Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [76]
“No tobacco, no opium; no wonder the Horde thought they were barbarians.”
A high-pitched whine suddenly ripped through the air as the engines started, firing the electrical generator. Yasmeen tensed, watching the woods. The rail cannon fired, silent until the ball rammed into the blocks, blowing through the entrance in a shower of shattered stone. The marines moved toward the entrance to search out any zombies inside—just in case.
The whine faded. Ceres’ propellers began to spin, the engines huffing. The airship retreated west, the crew already shouting, shooting, making noise. Yasmeen ripped off her hat, angling her head as if trying to listen for moans over the ruckus.
She suddenly stilled. “I hear them. A lot of them.”
Archimedes took her hand, started toward the keep. “Let’s get inside.”
“No.” She set her feet, eyes wide. “Oh, by the lady. Run, Archimedes! Bigor!” she shouted. “Come away from the keep! Run! To the ship!”
The marines were already backing away from the keep—and now Archimedes could hear them, too: moans and growls, all coming from inside, nearing the shattered entrance.
When the zombies burst through, he was already turning to run.
Yasmeen kept pace with him, suddenly sprinting ahead to meet a zombie that darted from between the trees in front of them. Her machete chopped through the zombie’s neck, its head flying. The moans behind them became louder, more, closer. He heard the marines shout, the cracks of their guns. Ahead, Yasmeen whirled, revolver in hand, aimed at Archimedes. Her weapon sounded, again and again, each bullet whizzing past him, striking flesh.
He didn’t want to know how close the zombies had been. His boots crunched through the snow, and he couldn’t think about slipping—only about running and making sure they both made it back to the airship. When he caught up, Yasmeen traded her gun for her machetes and ran with him.
“She’s coming back around!” Yasmeen shouted.
Someone on the airship must have seen the mob and alerted the captain. Above the bare trees, Ceres was making a slow turn, the crew’s rifles picking off zombies below. Oh, Jesus. Their distraction had worked too well. Even if they outran the mob behind them, the noise of the airship drew more from all directions, too many for the crew to shoot. The rope ladder dropped, and Yasmeen’s scream of “No!” was lost in the moans and the huff of the engines. Zombies attacked the swinging ladder, emaciated hands gripping the ropes, pulling—cutting off their easiest escape.
Movement from the corner of his eye warned him. Archimedes pulled his gun, fired. The zombie dropped. They were almost to the airship but more were racing toward them, some abandoning the ladder, others coming in from the forest.
Machetes flashing, Yasmeen sped ahead and killed three with astonishing efficiency. She whipped around, shot another. “Tree?”
Not good enough. Archimedes reached back, gripped his pneumatic launcher. He aimed for the airship, fired. The grapnel arced upward over the side, the long rope trailing behind. Steel hooks caught the gunwale, held fast.
He heard Yasmeen’s wild laugh. She leapt for the rope, began climbing. Archimedes waited for her to climb high enough, three zombies falling to his bullets before he followed her up. Clawing hands grasped his boot, almost yanked him down. A crack sounded from above; the zombie’s head exploded. He looked up. Holding herself steady with the rope between her thighs, Yasmeen hung upside down, the barrel of her gun smoking. She grinned before rocking back up, hauling herself upward with astonishing speed.
The rattle of the cargo lift joined the moans and gunshots. The crew dragged the rope ladder up halfway, shooting a path clear for the marines. They dropped it again as Bigor reached the airship. The four marines began climbing all at once, as if this weren’t the first time they’d had to share a single ladder in a rush.
Yasmeen reached the deck. She leaned over the side, hauled Archimedes over. Chest heaving, laughing, Archimedes turned