bullet grazing my temple. She jerked to the side, staggering as the rifle hit the deck. She went to her knees, the light glinting off her face mask as she looked up at me.
“That was for Nikola,” I screamed, shaking with rage. All the death and suffering at the hands of her and Lizzie boiled in my blood as I flung the crossbow at the receding vessel. A growl of anger surged from my chest. I would stop her or die trying.
Riley pulled off his mask and pushed up his goggles. Hair whiped about his chiseled jaw, and his green eyes were alight with adrenaline. He held me with a heated look. “You, Blackburn, are formidable.”
“I am more than that,” I countered, looking away and fighting the urge to pull him to my lips. “Now, I am furious.”
28
Port Rodale, Outer City
The jailhouse was as I remembered it from my first visit to Outer City with Ashton those many months ago. Instead of biding the hours in a cell, however, this time I sat at Riley’s desk and peered through the open door to the list and tilt of the airborne city outside. The four rotor-topped towers that stabilized the floating port thundered overhead while the individual shacks and shop stalls bobbed atop the air ballasts that kept them in the sky hovering over the landscape below.
All manner of dirigible vessels, blimps with passengers, patchwork balloons with baskets, even the odd propeller driven canoe drifted past my vision. Vendors and merchants shouted at one another, tossed packages to buyers, and sounded horns to demand their right of way in the constantly streaming line of lighter-than-air craft.
No one took notice of a lady in outlander trousers. No one had time to care I was not clad in skirts and a bodice. They were too busy. The marketplace teemed with customers who trod the wood-plank walkways suspended between the towers like necklaces. They pushed past one another, buying and trading goods from shops lining the walkways. Mothers and children in the easy leather and linen garb of the sky dwellers flitted from apothecary stalls with bundles of herbs to tinkerer shops with gear work devices that glimmered in the bright sun.
Where the vapor and ash of the wasteland blotted out the bright rays, the ports of Outer City, at least a mile off shore, enjoyed a clear sky and unobstructed sunshine. All manner of plants, most no longer grown in the vast hot house orchards and gardens under the domes, flourished here. Berries in pots, crates overflowing with greens and lettuces, even the occasional tree was carefully nurtured aboard a passing air ship.
I rose, walked over to stand on the small porch outside the doorway, and leaned my head on a support post. The entire port swayed with the breezes. Up here, it was easy to forget about the dim life under the dome I used to lead. Sizzling meat wafted on the wind, and the heady scent of steaming tea made my mouth water. I reveled in the feel of being outside without a filter mask and rubbed the muscle of my shoulder, easing the pain of the injector that delivered Tesla’s muscle tonic. I was grateful that my symptoms abated enough for me to take in the sights and scents. A wistful sigh escaped me. I wished he could have seen this place.
The clunk of boots on the planks pulled my gaze. Lawmen in their dark leather dusters and large brimmed hats patrolled the market place and port slips. They wove in and out of crowds urging people to move or quieting arguments with their presence. Passengers disembarked the larger vessels while giant booms lifted crates of supplies onto massive sea ships now nestled below netted air bladders.
After the quakes, when the seas churned with fire and poison and the wasteland ash killed the thousands who attempted to flee the tyranny of the Governors’ new city-states, intrepid families ascended to make a new kind of homestead. Here the Peaceful Union dared not tread lest it wanted a fight.
Sheriff Sebastian Riley ruled this outlaw territory with a loaded gun and a crooked smile. His lawmen, hard, ruthless characters, kept a tentative peace between the permanent residents of the various ports and the shady individuals who sailed the skies above the dark seas. Pirates and criminals, traders and merchants, all wove together in these bustling villages in the clouds.
“Bring back memories?” Riley said as he sidled up next to me on the porch. “Little less bright, a little less crowded, but still a lot more free.”
The embossing of the leather vest he wore made swirls across his broad chest. I wondered if this one was lined with aluminum and gum rubber like the one that had saved his life when Ajala opened fire on us. His green cotton shirt was open at the neck button, and his dark brown trousers were different as well. The smell of soap clung to him, drawing me closer.
Instead, I shifted, self-consciously aware of how long had it been since I had a good wash. Where water here was abundant, collected in barrels and caught on fine netting from the fog banks, the Wind Reaper had rationed only enough to drink. I remembered the beautiful dresses in the house we’d found and wished I had one to change into.
“You moved,” I said, and nodded at the landscape visible just beyond the edge of the port. “I thought Outer City stayed over the Atlantic.”
“Well, our Weather Master keeps us inland lately.” Riley pointed to a crow’s nest basket atop a building across the marketplace. A man stood with a spyglass to his eye, watching the building clouds. “We’re currently drifting near the edge of the Pennsylvania Proper city-state.”
“No skirmishes with the Aero Squad?”
“Nah, those fat balloons can’t come up this high. We’re a mile above the ground. The passenger vessels have to use after-rocket bursts to make port. Peaceful Union ships are built for speed not lifting strength.”
“Oh, the ballasts,” I said, nodding. “They dump too much to get up here and then do not weigh enough to get back down.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. Strange days when you need to throw things onto your ship and try to make it sink to get where you want to go.”
“Why the change? The storms?” I adjusted the blue lenses of my goggles. The focus shutter whirred, allowing me a closer look at the ships pulling in and out of the port’s slips across the market place. “You said they were worsening up here as well?”
“We are used to the cold fronts from the sea. But those,” he nodded out to the sky beyond the port. Thick billowing clouds roiled over the water, their dark bellies lighting up with angry purple flashes. “Those winds are from the wasteland. The hot air mixes with the ocean’s cold front and whirls. The storms fling up ash and sand from the wasteland. It coats our food, dirties our water supplies, and sickens our weak. We even had a funnel touch down over at Port Hayden, ripped up a few ships.” He pointed to the rise of craggy points in the distance. “Here, sheltered by the mountains, the storms tend to go right under us, for the most part.”
“But not always?” I asked.
“No, and that is why I wanted the filter components. We need a better design. One that can go in individual homes here and keep out the dust when it hits. So far we’re fighting a few cases of bad cough and fever.”
“Ashen Croup up here,” I whispered, glancing at the bandage on his arm where a Reaper arrow had pierced. “I am sorry.”
The whole reason Riley came down to the wasteland, braved the Tremblers and the Security Soldiers, was to get his hands on what Ajala promised him were components for a filter capable of helping his people up here.
“You didn’t do any of it,” Riley intoned, rolling down his sleeve when he caught me looking. “I uh…” he pointed over his shoulder, clearing his throat. “There are some things for you to wear and a tub of warm water if you care to…” he sighed, seemingly struggling for words. “Not that you need to, I just thought maybe…”
I smiled, grateful. “I would love to freshen up, thank you.”
He shrugged, then nodded out to the fray of people. “I know someone in the next port over who may be able to decipher that research jargon you found. A doctor.”
“That would be good,” trying to hide the hitch in my voice, I refused to allow hope for a cure. “Tesla believed it had promise.”
“Give me your word you won’t do anything rash while I’m gone?”
“I meant what I said, Riley. I will stop her.” My palm went to the bundle of components in the pocket of my outlander jacket. Ajala surely knew we had foiled her plans to create an All Key. Unlike Riley, I believed not only would she still go ahead with her plans to join Defiance in a battle with the Peaceful Union, I was certain this break in her plans would cause her to move her time table up. We had to move fast if we were to stop her.
“I can put out feelers. See who we can trust to deliver a message to the Peaceful Union,” Riley adjusted his hat, pulling down the brim. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Do you think they will listen?” I needed something, any kind of assurance.
“I think it’s worth a try, Blackburn,” Riley said and leaned down, holding my gaze with his. “Promise me you will be here when I return?”
I nodded, but he raised a brow until I answered. “I promise.”
“Good. I should be back before sunset. Port Hayden is not too far off. A few stops before the edge of Outer City.”
He turned to leave, but I caught him by the sleeve. “Riley, be careful, all right?”
Auburn brows furrowed over his jade eyes, a hint of a smile turned up the corner of his mouth. “You worried about me, Miss Blackburn?”
“Only a little,” I said, letting go when a flush of heat rose to my cheeks. “You are my ride off this rickety shanty town, after all.”
He chuckled, tipped his hat at me, and strode down the walkway.
Wandering back into the jailhouse, I passed a lawman seated at the counter hunched over a bowl of brown sludge. I recognized the scar on his face and the crooked nose. He was the lawman I had hit with the lightning rod, the one who tortured Ashton last time I was here. He watched me from the corner of his eye, but said nothing as I ventured further into the jailhouse to Riley’s personal lodgings.
The wood beams and high windows gave the otherwise institutional building a domestic look. My gaze traveled to the cables welded to the roof and shuddered at the memory of the sound they made as the woven metal unraveled under the stress of the Security Soldiers’ attack. Grateful that months on a Wind Reaper accustomed me to the constant swing of the suspended building, I made my way into Riley’s private sleeping quarters.
A small bed and table butted up against the far wall bathed in the light of the noonday sun. I perused a stack of books by the bed, surprised to find the writings of great leaders of the revolution and the War Between the States, both north and south. A tall candle stood in a brass holder, the pattern hexagonal along the shaft, and I removed my glove to feel the grooves. It was bee wax, something I had not seen since I was a child. A foldable screen stood in the corner of the room. A royal blue skirt, white peasant blouse, and shawl were draped over the top. The long scarf and thick wool clothes I wore on the Wind Reaper protected me from the ash and embers of the wasteland, but at a price. Heavy and rough, the garments offered little comfort. I took the edge of the gauzy blouse in hand and smoothed the soft material against my cheek. It felt like heaven.
A large metal tub with clawed feet sat in the corner of the room behind the screen. Expecting a metal basin, I walked around it, tracing the curved edge with my fingers, delighted. Delicate tendrils of steam rose from the lavender scented bath. I dipped my hand into the clear depths and moaned with the warmth of it.
The scrape of a chair in the outer room made me flinch, and I walked to the door of Riley’s room to peek out. The scarred lawman stretched at the table, donned his hat, and adjusted his revolver at his hip. He tilted his chin to the side, glancing at me over his shoulder.
I shut the door, locking it. I set my goggles and gloves on Riley’s side table and took a deep breath. Where I should be eager to sink into a much needed bath, the thought of being so vulnerable made me pause.
Carefully, listening for any sign of someone at the door, I disrobed. Peeling off the outlander jacket and trousers, I sighed with relief. I removed my blouse and underclothes and stepped into the tub. Easing down, I stretched my legs and leaned against the back, relaxing. I unwound the bandage covering the injury in my leg from the Reaper arrow. Though the muscle tonic soothed my tremors, it did little to restore feeling. Grateful that I did not feel the pain of the wound, I wondered if I would heal like I used to.
A small shelf next to me held a paper wrapped bar of soap and a cloth. Holding it up to my nose, the scent of vanilla made me smile. Tearing at the wrapping, I lathered the bar, scrubbing off every moment I spent on that metal behemoth. My throat ached as I washed. I sank below the surface of the water, lathered my hair, and rinsed weeks and weeks of ash and fire and sorrow away.
Later, after I rewrapped my wound with a clean strip of cloth, I stood before the small shaving mirror over Riley’s pitcher and basin. I smoothed my temples and the corners of my lips, wishing I could wash away the pale blue that shadowed my skin. I frowned when I realized it shaded the tops of my collar bones as well now. The part of my eyes that had always been blue like my father’s now appeared black. In the right light I could pass for someone with deep brown eyes, but not in the day and not close up.
I leaned in, trying to distinguish my pupils from the iris and could not. I bit my lip, trying to come to peace with how much the Trembling sickness had changed me and dreading how I would eventually become. How long until the black took over even the whites of my eyes? How long until the blue of my skin mottled and rotted as it spread? Shuddering, I gripped the edge of the basin stand, fighting the fear that clutched at my heart. The image of the couple in the house, forever frozen in a desperate moment, flitted behind my lids. I did not want to die alone.
The sun angled lower in the window. I brushed through my tangled hair with my fingers, smoothing it to long waves. The women up here wore their hair down, and I hoped to blend in if I could. The black of my hair made my skin appear even paler, and I wondered if I should put it up instead. A chronometer on Riley’s bedside table chimed, the hour much later than I realized.
Riley’s voice outside as he spoke to someone made me hurry. He was laughing, something I had not heard in a while. I slipped into the blouse, found a pair of stockings nestled discretely underneath the skirt, and donned my outlander boots. Tying the skirt into place, I rutched up the hem to mid-calf, and buckled my bodice into place. Feeling clean and even a little bit pretty, I took in a calming breath. Before opening the door, I pinched my cheeks for color.
Two people stood in the center jailhouse when I walked out of the room. Riley and a woman. I stopped in my tracks, hesitating before putting on a smile.
“Here she is, Miss Bartlet,” Riley said turning to me. The woman moved with him, her delicate hand in the crook of his elbow, his palm at the small of her back. “This is who I was telling you about. “Charlotte, meet Doctor Lilah Bartlet.”
Tall, willowy, with long red tresses, the woman smiled warmly. Her brown eyes were warm with an obvious spark of intelligence, her skin alabaster and peppered with pale freckles along her nose. She was quite breathtaking, something Riley seemed all too aware of given the degree of closeness in which he stood next to her. His gloved fingers snaked around her waist as he led her across the room.
