‘Bess! Bess!’
But Bess wasn’t hurt. Bess was angry. She’d already found her feet, rising from the red dust like some mythical desert beast. And as he watched, she began to run, gathering momentum with every step. The Dakkadian Rattletrap was bearing down on them, seeking to finish them off.
Bess charged it.
It all happened in a second. The Rattletrap was moving so fast that the driver didn’t have time to see the golem coming. Bess ran at them from the side, ramming into them with her shoulder. Perhaps she’d meant to catch them square, but her timing was off, and she only caught one of the back wheels. It didn’t matter. At that speed even a small shove was enough.
Bess rebounded from the impact and went down in a heap. The Rattletrap slewed sideways and launched into the air, spinning and flipping crazily before it smashed into the earth. It bounced and rolled for another fifty metres until it finally came to a stop. By that time, it was scarcely recognisable as a vehicle, and its occupants had been flung brokenly away, strewn motionless along its path.
Frey pulled up alongside Jez. ‘Everyone okay?’ he asked.
‘Just about, Cap’n,’ said Jez, looking Crake over. Crake was leaning against the side of the buggy, breathing steadily, trying to keep his treacherous bowels under control.
Frey nodded and then Silo sped them away. By the time Crake regained himself, the train had passed, rolling away into the distance. Bess seemed none the worse for her experience, though she was still grumpy. She stomped over with an unmistakably apelike slope to her shoulders that said she was ready to tear off someone’s limbs.
Jez was watching the departing train. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said, suddenly. ‘Bess, get on.’
Bess seemed to understand her, for she bounded on to the back of e bthe bacthe buggy, making the suspension groan.
‘Whoa! Y’know, you could stand to lose a pound or two,’ Jez told her. Bess made an angry bubbling noise in response.
Crake got back into his seat, reached around and took one of Bess’s massive hands in his.
‘Well done,’ he said, because he couldn’t put into words how much it pained him to see her so battered and bullet-riddled. ‘Good girl.’
Jez set off again, chasing the train. The others were far ahead of them now. She put on some speed to catch up.
Crake sat back, relishing a few moments of relative safety when no one was trying to kill them. The baking wind blew his hair around his face. His lips were dry and cracked, and his face felt scoured with grit. The Rattletrap bumped and clattered underneath him as its wheels bounced over the uneven hardpan.
He hated bringing Bess along on missions like these. Even though she’d proved herself all but invulnerable to small-arms fire, he knew it caused her great distress. She was heedless of her own safety, and he was afraid that one day, she would come up against something that really could hurt her. What if she took an autocannon shell in the chest? Would the ethereal presence that was Bess survive the destruction of the suit that housed her? He didn’t ever want to find out.
‘What’s this idea you said you had?’ he asked Jez. ‘Nothing dangerous, I hope?’
She pointed at the train. Crake looked. The back of the rear carriage was lying open. It had flipped downward to form a ramp, which was dragging along the ground between the wide-spaced tracks, scuffing up a cloud of dust. Visible through the dust was the empty interior of the carriage.
‘You’re joking,’ said Crake.
Jez shrugged. ‘Reckon that’s where the Rattletraps came out. No reason we can’t get in that way too.’
‘We’re supposed to wait for the train to stop. That was the plan.’
‘Live a little, huh?’
‘That’s rich, coming from you. You’re not even alive.’
‘Touche. We’re still going in. I’d cover my eyes, if I were you.’
She swung the Rattletrap to the left, bumping over the rail until they were driving directly behind the train. The cloud of dust that it left in its wake consumed them. Crake held his hand in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing. The noise of the train was overwhelming, a torrent of machine sound, clashing and screechi›
Then he felt a bump, and a sensation of lifting. The Rattletrap pushed on uncertainly, and then lurched forward. Crake hung on as they raced up the ramp, into the hot gloom of the carriage, and thumped to a clumsy halt.
He wiped his eyes, blinked, and looked around. The carriage was empty but for a few rings set into the walls and floor, hung with restraining straps for the Rattletraps that had been stored here. Bright light shone in through high, slatted windows and from large vents in the roof. The sound of the train was muffled and hollow.
They were in the belly of the beast. Or, more accurately, its colon.
‘We need to stop that train!’ Frey said over the noise of the engine. ‘Any ideas?’
Silo didn’t reply. Frey should have known better than to expect a suggestion from him. The Murthian was concentrating on driving, leaning over the wheel. His bald head and beaklike nose made him look like a plucked vulture.
Frey scanned his surroundings, trying to come up with a plan. Having never hijacked a train before, he wasn’t sure of the protocol. He’d sort of hoped something would present itself by this point, but it looked like it was going to take a bit more thought than that.
Ashua, Pinn and Harkins were still harassing the last of the Rattletraps: they seemed to have matters well in hand. He’d lost sight of Jez and the others somewhere behind them. Belatedly he wished that he’d issued the daemonically thralled earcuffs they used to communicate with each other in the sky, so that they could keep in contact. He should have known they’d manage to get separated somehow; he just hadn’t wanted to listen to Pinn and Harkins sniping at each other the whole time.
He turned his attention to the train. There was still the problem of those damn autocannons, one near the front and one near the back, waiting for anyone to get close enough to shoot at. They couldn’t get near the engine carriage with that autocannon in the way, and so they couldn’t stop the train. Unless…
‘Silo!’ he said. ‘Get us near to the carriages.’
‘Er,’ said Malvery. ‘Might not be a good idea.’
‘Between the guns,’ said Frey. ‘Close to the side, in the middle. They can’t hit us at that angle. We’ll be out of their arc of fire.’
‘Yeah, but we’ll still have to go through their arc of-’ Malvery began, but Silo had already turned the Rattletrap and was heading at full speed towards the train. Malvery tutted and blew out his moustache. ‘Never bloody mind, I’m just the doctor,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ll shoot at them, shall I?’
Malvery laid down fire on one of the autocannons as they approached. The bullets had little effect on the metal shield that protected the gunners, but it was a distraction, at least. Shells started coming their way as soon as they cut closer to the train. Silo dodged between the explosions, the Rattletrap swerving and slithering as geysers of dirt erupted all around them.
A shell landed to their right, and they were shoved sideways by a wall of concussion and pelted by chips of rock. Silo rode the skid until the wheels gripped again, and they powered onward, more shells exploding in their wake.
Frey had to admit, Silo had been as good as his word. However he’d learned to do it, the man could drive.
Then, all at once, the shelling stopped. Frey’s ears were ringing and he’d be half-deaf for a day, but they were through. Silo pulled them alongside a carriage that had no windows, right in the centre of the train. A goods carriage, with a ladder bolted onto its side that led up to the roof. Silo had seen his captain’s plan.
Malvery looked from the ladder to Frey and back again. ‘Cap’n,’ he said. ‘It’s my professional diagnosis that you’re liable to get yourself killed doing that.’