Ghostwalkers (26 page)

The silence following that explanation was crushing.

Grey was the one to break it. “You want to take another swing at that, son? Maybe this time in English?”

Looks Away gave them a crooked smile. “The Kingdom M1 is something entirely new. There is nothing like it anywhere in the world, of that I am quite certain. You understand, I hope, the concept of an electric motor?”

“I read about it, sure,” said Jenny. “Even before the big ghost rock invention craze. Something about coils and such holding lightning?”

“Not exactly,” said Looks Away, “but close enough for our purposes. Doctor Saint worked with a bright young naval officer named Frank Sprague from Milford, Connecticut. Mr. Sprague is part of the American Navy's efforts to build machine-driven warships powered by ghost rock engines.”

“Everybody's navy is working on that,” said Grey. “Airships, too. I think Deray might have one, too. I saw something during the storm.”

“As did I,” said the Sioux, “but I didn't get a good look at it. That only reinforces the point that everyone seems to have a natural bent for armed conflict, even in an age of prosperity and discovery.” He gestured vaguely toward the town. “And by ‘prosperity' I refer to virtually anyplace that isn't Paradise Falls.”

Jenny made a face.

“My point,” continued Looks Away, “is that Doctor Saint was able to take some of Sprague's designs and build a very compact version of a functional electric motor. He put that inside the Kingdom M1 and discovered a process of keeping the motor working at a perpetual rate of fire by something he calls ‘gas injection.'”

“But you're talking about ghost rock? How's that a gas?” asked Grey. “I thought that when they smelted it all they got was a stinky cloud that tends to scream as it comes out of the smokestacks. They got all those smelting plants in Salt Lake City and the sky's black with that smutch. People call it the ‘City of Gloom' for a damn good reason.”

“There are side effects, I'll grant you. But what most people dismiss as merely gaseous discharge—waste products, if you will—Doctor Saint has discovered possess certain useful attributes. One of Doctor Saint's … um … what's the word I'm fishing for here? Rival? Colleague? Something like that but I can't find the exact word. Anyway, one of the other scientists working on developing advanced military mechanics is based in Salt Lake. Dr. Darius Hellstromme. You've heard of him?”

Jenny shook her head.

Grey narrowed his eyes. “I have. Been some wild-ass tales coming out of Utah. I met a guy once who swore on his own mother's grave that he saw a machine man walking down the center of Salt Lake, big as two men and clanking like fifty headaches. Of course, that fellow was a known drunk and his mother's still alive, so who knows what he really saw.”

Looks Away shrugged. “Machine men? Really? I doubt that. Though … I might be unfair. I suppose if machines can fly, then maybe they can be made to walk. But what concerns me, or rather what concerns Doctor Saint, is the Kingdom rifle. He explained it to me, but I'll try to put it in simpler terms for you.”

“That would be nice,” said Jenny. She gave Grey a knowing wink. “For the benefit of us lesser mortals.”

“Hilarious,” said Looks Away sourly, but he was smiling. “The whole thing involves capturing the smoky discharge from the smelting process and then compressing it into small cylinders. The more gas that can be compressed into, say, a five-inch cylinder, the better. More gas pressure creates more energy when released. You follow?”

“Like a bloodhound,” said Grey.

“There is so much raw energy, even in the ghost rock smoke, that one cylinder, properly regulated, can be used for many bursts of energy. What Doctor Saint has done is connect a replaceable cylinder to the electric motor. Each time a burst of gas is discharged, it winds the copper coils of the motor at such a high rate that a strong electrical charge is created. This charge is used for two purposes. First it is injected into the brass shell casing of each bullet through a special kind of firing pin, thus triggering a blast that has far more power than black powder. The projectile flies faster, farther, and straighter. The second thing it does is activate all of the destructive properties of tiny grains of ghost rock that have been placed inside the core of the bullet. That turns what appears to be an ordinary bullet into a round that has the approximate explosive power of an explosive artillery shell. Imagine, if you will, a twenty-four-pound field gun firing canister packed with thousands of tiny iron pellets. Grey, I'm sure you've seen the effect firsthand.”

“Too many times,” admitted Grey. “One round can rip a whole platoon apart. But that's a big shell.” He picked up one of the loose rounds and examined it. The bullet was only a little larger than a rifle round. “Even if this broke up it couldn't do that kind of damage.”

“Yes,” said Looks Away sadly, “it could. That bullet is not what it seems. Inside are grains of ghost rock. Not enough to be of much value for sale, but when charged during a compressed gas firing, each one of them explodes like a tiny grenade. There are fifty grains in each bullet. The effect is every bit as devastating as fifty small bombs going off in a tightly packed area.”

They stared at him in horror.

“So you see what would happen if an army went into the field carrying Kingdom M1s?”

“It would be a slaughter,” said Jenny, aghast. “That's terrifying.”

“It is indeed. One effect is that any ghost rock used is utterly destroyed, as is any ghost rock it encounters. One of Doctor Saint's intentions was to create a weapon that would obliterate any ghost rock–powered weapon of the enemy.”

“What would happen if you fired that at one of the undead?” asked Grey.

“Or a Harrowed?” added Jenny.

Looks Away shrugged. “As I said, the ghost rock is obliterated. Doctor Saint was never concerned with the spiritual aspects of his devices, but given what our friendly monk says about the manitou, I rather think they would be obliterated as well.”

Grey felt that sink in. A weapon that could actually destroy a demon was so far beyond anything that he'd ever thought about that he didn't know how to think about it. He had to resist the temptation to glance at Jenny. If the Kingdom Rifle was used on her father, would it destroy the demon inside him as well as his own human soul?

So many ugly questions, and so many unbearably ugly answers.

“Now,” said Looks Away, warming to his topic but apparently oblivious to its emotional implications, “here is where it gets even worse.”

He led them out of the room and into the adjoining room where a dusty sheet covered what Grey took to be a lumber wagon. Looks Away took a breath, shook his head, then took a corner of the sheet and whipped it away. There, beneath the cloth, mounted on the back of a wooden delivery cart, was a huge machine.

Copper and steel and silver.

A Kingdom gun.

But this was no rifle. This gun was the size of the biggest cannon Grey had ever seen.

“Imagine what an army could do with a hundred of these,” said Looks Away. “Just imagine.”

 

Chapter Forty-One

Jenny approached the gun cautiously, as if it could somehow come to life and devour her. The machine was impressive, but Grey did not like the sight of it. He had seen beautiful cannons before. Old time brass ones, iron monsters, and even some whose metal skin had been engraved with filigree and a tracery of wild flowers. He had never understood that, though looking at this one, he wondered if making a weapon beautiful was somehow a way for the maker to convince himself that peace—defending it or keeping it—was truly the end result of warfare.

Personally he didn't think so.

His life tended toward other interpretations. War was pain and suffering. War was loss and regret. War was innocent blood and stolen lives.

He walked past Jenny and ran his fingertips along the ribs of copper wire that encircled the middle of the weapon. Even though it was inert he could imagine the thrum of power contained in its dormant battery. Power waiting to come to unnatural and unholy life.

Grey stopped and studied that thought and the word choices that had flitted through his mind.

Unholy.

It was a strange word for him. Not one he used. Holy or unholy. Those concepts belonged to a broken part of his long ago childhood back in Philadelphia. Not to the stoic and cynical killer he'd become since going to war. Not since he had let war and all of its ugly trappings define him.

“Impressive, is it not?” asked Looks Away.

Jenny turned to him. “It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen. This is unholy.”

Grey did not comment on that.

“If one bullet from the small gun could kill a dozen men, this thing could … could…” She shuddered and hugged her arms to her body. “No, Looksie, this is wrong.”

The Sioux arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you wouldn't use this against Deray, even if you found out that he was behind the murder of your father? Even if you found out for certain that he was responsible for the deaths of all these people and the attack on the town?”

Jenny did not answer. The inner conflict was clear on her face, though.

“It's not easy to answer, is it?” asked Looks Away gently. “And, for the record, I'm with you on this. I disagreed with Doctor Saint on many points. He is a good man, don't misunderstand me, but he actually thinks that select use of an ultimate weapon will remove from men's heart the desire for conquest.”

“No,” said Jenny.

“No,” said Grey.

“No,” agreed Looks Away, “and more's the pity.” He sighed deeply and patted the barrel of the deadly cannon. “Luckily this is something we do not need to concern ourselves with at the moment. As the French are so fond of saying, we have other fish to fry.”

“That's a French expression?” asked Grey.

Looks Away shrugged. “Who cares? We don't have sufficient ghost rock gas to power a weapon this large. There are magazines for the small rifle, but only two gas cartridges and nine bullets.”

“That would put a dent in the monsters,” observed Grey.

Jenny wheeled on him and finally spoke the thought that Grey knew had to be burning on her tongue. “Are you saying that we use it on my pa?”

He held his hands up. “Whoa, now. I'm not saying that,” he lied. “I was thinking out loud. But since we're talking about it now, let's look at that. I'm not saying we use this on your dad, but I wouldn't shed too many tears if we were to thin his crowd a bit.”

“Even if it means destroying a human soul along with the demon?”

“First, we don't know that it would do such a thing … and second … maybe. We might have no choice. I'd rather use that gun and destroy those …
things …
than stand unarmed and let them slaughter every
living
person in Paradise Falls. In an ideal world we'd never have to make that kind of decision, but let's face it, Jenny, we're being dealt some pretty bad cards here. We have to do what we have to do. And who knows, maybe Brother Joe can intercede with the Almighty to save those souls.”

“And what if he can't?” demanded Jenny.

“Like I said, we do what we have to do. That rifle may be our only chance.”

“Isn't it funny,” observed Looks Away, “that we can discuss using the rifle while we all consider the cannon to be somehow obscene. Why is that?”

No one offered an answer.

“Yes … exactly what I thought,” said the Sioux. “We're all barking mad. All of us. Every human who ever walked on dear-old planet Earth.”

“I got no argument for that,” said Grey.

Jenny merely sighed heavily and nodded. They went back to the room and stood looking down at the rifle. “We live in such strange times,” she said. “It's like we're living in a dream. A nightmare. Those things that happened last night … that was wrong in so many ways. I mean … snakes and frogs? That's so strange. It's like something out of the Bible. Out of the Old Testament. The plagues of Egypt.”

Looks Away smiled. “You think Deray conjured that like Moses to drive us from this land?”

“Maybe.”

“I was joking.”

“I'm not,” she said. “I think everything that's happened has been part of that kind of plan. To get us off this land.”

“But why?” asked Grey. “All he has to do is wait another few months. Without water no one can stay here. Shipping it in's got to be more expensive than it's worth.”

“It is,” said Jenny.

“Why not buy it from other towns?”

Jenny cut him as she crossed to the big map on the wall. “Other towns? Sure. Other water sources? Absolutely. There's Branton.” She slapped the map over the name of that town, which was a few miles to the north. “And St. Lopez.” Slap. “And Casper's Corners.” Slap. “Golden Springs.” Slap. “Diego Sanchez.” Slap.

“What's your point.”

“They're gone,” she said.

“Gone?”

“Gone. Every town for a hundred miles in any direction is gone. Dead.”

“The Quake?”

“No. They're ghost towns. Chesterfield bought up most of the land south of here. Deray bought the rest. And any place too stubborn to sell out was either burned out or they had their water rights stole out from under them. You can call it legal purchase, but we all know what it really is.”

Grey gaped at her. “All of them? You've got to be wrong.”

“She's not, you know,” said Looks Away. “If anything, Jenny's understating the problem. You're coming into this at the end of a very destructive and very thorough process. Deray and Chesterfield are like two fists and Paradise Falls is the flesh caught between the punches. Lucky Bob thought he could turn it around. He thought he could get one or the other to see reason and maybe find a compromise that would allow Paradise Falls to survive. I advised him against it. So, for the record, did Jenny. Lucky Bob was like that, though. Clever as he was, his weakness was always believing the best in people. He thought that if he could speak with them face to face that there could be some kind of opening of the heart, a meeting of the mind.”