Through Fire

Through Fire - Chapter 03

Flint made his way across the meadow, green with clover, to where the Rhino sat where he'd left it two nights ago, when he'd ridden into town to pay his respects at the Clavar family funeral. The old rig hadn't moved a step, and he'd have been shocked if it had, for once the iron grey door slammed shut, no one without his distinctive genetic code could enter the hulk, let alone start her up. And if they could have opened her up, where would they have taken her? He had no idea, but Jerethy's words kept coming back into his mind: take the Rhino west. Take the Rhino west. Take the Rhino west. It was Jerethy's way of telling him to go to Hell, because they both knew west meant saltwater, and saltwater meant death, not because of wind and wave, or rust and rot, but because of the fire that slept below.

West meant death, yes, but east...

But east.

East meant the plains, the desert, the endless red desert, the towering mountains, and beyond them, the verdant forests. East meant the broken places, the ruins of the old world, and the wild ones who scratched out a living in scattered villages and roaming bands. They lived like children playing in the burnt shell of their parents' manor, and they fought like children, too, but these children ran free, no chains, no gems, no buy and sell. He'd taken a stand against it here, but he saw now he could kill a dozen Burl Clavars, and Bay City would run on down the same path it always had, until the last of the rigs broke down and died, or the sea dried up and the King of Fire rode across the land and burned it all to ashes.

Urgency gripped him, a hand on his guts, and he felt sweat moisten his brow and the skin under his arms. He moved faster, determined now. If everyone was marking time until they went down in fire, then he could burn in his own way. They didn't want him, and he didn't need them. He would point the Rhino away from the bay, and just keep going. He had to do it fast, though. If he hesitated, he would give them time to send him his charge, and they'd make sure he took her, and once the child was in the Rhino, he would be stuck with a problem. He couldn't just refuse to take her, and neither could he dump her out at some spot in the wild lands. No, the only way to get free was to go, to just go, and never look back.

Soon he made out the dark grey shape of the Rhino, and he pressed himself to walk faster, but some whisper told him not to run. He felt eyes on his back, and feared that running would somehow signal the townsfolk that he meant to leave. He knew the feeling was absurd, sheer paranoia, but he couldn't shake it off. He settled instead for a brisk pace, and soon grew so warm he had to strip off his leather jacket, moist patches blooming on his blue cotton shirt. He carried the jacket in one hand, and moments later he almost dropped it as he saw a weird shape on the top of his rig, as if the Rhino had sprouted a dorsal fin. He frowned as he wondered if the townsfolk, Vistor, the sheriff, or anyhow somebody had clamped some sort of device on the rig, and then he gripped the jacket and squeezed, for he realised the shape on the rig's back was no machine, but a person; no full-grown man or woman, but a child.

He sighed through gritted teeth. "Hey kid, get down from there. My rig's no toy."

The child jumped in evident surprise, flashed a look his way, rose to a standing position, and ran towards the Rhino's tail. A foot slipped, the child stumbled, and dropped down on the far side of the rig. Flint cursed, let his jacket fall to the grass, and ran around to the rear of the hulking vehicle, past the horse-sized hole of the turbine exhaust, the nickel alloy dark with carbonised dust, past the rear fins, and around to the other side, his heart tight in his chest. As he rounded the rear of the hulk, he heard a shriek, and put on a burst of speed, then skidded to a halt as he saw the child sprawled out on the stubby right delta wing. He saw it was a girl, lying face down on the wing, obsidian hair spread gleaming across her head and down her back, in stark contrast to her white silk dress. She lay there unmoving, one arm draped over the edge of the wing, and he froze, the breath caught in his throat. He put one hand to his forehead and massaged his scalp, then stepped closer and touched the girl's shoulder. He felt cool, smooth fabric under his fingers, and the girl didn't move, and he came closer, eyes wide, wishing not to believe what he saw, and then in one convulsive movement she rolled over, grabbed his wrist, stuck out her tongue, and howled like a banshee.