Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (58 page)

Zeika picked up some bags of fava beans and pocketed one, shoving the rest into Julie's pack. "Azures often develop in secret," she said. "Especially when they're pushing into Civilian territory."

"Maybe." Julie hunched, shrugging off the chill of the train as she closed her now bulging pack. "But I heard of trucks passing through the Seventh, heading right towards that lab. Trucks filled with weird stuff."

"Like the Cannibal Caboose back there." Zeika shoved her thumb at the Ninkashi car.

"Yeah, you saw that, huh? Insane."

"Chyah. One of them almost kissed me hello. Scared the hell out of me."

"Who do you think's doing this? And why?"

"Not sure, but initiation or no, I'm definitely going to knock this train off-course before we head out. Just gotta wait until the next ravine."

Julie nodded, her gaze determined. "I'll help you."

"Good." Zeika grinned wide. "I'd hate to make you look bad by letting me do all the hero work."

Julie snickered and folded her arms. "You always were a shit-talker. I've had to hold back from using my powers on you for years now."

Zeika winked, tightening the straps on her own pack. "How'd you find out about the train, anyway?"

"Slept with this Azure named Jarell. You?"

"Robbed his drug dealer."

"Heh. At least you took the high road."

They laughed, deeply, and Zeika felt a levity she hadn't know in months, one so bewitching that she barely noticed the train's tilt as it rounded a wide corner-- and then the spell shattered as she felt the wind leave her body, Julie tackling her, the glass window behind them exploding inward at the same time.

They hit the floor of the rumbling train, and Zeika bit back a scream as Julie's shoulder crunched into her ribs. Dull pain, and the rhythmic, endless pounding of bullets was all she knew as the fusillade of metal shots sliced through the back walls of the train, kicking up glass shards and splinters. The car leaned deeper into the turn, and they slid, slamming into wooden molding.

Winds howled into the car, almost swallowing the high whine of the automatic rifle, but Zeika could hear it, it and the hissing silence that followed when the bullets finally stopped, and the train's walls breathed out smoke. The snaking Pullman finally came out of the hard turn and straightened, rushing through the woods. Rain splashed over them.
 

Julie wasn't moving. She'd saved her life, and she wasn't moving, and--
 

"JULES! Jules, you okay? Jules!"

No answer. Her heart pounding, Zeika rolled Julie off her, only for the girl to gasp in a huge breath of air. She was alive, just in shock, her face blanched by horror.

"Saw him-- on the roof of the train-- son of a bitch--" Julie stuttered. "He's coming!"

Zeika's relief shriveled as she looked to the door of the train. She was right. M-16, body holster buckles, a field knife, two Glocks. A metal arsenal that she'd seen and felt before. Cotch. And now he was only six cars away.
 

She scrambled into a crouch and reached outward with her mind, the grasp of her power falling short just at the door. She couldn't reach him. Not yet. He was still too far away, but moving faster than anything she'd ever seen.

"Oh my God-- Z!"

She whipped around, following Julie's terrified gaze to the back of the car, where the black shadows were now moving, taking form into something thick, viscous, and unyielding.

"No..." Zeika shook her head, in denial of what she already knew was coming. Cotch's monster. They'd be trapped between it and him, and he was about to come through the other door. She drew her gun and grabbed Julie by the lapel of her robes, pulling her to her feet.
 

"Get out of here!"
 

 
"But--"

"NOW!"

Julie looked at her, desperation and wild confusion wracking her delicate features. She hesitated, obviously torn between her options. Finally, she chose one, and she turned to face the shattered window, pack on her back. "Number 28. Don't die, Z. Not now."

Zeika clenched her jaw and nodded. Room 28 at the Guild, the entrance to the underground. Julie dove head first through the window of the moving train, disappearing into the mist. Whether she would survive the fall into the wood, Zeika wouldn't know, and she didn't have time to think about it. Behind her, the car door was opening, and as the black monster filled the end of the car with its mass, Zeika turned to face KX Cotch, the assassin of the Alchemic Order.

Xakiah smiled as he stepped into the car. This ghost was a brave one, staring at him with eyes of fire behind a black mask. At the other end of the car, his Echo fell to all fours behind and began to crow with hunger, craving the flesh it would need to lengthen and darken its shadows. Xakiah raised his hand, and it shrunk back. He slung his rifle, advancing forward.

"Would you like to tell me what, precisely, you're doing here? I thought perhaps you'd want to unburden your conscience before you die."

The child slowly shook his head, never spoke. He seemed aware of the creature behind him, and still, he never moved.

Xakiah couldn't help but feel pleased at the response. He slid his field knife from his sheath as he moved forward. "Well, then. Let's make it a short night."

The silent kid cocked his head-- and the space beneath Xakiah's feet disappeared. He fell into nothingness, but somehow caught himself, slamming his blade into the part of the car floor that was still solid, the bottom half of his body dangling in open air. The speeding scream of the winds rushed into the hole that had magically opened beneath his feet, metal turning to some sort of gossamer-- and there was a moment where he could see the other end of the train melt as well, his Echo falling into the night, getting crushed under the weight of the trailing carriage.
 

Xakiah bit down as an internal wound opened in his side. The Echo that had been a part of him died, taking some of his own flesh and blood with it. And the
pain
--
 

The muzzle of a 9mm Beretta appeared between his eyes, the ghost of war attached to it.
 

"I love short nights," the ghost whispered, and he pulled the trigger, but not before Xakiah let go of his blade, and fell through the hole, the bullet grazing the top of his head.

The skin on his skull split, and fire erupted at his temple, but his hands found the twisted metal pipes of the car's underbelly. He caught himself, holding on as the racing steel tracks rushed beneath his body, stripping the rubber heels from his boots.

Somewhere above him, he heard the ghost leap over the rabbit hole, heading into the next car. Xakiah gritted his teeth, ignoring the blood pouring down his face. Hand over hand, he crawled back up into the car and pulled himself through the hole. His mind just barely processed the back half of the car that wasn't there, its walls actually
fluttering
in the night mist. The other three cars and the Ninkashi caboose trailed behind, their chain pulleys unaffected by the alchemy.

Alchemy.
Steel. Turned to silk.

He whipped around to the other train door, which was still easing closed. The ghosts was a Civic Alchemist. A powerful one. They were all supposed to be dead, but he didn't have time to wonder. The ghost was already four cars away. He had to stop him. He
had
to before--

A shrieking squeal pierced the night, and Xakiah knew he was too late. He ran to the window he'd shot open and poked his head through to look down the tracks. The eighth car, the same one where he'd killed the traitors, was tilting. Its spinning wheels hovered at least a foot above the tracks, and as it leaned, Xakiah could see the long kiln of blue silk, the one that
used
to be a chain pulley, rippling in the wind like a flag of victory.

From metal to fabric...
 

And his next thought was to move, because the falling carriage in front of him would pull the rest of the train cars down like dominoes-- and it did. A terrible squealing crash, then another-- and then the floor beneath him lifted a swift 45 degrees. Thinking nothing else, Xakiah dove through the rising train window, head first into a blur of shrubs and earth, the ground rushing up to meet him and determine his fate.

Nineteen miles in, and Caleb could see the crash in the distance. Or the signs of one, at least. The tops of the trees had shaken violently, moved by something forceful and more sudden than the breeze. Smoke soared into the sky.
 

He picked up his run as best he could, trying to ignore the fact that the night had gotten colder. He'd donned his hood, and the collar on his trench coat was high, keeping the clammy fingers of mist from curling around his neck as he jogged towards the wreck. Half-healed stitches dug their claws into the cleaved flesh of his chest as he moved, but he held back the wince and picked up the jog. It wasn't long before he could see what exactly had crashed.

Holy hell...

A train. The freight had been coming towards him but was now scattered to shit across the tracks and further out. As the mist broke around the large, overturned cars ahead, Caleb slowed his run into a trot.
 

His eyes widened, impressed. The back half of the train was clearly missing, having been left further back on the tracks. Nearly the entire front half had slid off course and flipped onto its side. The most amazing part, though, was that one of the middle cars had become completely unhinged from the entire procession. Like a broken link from a long chain, the solitary car lay on its side, peppered with grass and mud. Caleb blinked. It was a strange way to crash up.
 

A sound from further out. Someone, or something was coming, and if he didn't want to get caught flat-footed, he needed to move. So he did, and he crept into the forest foliage on the side of the tracks. He listened. The sounds were footsteps, ones that stumbled over the loose rocks and soil that flanked the tracks. They weren't too far away and were coming from his northeast, not deliberate at all in their movements. Whether it was an animal or a person, it moved like it was drunk. Or wounded.

Quietly, Caleb climbed the nearest tree, careful to keep the wide trunk between him and the sounds so that he wouldn't be seen. He chose a perch on a sturdy branch, silently unveiled his rifle, and pointed it in the direction of the careless, drunken footsteps. He looked down the scope, waiting for the thing to reveal itself-- and his lips parted in shock as Cotch stumbled into view, right into the crosshairs.
 

A second passed before the mercenary seemed to realize he was being watched. He stopped in his tracks and turned, looking dead into the scope. Right at
him
. Yeah. It was definitely Cotch. He looked composed but exhausted. Scratches had been lacerated across his face and body. Deep bruises applied a ghoulish blush in odd places--
 

Caleb smiled. It was glorious.
 

Whether Cotch had been caught in the train crash or someone had whipped his ass, Caleb wasn't sure. Either way, the bastard had had his clock cleaned, proper.
 

And yet, Caleb's elation was brief, swept away by the swelling tide of anger and guilt that came rushing back. Suddenly, all he could see was Zeika's body burning in her shop; all he heard were her cries for mercy, the mercy he couldn't give, and then the crosshairs on Caleb's scope were drifting, hovering on Cotch's head. Caleb felt himself depress the trigger--

The shrill scream and gangling sprint was all it took to shatter Caleb's dream state. He jerked the scope over the bobbing head of the Ninkashi that barreled its way towards Cotch. He squeezed the trigger, and the monster's head split open in a dark flurry of bone and gray matter, its body tumbling over itself and rolling to a stop at Cotch's feet.

Cotch had lifted his gun to shoot, but whether he would have gotten the Ninkashi was a different story. He staggered, and that was when Caleb knew that Cotch had probably been in the train crash. He'd also probably sustained a concussion. Those were the first two realizations. The third was that he didn't give a damn.

The mercenary turned back to the scope, scowling as though he were looking at shit in a toilet bowl.
 

Salty bastard.
 

Caleb lifted his hand, put up the peace sign, and then halved it, his middle finger standing its ground. Surprisingly, Cotch didn't do anything. The mercenary just continued on his way, limping out of Caleb's sight and into the darkness of the woods. Guess they'd deal with each other later. Clearly each had his own business here, and neither had time for the bullshit of the other.

After letting Cotch slink off, Caleb searched the stretch of the wreck with his scope, looking for any other signs of life. When he found nothing, he jumped down and began the hands-on. He didn't have to look long to string a story together. Secret meetings. The trafficking of rare goods traded under the table. The smuggling of Ninkashi.
 

The Ninkashi that had attacked Cotch was the only one that'd gotten free in the crash. The rest were still imprisoned, and had either died in their cages or were barely alive. He hadn't recognized the bodies of the four Azures he'd found dead in the eighth car, but he knew Cotch had been there to get rid of them.
 

Strange, that their paths had led them both here...

On instinct, he looked at his radar. The staggering dot had vanished completely, and so had Sal Morgan. Had he been involved with the train and its illegal cargo? Had he been
on
the train? And even if he had, where was Sal now? Why had the tracker been moving so slowly and erratically? And why had it now disappeared? Caleb sighed and hung head. More puzzles, more secrets, more dead ends, none of which led him any closer to Morgan.

Caleb did the only thing he could do. He picked up his cell phone, ready to call in the accident and then hightail it. He didn't want other APs asking suspicious questions about why he was out here. He needed to get home anyway: to shower, to sleep, to work this shit out.