The Ghost Rebellion (37 page)

He gently guided her arm free of the wide shirtsleeve. Normally, he would never be so gentle with undressing a lady, but considering the circumstances—and the fact she was a crack shot—he did his best not to glance at Ryfka’s more intimate attributes.

“
Well,” he said, taking a closer look at the wound, “good news, the bullet’s gone clean through, but you’re still bleeding out.” Bruce took the bottle from Ryfka, then he looked over to the worktable. He found a small belt the length of his forearm and offered it to her. “I need to perform some field medicine,” he said, shaking the bottle lightly in his hand.

Ryfka nodded and folded the belt once before placing it in her mouth.

He poured the libation over the exit wound, and heard the belt she was biting into strain under her teeth. For her part, the sniper merely exhaled. The rush of pain was figuratively slapping sense back into Ryfka as she looked quite alert suddenly.

After a few deep breaths, she gave another nod and Bruce repeated the pouring, this time on the entry wound. After a few seconds, he traded the belt for the bottle.

Right then, that was the easy part.

“
Ryfka, I have to cauterize the wound,” he said to her, signing alongside his words. “There’s an arc welder over here. Once I stop the bleeding, I hope to patch you up properly. Then we need to get going. Extraction is coming up quickly.”

She nodded, even as she sagged backwards; exhaustion couldn’t be far off for her. Time was running out.

Bruce flipped switches along the rusted, metallic box, his lips whispering a prayer that he was not simply firing up what could potentially be a small bomb capable of taking them out with the barn. The goggles left on top of the power supply clicked and clacked in his hands as he slipped them around his head.
Just stay with me, Ryfka
,
he thought to himself as he waited for the welder to give him some indication it was ready. Lights were now changing from green to yellow, then red, the Russian script under them not his concern. He just wanted the bloody thing to work.

As it was with the experimental Brandon had employed in the factory, Bruce eased the ends of the welder itself together until they flared brightly. He looked along the worktable and found a slim strip of metal, which should do for the cauterizing. Bruce passed the end of it along the flame, watching carefully through his goggles to make certain he did not melt anything. Once the glow was consistent, he parted the rod tips and brought the goggles up to rest on his forehead. The small strip, even held out at arm’s length, was putting out a lot of heat.

“
This is going to hurt,” he began, ignoring the pounding in his chest. “A lot.”

Ryfka took a swig of the strangely dark vodka, then returned the folded belt back into her mouth.

“
All right, here we—”

“
STOP!”
came a voice from behind him.

The command nearly sent Bruce toppling into Ryfka. He spun around to stand at his full height, the red-hot strip of metal held over his head as if it were a club. Albeit, a very small, very hot club.

If Bruce had sneezed, he believed it would have knocked the frail man to the ground. He was shorter than Ryfka, his skinny frame barely filling the grey overalls of what Bruce assumed would belong to a factory worker. The stranger peered at them through spectacles that not only covered the entirety of his eye sockets but magnified his eyes, making them appear bloated and freakish. He looked to be in his forties, and he also looked tired. All these things—his fatigue, frame, poor eyesight, and height—would have made this bloke an easy target for Bruce...

...except for the rifle-like weapon he held them under. The same kind of creation he saw Mama Bear use on them in their escape. That could not be a coincidence.

“
What—” he began, his fingers splaying slowly around the rifle, “—do you think you’re doing?”

He must have overheard him speaking English. Lovely. “I need to cauterize this wound, or she’s gonna die.”

The weapon powered down and was then leant up against the inside of the barn door in one swift act as the man shook his head madly from side-to-side. “No-no-no-no-no, are you mad?” he asked, his accent rolling and flowing even through the broken English. “You will only infect wound and make things worse for poor girl.”

Bruce lowered the strip of heated metal. “Well then...” He pulled the goggles off his head, watching the Russian scamper throughout the workshop. Wasn’t he about to gun them both down? “What do we need to do?”

“
First,” he said, “we must cauterize wound.”

He held up the metal in his grasp, its red glow dimming but still putting out a good amount of heat. “Isn’t that what I was doing here, mate?”

“
Da, but you cauterize wound as
kak karova ha l’udi
,” he said, snatching the strip from Bruce’s gasp. Little bugger was quick.

“
What the hell does that mean, mate?”

“
Like cow…on ice.”

The man tapped on Ryfka’s good shoulder, making her start slightly. “I will cauterize wound. This will hurt.” He then beckoned Bruce over to them. “You will want to hold her steady.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as the man poured onto a small cloth a white, powdery substance. He shared a look with Bruce who put his arms around Ryfka to brace her.

There was no hiss of heat against skin. There was no smell of burnt flesh. The Russian merely applied the kerchief of white powder against Ryfka’s exit wound.  With the belt trapped between her teeth, Ryfka let out a muffled scream, and jerked madly.

“
Hold her!” the man insisted, keeping the kerchief on her. “Must keep it on wound for few seconds.”

Good to his word, the man removed the cloth from Ryfka, and Bruce stared at the blackened, soot-like appearance where the kerchief had been. The exit wound was now closed.

“
What is that stuff, mate?”

“
Silver nitrate,” he replied, pouring a fresh new helping of it on to the kerchief. “You cleanse wound with vodka,
da?”
 

“
How did you know?”

“
I only have two drinks from that bottle,” he said, motioning to the bottle in Ryfka’s firm grip. “Bottle nearly finished. Lady still sitting upright, meaning she does not drink much.”

“
Good eyes, mate,” Bruce said.

“
One more time,” he said to her, just before applying the powder to the back of her shoulder.

Again, Ryfka bucked and growled, but eased into Bruce’s hold once the man removed the kerchief from her. He tossed it aside and then reached for what looked like a replacement shirt. “This for you, once I bandage you.” She looked up at him, confused. “Your friend, here. Must be hard of hearing.”

“
Who the bloody hell are you, mate?” Bruce finally asked.

“
Dmitri Vladimirovich Yurganakov,” he said as he started winding fresh, proper bandages around her shoulder. “I work at factory you nearly destroy.”

“
Hold on,” Bruce said, glancing at the rifle-creation by the door. Might as well had been in London. “You work with the House of Usher?”

Dmitri looked at Bruce with his magnified eyes, then spat on the ground. “I say I work at factory. Not the same.”

“
So what do you do at the factory?” Bruce asked.

“
I design weapons for Bears. As you can see, I like to tinker.” he said, motioning around him. “When you tinker, accidents happen. So I know what to do.” Dmitri tightened a strip of gauze in place before tucking it into one of its folds. Once the bandage was secured with tape, he motioned to the shirt in Ryfka’s lap, then turned to join Bruce. “Give lady privacy while we talk.”

Bruce nodded to her, and then turned to peer down at Dmitri. “Should I ask why you are helping us, mate?”

“
What these Usher people do, is not good.” Dmitri glanced out of the half-open door. “What you do to Usher, I like. Instead of many Bears, Usher now have four.”

“
Four?”

“
And all are looking for you. Following east as you leave through East Perimeter. You are now south. This buys you time.”

“
Not a lot,” Bruce said. “They’ll probably look at closest towns, villages, and the like. And we are running out of time. Our extraction won’t wait for us.”

“
Girl must rest.”

“
That’s not going to happen,” he returned. “I’ve got to get her out of here.”

A hard knocking came from the worktable behind them. Ryfka was now in the new shirt, presumably Dmitri’s although she filled it far more impressively, Bruce believed, than Dmitri would.

“
You need to travel quickly?” he asked Bruce.

“
Yeah, we do, mate.”

The small man nodded, then walked past the two of them. He grabbed the corner of a tarp and pulled, sending dust and hay in all directions. For a moment, Bruce couldn’t see their unexpected saviour. Then, the dust settled and he could see Dmitri gently stroking the handlebars of an impressive motor-bicycle. The design was a bit reminiscent of the Excelsior & Eureka’s latest model he’d seen toodling around the countryside, but with a few modifications. This motor-bicycle was broader, both in the frame and in the engine. The other difference was, evidently, Dmitri’s touch with a sidecar welded to the right of it. It was a thing of beauty, it was. Just a sight for...

“
Mate?” Bruce called out to Dmitri. “You all right there?”

“
Da.” Dmitri had removed his glasses and was now staring at the motorcycle, his gaze not one of pride but of loss. “This—” He cleared his throat, and then went silent. Bruce was suddenly afraid to move. “This was something I made with my wife. Kristina loved rides across countryside.”

Bruce had seen that look before. In Brandon’s face. “That’s why you’re helping us.”

“
Usher did not appreciate Kristina’s engineering talent. They had her working on Bear prototype. Hull design inferior. She say so. As design belong to Mama Bear, she insist Kristina pilot prototype. First test run, Bear collapse on itself. Mama Bear send wreckage to forge for repurposing.”

“
She didn’t bother to get Kristina out of the wreckage, did she?”

Dmitri took a deep breath. “Motorcycle ready to go. If Usher comes, I will stand ground.”

Bruce nodded. “Thanks.”

“
You slow down Mama Bear,” he said, walking over to the rifle. He picked it up and then looked back at the two of them. “Next time, kill her. She will not stop until mission complete.”

“
What mission?”

Dmitri looked across the snowy field outside the barn. The light was dying, but Bruce could see in his eyes an acceptance. There would be consequences, but Dmitri was ready.

“
Ragnarök,” the Russian muttered.

Chapter Fifteen

In Which Our Plucky Pepperpot and Alluring Assassin Strike an Unlikely Accord

“
This is for Callum,” Eliza growled as she slammed her knee into Jekyll’s crotch.

The howl he let out was satisfying, but her appetite for revenge was barely sated.

“
This is for Her Majesty,” she said, before leaping into the air. The leg she had bent served as an extra pivot in her hips for her trailing leg to strike out whip-like. The top of her boot connected with the underside of Jekyll’s chin. His head snapped up, and he staggered back a few steps.

The sensible thing to do would have been to take cover as gunfire ricocheted around the courtyard, but this felt far too satisfying.

When Jekyll climbed upright again, Eliza spun on one foot, while the other swung up, and now it was her boot heel that connected with his face.

The bastard was still standing.

Jekyll chuckled just a little as he rubbed his jaw. “Is that for little Wellington?”

“
Oh no,” she said, with a wag of her finger. “Recompense for that is going to take much longer.”

He didn’t see the blow coming as her fist connected soundly with his hawk-like nose. Blood splattered over her knuckles, and the crack that sounded made her smile.

“
Oh you’re a feisty one,” he gasped as he wiped his lip. “Have you taken a shine to my protégé?”

“
If Wellington Books is anything to you—” And this time, without flair or fanfare, Eliza kicked him in the chest, not quite centre but where she knew it would deal the most damage. The strike knocked him back several feet. “—he is the one that got away—
far away
—from you.”

“
And yet—” Why was this wanker still laughing? He had a broken nose. From the sound of the rattle coming from his breathing, he had at least one broken rib, and yet he found all this funny? “—here we are. You think it merely Fate or Chance that brings us here?”

“
Bad luck,” she said, before running at him and firing off another kick for his ribs. “For you.”

The slap of her leather boot against his hand rang clearly over the gunfire around them. She had come to a stop, nowhere close to her mark. His fingers tightened around her foot as he held her there, studying her as if she were a specimen under glass. Then his cold eyes went black. Completely black, making the orbs appear like hollow pits set in his face.

“
Bad luck?” he asked her, blood spraying from between his lips. “Allow me to show you just how bad your luck is today, missy.”

A shot sounded behind her, and Jekyll’s body jerked back. She stumbled and hit the ground. Jekyll only sank to one knee.

Then something cracked. It sounded again, and again.

Eliza knew gunfire, but this noise was like taut rope snapping when pulled beyond its breaking point. She then realised the sounds were coming from Jekyll. His bones were cracking, his muscles stretching. He was growing before her.