The ship was a single open area. There were small alcoves on the starboard and port walls, while the fore and aft sections respectively housed the cockpit and the rear doors. Each alcove looked barely big enough to squeeze a child into.
The ship rumbled. Ekko was already in the pilot's seat, a massive and bizarrely curved chair that bore an incredibly low back, preposterously high arm-rests and a number of frightening-looking spiked protrusions that hooked to a network of translucent tubes. Those tubes, in turn, ran all throughout the claustrophobic cockpit. The rest of the interior of the ship was long and low, with only a single yellow window covered in what looked to be a century's worth of oil, dirt and slime.
“ Can you fly this thing?” he asked.
Yes, she answered wordlessly. I was raised by a pilot.
“ Of course she can!” Kane yelled. “She was…”
“ Raised by a pilot. I got it.”
Kane gave him a confused look. Black had Ekko and the child pushed against the port wall. There were no visible seatbelts, or even actual seats, just areas where the metal curved slightly. Cole had the boy in a protective grip, and they clung to the wall as best they could. Ramsey ran to the front and pointed out what controls and readings Ekko would need.
They heard an impact blast hit somewhere outside of the ship's thick metal walls. The vessel lurched sideways at least six inches as part of the platform exploded.
“ Let's go!” Cross shouted. A second blast rattled the ship and knocked Cross to the ground. The turbine engines roared to life. The walls groaned.
Cross could tell when the vessel took to the air by the sudden sense of weightlessness. It had been a while since he'd been in an airship, to the point where he’d actually forgotten how much he despised flying. He felt like he was stuck in the act of falling even with steel all around him.
The scream of incendiary weapons passed behind and beneath them. He felt heat through the walls.
“ Shit!” Kane yelled. He stood right behind Ekko and Ramsey in the smell cockpit area. “Watch out for the Razorwing, babe!”
“ Will you sit down?!” Black shouted.
The vessel lurched and turned. There was a dull thud and the sound of cracked glass. The window was covered with a radial crack that spread like a spider's web.
“ Cross…man the damned guns!” Ramsey shouted.
The vessel had guns at the fore — massive twin motorguns operated by the pilot — and a rotating turret on top, which required a gunner. Cross climbed into the portside alcove that, so far as he knew, was where he needed to be. The space was claustrophobic and uncomfortable, and he was sure he'd pulled at least one muscle before he finally managed to get inside.
The console, just like the pilot's cockpit, lacked any discernible handle or trigger — there was just a short pillar, about eight inches high, which glowed with Jlantrian runes. Those runes hummed when Cross brought his hands close to them. The alcove had no window, no monitor, and no way to see the outside of the vessel.
What the hell?
Cross took a breath. His spirit curled around him and filled his lungs with frozen vapor. He focused on the stone. The confined space of the alcove squeezed in on him. His eyes locked on the runes.
He felt another whisper, a deep-throated growl somewhere between a wolf and a saw mill. His vision bled. He stared into the heart of a tornado.
Cross touched the pillar, and was ripped out of his body.
He sees the ship fly through a maelstrom of clouds. Arcs of black lightning lick against the hull as it moves over Krul's outer walls. Flying obsidian mines turn the air to fire, and lances of sound launch from Krul’s outer defenses. He feels his shoulders ram against the alcove compartment as the ship rocks from the force of explosions and dodges streams of arcane fire. Explosive nails soar up at them from guns mounted on the rooftops.
He sees the ship dive, rise and turn. The forward motor guns strafe the air ahead of them and destroy a small spiked vessel which spins away into the dirty clouds; a fiery trail marks its descent. He sees Razorwings and other vessels, sleek and fast-moving gunships that lead a larger command vessel, a stout juggernaut that resembles a flying armored shark. Its guns are massive blasphemies of steel, bladed cannons that leak black smoke and liquid fire.
Cross fixes his ethereal vision, this newfound omnipresent spectral sight, on the nearest Razorwing. He wills the guns to fire.
Twin black cannons, little more than tubes about four-feet long and just a few inches wide, make the air explode with noise.
Each boom is like the fall of an enormous hammer. The guns rock back and forth on their swivel turret. Each shot causes the twin guns to slide and recoil at blinding speed, a jackhammer weapon.
Large shot tears the Razorwings and their riders into husks of smoking meat. They plummet into the sea of ochre clouds below.
Cross wills the weapons to fire again, this time on the other gunships. Blasts exchange, steel and bone and flame.
The red and cloudy sky is made black with fumes. Harpoons the size of horses barely miss the renegade vessel. The ship lurches and dives.
Cross lands a lucky shot on a gunship, and its foredeck catches aflame in an explosion of dark and billowing smoke.
They seize the opportunity, and flee.
The ship flies into thick clouds and dives down into valleys of stone. They will be over the Bone March before long, but until then the rocks and hills and valleys west of the Wormwood will provide them with cover. The sound of vampire vessels fades into the background, and soon they fly through quiet skies, and hide beneath blood clouds.
Cross fell away from the grip of the turret vision. He tasted metal and smelled burning oil. He promptly bumped his head hard against the low metal ceiling of the alcove compartment, and he was still cursing and nursing the back of his skull when he emerged to find the others.
“ Well,” he said. He wasn't sure of what there was else to say.
Black and Cole sat quietly against the wall. Cole had the boy in her arms. He'd fallen asleep, and Cole didn't look far from being unconscious herself. Her eyes were dark, and her face looked ashen and pale. She looked off into nothing and held the boy, with her back against the wall and the two of them wrapped in a blanket.
Black sat next to her, watching her with concern. She looked up at Cross. Her expression bore a mixture of loathing, fear and resignation.
Awesome, he thought. Well, at least that's the look I'm used to getting from attractive women. He met her gaze for a moment. Understanding passed between them: whatever their differences, they’d have to wait for now.
His body was bruised and sore, and despite how much of the past few days he’d spent unconscious, Cross felt like he hadn't slept in a month. His shoulder wound was already healing up — there were unquestionable benefits to being tied to a vampire, he had to admit — but every muscle felt like he'd been pounded with meat tenderizers.
Rest, Ekko told him. He felt her vigil, the waking nightmare that was her growing hunger. She held it at bay.
But for how long? he wondered, not concerned if she heard the thought or not. How long before you Turn?
Ekko made no indication that she heard him. She just sat silently and piloted the vessel, her fingers barely touching the runes on the control panel.
Kane stood with his hands on her shoulders. He was clearly uncomfortable. Her skin had to be freezing to the touch, and seeing Ekko like that was like looking at her corpse. The blonde man's eyes were filled with worry.
“ Congratulations,” Ramsey said. He sat down heavy on the floor. The vessel hummed and rattled. All there was to see beyond the cracked pilot’s window was a red and grey haze of clouds and dust. “You’ve escaped Krul. Now the real fun begins.”