Gears of a Mad God: A Steampunk Lovecraft Adventure (8 page)

The coupe was
very close. The woman was crouching on the running board, her arm
extended, her gun very close to the tire. Colleen pointed her
pistol at the woman's face.

The woman
looked up. Colleen recognized her; it was the woman who had ordered
her killed in Chinatown. She stared into the muzzle of Colleen's
pistol for a long moment, and she smiled. Then she ignored Colleen
and turned her attention back to the truck tire.

Colleen
experienced a brief torrent of thoughts, an agonized certainty that
she couldn't do what she needed to do, a sharp awareness that Jane
and Maggie and Rick and Carter and Parker and Smith were all going
to die if that tire blew, and above all a realization that she had
no more than an instant, there was simply no time to think about
this, no time to wrestle with the morality of taking a life. There
was only time to pull the trigger.

The impact of
the gun against her hand shocked her. She was dimly aware that the
pistol was pointing at the sky, but her horrified attention was
taken by the woman she'd shot. There was a sound, a horrible noise
of wet, reverberating impact that came to her clear as birdsong
even over the echoing blast of the shot. She saw exactly what the
bullet did to the woman's head, squeezed her eyes shut far too late
to save herself from that image.

She still had
her eyes closed when a hand closed over hers and gentle fingers
tugged the pistol from her grasp. She opened her eyes and saw Rick,
his face sympathetic, tucking the pistol in his waistband.

Her eyes went
to the road. The sedan was slewed across the road fifty feet behind
them, and the coupe was stopped behind it. The truck, though, was
bouncing and shaking as if they were driving over railroad
ties.

"They hit our
tire," Rick said. "We're going to have to hoof it."

A black despair
washed over Colleen. She'd done something that was going to haunt
her for the rest of her life, and the truck had lost a tire
anyway.

The bouncing
and lurching got worse until finally the truck slid into the ditch.
Carter opened the tailgate, then joined Rick in lifting Parker out.
Colleen moved to Jane's side, but Jane surprised her by standing
unaided. "I can walk," Jane said, and climbed to the ground.

Smith led them
across the road and into a row of trees. "This is where we'll make
our stand," he said grimly. Carter and Rick set Parker on the
ground. Then the three able-bodied men each chose a tree to hide
behind, knelt, and waited.

Maggie knelt
beside Parker, examining his bandages. Colleen found herself with
nothing to do. She looked around. There were stripes of cloud in
the sky, but in the gaps she could see the cold, bright blaze of
countless stars. They shone brighter than she'd seen them in years.
The light and pollution of Toronto didn't allow for starry nights
like this.

She stared
upward, shivered, and was filled with a yearning to somehow survive
this night. She wanted more from life, more starry nights, more
wonderful evenings with Roland, more of everything that life had to
offer. She didn't want to die by the side of a road in British
Columbia, unarmed and helpless as the cult closed in.

She lowered her
gaze and looked around her. Was that a darker shape on the ground
ahead of her? She stared at what was essentially a black rectangle
against a nearly-black background, unsure of what she was
seeing.

The others were
waiting, silent. Somewhere beyond the trees the cultists were
closing in. There was nothing Colleen could do to help, so she
walked forward into the darkness. With every step the dark
rectangle became more distinct.

A shot rang out
behind her. She turned, couldn't see anything. There were no more
shots, and finally she turned back to the dark rectangle. She kept
walking, and finally made out the outline of a small wooden
shack.

She couldn't
see the water, but she heard the lap of waves on rock. The building
before her was right on the water's edge. In fact, when she reached
it she found that it extended into the water. She tried the door.
It didn't budge.

If this was a
boathouse, though, it would be open from the water side. There
could be a boat, and that might mean escape. She went to the side
of the building, clambered blindly down a sloping shelf of rock,
and splashed into the water. She waded outward, gasping with the
cold. The ground fell away sharply, and soon she was swimming,
following the wall of the building.

The seaward
side of the building was wide open. It was a boathouse, all right.
Colleen swam inside and pulled herself up onto a wooden platform
inside. Her fingers fumbled along the walls, found a switch, and
flipped it on. Light filled the boathouse.

There was one
boat, a long rowboat with a couple of oars in the bottom. It would
be a slow escape, but the night was dark enough that they would be
safe from gunfire once they were a dozen feet from shore.

The door could
be unlocked from the inside. She flung it open, and a long
rectangle of light spilled across the ground. She ran up the slope
toward the trees. Arriving out of breath, she called out, "There's
a boat," and dropped to her knees beside Maggie. Parker looked
terrible, but he grinned at her. Colleen said, "This is going to
hurt, Parker," and grabbed the fabric of the shoulder of his
jacket. Maggie gave her a dubious look, then grabbed the other
shoulder. They set off toward the boathouse, dragging Parker, Jane
trailing behind them.

Shots rang out
from the tree line behind them. The men were covering their
retreat. Colleen ignored the burning in her muscles, the fire in
her lungs, and concentrated on dragging Parker as fast as she
could. They reached the boathouse, manoeuvred their way through the
doorway, and managed to get Parker into the bottom of the boat.

He let out a
low groan, and Maggie said, "Oh, stop being such a baby! We did all
the work."

Jane stood just
inside the doorway looking uncertain and lost. Colleen climbed out
of the boat, snapped, "Get in!" to Jane, and untied the rope at the
prow. Then she moved to the doorway.

Two men were
running down the slope. She recognized Carter, running in the
rectangle of light from the doorway. She couldn't see who the other
man was.

Shots rang out
at the tree line, and Carter looked back. Then he stopped and
turned, and took a single step back toward the trees. Rick reached
him then, stopping him. Colleen heard the sound of a shot, saw a
flash of red near the trees, heard the whack of a bullet striking
the boathouse. Realizing the men were dangerously well-lit, she
flicked off the lights.

Carter, his
voice hoarse, panted, "Dirk's still up there!"

"You can't save
him." There was pain in Rick's voice. "If you go charging up there,
then he's died for nothing."

Carter tried to
push past Rick. The tall Mountie grabbed Carter's shoulders, hauled
him back, and sent him stumbling toward the boathouse.

Colleen turned
her back, knelt beside the boat, and gave it a push. As the boat
drifted out she jumped aboard. Maggie had the oars in place, and
the two women took an oar each, ready to pull.

Carter and Rick
came barreling into the boathouse. The boat was a foot past the
edge of the boathouse now. They ran, jumped, and the boat rocked
wildly as they landed. Parker cried out as Rick landed on his legs.
Water splashed over the gunwales and both men crouched, stabilizing
the boat. Colleen and Maggie pulled hard on the oars and the boat
moved swiftly across the dark water.

She couldn't
see the cultists as they swarmed into the boathouse, but she heard
their excited voices echoing against the walls. Then a muzzle flash
lit the boathouse for an instant as someone fired into the
darkness. She caught a quick glimpse of half a dozen people crowded
together. There were several more shots, all of them wild. Colleen
and Maggie rowed for their lives, and soon the boathouse vanished
in the darkness of the shore.

"I didn't
know," Carter murmured. "I didn't know he was staying. The last
thing he said was, 'Let's go!' Then he stayed behind to hold them
off."

No one replied
as the boat moved deeper into the darkness.

The sun was
rising as Colleen and Carter let themselves into Uncle Rod's
workshop. Parker and Jane were in the city hospital, with Rick and
Maggie keeping watch. Carter planned to get a few hours of sleep,
then go back and spell them.

Not that is was
likely necessary. The hospital was crawling with police. Victoria
had to be one of the most peaceful cities in Canada. Gun violence
was so rare as to seem downright bizarre, and the night's events
had the local police force's undivided attention.

The team
members had claimed to know nothing. They were innocent bystanders,
injured in passing when half of the
Arcadia's
crew had
inexplicably gone berserk. The local police weren't entirely
convinced, but Rick's contacts in the Canadian government would
smooth things over.

Jane wasn't
seriously injured. The doctors wanted to keep her for a day. Carter
had promised that when she was released, he would arrange for her
to be resettled in the United States, somewhere peaceful, somewhere
the cult would never find her.

Parker's case
was more serious. He was dangerously low on blood. He had undergone
emergency surgery and was resting.

Carter insisted
that Colleen take Uncle Rod's cot. He already knew from their
earlier search of the workshop where to find a spare blanket, and
he stretched himself out on a rug.

Colleen lay
down, still wearing her filthy, bedraggled dress. She longed for a
hot bath and clean clothes, but she was afraid to return to her
hotel. So she stared up at the ceiling, thinking of the moment when
the gun had kicked in her hand and a fellow human being had ceased
to be.

Several long
minutes dragged past. Then Carter mumbled something.

"What was
that?" Colleen twisted around to look at him. "Did you say
something?"

"Oh, sorry." He
looked embarrassed. "Talking to myself. Talking to Dirk, actually.
Trying to apologize, not that he can hear me now. I didn't mean to,
you know."

"Didn't mean to
do what?"

"To leave him."
Carter sounded surprised, as if his thoughts should be obvious. "We
were always a team. We stuck by each other. He pulled me out of
some pretty tight spots, let me tell you, even when it meant
putting his neck on the line. I tried to do the same for him."

He lapsed into
silence. Colleen stared at him, uncertain what to say, disturbed to
realize that he was just as haunted as she was.

"He wasn't
always like that. Like the man you met. All intense and wound up.
He used to be a baker, can you believe it?"

Colleen tried
to imagine Smith with his arms dusty with flour, and couldn't do
it.

"He lived in
Calgary. Had a nice little house there. I think he still owns it.
Owned it, that is. I saw it once. It was a nice place. I always
hoped someday he'd be able to go back, take up that life he had
before."

"What
happened?"

There was a
long moment of silence, and she thought he wasn't going to answer.
Then he sighed and said, "The cult happened. His wife worked at a
museum in Calgary. I don't even know what she found out, if
anything. But the cult thought she knew something she shouldn't.
They killed four people that night, and burned the museum to the
ground. After that, well, Dirk's been with us."

He fell silent
again. Then he spoke again, his voice so soft she didn't think he
meant for her to hear. "Until last night. I'm sorry, pal. I never
meant to let you down."

"It's not your
fault," Colleen said. The words sounded hollow to her ears. "If
it's anyone's fault it's mine. I insisted we go after Jane."

"No, we had to
save the lady," he said. "You were right to remind us of that. If
we hadn't, it would have been harder to live with than, than
this."

Colleen closed
her eyes and saw, for the thousandth time, the face of the woman on
the running board an instant before the gun went off. Now, there
was someone who could be blamed. Someone who had taken up a gun and
set out to do kidnapping, torture, and murder.

"It's not my
fault," Colleen whispered. "You made it happen. You took Jane, you
hurt her, you came after us. You made me do it." It sounded like an
excuse, and her conscience wasn't satisfied.

She spent a
rotten morning staring at the ceiling, dozing off, having
nightmares, and coming awake with a start. Finally she and Carter
admitted they weren't going to get any more sleep and set out for
downtown.

She made him
stand guard in her room while she bathed and changed. Then they
went to the Empress Hotel and she sat in his room while he cleaned
up. Smith's room was next door. All of his stuff would be there.
The last time she'd been in this room, he'd been sitting in the
chair she now occupied. The thought made her melancholy. Despite
her exhaustion she was only too happy to get up and leave when
Carter stepped out of the bathroom.

They stopped in
the lobby, where Carter explained that Mr. Smith in 306 had been
suddenly called away on business, but a Mr. Richard Dalglish would
be taking the room. A Miss Margaret Nelson would be requiring a
room as well. Carter paid for the rooms, then left with Colleen for
the hospital.

They found a
policeman in the corridor outside of Parker's room, and Chris
nodding in a chair inside. He stood, yawning and stretching, as
Carter told him about the hotel room. He left, still yawning, and
Carter sank into the chair.

Parker was
sleeping. His face was pale, but he didn't look too bad. Colleen
tucked the blankets around him and went out into the hall.