Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (17 page)

“Are you all right?” he gasped, grabbing her shoulder.

The nurse looked up at him with unfocused eyes. “What happened?”

“The hospital has been attacked.” He glanced around the room at the other beds, but fallen beams had crushed the few other patients. He tightened his fists in anger. Both sides were losing far too many.

“But surely not a hospital!”

He shook his head grimly, wincing at the pain of his burns. “They lost yesterday. The enemy isn't about to let soldiers get well to fight them again.” He stood shakily to his feet and reached down to pick up his watch, shirt and uniform jacket before holding out his other hand to her. “Take my hand. We've got to get out of here.”

“But surely our soldiers will fight back and—”

“No. If they hit the hospital, that means our forces are already in disarray. We've got to get out of here on our own.” She took his hand and pulled herself up. The nurse gasped when she saw some of the nearby beds crushed by fallen debris, but he stopped her from going to them. They made their way past the rubble and towards the door.

“What do we do?” she said, wiping a hand across the plaster dust covering her face.

“We'll get out of here, find transportation, and make for the nearest city. Then I'm off for home. My son and wife are waiting.”

He stopped and listened at the door before opening it. When he couldn't get it to budge, he hit it with his shoulder, knocking it open. He gasped slightly at the feel of the hardened wood door reverberating through his body’s wounds.

He checked the hallway and saw only one man, wearing the stripes of a sergeant, nursing an injured shoulder and holding a blade at the ready. He held up his hand to placate the man.

“At ease, man! Are you alright, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, before shaking his head slowly. “Others have not been so fortunate.”

The nurse hurried over to him, her eyes fixed on the blood from his wound. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The sergeant looked embarrassed. “Yes, miss. It's nothing serious. Just a flesh wound. Bloody enemy got the better of me.” She nodded slowly after checking his shoulder, then tore away a strip of her vest to stem the bleeding.

“Let's go.” She led the sergeant down the hallway, just as man wearing a black uniform and hood turned the corner and saw them.

James looked up just as an enemy soldier pointed his gun at them. “No!” he covered the nurse just as the shots rang out. An inferno of pain enveloped his chest before everything faded to darkness.

My love . . . son . . . I'm sorry.

The nurse mopped the soldier's bloodied brow. There wasn't anything she could do for him; she knew it. But she couldn't just let him lay there. She turned to the sergeant. “Can we cover him with his uniform?”

Having dealt with the enemy soldier, the sergeant wiped his freshly bloodied blade and grimly shook his head. “I'm sorry, miss, but we’ve got to go.”

“What will the final cost of this war be?” she whispered, tears on her face. “How many good people will we lose?” She noticed the watch chain dangling from the man’s pocket and reached down to remove it. “I swear I'll get this to your boy. I don't know how, but I promise I will get it to him.” Then she stood up, put the watch in her pocket, wiped her bloodied hands on her hem, and followed the sergeant.

The unlikely pair did their best to avoid the enemies crawling around the makeshift hospital. Twice more, the nurse was forced to witness the taking of another life when the sergeant had cause to use his blade. They escaped the grounds under the cover of nightfall, but realized they had to cross the desert. Without transportation of any kind, the journey would be dangerous and they only had two small waterskins that needed to last a week.

The sun bore down onto her skin, making her feel light-headed and confused. Even the battle-hardened sergeant seemed to have difficulty, and she feared that his wound would soon fester and bring a fever. If that happened, she knew she didn’t have what she needed to care for him. They walked for two days, trying to measure out and save as much water and food as they could. They had a week's worth of walking to do and fate was harsh and unforgiving. They paused to gather their strength at an outcropping of Acacia trees.

“How are you holding up, miss?” the sergeant gasped.

She did her best to smile for his sake. “I’m fine, but you need water, sergeant.” She held up the water skin trying to encourage him to drink. He shook his head.

“Thank you, miss, but we need to make it last.”

She held the water skin up higher. “It’s of no use to save it if we die first.”

He hesitated a moment longer then nodded. He took a small sip and passed it to her. Like the sergeant, she hesitated, but she knew she needed it. Her skin had started to blister from the sun. Even the small head coverings that she had made for them from the last of her vest did little to protect them from the heat.

She thought she saw movement in the distance. The nurse raised her eyes and thought for a brief moment that she saw a cloud of dust on the horizon. She squinted in the noon sun and felt a brief hysterical giggle rise in her throat. Surely she wasn’t imagining it. “Miss?” the sergeant said, clearly worried that the sun had proven too much for the young woman.

“There!” she said. “Do you see it, sergeant?”

He shielded his older eyes from the bright glare. He saw the cloud of dust but where the nurse had felt elation, a fear knotted his gut. They were still too far out to have encountered a British patrol. That meant whoever was drawing closer . . .

“Oh mercy, no. Heathens! Run girl, run!”

She looked over at him startled, unsure now that he looked so frightened. She glanced back at the nearing dust cloud just as the horses and their riders came into view. Desert garb with the dark colors of blood and night loomed closer. Heathens. Brigands. Death.

They knew they couldn’t outrun horses. They quickly hid behind the Acacia trees, hoping they hadn’t been seen but knowing there was little hope. If they had seen the brigands, the men on their steeds had seen them. Curved blades paired with rifles, taken from English and enemy alike, were soon drawn and pointed at the nurse and sergeant as they circled them, seven in all. One brigand on a black charger with a braided cloth lead pranced closer as he rested his blade across his forearms.

“An Englishman and his woman traveling alone in the desert? I think the sun has finally driven the English mad!” His men laughed. Only fools would be found in the desert on foot.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” the sergeant said, grabbing the nurse’s hand to steady her. She could feel his hand shaking, but she watched as he held his head high with pride despite their situation. She did her best to copy his demeanor.

The brigand smiled slightly. “Speak, English dog.”

She felt the sergeant's hand tighten. He was no dog. He was a proud Englishman who had worked hard for his rank. “We just came from hospital, yonder,” he said, pointing back the way they came. “Our enemies slaughtered all but me and the young miss here. We barely got away with our lives.”

Several of the brigands hissed. To take the life of a wounded man was without honor. The leader glanced from the sergeant to the nurse. “You are all enemies to us.”

“I don’t see how a nurse and a wounded soldier could be your enemies,” the nurse said, trying to feign a bravado she did not feel.

As one, the brigands raised their rifles. That a woman dared address their leader could be met with only one punishment. “Quiet, miss!” the sergeant whispered.

To the astonishment of all those present the leader stared at her before laughing harshly. The brigands lowered their weapons, but only slightly.

“You English think you can walk so proudly on this earth. But you are in the desert. This is our land. You came here thinking you could take it from us. You failed. Your enemies failed. We remain and will be here long after all of you have had your bones bleached by the sun.” He raised his blade and pointed it at the ragged pair. “So now, I think, you die.”

Grinning, his men pulled excitedly on their steeds that reared in furor. The sergeant pulled his own blade and put himself between as many of the brigands and the nurse as he could. This move was met with approval by the brigands, who cheered on his challenge. One brigand in particular began to ride forward, but the leader held up his hand.

“You have heart, English dog. But I think you won’t last long. Unless you have something you can trade for your lives?”  The leader ran his eyes over the ragged pair. His men grinned, especially the one who had ridden forward, knowing their leader's offer was in jest.

“We have gold!” the sergeant exclaimed, knowing it was their only chance.

The nurse turned her frightened eyes on him. “Are you mad? We have no gold!”

“We do, miss. I saw you claim it from that fallen soldier.” The sergeant gave her a pointed look.

She shook her head vehemently. “That is not mine to give! I took it to send to his boy. He promised he would give it to his son and I intend to see his promise through. He’s the reason I’m alive.”

He looked at her helplessly. “Miss, I'm sorry, but if you don't give them that watch, they'll kill us and take it anyway.”

She pleaded with him silently, her eyes filled with the agony of her betrayal. “Please, there must be another way. That man saved me. I've got to get this watch to his son.”

“The man is saving you again. I doubt he would want you to die on the account of that there watch. And beggin' your pardon, but I don't want to be dying either.”

She tightened her grip on the watch until her knuckles turned white. She nodded and handed it to the soldier, who immediately tossed it to the leader of the brigands. The man opened the watch’s cover and nodded, pleased at what he saw. “Very good.” He glanced back down at the soldier.

“Run, Englishman. You live one more day. Run like a dog.” The leader jeered and raised his gun high, laughing as he and his men rode off, back into the searing heat of the desert and the unknown hell they had come from.

“Please forgive me,” the nurse whispered to the sky, wiping a lone tear from her eye, the only water her body could spare.

“Come along, miss. We’d best be going before they changed their minds.”

She nodded, praying for peace to be brought to the fallen soldier and to her heart. For now, the sergeant was right. They had to survive.

Ahmed Ben Yassan, prince by blood, but now leader of only a few weary survivors trying to endure in a world torn by war, led his men deeper into the desert, their voices rolling across the dunes in praise to their god and the sands that protected them. For one more day, they had avoided the bullets of their enemies and now, was the time to enjoy their spoils and rest.

They came to rocky hillside that masked the entrance to the caves they called home. Once they had lived with their prince inside a palace that rightfully belonged to them. But no longer. Enemy shells had destroyed their ancestral home, killed women and children and robbed them of everything.

Now, the dunes were their neighbors, the horses and each other their only family. They rode with their leader to the death, taking back all that they could, knowing it would never be enough to quench their lust for revenge or to still the cries of the dead who even now haunted their dreams.