Blood Curse: Book 2 of the Blood War Chronicles Read online

  Jake pulled on the reins gently and got Lumpy drifting toward a copse of trees that brushed up against the water’s edge.

  “Skeeter,” he said over his shoulder, “give that valve a twist and lift the rig out of the water. We’re taking a little break here. I figure everyone could use a good leg-stretching, and this is a good spot for one.”

  “Yessir!” she said, sounding relieved as the hiss of aether flowing into the envelopes filled the air.

  “Cole?” Jake said, glancing at his partner. “You think you could whip up one of them smokeless fires of yours?”

  Cole stood up in the back of the wagon and scanned the shoreline, looking for the right spot and the proper materials to work with. He held up his finger and tested the wind. A slight but steady breeze blew from the south and carried onward through the denser area of the trees.

  With a nod, he said, “Yep. I reckon I can, but I’ll need help peeling the bark off the deadfall if you want it done fast.”

  Jake nodded as well. “I’ll tie off the rig and unhitch Lumpy. I figure he deserves a little breather and a whole mess of sweet feed. Ghiss, see if you can’t police up a few thicker branches, about four inches or so.” The mercenary nodded. “Take Skeeter with you, and peel every square inch of bark off everything. Skeeter, pay attention to what Cole does here. A smokeless fire can save your life.”

  “Yessir!”

  They each set about their tasks quickly, the promise of stretching out and getting something in their bellies a powerful motivator. An hour later, the wagon sat nestled in a grove of nearby bushes, and Lumpy chewed through half a bag of sweet feed poured at his feet beneath a nearby tree. Everyone else gathered around the fire pit.

  Cole had dug the pit about a foot and a half wide at the top and two feet deep. It was slightly wider on the inside to reflect most of the heat back in on itself. The hotter the fire, the less smoke it would make. Then he dug a second, smaller pit upwind of the large one, and connected the two with a small tunnel about the diameter if his arm.

  With a stack of bark-stripped kindling and broken branches to kick things off, the fire caught and grew quickly. Air flowing through the side-tunnel got the coals white-hot in minutes and kept it well ventilated. Cole added short lengths of thick, bark-stripped logs that Jake had been able to break up with his clockwork arm and legs. As promised, only an occasional wisp of smoke drifted away, quickly broken up and dissipated as it passed through the trees downwind.

  Jake always marveled at how well the technique worked. Jake could make them, too, but Cole’s always worked just a little bit better. Cole had, after all, learned how to make them during his time working with the Apache. The things had kept Jake and Cole out of trouble on several occasions over the previous eight months.

  Under a thick canopy of green, rustling leaves, they all stretched out and waited for Jake’s infamous coffee to be ready—coffee Jake desperately needed. The dense foliage above blotted out their view of the sky, and without any smoke drifting through the trees, they were as invisible from above as they’d been under Corina’s spell.

  When the coffee was ready, Jake went around and poured some for everyone. Meanwhile, Skeeter handed around strips of salt pork from their meager supplies as well as a few thick slices of bread she’d acquired from the Jezebel’s galley. Jake wondered what Ghiss was going to do, since he’d never seen the man eat. The mercenary hadn’t hesitated in taking what was offered him. After finding a comfortable spot, everyone relaxed for a bit as they chewed slowly and washed it down with hot coffee.

  As it turned out, there was a small plate beneath Ghiss’ chin that he unlatched and opened. Jake tried not to stare, but he knew Skeeter wouldn’t be able to help herself … and Ghiss didn’t seem to mind. He produced a brass straw from somewhere up his sleeve, taking sips with it occasionally. He broke the bread off in chunks and then slipped each piece up to where he seemed to chew things normally.

  With an occasional pop from the fire and their bellies being attended to, everyone took a few minutes to enjoy the quiet.

  When the food was gone, Ghiss finally asked, “When do you think we’ll arrive in Roswell?”

  Jake washed down the last piece of his bread as all eyes turned to him. “Skeeter? What do you think?”

  She pondered it for a bit, her eyes drifting up and staring out into space, as if she was looking at a map.

  “Well, if I read that map right, I figure we’ll spend another hour here.” She glanced at Jake to see if that was right.

  He nodded and said, “I need to iron this kink out of my butt before we get back on that damn wagon.” That elicited a few chuckles from his crew.

  Skeeter continued, “Then we’ll head out on the river just as we’ve been doing. It’s hard to judge, cause of the twists and turns in the river, but if we pull through most of the night and take another break at sun-up, I reckon we can hit Roswell sometime after noon and before sundown. Barring any complications from Szilágyi, of course.”

  “Of course,” Cole added. “That would be just dandy, if you ask me.”

  “I figure we could all use a break from that crazy foreigner,” Jake added.

  There were nods all around and everyone settled back again.

  Just as Jake was starting to nod off, Ghiss’ voice broke the calm. “Jake, don’t move!”

  Jake opened his eyes to see Ghiss pointing one of his pistols at him. Naturally, Jake didn’t move, suddenly worried that he’d underestimated Ghiss’ notion of honor. Everyone was suddenly staring at Ghiss, and Cole’s hand was drifting toward his pistol.

  “Ghiss, what the hell are you doing?” Jake asked, bewildered.

  “There’s a rattler not four feet from your head, Ghiss warned, and Jake could tell now that the pistol was aimed past his head and at the snake.

  Jake slowly turned his head, as did the others. A thick rattlesnake, about seven feet long with probably fifteen joints in its rattle, slid across the deadfall surrounding their camp.

  “Easy, Ghiss,” Jake said smoothly. “Leave him be.” He turned and stared at the mercenary. “He’s just tryin’ to earn a livin’ like the rest of us.” Ghiss hesitated and then lowered his pistol. “Everyone just hold real still for a minute and watch what happens.” Cole and Skeeter looked nervous, and there was no telling what was going on in Ghiss’ head.

  As the rattlesnake slithered through the middle of their camp, right along the edge of the fire pit, a memory floated up from Jake’s past. He started talking to ease everyone’s mind. “I remember when I was a kid—I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight—my brother Daniel and I were out in the woods hunting deer. Well,” Jake chuckled, “he was hunting. I was along to be a nuisance and help him haul back anything he managed to shoot.” Jake smiled. “He was a terrible shot, even with that Hawken rifle dad had given him.”

  Jake shook his head. “Anyway, we’re traipsing through the woods on a bright, sunshiny day, and all of a sudden my brother tells me to freeze and points at the exposed roots of a nearby tree. Right there, big as life was the biggest goddamn copperhead I ever seen. I swear, the thing looked a mile long to me. Shoot it! I yelled at Danny, but he just shook his head. Step away, he says, calm as you please. So we did and went about our business. I stayed quiet the rest of the afternoon, still terrified and looking for a copperhead under every tree and bush we passed by.

  “About an hour later, we spot a big ol’ buck and a few does in a clearing up ahead. We squat down, Danny takes aim, and pulls the trigger. Damn if he didn’t miss again.” Jake chuckled at the memory. “The herd bolted and disappeared into the forest. As we were walking home, I asked my brother why he hadn’t shot the snake. The thing could have killed either one of us. I asked him if it was because he was afraid he might miss. He smiled then.

  “No, he said. At that range I could have nailed it clean. He stopped me right there on the deer trail, and he stared at me for a long time. Jake, he said, we’re all God’s children, and if I don’t have a rea
son to kill a thing, then I ain’t gonna. That old snake was just getting by, and there weren’t no reason at all to end it.”

  Jake set his coffee cup down and watched the tail end of the rattler disappear beneath a nearby stump.

  Cole and Skeeter kept staring at where the snake had disappeared, but Ghiss’ oculars were locked on Jake.

  “What happened to your brother? You speak of him as if he were gone,” the mercenary asked.

  “He is,” Jake said a bit sadly. The pain was long gone, but a man never forgets when his brother is taken from him. “It was a few years after that copperhead. My brother really was my mother’s son. She was a God-fearin’ woman, to be sure. Danny was possessed of the Holy Spirit, she used to say.

  “Well, he was coming up on eighteen and he got it in his head to do God’s work by becoming the best soldier he could. He managed to get accepted to West Point. We were all real proud of him. We didn’t hear much after that, but about a year and a half later we got the letter.”

  Jake paused, his eyes closing briefly as he remembered the day. “He’d been killed in a fire during some training exercise. His colonel wrote that my brother didn’t feel much pain. There was an explosion and such. And that was it. They buried him there and we got a flag delivered to us via the Pony Express.”

  Jake went quiet for a while, and as the silence dragged out the memories filled him. “I can’t prove it, but I always figured it was a broken heart that killed my mother, not the consumption.”

  “Consumption?” Ghiss broke in, and there was more in his voice than a mere question.

  “You sound surprised,” Jake said, wondering why a man like Ghiss would care either way.

  Ghiss cleared his throat. “Just surprised that a woman of at least some means would find herself in the throes of consumption.”

  “Hell, lots of people got it in those days, Ghiss.” Jake stared at the mercenary. “You know that,” he added. Ghiss’ reaction seemed at least a little out of place, but he didn’t give it much thought.

  They all went back to relaxing, and about an hour later, after the fire had burned itself out, they hitched up Lumpy and were on their way down the river.

  The sun leaned down into the west as they continued downstream. Jake sat in the driver’s seat, the reins slack in his grasp. Ghiss sat next to him, frozen as a statue, and Cole was fast asleep on Corina’s reliquary. Skeeter was at the rear with the Thumper, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Szilágyi.

  Suddenly, Ghiss’ head snapped toward the next bend in the river.

  “Gentlemen, I believe we’re about to have visitors.”

  “What?” Cole asked, sitting up on the reliquary. “You hear that zeppelin coming back?”

  Jake turned an ear downstream and listened closely.

  “I hear it, too,” Skeeter said. “It’s too high-pitched, though. Sounds almost like an electric motor. It’s definitely not that zeppelin. That’s for damn sure.”

  They could all hear it now, and it was coming straight at them much more quickly than the zeppelin had approached.

  “Skeeter, hand me that Thumper.” She passed it forward, and Jake put the scope to his eye, holding the rifle steady as the sound grew closer.

  Two strange flying craft popped into view from behind a low hillock a quarter mile downstream. The high-pitched sound had a pulsing chatter mixed in. The sound turned to a clattering whine as two air machines came into view, flying just above the treetops, one on each side of the river. Jake had never seen anything like them, and he figured he’d have to be plumb loco to set foot in such a contraption.

  The two machines were similar in design, but he could see enough differences to indicate that they’d been made piecemeal out of parts and plate metal. Each one had two occupants, one in front of the other, and they sat in a hull that reminded Jake of a large, brass bathtub. There were three large wheels underneath, one forward and two aft. Sticking up out of the middle of the hull, just behind the second occupant, rose a large shaft with a double-bladed propeller that rotated parallel to the ground. It spun quickly, but slow enough that Jake could watch it move. Jake figured the blades had to be fifteen feet across.

  Each machine had a small motor of some kind mounted behind the shaft. It drove a smaller, fast-spinning propeller perpendicular with the ground, giving the craft thrust. A framework mounted to the back of the hull supported two tail fins, one horizontal and one vertical, and both flying machines had Gatling guns mounted on each side, just above the struts for the wheels.

  Jake focused on the nearest craft and dialed the Thumper down to the second setting. He’d be able to get a shot at each of them if he needed to. Then he spotted the insignia emblazoned on the nose of the craft in his sights.

  “Holy shit!” Jake shouted and leapt over the side of the wagon.

  “What?” everyone yelled as he took huge strides toward the riverbank.

  “Stay where you are!” he yelled. “Those are snakes!”

  The two flying machines screamed along the river, drifting in tandem over each bank. Jake’s eyes never left them as he ran, and he had to admit the pilots were good. The two craft moved so precisely in respect to each other that it seemed like they were connected by a steel rod.

  As they passed overhead, their electric motors whining and chattering, Jake crested the riverbank. The insignia was painted on the tail sections as well. It was a double Ouroboros twisted into an infinity symbol, white serpents upon a forest green backdrop—the insignia of the Free Territories.

  He ran another ten yards and stopped cold, hoping he was far enough away from the wagon. Raising the Thumper, he sighted between the flying machines and pulled the trigger. A crack of electricity erupted, and a blue-white bolt of energy split the air between the retreating machines. All four men turned their heads toward him.

  The two machines banked hard toward one another as the men in the back seats pulled out long rifles of some kind. At first Jake thought the machines were going to slam into each other, but they passed by within what seemed only feet and swung back toward him in a wide arc.

  Jake deliberately laid the Thumper on the ground at his feet and waved his arms over his head, hoping they got the message before shooting at him. He realized that if they thought he was a threat, two rifles and four Gatlings would turn the spot where he stood—and him—into a mess. These pilots were at war. They might shoot first and not ask any questions at all.

  The gunners aimed their rifles as the nose of each machine angled down directly at Jake. He held his ground, not wanting to do anything but look helpless. Suddenly, one of the machines dropped down while the other rose, quickly gaining elevation. The lower one leveled out about fifteen feet off the ground and came straight at Jake.

  The gunner turned his head toward where the wagon was, tapped the pilot on the shoulder, and pointed in that direction. The gunner pressed his hand to his throat. The pilot nodded and appeared to pull back on something between his legs. The nose of the craft jerked upwards, and Jake watched the machine rise at a sharp angle. He smiled at the insignia painted on the tail of the machine as it passed by.

  The two machines circled around him in a wide pattern about two hundred feet away. Jake spotted Cole scrambling over the lip of the riverbank and waved at him.

  “Did you see the symbol?” Jake hollered.

  Cole nodded and walked up to Jake. “Yeah, as they passed over. That was a good play, amigo.” Cole smiled and shook his head. “A gutsy one. You’re lucky they didn’t just start shooting at you, them being in a war and all.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that, but I want to get out of this desert as fast as possible, and we’re still sitting ducks, even with the Lady’s magic. I reckon the sooner we’re in Roswell, the safer we’ll be.”

  Something caught Cole’s eye and he pointed. The machine upstream of them changed course and dropped in elevation, coming at them along a line further away from the riverbank. Jake heard the other machine change course as well. It tu
rned its nose away from them and headed due east. The machine coming at them dropped to about thirty feet. The gunner stuck his arm out of the side. He released something that fell to the earth about fifty yards away and bounced across the turf.

  Jake waved at the machine as it rose again and swung sharply around to follow its companion eastward. With Cole beside him, he strode toward whatever they’d thrown overboard. It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for. Nestled in a patch of sagebrush, Jake spotted a brass cylinder about a foot long with caps on each end. He picked it up, twisted off one of the ends, and pulled out a single piece of paper. He unrolled it and read it out loud for Cole to hear.

  “Stay put. Stay hidden. Cromwell’s troops have been spotted south of your position. Blue zeppelin seen heading away from you in that direction. We’re sending a zeppelin to pick you up that should arrive within several hours. Flag it down the same way you did us.” Jake rolled the message back up and put it back in the cylinder. “I sure do love it when things go my way,” he said, grinning. “Now all we have to do is wait … and hope they don’t shoot us.”

  Chapter Ten

  Crossroads

  “Some things you just gotta see to believe.”

  ~ Cole McJunkins

  “God almighty, would you look at that,” Ghiss whispered in awe.

  Jake never would have thought he’d hear such an emotion coming from a man like Ghiss.

  They looked toward the east and everyone’s mouth dropped. They couldn’t hear it yet, but the zeppelin headed their way was massive, with the Free Territories insignia emblazoned on both of the side-by-side envelopes suspending a blocky gondola beneath. The vessel was accompanied by ten of the rotary machines that had spotted them earlier.

  As the aircraft sped toward them, faster than Jake thought possible, an electric sound similar to the rotary craft filled the air. This was much deeper, however, a hum they could both hear and feel in their bones as the craft drew near. Jake dashed up the riverbank once again to get out from underneath Corina’s illusion. He fired the Thumper into the air, and moments later the nose of the zeppelin turned slightly north. A light began flashing beneath the nose of the gondola, and Jake recognized the patter immediately as Morse code; We see you. Maintain position. Acknowledge with two shots.