18. Sloan
EIGHTEEN
SLOAN
Sloan saw more and more of the dark-cloaked riders jump from what looked like mage-powered bicycles to the moving locomotive. “Lock the door behind us, Nemo, and don’t let anyone in unless it’s me.”
The tiny locomotive operator nodded, trying to hide the fear that plainly showed on his face.
“Marcus, we have to clear out the inside of the carts. I know you’re used to using magic to track and kill the paranormal, but can you fight?”
“I can if…” Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “…if I have to.”
“Well, then, follow me. I think you’re going to find yourself in a situation that qualifies as you having to very soon.”
Sloan gripped her new sword tightly in her left hand.
She walked to the back of the lead cart and opened the door cautiously.
Men were pouring into the interior of the locomotive through broken windows.
Sloan counted seven all together. They were all carrying military issued rifles and sabers at their sides.
“There are seven of them,” Sloan whispered as she peeked through the crack in the door. “I’ll make them miss and then we have to be on top of them before they have a chance to reload.”
“You can count on me, Captain, but how do you plan on getting all of them to fire at you and miss?”
Sloan smiled to herself as she opened the door wide.
“In the name of the Queen,” Sloan commanded in a strong voice, “surrender your arms!”
Just as quickly as the words left her lips, seven rifles were pointed in her direction and fired. Sloan slammed the door shut. The bullets collided with the dark steel door.
“Like that. Let’s go.”
Sloan opened the door and ran forward in a crouched position. Her left thumb flicked the small switch on her saber’s handle. She felt a slight vibration as her blade began to hum.
The small quarters would work to her advantage and there were only seven. She had faced worse odds before. She was on top of the attackers in seconds as they first fumbled to reload their rifles, then reached for their swords.
Sloan’s blade cut through her opponents’ steel like a wire through cheese.
With a left, right, and forward slash, three men were already down.
Sloan almost felt sorry for them as the remaining four pointed their weapons in her direction, trying to figure out how her sword managed to slice through solid steel.
One of the men in the rear raised a pistol he had hidden in his black coat.
In the aisle-like passage of the cart, there was nowhere for Sloan to turn.
He grinned through his mask and aimed, but the shot never came.
Instead, a bolt of green magic struck him in the face.
He fell howling in pain, clawing at his burning skin.
Sloan chanced a look behind her. She saw Marcus with his staff ablaze in green light.
The remaining three would-be attackers were shifting nervously. They had obviously been confident in their superior numbers. Now whittled down to three in a matter of seconds, the game had changed.
“Surrender now,” Sloan took another step forward, “and you will be tried at a court in New Hope. You don’t have to die today.”
Two of the men looked toward one, clearly asking their leader for direction. Sloan eased closer, brushing a long blonde strand from her cheek.
The leader gave a slight shake of his head, and Sloan knew the fight would be finished here.
All three men charged at once. Sloan cut through the first man’s sword and jugular in one quick motion, but the next man was smarter.
At the last possible moment, he dropped his sword and used both hands to grab the handle of her mage sword.
They struggled together for a second. The man’s larger weight pushing her back. Out of the corner of her eye, Sloan saw the last man charge Marcus.
Sloan learned from an early age that her size wasn’t a disadvantage. She became a master at going with force and redirecting the action. It was a skill that saved her in a fight more times than she cared to remember.
As the large man muscled her backwards, she dropped to the floor with her left foot in the man’s stomach. Her attacker went sailing over her head and straight through the window.
Sloan recovered in a crouch. The fight was over. The last man who charged Marcus was on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, a smoking hole where his chest used to be.
“Sorcerer, are you injured?”
“I’m as well as can be expected.” Marcus looked down at the corpse. “I just ended two men’s lives.”
“Two men who would have ended yours if you did nothing.”
Marcus was about to respond, when they felt the locomotive shake and wobble.
Before the fight began, Sloan ordered Nemo to go faster and not to stop under any circumstances.
Sloan glanced out one of the broken windows.
The terrain outside was flying past at a speed Sloan couldn’t comprehend.
She got to her feet, running past Marcus, and tried the handle of the steel door that led to the engine cart. It was locked from the inside.
“Nemo! Nemo!” Sloan pounded on the steel. “It’s Sloan! Slow down! Open the door!”
A few tense seconds passed. The only response to Sloan’s shouts were another shudder as the locomotive continued to gain speed.
“Nemo! Open the door!”
Still nothing.
Sloan set her jaw and raised the sword in both hands. With a grunt, she slammed the sword, blade first, into the portion of the door where the bolt was located.
Slowly, her blade sank through the hard metal. Muscles tensing, Sloan grunted as she pushed in an upward motion, cutting the bolt that held the door closed. The metal door banged open.
Inside, Nemo was slumped at the controls. A rogue bullet had found its mark in the back of the conductor’s head.
Marcus ran forward, cradling the small man. He was already gone.
Sloan looked out of the front of the mage engine in sheer horror. Less than a mile away was the camp of workers continuing to lay track. Tiny figures pointed and shouted at the mage engine to stop. They waved their hands in the air and ran in every direction.
“Marcus, let him go. He’s gone. We have bigger problems to worry about.”
“The brakes.” Marcus looked out the window and grasped their situation in a heartbeat. “There has to be a lever here somewhere to stop this thing.”
Sloan looked at the steel conductor’s panel full of brown knobs and levers. It would take much more time than they had to figure out what exactly each handle did.
“Screw it.” Sloan reached for every handle and every lever she could find.
Her hands flew over the instrument panel, twisting, turning, and pulling every knob, lever, or switch she could get her hands around. It was as she pulled down on one particularly large lever that they felt the locomotive shudder and squeal as it slowed in pace ever so slightly.
“That one!” Marcus yelled. “That’s the brake!”
The locomotive was practically shaking off the track. Sloan guessed they were going twice as fast as any sprinting horse. The tent-like area in front of them was now yards away.
Men still flailed their arms, shouting for them to stop and running to get clear of the hurtling steel monster.
Sloan placed both hands on the lever pulling down with all her might.
Throwing her back into the effort made the force she put into the pull twice as harsh.
A shrill squeal filled the air. Smoke and steam from the overworked locomotive filled the inside of the mage cart.
Sloan pressed the lever down further. Sparks filled the air outside as the locomotive began to slow.
“It’s working!” Marcus yelled.
Sloan smiled to herself and gave the lever another harsh push. The brown lever gave under the pressure.
Sloan fell backwards, the broken lever in her hand as the locomotive lurched forward and continued to gain speed. She regained her feet just in time to see the end of the track and say one last thing to Marcus.
“Ooooops.”
The locomotive blew through the workers’ camp, sending track equipment, wood, and metal bars flying in a hundred different directions.
The hurtling ton of steel, man’s greatest invention to date, flew off the track and into the desert at mind-numbing speed.
The carts twisted and contorted like a withering snake and finally came to a rest.