The Clockwork Century: Fiddlehead Part 28

He cleared his throat. "An accidental failsafe, really. The bomb is too hard to control-it isn't stable. Once it's set and armed, it has half a day before the gas corrodes the interior components." He was speaking quickly now. "Half a day, while the gas eats the metal like acid. If we don't detonate it as planned, it'll go off on its own."

"Half a day?"

"We haven't got another two hours to wait for your messenger," Frank.u.m insisted. "We may not have one. If you want to follow orders, Captain MacGruder," he said, trying to keep a sour note out of his voice, and only succeeding because he sounded so afraid, "there's still time to get Maynard to ... to the edge of Atlanta. The gas will settle, spread, and roam anyway; precision in this regard was never very important."

"Oh, G.o.d," the captain said, though how he meant it, Maria wasn't certain.

"Follow your orders. Finish the mission, and, and, and we'll fit all of you into our craft somehow. We'll get all of you out of here safe and sound, I swear it on my mother's grave. We can take you out of the blast range-which isn't far: the gas does the damage, not the detonation, and the gas is heavy. It'll stay low, and we'll go high. Just ... you can't keep us here. None of us can stay here much longer, that's what I'm saying. And that's the truth-that's the G.o.d's honest truth, and I swear it."

MacGruder returned his attention to Maria and Henry-who by now had slid down into a seated position. He'd recovered a little of his coloring, but still looked weak. "Do either of you know how far this gas can travel? How much s.p.a.ce it can cover?"

Maria put her hand on Henry's shoulder. "No one knows. It'll roam like a cloud, killing everything it touches until it dissipates."

The captain looked mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks. But he couldn't afford to lose his temper in front of his men, not at a moment like this, when the nervous chatter was whispering its way to a crescendo of frightened soldiers, the rumor fleeing back and forth along the caravan to anyone who wasn't present to witness the exchange.

"All right," he said, his teeth grinding against the words. "Apparently we don't have time to fulfill our mission objective; we'll never make the air base in Atlanta with this cargo, not now. These guys," he said, with regards to Frank.u.m and his crew, "aren't going anywhere without us. And we're not going anywhere without them. Evans," he said to a uniformed soldier standing by. "Get me that map from the front car. We've got to find someplace to dump this. Sanders-" He signaled someone else. "As per my original request, I want these three tied up and stuck in the crawler with the bomb."

"But Captain-"

"Not another word out of you. We don't have time to wait for Bradley, which means we're acting on faith. Now, the rest of you-in teams, as we talked about before-start digging. We need those wheels free in less time than it'd take you p.i.s.s by the road, or else we're all dead men." He turned to Maria and Henry, then gave Henry a second, appraising gaze. "He's not looking so well. We don't have a doctor, but we can put him in a cart so he can rest."

Maria looked down at Henry, who indeed seemed on the very verge of fainting. "Henry, I think you'd better let them help you," she said wearily.

"No, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Here, someone get him up," she pleaded, and MacGruder nodded toward one of his fellows. As Henry was lifted up and a.s.sisted to someplace more comfortable, Maria turned to the captain and said, "You're doing the right thing."

"At present, I'm only making a go of it."

"Do you have a plan?"

"No." Evans returned with a map roll. MacGruder took it and stretched it out across the back of a crate they'd pulled down off the crawler, hoping to lighten the load. He weighed down the paper with a rock on one side, and his fist on the other. It was a detailed production, with known farms, small towns, and topographical features all marked out. With his free hand, the captain traced out the particulars as he spoke. "We're right about here," he told her-and Evans, too, who lingered at his side. "Still a good forty miles from Atlanta, but there are a few little towns between here and there. And behind us, too."

"What about ... what about a lake?" Evans asked, pointing down at a wide, oval-shaped spot to the east. "We could drag it out to a lake, and toss it inside. Maybe the water would, I don't know ... hold down the worst of the gas?"

The captain shook his head. "Not a bad idea, but that's six miles out, seven maybe. Through the trees, with no road to take us there."

"Not a lake, then..." Maria scanned the sheet, helping hold the corner near the captain's fist and accidentally leaving a smudge of blood on it. Her hands ached terribly, but what could she do? "What's this right here? Is that what it looks like? A cave?"

"A cave ... yes, I think so. And it's close."

"Then let's pray it's deep, too. If so, then, captain ... we may have our answer!"

He double-checked the location and let go of the map. Maria let go, too, and it curled shut around the rock. To Evans, the captain said, "Take the fastest horse we have left and go back to that little town a mile or two behind us. It was just a wide spot in the road, but they had a store."

"What am I getting, sir?"

"Dynamite. As much as they'll sell you."

"I don't have any money, sir."

"Then run up into the cargo ship and take whatever money you find. I doubt the Baldwin-Felts boys travel without any cash."

"Yes, sir," he said, and he was off.

MacGruder returned his attention to the crawler, which now had the three agents perched atop it, looking none too happy. "How's the digging?"

Without looking up, a soldier answered, "Another five minutes. Someone get inside and start the thing, would you?"

"Thomson, that's you. Crank it up. Davis, get me four or five crate lids. Pry them off and bring them over here. We're going to stick them under the wheels for traction." Then, to Maria, he said, "It's the cave or nothing at this point. We'll toss it down as far as it'll fall, and blow the top to keep it covered. I don't know if it'll hold all the gas," he confessed to her, more quietly than he'd said the rest. "But it'll buy us time, if nothing else."

She put a hand on his arm. "That'll do. When the war's over, the president can send the army engineers to take a look at it."

The great rolling-crawler rumbled to life behind them. Up in the cabin, Thomson wrestled with the gears, working the engine back and forth between first gear and reverse, trying to rock the thing free. On the sixth try it scooted. Its wheels caught on the crate lids and ground them to splinters ... but under Thomson's expert handling, it skidded to the left a few feet, spewing smoke and chips of wood from the crate lids as it hauled itself up, out, and onto the road once more.

The men cheered, and the machine jerked to a stop once it was clear. The road ahead was full of ruts, but the first hurdle was mastered, and it was time to proceed.

Over the engine, the captain shouted, "Move! Move everything-the carts, the horses, the other cars, everything! Get them out of the way; leave 'em on the side of the road if you have to. Now! This is all we're taking!" he announced.

"Captain!" Frank.u.m cried. "I can feel it moving underneath us; it's going to blow! You have to get us down! Let us run so we have a fair chance!"

"Like the one you were going to give us? Forget it," he told them. "That's just the engine you feel. The bomb is fine for now."

"I can hear it," he insisted. "A hissing noise ... a hissing...."

"Shut your mouth, Frank.u.m, or I'll shut it for you. Cross your fingers and say your prayers, and maybe you'll survive long enough for a court-martial. Thomson, Sanders, you're with me. Davis, when Evans gets back, tell him where we've gone," he said, then detailed the cave's location-not far down the road. "We'll turn off and try to work this d.a.m.n thing between the trees-we'll knock a few down if we have to, and we might. The cave is only a few hundred yards off the road, if I read the map correctly."

"Don't forget about me," Maria said.

"Ma'am?"

"Me. I'm coming with you."

"There's room behind the driver. Get in."

She climbed on board, and as the crawler lurched forward-struggling with the road, but winning, this time-they pa.s.sed the cart where Henry was resting. He waved as she went, his good hand offering a weak salute. She waved back, swallowing the lump in her throat and wondered if he'd make it back across the line. She didn't know how badly he was hurt. There might have been more wrong than she could see.

She put a hand to her torso, where the puncture wound had stopped bleeding, but was hurting fiercely all the same. It was one of the only places on her body where she was warm enough to feel anything at all.

Maria watched Frank.u.m and his men over her shoulder as they bounced, slid, and finally rolled down to the cart's bottom. When they disappeared, she first thought they'd been thrown-but no, they were wedged firmly in place between the bomb and the rails that kept it on the cart.

She smiled.

MacGruder gave her a look that asked her what was worth smiling over. She pointed down into the cart to indicate that their foes weren't going anywhere. "Maybe we should toss them in with the bomb," he suggested.

"Maybe, but your court-martial idea was probably better. Our side isn't ruled by pirates or scoundrels, Captain. You have to play fair. On the bright side, maybe one of them will make a run for it, and you can shoot him."

Now he smiled back. "A man can dream."

The crawler heaved and hauled them up over the road's raggedy bits with a motion like a ship in terrible seas. Maria found it worse than flying, even in the stormy air they'd navigated thus far that day; but she clutched her seat and-as they traversed one particularly bad pothole-the captain who sat beside her.

"There!" he called out. At first Maria thought it was a strange reaction to being grabbed by a woman, but that wasn't his point at all. He was looking off to the right, where a dirt road pa.s.sed between the trees.

The crawler shuddered to an idling stop. Thomson asked over his shoulder, "Sir, you think this is it?"

"It's about right, so far as the map goes. If it doesn't take us right to the spot, it'll get us close, and there will be fewer trees to mow down. Just take the turn, if we can make it."

"Oh, I can make the turn. I'm just not sure we can make that road. It's barely big enough for a pair of horses."

"Try it and see. We're out of plans, and we're running out of time," he said.

He was right, and Maria knew it. The Baldwin-Felts men might have been hysterical, but that didn't mean they were wrong. She could hear it, too, behind her: a different frequency of hum-an off-beat vibration that drummed up against her spine. The bomb's integrity was failing. The jostle of the rolling-crawler couldn't be helping matters, and it only grew worse when the vehicle turned right in a slow, perilous arc, then began its pa.s.sage between the trees on a road even worse than the one it was leaving.

Maria thought it wasn't possible for the ride to get any rougher, but she'd been wrong before, and here was another fine example.

"Get your head down!" MacGruder ordered her-and perhaps the rest of the men, though she took it personally.

He was right to make the command, as the trees at the road's edge had sharp, low branches. Their limbs were bare and cold, and they whipped viciously against the crawler and its occupants. Maria huddled down low, ducking as far as she could behind Thomson, who valiantly held the thing steady and forced it forward, ever forward, in the lowest gear imaginable.

"Can't this thing go any faster?" Sanders shouted.

"It can barely go this fast!" Thomson replied, jerking the steering wheel as it reeled against him, the wheels having snapped against some dip that threatened to trap them. "But if we stop, we're d.a.m.ned! We'll never get it moving again!"

So they fought onward, their bones rattling with every turn of the wheels. With each foot the weapon behind them grew a little weaker, a little louder. A little harder to ignore.

"That must be it!" Thomson hollered, pointing at a pair of structures no bigger than shacks. He drew the crawler up close beside them, and let the motor rumble.

One of the shacks was barely a roof on timbers, a covering for a hole in the ground. The structure beside it had a sign out front that said, c.u.mBERLAND CAVERNS! ONE CENT PER PERSON! SEE THE WONDER! AT YOUR OWN RISK! SUPPLIES AVAILABLE!

"Someone's selling visits to the cave?" MacGruder wondered aloud.

"It's not uncommon," Maria informed him. "But it's deserted now," she said aloud, to herself more than anyone else. "It must be."

"Thomson, get the back of this thing as close to that hole as you can manage!"

"Yes, sir! You get out and guide me. I'll do my best!" he vowed.

MacGruder flung himself over the side and went to the rear, hollering instructions and giving whatever guidance he could-and finally the crawler was positioned with its back deck beneath the overhang, almost immediately above the open hole below.

"That's as close as you're going to get!" the captain called, and made a throat-cutting gesture that told Thomson to stop the motor.

When he did, the crawler fell silent, except for the pops and pings of the engine cooling almost immediately in the bitter air. But the forest wasn't perfectly quiet, even without its raucous growling. The crisp afternoon was interrupted by the slow hiss, sizzle, and creak of the Maynard bomb shifting in its housing.

"Captain..." begged Frank.u.m. "You have to let us go!"

"And I will," MacGruder told them. He reached into his boot and pulled out a knife, then leaned into the compartment and cut the ropes that bound Frank.u.m and his men. "Get out now. You're going to help us shove this G.o.dd.a.m.n thing into that G.o.dd.a.m.n hole."

The Baldwin-Felts men agreed to this immediately. They might as well. There was no time to run.

They climbed out of the rear and rubbed at the sore spots on their wrists as Sanders untied the ropes that held the tarp over the awful device.

When he was finished with the knots, he whipped the sheet away, revealing the monstrous creation: a smooth, elongated box with round edges, banded with steel and rivets. Its nose was fixed with gleaming copper plate, and in its tail lurked a vast tangle of tubes, coils, and wires. Three tanks were mounted atop it, side by side like pig iron from the smelter. These tanks were the source of the hissing, the creaking, and other ominous sounds of something tight beginning to split under pressure.

It horrified Maria to her very core. This object could kill millions, if the weather was right. A terrific device, indeed, intimidating on the outside, even without ever releasing its deadly power. But compared to what it was capable of ... it looked deceptively small. Nothing that could fit on the back of a crawler should be able to wipe out a city.

Frank.u.m also stood staring, without speaking, until he said what Maria was already wondering. "I don't know if we can lift it, Captain-just us men, and her," he said. "We haven't the strength between us, not even if we had a team of horses!"

"You idiot, the back of this thing is on a hydraulic lift. It was built to carry and dump construction supplies," the captain said. He gave Thomson a signal, and a different motor kicked to life-something quieter and smoother, but still wildly loud in the otherwise silent woods. With painful slowness, the back compartment rose, tilting the bomb by tiny, incremental degrees. "We won't have to pick it up and carry it; we'll just have to climb in and give it a push, until it starts to roll."

As predicted, the crawler's bed wouldn't go high enough to let the bomb drop of its own accord, so all the men climbed in behind it. Maria stayed on the ground at their insistence-partly for all the usual thickheaded reasons, she was sure; but partly because s.p.a.ce was limited, and there was only room for the strongest bodies.

The men braced themselves and pressed their feet against the bomb, and while Maria crossed her fingers and prayed, they shoved with all their might, rocking the big device back and forth like Thomson had rocked the crawler itself to get it moving.

They strained, swore, sweated, and pushed. The grade of the crawler's bed was so steep that Maria tried not to worry about what would happen if they just toppled right in after it.

Finally, Maynard wiggled.

It creaked back and forth, just moving by inches at first. Hardly noticeable at all. Then it rocked. Then it rolled, tumbled, dropped.

And fell.

Right into the cave, careening with the weight of a city's dead, crashing through the earth and settling down somewhere below, farther than any of them could see when they scrambled after it to stare into the hole.

"Where is it?" Frank.u.m asked, leaning over so far that Maria was tempted, for one nasty second, to give him a shove. The pirate soul she harbored within her corset objected to her decency, but now was not the time or the place. Like she'd told the captain, they had to play fair. After all, they were not alone. Soon, the world would be watching. And someone had to save it.

The captain said, "No idea. Too dark. Anyone have a light?"

"Just the lantern on the crawler, and I can't pry that off without my tools," Thomson told them.

Echoing up from below, the sound of failing machinery grew louder as it bounced and rose off the rocks.

Behind them they heard the telltale clomp and clatter of a horse's hooves. Maria guessed that it was Evans with the dynamite, and it was indeed him, carrying a promising pack on his back.

"Hurry up with that!" the captain yelled, and Evans did his level best.

He yanked the horse to a sliding stop and dropped off the saddle to his feet, tossing the pack to the captain. "Wire it up, sir! I've got the line and pump in the saddlebags."

The captain went to work immediately, with Frank.u.m lending a useful hand-for once in his life, Maria added disparagingly in her head. But it was his life, too; his, and theirs, and everyone else's. So he planted the sticks, threaded the wire, and ran with the rest of them back to the far side of the crawler-where Evans had already secured the horse, as far from the trouble as he could put the poor animal.

The captain paused while he checked the settings and connections on the pump, then set it on the ground.

Evans turned his nose to the air. "Sir ... do you smell that?"

He did. He must be able to-Maria could smell it, even though her nose was so cold she couldn't feel it when she wiped it with the back of her sc.r.a.ped-up hands.

It was a toxic smell: rotten eggs and ruin, sharp death and troubled sleep. It stank of chemicals and poison, and it grew stronger while they sat there, mulling it over and wondering what could possibly smell that way?

The captain shook it off first, that numbing, stupefying creep of confusion and curiosity.