The Dragon's Breath (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 3) Page 7

  “It’s a good thing my fuel chamber is well-protected,” Socrates said. “Let’s move on, we have a lot of ground to cover.”

  They left the passenger car, moving deeper into the train. Three cars down, they found Vann. The hefty cook was slicing and chopping one of the bench seats with his cleavers. He was attacking the seat with such fury that the padding material was floating through the air like falling snowflakes. When he heard them come in, he turned to grin at them.

  “River!” he said cheerfully. “I’ve almost got this one finished. You take one of the others. Be careful, they sting!”

  “They sting?” she said.

  “Yes… and watch out for their pincers.”

  “Right,” River sighed. “I’ll help you with that in just a minute.”

  She slipped around him, and Socrates followed her into the next car. They paused there, gazing back at Vann through the windows. “Well?” she said to Socrates. “What do we do now? He’s destroying the train!”

  “If I had my tranquilizer gun, we could stop him,” Socrates said. “But that might make matters worse.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no way of knowing if a sedative will counter the effects of starfall. It’s never been tried before. There’s a chance the two will interact.”

  River raised an eyebrow. “You mean it might make the hallucinations worse?”

  “Possibly. Or, it could cause a sudden drop in blood pressure and body temperature, which could be lethal.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “I have a plan,” Socrates said. “We need Micah.”

  “Why?”

  “Come with me, I’ll explain on the way.”

  They found the halfling in his bunkroom located in the attic above the library. When River pushed open the trap door and stuck her head in, she saw Micah curled up in a ball under his desk. His eyes were like two black orbs shining out of the darkness. River was afraid he might not recognize her in the ventilation mask, but to her surprise, he did.

  “River, don’t move!” the halfling said in a loud whisper.

  “What’s going on, Micah?”

  “Snakes,” he said, pointing. “They’re everywhere. Can’t you see them?”

  River glanced down the ladder at Socrates, who was staring up at her. “He’s hallucinating,” she said. “What should I do?”

  “He needs oxygen.”

  River nodded. She twisted around, squeezing her way through the narrow hatch, and pulled herself up into the attic. Micah moaned in horror, and covered his face with his hands as she crawled towards him.

  “It’s all right,” River said. “I’m going to help you breathe.” She sucked in a few deep breaths, and then pulled off the mask. She pulled Micah’s hands from his face, and with some minor struggling, managed to press the mask over his head. River waited as long as she could, and then took it back to suck in another breath. As soon as she had filled her lungs, she put the mask back over Micah’s face.

  The process was laborious, but Micah’s condition began to improve. The hallucinations came to a stop quite suddenly. Micah’s eyes cleared, and the anguished look on his face went calm. He stared into River’s eyes and said:

  “What’s happening?”

  River motioned for him to join her downstairs.

  Back in the library, they took turns wearing the mask while Socrates explained to Micah about the fog. His eyes widened as the reality of their situation dawned on him.

  “It’s amazing no one’s been hurt,” Micah said.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” said River. “Most of the crew are still missing.”

  “What can we do? We have to help them.”

  “I’m glad you said that,” said Socrates. “Follow me.”

  He led them out of the library and down the series of connected hallways, through another twenty railcars. All along the way, River and Micah had to take turns with the mask. When they finally reached the dining car, the group found Pirate lying face-up on the counter.

  “Is he dead?” Micah said. River hurried over to the coon and placed her hand on his chest. She bent close, smelling his breath. She lifted up the empty bottle of rum lying on the bar next to him.

  “Drunk as a skunk,” she said. “Who let him into the bar?”

  “Could have been anyone,” said Micah. “To be honest, it even could have been me. I don’t remember anything that happened since we pulled into town.”

  “That may be for the best,” Socrates said. “Pirate is capable of doing serious damage when the mood strikes. At least he’s sleeping through the worst of it.”

  They moved on, and eventually came to the Engineering car. The door was locked. They could hear movement inside. River tapped on the glass and jiggled the handle.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” said Socrates.

  “Why?”

  There was a loud whooshing noise on the other side of the door, and a wall of flames hit the window. River stepped back, her eyes wide.

  “What’s going on in there?” she said.

  “Thane,” said Socrates. “He found my flamethrower.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Socrates turned to Micah, who had just handed the mask back to River.

  “This is where you come in,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  Micah gulped.

  Chapter 9

  Socrates put his hand on Micah’s shoulder, and the halfling looked up into the ape’s dark eyes. Micah felt dwarfed by that large hand, but something about the automaton’s face calmed him. Despite the ape’s mechanical nature -the spinning gears, the strange noises, the puffs of steam exhausting from the tiny chimney behind his ear- at moments Socrates seemed genuinely human. He gave Micah a reassuring smile.

  “At the far end of the Engineering compartment is a series of valves,” Socrates explained. “I need you to turn the red valve all the way to the right, and the green valve all the way to the left. Do you understand?”

  Micah nodded.

  “Perfect,” said Socrates. “After you do that, lift the red lever to activate the pump.”

  “The pump?” said Micah. “What pump?”

  “The pump that will hopefully purge the train,” he said. “Remember, it’s the red lever on the wall.” Socrates glanced at River. “You’ll have to give him the mask.”

  She started to remove the portable tank that she’d been carrying.

  “Wait!” said Micah. “Why would you do that? Isn’t River be the better person for this job anyway?”

  “River can’t fit into the overhead compartment,” Socrates said. He pointed to an opening up in the ceiling above the door, similar to the trap door that Micah used to access his quarters. “It’s a lot smaller than the space over the library. It’s the only way to get past Thane.”

  “Past him?” Micah said. “And what then!”

  “When you get to the end of the boxcar, we will distract him.”

  Micah reluctantly accepted the oxygen tank. River helped him strap the tank onto his back, and tightened the leather straps to secure the mask to his face. Micah' gave her a concerned look.

  “What about you?” he said. “Without fresh air, you might... Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Not at all,” River said. “I’ve killed Sentinels before, I can do it again.”

  Micah frowned, not quite understanding her explanation. River drew her revolver out of its holster and handed it to Socrates.

  “You’d better take this. I wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot the wrong person.”

  Socrates accepted the weapon with a wry grin. He pressed a hidden button in his torso, opening the leathery plate that accessed his internal fuel chamber. He twisted the revolver around, cleverly fitting it in the narrow space beside the fuel tank. Satisfied, he closed the compartment and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

  Socrates pulled the deadbolt mechanism on the overhead door, lowered it, and lifted Micah up into the crawlspace. Micah turned to look down a
t them. River had settled onto the bench seat that ran along the wall. She sat with her legs folded together, leaning back against the window with her eyes closed. Inside the next boxcar, he heard the whoosh of the flamethrower going off again.

  “Burn them!” Thane’s muffled voice shouted. “Burn them all!”

  The crawlspace was dusty, dark, and cramped. Micah could see a crack of light about twenty feet away, where the next hatch was located. He summoned his courage and started to crawl. Clouds of dust puffed into the air when he put his hands down. They floated up in front of him, blurring his vision through the lenses. The muffled, incoherent sounds of Thane’s voice drifted up to him through the floor.

  Darkness seemed to close in as Micah reached the halfway point. The crack of light around the trap door was now little more than a foggy blur. He noticed that the floor seemed to have risen, and the space between the floor and ceiling had become increasingly tight. The halfling told himself that it didn’t matter, that in a few seconds he would be through the door and out of there. The moment he had that thought, the tank caught on something.

  Micah twisted, trying to pull it free, but found he could barely move in the narrow space. The halfling squirmed backwards, trying to move back the way he had come, but to no avail. The tank was wedged in tight against something. He twisted to the side and managed to lock himself in even tighter. Now the tank was pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe.

  Micah closed his eyes and took a slow, deep, deliberate breath. He considered every possible alternative. Going forward was not an option; it was impossible. He didn’t dare move to the side. His first attempt at that had only gotten him more stuck. He couldn’t move backwards, either. Whatever he was hung up on wouldn’t allow him to move that way. He was good and truly stuck, and the dark confining space was beginning to feel more and more like a tomb.

  There was no way around it: he was going to have to remove the oxygen tank. It was the only way to give himself the wiggle space to get free. Micah twisted his torso, trying to reach the buckle on his chest, but quickly found there wasn’t even enough room to slide his fingers in there. He twisted, bring up his left arm in an attempt to reach it from the other direction. As he moved, the mask pulled tight against his face. A whiff of cold, contaminated air rushed in and the lenses fogged up.

  Micah’s eyes widened. His heart raced in his chest. His fingertips began to tingle and his chest tightened. It was hard to take a deep breath. Suddenly, he was panting. The space seemed to press down on him, the darkness closing in like a great weight, forcing the air out of his lungs. The snakes! he thought. Where were they? Surely they would come again, now that the seal of his visor had been compromised.

  But the snakes did not return, and after a few moments, Micah gained enough control over himself to realize that he had slipped into a panic. He forced himself to slow his breathing. He moved his arm again and felt that same tugging sensation on the mask. There was no doubt about it, he wasn’t getting out of there with that thing on. His only hope was in removing the mask, so that he might allow the tank to slide further down his torso. If his plan worked, it might potentially give him the wiggle room to get free.

  But what if it didn’t? What if he remained stuck, and couldn’t get the mask back on? What would happen if he was trapped in there, forever? And the hallucinations… Micah didn’t think he’d survive an experience like that. Even though he knew the snakes weren’t real, they seemed real enough. But what choice did he have? There were no other options, and he was wasting time thinking about it. He had to act, and he had to do it now!

  Micah pulled sideways, moving his arm up to free the mask. The leather was tight against his skin, and because of the straps, it resisted. He pulled hard, and the mask made a pop! sound as it pulled away from his face. The oxygen tank on his back began to hiss wildly as the mask fell to the floor.

  The escaping gas agitated the dust in the crawlspace, and Micah blinked as tears filled his eyes. His nose began to itch. He pushed forward, trying to free himself. Just as it seemed he was about to break free, a violent fit of sneezing came over him. Micah’s chest expanded with the explosive force, driving his back up against the tank. The loud exhale stirred up even more dust, and his spine popped loudly as the tank pressed down against him. Micah had just enough time to moan painfully before another fit started up.

  The poor halfling was helpless against the uncontrollable seizures that shook his body. So miserable was his suffering that Micah didn’t even realize the tank had somehow slid down around his thighs until the attack was over. When he came to his senses, Micah raised a hand to wipe the tears from his face and realized he could move freely. He moved his hands around, searching the narrow crawlspace for the mask, but he couldn’t find it. He must have kicked it away. In the darkness, he couldn’t be sure where it had gone. At least he was free to move.

  Gasping and coughing, Micah began to crawl towards the hatch. As he moved, his right foot kicked something and he heard the oxygen tank roll away from him, clanging across the floor. It settled into a dark corner somewhere behind him, still hissing and coughing up clouds of dust.

  Micah groaned. He gave up any hope of retrieving the mask and pushed forward on his belly, crawling as fast as he could toward the trap door. He crossed the last few yards in mere seconds. Upon reaching the door, he twisted the handle and found it locked from the inside. Micah blinked at it through the tears blinding his eyes.

  “No,” he said in a whimper. “Not after all this!”

  He hammered on the door with both fists, trying to break the lock. It rattled furiously, but gave no sign of yielding. Frustrated, Micah scooted forward, right on top of the door. He was hoping his weight might force the thing open. As he positioned his body, Micah felt the door give slightly, but the lock still held. In his desperation, and knowing that the effects of the fog might kick in at any moment, Micah flipped over onto his back. He pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his feet against the ceiling, and pushed with all his might. The door groaned, but still the lock held.

  The shadows moved and slithered around him. The hallucinations were coming back. Micah squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to slow his breathing. He was exhausted, his strength ebbing. Within moments, the terrifying visions would take over once again. He had failed.

  Somewhere deep inside himself, Micah found he wasn’t ready to concede just yet. It was not so much out of fear, but rather the desire to protect those he cared about. River was down there. She had given up the mask for him… given it to him, without a second’s hesitation. What might she be going through now? He could only imagine. Micah couldn’t fail her. Not when she had placed that kind of trust in him. He had to try once more. One more kick, with all his strength. Once more, for River.

  With a grimace, Micah braced his forearms against his knees and pushed up with all his might. The door bent slightly under the force, but still didn’t open.

  This is it, then, he thought. I’ve failed them all.

  Micah threw his elbows back in a fit of rage, driving them into the door. At the same time, he released the pressure on his knees. The door rebounded upward beneath him in a slight bounce. With a sudden click, it came open and Micah found himself falling through the air.

  On his way to the floor, the halfling bounced off a shelf and then over the edge of a worktable. He landed sideways with one arm twisted uncomfortably behind him, and the other pinned beneath him. Something heavy, possibly a toolbox, came down after him and landed solidly on his back. He blinked the dizziness away, rolling onto his side. Tools clattered across the floor.

  “Mushrooms!” Thane shouted, spraying a column of fire at him from halfway across the room. “Cook them all!”

  Micah rolled to the side, away from the flame. It blazed past him, singing the edge of the table. Micah’s knees popped and every bone and muscle in his body screamed as he pushed to his feet.

  “Wait!” he cried out, holding his hands up. “Thane, stop!”
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br />   Thane frowned. He came closer, brandishing the flamethrower before him like a rifle. He had the fuel tank slung over his back in such a way that Micah would never be able to reach it to deactivate it. All Thane had to do was squeeze the trigger, and that would be the end of Micah.

  “You’re a strange little mushroom,” Thane said.

  “I’m not a mushroom!”

  “A talking mushroom,” said the bard, tilting his head to the side. “I’ve never seen a talking mushroom. I’ve seen singing ones, of course, and dancing mushrooms. Lots of those around here-”

  “Thane!” Socrates shouted. The door behind the bard flew open with a crash, and the massive blue gorilla rushed into the room. Thane spun around, leveling the flamethrower in his direction.

  “Mushrooms!” he shouted, squeezing the trigger. “Big, blue mushrooms!”

  “Now!” Socrates shouted as the flames engulfed him.

  Micah hesitated a split-second and then realized that this was his opportunity. It wasn’t a very good distraction, he decided as he headed for the control valves. As smart as Socrates was, sometimes Micah had to wonder about the creature. Setting himself on fire was certainly not the best way to get Thane’s attention.

  Micah reached for the first valve and recoiled as he saw the snake wrapped around it. He threw a glance around the room and realized that they were everywhere. He closed his eyes.

  Just a hallucination, he thought. Socrates told you, they’re not real!

  He reached out, cringing as his hand closed on the valve. He twisted it to the right, just as Socrates had instructed, and then reached for the next one. A moment later, Micah waded through the pool of snakes around his ankles to the big red switch on the adjacent wall. He pressed it up, and a piece of machinery in the next room came to life with a rattle. A chug-chug noise filled the room, and the ventilation ducts began to suck the mist upwards. Fresh air blew across his face as it began circulating through the ventilation system.

  Micah turned around to find himself staring down the business end of a flame thrower with a small snake dangling from the end of the barrel. He looked up into Thane’s face, and the bard gave him a wry grin.