Rustkiller - A Science Fiction Western Adventure (The Coilhunter Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  “I'm not dead yet,” Nox said, though he felt he was getting close. All these years, the sun'd tried to get him. It chased him daily across the desert, hounding him. Yet it was here in the darkness, while the sun was sleeping, that the grave started to open. Maybe the sun'd wonder why he didn't rise with it.

  Nox tried to get up, much to Laura's protests, but he fell down just as quick, whacking his head off some of the scrap in the wall behind him. He groaned and rubbed his head.

  “I told ya you need to rest,” Laura said. Maybe that was how she was with Luke, when she thought he was having seizures. She might've thought they needed a mother, but as far as Nox could see, she was it. She had that instinct in her gut, just like he had the instinct to kill.

  “Maybe just a minute,” Nox said. He wanted to fight the urge to close his eyes. A lot could happen in a minute. Those constructs could be back. It took less than a minute to die.

  “Luke,” the girl said. “See if he's got medical supplies.” She pointed to the monowheel.

  “I do,” Nox said, groggily, feeling his eyes shut like coffin lids before he pried them back open. It'd be easy to give in, to let it all go black. If it was just him, he might've even let it happen. But he heard Laura's voice, and saw Luke shuffling over to the monowheel, prodding at things to see if they'd open. He couldn't die just yet. He had to get them out.

  “I'm not seein' any,” Luke said. Through Nox's periodic glimpses, it looked like the boy was afraid to touch the vehicle after what'd happened last time.

  “Front of the box,” Nox said.

  “There's nothin' there.”

  “Look harder!” Laura cried.

  “I am!”

  Laura got up and stomped over. “I'll find it.”

  Luke came back and knelt down beside Nox. “Will you be all right?”

  “Maybe not all,” Nox said, “but enough.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Well, you can't see!” Laura shouted, coming back with the box of medical supplies. She pulled out a roll of bandages.

  Luke stood up and kicked a stone away. It pinged off one of the walls, and he cringed at the sound. “Sorry.”

  “I need you to … find some weapons,” Nox said.

  “Weapons?”

  “Guns, boy. Guns.”

  “But where?”

  “It's the Wild North, boy,” Nox said. “You'll find 'em everywhere.”

  Nox's consciousness faded quite a few times over the next hour or two. Between the long moments of blackness, he saw Laura dabbing his wounds and Luke wandering slowly around the edge of the clearing, pulling at the odd piece of metal.

  Then, after watching a pile of old rifles form as if by magic nearby, he heard the boy shriek. Nox leapt up, forgetting his wounds. He raced over to Luke, where something in the debris had grabbed his arm. He wrapped his arms around the kid's waist to stop him from being pulled into the wall. Luke's cry echoed in the clearing. Nox summoned his strength and dragged Luke away, both of them falling to the ground. As he did, he pulled the construct free. It rolled forward.

  “It's that one,” Luke said, wiping away his tears.

  That one was the little rolling creature that had helped Nox defeat the Iron Gunslinger. It spun on the spot and painted itself a little smile. The Coilhunter had asked Luke to find him some weapons. Some might've thought this more a toy. But Nox knew just how dangerous toys could be.

  37 – ODDCOPPER

  At any other time, the Coilhunter would've gunned that little construct down. After what he'd seen, which was a lot worse than the terrors he'd heard of, every member of the Clockwork Commune had a Wanted poster in his mind. But this was different. This kind of proved the kids' mother right, that they weren't all bad. But then folk said that about the people of the Wild North. They didn't have to be all bad. Just enough of them had to be. That was when you didn't think twice with your trigger fingers.

  “It's him,” Luke said, brushing off the dust from his clothes.

  “The thief,” Laura added, placing her hands on her hips.

  The construct hid its head inside its torso, peeping out periodically.

  “I think it understands,” Nox said.

  “Mama said they do,” Luke said. “Said they're like people.”

  Like people, Nox thought. That meant they were a mix of good and bad. You never quite knew what you were getting. But you could guess.

  “Do you talk?” Nox asked the creature.

  The construct's head rose again, slowly. It took its little paintbrush out and marked an X on its face where it should've had a mouth.

  “I'll take that as a no.”

  “He keeps doin' that,” Luke said. “Where does he get the paint?”

  The construct pointed one stubby arm skyward.

  “God?” Luke asked meekly, a little afraid to ask.

  Nox scoffed mentally. That boy was still too young to realise that God had abandoned that place. But the Devil was still there, keeping everyone nice and warm.

  The construct's body sank a little, which kind of looked like how it might make a sigh.

  “Why, I'd say it means the balloons,” Nox said. There wasn't much else in the sky worth noting—just that damn sun, watching all of them, and biding its sweet time. Just because it was hiding now didn't mean Nox forgot about it. Hell, that applied to the criminals too.

  “The ones with the paintings?” Luke asked. Nox'd seen a drawing of an airship in the kid's journal, so he must've seen a different type travelling over the Wild North. Why it'd gone there was anyone's guess. Nox's guess was that it was madness.

  “Doubt any other ones'd have paint for cargo.”

  The construct rose again. It bobbed its head up and down, which they took for a nod. When words wouldn't do, there was a universal language in gesture. You didn't need paint for that.

  “Are you a boy or a girl?” Luke asked.

  The construct seemed confused at first, until Luke repeated the question, pointing at himself for boy and Laura for girl. it pointed at Luke.

  “It's a boy.”

  “We got that,” Laura said, rolling her eyes.

  “Shut up,” Luke replied, pouting.

  “You got a name?” Nox asked the construct.

  It stared at them blankly.

  “I'm Luke,” the boy said, pointing to himself. “This is my dumb sister, Laura.”

  The construct looked back and forth between them, confused.

  “How 'bout we name you?” Luke suggested.

  Laura scoffed and walked off.

  “What d'ya think?” Luke asked Nox.

  “I ain't much good with names.”

  “But you've got so many of 'em.”

  Nox chuckled, which sounded odd in his mask. “I don't pick those myself.”

  Luke pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin dramatically. “Come to think of it, I didn't pick mine either. So … it's a tradition then. We gotta name him.”

  “Well, go ahead, boy,” Nox said. “I'm better at crossin' names off lists.”

  Luke took out his journal again and started writing down names, most of which sounded better for a pet. He had a dog back at the ranch, old Banjo. He still had a drawing of him in his journal. That was all he had. He died when the bandits attacked.

  After a time, where the Coilhunter sorted through the rifles, Luke settled on a name.

  “Oddcopper,” he proclaimed. “That it! I got it. I got your name.”

  The construct painted a little smile on its face, but Nox wasn't sure if that was more out of politeness than anything else. It begged the question: just how close to people were these things? He knew the original ones were made by some mad professor from Blackout, but he'd heard too many different versions of the story. And maybe that was all it was. A story. At one time, he thought that was all the Clockwork Commune were too. You soon learned to pay heed to fables in the Wild North. Some of them turned out to be true.

  But truth or lie, it was good to see Luke's chee
rfulness. It might've been one of the few times he'd etched out a little joy for himself from this whole affair. And that was the thing about joy. You had to dig for it like gold—and like gold, you might never find it. But iron? There was plenty of that. It was what made the wheels of industry and war go round. The Iron Empire had people digging for that too.

  As Luke interacted with Oddcopper, he reminded Nox of a mix of his own kids: of the compassion Ambrose had for others, and of the curiousness of Aaron. But then Nox thought maybe he was searching for things that weren't really there, like gold—or like ghosts. He glanced at Laura, who sat glaring from the edge of the clearing, full of the hidden anger that Luke didn't really try to hide. Sometimes the children left the parents, and sometimes the parents left the children. Nox tried to imagine what it was like for them, being abandoned for research, for science—for constructs just like this one.

  Nox knew it wasn't healthy to make comparisons, but folk had a love of doing unhealthy things. Ambrose and Aaron. Laura and Luke. It was tradition in the Wild North to name your kids with the same letter if you wanted them to get on. Came from the tribes, people said. Nox went along with it once, but he scoffed at it now. More like superstition. The names didn't stop them from fighting. And no charms or rituals stopped them from dying. They just made living a little easier.

  Luke cried out suddenly, and Nox leapt up, guns at the ready. It was lucky he wasn't a “shoot first” kind of guy or it might've ended bad. Turned out it was just Luke's excitement as Oddcopper dug Nox's guide owl from the debris.

  “Hell, boy,” Nox said, “don't scream like that.”

  “Sorry. It's just … look. The bird with the big eyes.”

  “You mean the owl?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “It's what everyone calls it. You never seen an owl before?”

  It was a stupid question. This kid was born too close to the time of the Harvest, when the Iron Empire came. A lot of kids of that time hadn't seen a lot of things. Except dust. They saw plenty of that. And crime. And war. The Wild North might've been left as “neutral territory,” but it was just as affected as the rest. There was always desert—but it didn't always reach so far.

  “I saw an eagle once,” Luke said, looking away wistfully. “At least, I think it was one. Papa said it was just a hawk. But it was bigger. We went out to find it, but it was gone.”

  He pulled out his journal and flicked through the pages until he found a drawing of a bird perched on a cactus.

  “I drew it before it flew off.”

  “Well, looks like you've got an eagle eye, boy. That's an eagle all right.”

  “Is it? How d'you know?”

  “It's a predator. I know my predators.”

  “Oh.”

  The boy started to close his journal, but Nox spotted something on one of the newer pages.

  “Go back,” he said. “What's that?”

  The boy blushed. “Oh, it's not ready yet.” He showed a half-finished drawing of the Coilhunter, which he must've made when Nox was sleeping.

  “Quite a likeness,” Nox said.

  In fact, it was too much of a likeness. It showed his dark eyes, the crags in his skin, and that damn mask. It was like one of those captured images produced in the dark chambers that folk were going crazy for of late. Old Five-pence Tully had a darkroom wagon hauled by mules, which she toured the width and breadth of Altadas in, capturing moments for a bit more than five pence now. Some still did the calculations from the old currency to coils, but Nox didn't bother. The Treasury thought you could rely on money. They were wrong. But guns? Well, you could rely on them no problem.

  “I still need to work on it,” Luke said, putting his journal away. “Maybe I'll draw Oddcopper next.” He tapped his foot off the construct's hull. “Would ya like that, huh?”

  The day wore on, and Nox felt his strength returning, though more from necessity than anything else. He repaired the owl and shoved it back into his shoulder pad. His armour creaked. He thought some of it was a little beyond repair. He might as well've been wearing one of those buckled hulls that lined the scrap heaps.

  But there wasn't too much time for mending. He could hear the minutes counting down in his head. Hell, he could hear them in the ticks inside Oddcopper's body, barely muted by the metal plating. There was one thing you could really count on. Time wasn't on your side. Like everything else in the Wild North, it was out to get you.

  * * *

  Laura pulled Luke aside, as far away from Oddcopper as she could get him, which took some trying, as the construct kept following them around.

  “Should we be trustin' this thing?” Laura asked.

  Luke shuffled on the spot. “Why not?”

  “They're to blame for all this. They're why mama and papa came out here.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn't mean they're bad.”

  “You saw what the other ones did.”

  “The other ones, yeah. But not this one.”

  “But can we trust it?” Laura asked.

  The Coilhunter walked past, halting. “You trust your gut,” he said, before throwing a rifle her way. “Or you trust this.”

  38 – GUN-SHY

  “Here, boy,” Nox said, throwing a rifle his way.

  To the Coilhunter's surprise, Luke flinched, stepping back and raising his clenched fists. The gun struck the ground.

  “What's the matter?” Nox asked. He knew it wasn't just a case of a boy who couldn't catch. That boy didn't want to catch. That boy didn't want to shoot.

  “I don't like guns,” Luke said.

  “Most don't, but you get to like 'em.”

  “I don't wanna.”

  “Well, boy, you either get to like guns, or other people's guns get to like you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “He's always like this,” Laura said.

  “I ain't a yellow-belly,” the boy said.

  Nox shifted his feet. “Didn't say you were.”

  “But people think it.”

  “Well, people think a lot of things. Ain't no point worryin' about what's goin' on in their heads. It's the world out here that we've got to worry about.”

  “I don't wanna be another killer.”

  “Didn't your father teach ya to shoot?”

  “He tried,” Laura said. “By gosh, he tried. Luke just wanted to draw.”

  Nox humphed. “Well, I can teach ya to draw another way. But it ain't any good if you ain't willin' to pull the trigger.”

  “I'll do it,” Laura said, cocking her rifle.

  “I know you will, but we're outnumbered bad here. We got six hands between us, not countin' whatever you call those clamps on Oddcopper. We can't afford to have any hands not holdin' a weapon.”

  Luke's eyes were already watering. Normally kids his age were eager to shoot, more eager than did them any good. Nox didn't want to force him, but he didn't want him to die either. If you didn't want to die in the Wild North, you learned pretty quick to pick up a pistol. Luke was lucky he had Laura or he'd have probably already learned that lesson the hard way.

  Then, with all eyes on the boy, Luke crouched down and picked the rifle up gingerly, holding it away from him, like you might a snake.

  “You know how to shoot it?” Nox asked.

  “You pull the trigger.”

  “Yeah, well that's the gist of it.”

  Luke chewed his lip. “What if I kill someone?”

  “Well, that's the point.”

  “But I don't wanna do that.”

  “You're lucky we're in the Rust Valley, then, boy. It's mostly just us.”

  “But the constructs,” Luke said.

  “What about 'em?”

  “Isn't that killin' too?”

  “Not sure ya can kill what ain't alive, but I ain't no philosopher.”

  Luke looked at Oddcopper, who peered back with curious eyes. “But aren't they alive?”

  His mother could've probably answered that. Hell, it was her que
stions that started this whole mess in the first place. It was simpler with men. Most were so rotten, you could almost smell the stench. You didn't think twice about killing those.

  “In their own way, maybe,” Nox said.

  “They're just machines,” Laura said.

  “But mama—”

  “Mama left us.”

  “But—”

  “Ain't we life too, Luke?”

  They caught each other's glances.

  “She left us to die, Luke. We could've died.”

  Nox couldn't help the thought: You might still.

  “I don't know if this takes the sting out,” Nox said, “but you ain't the only one who'd rather hold a pencil than a pistol. Ever heard of Rommond?” That war hero from the Resistance side had a way of taking the sting out for many, and putting it back in for the rest.

  “The general?” Luke asked, wiping one eye with the back of his hand. The rifle wavered in his grip. The boy'd have to lose those shudders or he might kill someone all right—and not the right one.

  “The very same,” Nox said. “Well, last I heard, he'd rather be at home paintin'. Quite a dab hand at it too, or so I hear. But the war's on down south, the Great Iron War, and he ain't got a home. He's just got a battlefield, and a cause. Hell, he ain't got a choice.”

  Luke dug the heel of his foot into the ground, rocking it from side to side. “He could say no.”

  “Then he'd be consignin' hundreds, hell probably thousands, to die.”

  “But he's a soldier.”

  “He's more than a soldier, boy. We all are.”

  “But don't it give you nightmares?”

  Nox was glad the kid couldn't see his eyes. Yeah, he thought. It gives ya terrible ones. But so does everything here. So does not fightin'.

  “You already have those,” Laura said, saving Nox from having to reply.

  “But I don't want worse ones.”

  “Don't be afraid of it, boy,” Nox said. “A gun ain't nothin' but a hunk o' metal.”

  “But we ain't nothin' but flesh and bone.”

  Nox smiled. “I think we're a little more than that. Why, I'd say those drawings of yours proves that just fine.”