Fire On the Sand Read online

  His body tingled as his circulation returned to life with the warmth. With warmth came awareness of how much he hurt in places. He checked himself for injuries. The soles of his feet looked like ground beef. Tearing the food wrapper in half, he used the scraps of cloth to bind them, hoping without much confidence the wounds wouldn't become infected. As he finished the job, a sudden increase in light made him look up. The fire had found a new source of fuel. A wall of flame rolled toward him, engulfing everything in its path.

  Greg hobbled as fast as he could away from the conflagration, heat beating against his bare back. He searched for a way to escape while a tiny part of his mind commented on how ironic it would be to get burned to death after being so cold for so long.

  The only path that offered him a chance lay past the end of the locomotive. Everything else either burned or made an obstacle too big for a crippled man to climb. He stumbled over rails and ties as he passed around the front of the engine, cringing as the huge hissing and ticking mass of metal loomed above as if ready to crush him.

  The open desert lay beyond the single track, the sand and gravel waste looking cold, dark and empty. The heat on Greg's back stopped as if a furnace door had shut. He trudged onward for another hundred paces or so, wondering what to do next. The desert seemed to suck at his soul. Greg shivered from fear more than from cold. Who knows what's out there? The wild creatures of this crazy world could be far worse than Earth.

  A blazing barrel dropped from the sky, slamming into the sand and bursting a short distance away. Burning oil shot out in a spray and spattered on his legs. Greg jumped and howled as he beat at the stinging pain and tripped over a barrel stave as it skittered by, one end burning bright. Cursing the burns, Greg picked up the stave. With a last glance at the emptiness he turned and used the rudimentary torch to light his way across the uneven ground.

  He skirted the area of the mining compound, trying to see past fires and roiling smoke to determine how the slaves were doing. Occasional yells and cries sounded over the roar of flames. Once an ogre bellowed, whether in pain or triumph, he couldn't tell.

  Greg reached the foot of the crag. The locomotive whistle shrieked, the banshee sound making him cringe. He heard the sounds of the engine stirring to life, the heavy huff and puff of steam at work. Greg stopped.

  What the heck do I do now? I know that damned city is back down the track. Do the silly beggars think they'll escape if they go back? Are they going the other way, and to what?

  He hesitated, caught between exhaustion and the need to escape. The sounds of the locomotive increased in tempo, but decreased in volume. It's moving away. They're getting away without me. He sagged to his knees, feeling like giving up and letting the cold or any surviving ogres find and kill him.

  A soft puttering sound impinged on his hearing. At first Greg put it down to the sound of blood surging in his head. The sound increased in volume. Weary beyond belief he raised his head and looked about, wondering if he heard an echo of the fast-retreating locomotive. Some quality of the sound made him stare upward.

  A huge shape blotted out the stars above. The fires in the mining camp reflected off a long silver cylindrical form, and Greg could make out the glint of glass and metal fittings and an array of windows showing a dull ruddy light.

  It's an airship! An honest-to-God airship! Fumbling for the smoldering stave, he swung it over his head. The flow of air made the dying embers on the end flare up anew, and the surrounding sand glowed yellow.

  Some moments passed. The puttering sound altered pitch, and the airship slowed to a hover directly overhead. A clanking sound came from above. Seconds passed. Greg sat and watched as a cable emerged from the darkness to land on the sand with a soft thump. Two people stood in stirrups attached to it. One, a tall man with reddish hair, shook his feet free and stepped onto the ground. He opened a dark lantern and walked over to Greg, the beam from the lantern lens casting a swathe of golden light. His companion, a woman, unslung a nasty-looking shotgun and kept watch. Both wore leather dusters and ornate brass goggles that reflected the firelight.

  The man stood over Greg, raised the goggles and stared at him. "Good heavens! What a poor creature you are."

  "Help me." Greg reached out to clasp the hem of the man's coat.

  The man stooped and with graceful strength tossed Greg onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He made his way back to the cable where he carefully put Greg down and handed the lantern to the woman. Setting Greg's feet in the stirrup and securing a leather strap about his chest the man smiled and nodded.

  "Cling on tight, mate. We're getting you out of here."

  The woman swung the lantern and the two of them stepped quickly into the stirrups. Someone up above understood the signal, and Greg swayed as the cable jerked then rose swiftly into the air.

  He gazed down as the wrecked mining compound spread out below. The fires were dying down. He couldn't see anything moving, but plenty of bodies laid scattered there, most of them human. Away in the distance the locomotive rolled down the track heading for the city, the searing white headlamp and the golden glow from the crew compartment marking its progress. He closed his eyes, too tired and numb with cold to wonder who his rescuers were, or how they came to be in this place in such a craft.

  They rose through the night for about a minute and then Greg felt the motion slow. He opened his eyes as he and his unknown saviors passed through a hole in the bottom of a small circular platform on one side of the airship. A winch clunked above his head as it wound in the cable and they stopped level with an open door in the gondola.

  Greg looked bleary-eyed at the welcoming party standing there. It comprised a tall woman dressed all in leather and a man wearing a striped jersey and black pants. As the red-headed man guided Greg through the door, the woman took his arm and assisted him the rest of the way inside.

  "Who have we here?" she asked.

  "An escaped slave, Captain." The red-headed man gestured to Greg. "He used a burning brand to signal us."

  She cocked her head. "Any others down there?"

  He shook his head. "None. We think they escaped on the train."

  The woman whom he'd addressed as Captain leaned closer to peer at Greg. She swam like a mirage in his vision, a tall, well-built woman clad in leather and brass with killer cheekbones and a haughty expression. Her exposed midriff displayed a sparkling jewel in her navel and a tattoo of a snake or dragon that twined up toward her breasts. Greg felt long-unused facial muscles ache as he formed a smile.

  Then he fainted.

  Adena wrinkled her nose as she looked down at the unconscious man. He had several weeks' growth of beard and shaggy hair, which might possibly be brown under coal dust and dirt. She detected a pale skin under the grime covering his emaciated body and shook her head.

  "He's gone through the mill by the look of him. The poor bugger stinks." She gestured to Conner. "Strip him and toss everything he's wearing overboard. He's lousy and flea-bitten if I'm any judge, and I'll not have my ship infested. Clean him up, tend to his injuries and put him to bed. I'll talk to him tomorrow — if he recovers."

  Conner and a crewman picked up the escapee and carried him away.

  Adena sighed and rubbed her brow. "We'll resume our course now, Jake." She yawned. "Let's clear the area then we can stand down."

  Jake nodded. "Aye aye, Captain."

  They returned to the flight deck. Adena used the binoculars to sweep the ground in and around the mining camp. Nothing moved there. The fires had died down. Wreckage lay strewn everywhere. She addressed the helmsman.

  "Come about to starboard thirty-degrees. Resume original course."

  When he acknowledged, she grabbed the telegraph handles and rang for full speed. The beat of the engines increased, and the crew swayed under the impulse as the two hundred and sixty feet long airship responded.

  Adena turned to Jake, waiting quietly nearby. "When we're back on course, drop to cruising speed. No sense in wasting fuel." She
glanced out the windows. "Okay, we're clear of the camp. Sound stand-down."

  The bells rang again throughout the gondola, a series of shorter peals that sounded less urgent than the continuous alarm signal. Adena heard the repeated clunks and thumps that showed the weapons crews were making safe their charges. By standing order, when flying dark side, only the machine gun crews would remain at their posts until watch change over. The relay board chimed, and the disks flipped to show standard cruising procedure had been established.

  With a final look around the flight deck, Adena nodded. "You have the watch, Jake."

  He saluted. "I have the watch, aye, Captain."

  She returned to her cabin, undressed and slipped beneath the covers. It took her a few moments to realize Mr. Phibuli sat on his perch, a silent presence in her cabin as she reached to turn out the light. "Everything all right, old bird?"

  Bronze and brass glinted as he turned his head. He opened and shut his beak twice then blinked. "The jury's out, Adena."

  Something in his voice made her sit up. "How so?"

  He gazed at her. "At least Zared remained in his booth during the alert."

  Adena frowned at the non-sequitur. "That's good to know, but you avoided my question."

  He turned his head away and said no more. Adena gazed at him for a few heartbeats then shrugged and settled down. It didn't take long to fall asleep.

  Zared laid on his cot and stared up at the ceiling. The alarm woke him with a start. Going to the door to investigate the reason for the disturbance, he jumped when a sharp knock sounded and a crew member stuck her head into the cabin to tell him to stay put. He'd done so willingly, but every change of course made him wonder what was going on. The anxiety and the swaying of the ship as it maneuvered made him feel nauseated.

  After several minutes that seemed like a lifetime, the all-clear sounded. The airship moved under way once more. He debated going to the flight deck to find out what had occurred, but thought someone would've remembered him and told him if danger was at hand. He turned onto his side, punched his pillow and tried to sleep. It took time, but eventually sleep claimed him.

  He dreamed a woman made entirely of silver or mercury stood by his cot, looking down at him. The expressionless face regarded him silently, then she reached down and touched his mind. An icicle drove into his brain, and he opened his mouth to scream, but the pain vanished as suddenly as it hit, leaving him cool and calm. The woman nodded and withdrew her hand. Zared slept on.

  Chapter 5

  Greg woke the next morning in a state of confusion. He stared at the ceiling, mind still fuzzy with fatigue as he tried to work out where he was. Soft fabric touched him everywhere, and eventually he worked out he was lying in a bunk bed. At arm's length to his left, a curtain hung from a rail, closing off the space in which he lay. His pulse returned to something like normal.

  This is good! I can't remember the last time I slept in a bed. And no one's beating up on me, either.

  The air smelled clean and fresh instead of the fetid reek of the slave pens. His skin and hair no longer itched with crud, lice and fleas. He moved his legs and winced when hot pain surged from his feet. Memory slowly returned, creeping into his conscious mind like a timid kitten. The steady purring of engines from somewhere helped him remember. Ah. I'm on the airship. It wasn't a hallucination.

  The curtain rustled then opened. Greg turned his head, feeling his neck muscles ache with the motion. A man in a seaman's striped jersey looked down at him, and Greg recognized him.

  "How're you feeling, mate?" the man asked.

  Greg tried to speak, but his mouth felt like dried, cracked leather. The man nodded understanding. He poured a glass of water from a bedside carafe and helped Greg sit up to drink.

  "Thanks." He smacked his lips. "I feel like someone's taken a mallet to my hide and beaten it flat."

  The man chuckled. "You look much better than when you came aboard. My name's Conner, by the way, ship's steward. What's your name, mate?"

  "Greg Cole."

  "Okay then, Greg. Are you ready to eat?" Greg's stomach rumbled loudly by way of response and Conner grinned. "I'll take that as a yes, then. Give me a few minutes to rustle something up for you. I'll tell the Skipper you're awake. She wants to talk to you once you've eaten.”

  Greg reached out and touched Conner's arm as he turned to leave. "Your skipper. Is she the tall lady with the tattoo?"

  Conner nodded. "That's her. Captain Adena Nightingale's her name."

  "Thanks."

  Conner left. Greg laid back in the bunk, listened to the quiet thrum of engines and savored the first peace he'd experienced since coming to the world.

  * * *

  Conner returned a few minutes later bearing a tray with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, an apple, fruit juice and something resembling coffee. Greg had wiped up the last bit of egg with a slice of toast when a knock sounded on the bulkhead outside. The curtain opened to reveal the woman he'd encountered on coming aboard. She wore different garb, a long seal-brown leather duster with black furred collar, and a top hat of brushed ocher felt. A pair of brass-bound goggles hung around her neck.

  "Hello, Mr. Cole, I'm Adena Nightingale, Captain of Oculus Nightingale." She addressed him in a rich contralto. "Welcome aboard, sir."

  Greg sat up, conscious that he didn't wear a stitch of clothing under the bedclothes. "Thank you, Captain."

  They shook hands. The captain unbuttoned her coat, revealing a fine silken shirt in steel blue and fawn breeches secured with a wide leather belt. She pulled up a stool, straddled it and regarded him for a long moment. He studied her in return, noting the olive complexion, well-defined cheekbones and dark, intelligent eyes. After a moment, she smiled.

  "You're not from this world, are you?"

  "I don't think so." He rubbed a hand over his head, noticing for the first time his hair had been cropped short.

  The Captain's smile turned lopsided. She pointed at his head. "Sorry about that, but you were literally lousy when you came aboard. It'll grow back."

  Greg gave her a rueful smile. "It had to be done, I guess."

  She nodded. "How did you come to be here?"

  He grimaced. "It would help if I knew where here is, Captain."

  "Of course. We call it BloodDark."

  "Uh huh. I come from Earth."

  She sat up straighter, her interest piqued. "Indeed? I suspected as much. You have the look of a lost soul about you, something you share with other Earthlings who've been kidnapped and brought here."

  He narrowed his eyes and stared at her. "How do you know I was kidnapped?"

  She shrugged. "Given how you look and what you've said, I'd say the odds of your not being kidnapped and brought to this world are astronomical. But we digress. You were going to tell me your story."

  Greg breathed deep, relishing the taste of air clear of stink. He noticed at that moment the Captain wore a subtle, spicy perfume that he found pleasant. "I'll tell you what I know."

  He collected his thoughts. "I'm a civil engineer by trade, working for a company out of New Jersey." Adena looked blank. "That's a place in my country, the United States."

  "Okay. Go on."

  "We have a contract to build an interstate bridge in Pennsylvania. I was on site late one night with my secretary, Cathy Kozinski. There'd been a hold-up due to subsidence in one part of the site, and we were finishing up the paperwork. Apart from the night watchman I thought we were alone. The crew had left for the day. Cathy and I were in the office cabin in the middle of the compound. Our night watchman was patrolling elsewhere. Someone came in through the door. He didn't knock or anything, just walked in." He shook his head, bemused. "How the guy got into the place beats me. It's surrounded by chain-link fencing with a gate that's locked at night. We stared at him and he... did something to our minds."

  Adena nodded, her expression thoughtful. "That sounds familiar. What did he look like?"

  Greg wrinkled his nose. "I don't think I c
an forget him. He was tall, thin to the point of starvation. Pale as a ghost, too. His hands looked more like claws than real people's. And his eyes!" He shuddered. "Blood-red instead of white. Hair kind of thin and slicked-down. His clothes looked like something out of a history book, maybe Victorian or something. He wore a cloak."

  Adena gave him a wry smile. "You've just described a Pure Blood —what your people would call a vampire."

  Greg shook his head. "Before that dude walked into the office I would've said vampires don't exist."

  "Oh, but they do, Greg. They cast a glamour over people, tuning their minds to nothing but obedience to the Pure Blood's commands." She paused. "Tell me, did he pay more attention to you, or to your companion?"

  Greg blinked. "Now that you talk about it, he seemed fixed on Cathy."

  "Do you know if Cathy's a virgin?"

  He felt his face grow hot. "I sure don't know."

  "I suspect she is — or was. Are you virginal?"

  Greg sat upright and stared at her. "That's a heck of a question to ask a guy!"

  Her smile looked less than sincere, but he saw her eyes were serious. "I'm sorry if I offend you, but it's a valid question. Virgins are the favorite prey of the Pure Bloods. He homed in on her. They have the ability to detect virgins. You just happened to be there and, virgin or not, the Pure Blood thought you'd be useful. Otherwise you wouldn't be here." She waved a hand. "I digress. What happened next?""

  He shook his head slowly. "You mean to tell me that stuff about vampires going for virgins and drinking their blood is real?"

  Adena cocked her head. "Yes. Human blood is like food and drugs combined to Pure Bloods. A virgin's blood is the most prized of all. They really get drunk on virgin blood. What happened later?"

  Greg sat back again. "The guy ordered us out of the office, and we walked after him like sheep. I couldn't resist obeying his every command. There was some kind of blue glowing thing in the center of the compound. The guy told us to walk into the light and we did. Next thing I know we're in some kind of stone building, like a church. It's lit by a few lanterns and freezing cold. No sooner had we emerged from the light than an ugly bunch of thugs the size of outhouses grabbed me and Cathy and whisked us away." Greg shivered. "I knew then we were no longer on Earth."