Heart of Steel - Meljean Brook [89]
Archimedes stared through the dark, listening to the clanging echo. He couldn’t get a fix, though it had to be in one of the barracks. The snow in the courtyard would have muffled those steps. “Which direction is it coming from?”
“South.” The way they’d come. Her hand grasped his as an orange glow appeared in the farthest chamber, near the tower. “Let’s go. We can cut through the courtyard to the barracks on the opposite side.”
She led him to the window. They scrambled up the mound of snow, slipped down the drift pile into the courtyard. They went quickly, knee-deep in the snow, Archimedes praying that zombies weren’t under it. The mountainside lay to their left. Machinery rose through the snow on their right, dark amid all the white. Good. Lots of places to hide.
The huffing of the engine quickened, the clank coming faster—galloping. Then suddenly, not clanking. Archimedes’ heart raced. It was in the courtyard. Yasmeen suddenly darted to the side, pulled him down next to a piece of machinery. Another snort sounded. Closer. Crouching, they felt their way along the machine, searching for the end, a corner to go around, something to hide behind. The orange glow suddenly offered more light, and Archimedes saw: There was no end to the machine until it reached the other side of the courtyard.
That meant as soon as the thing following them entered the corridor created between the mountain and the machine, it would have them in a direct line of sight.
“Fuck.” On a desperate breath, Yasmeen pulled him down again. She sheathed her machetes, drew her guns. “Whatever it is, I’ll distract it. You run to the barracks, to the southeast tower. I’ll meet you there.”
No goddamn chance in hell. He’d run out there naked before he let Yasmeen use herself as bait. But as a sensible man, even when stalked by a giant huffing animal, he put it to her in the least likely way to piss her off.
“No,” he said simply.
“Archimedes—”
“Let’s see what it is first. If it’s faster than you, running out there would be suicide.”
She nodded and stood. Archimedes rose with her, his hands searching the side of the machine. He found pipes, riveted panels. Plenty to grab on to. They could climb, and—
Oh, Good God.
A giant mechanical horse galloped toward them, but it was a horse made in hell. Eyes glowed with orange. Steel spikes jutted from its chest and neck. Two rapid-fire guns were bolted to its sides, both aimed forward. Fifteen yards away, it came to a sudden stop on legs made from thick pistons. Iron plates formed the skin. At least ten feet tall at the withers, its barrel-shaped body was big enough to hold the devoured remains of twenty men.
Or just a few men, if they were driving it. But how would they see? In the orange glow and changing shadows, Archimedes spotted the narrow vertical slots on its chest.
“Eye slits,” he said. “Between the spikes.”
Someone was in that thing and looking back at them.
The rapid-fire barrels spun.
“Oh, you fucking bastard.” Yasmeen swore at the machine and grabbed his hand. They raced, and it came after them, pounding and snorting. Yasmeen whirled, whipping a knife through the air. The blade slammed into the center eye slit, stopped only by the hilt.
Then she was simply gone.
Archimedes stopped, turned. She was running straight at the giant machine, her long silk kerchief in hand.
He sprinted after her. “Yasmeen!”
She impaled the scarf over the chest spikes, covering the eye slits. With a leap, she was up on its neck, scrambling across the back. Looking for an entrance, he realized. The horse reared, huffing steam from its nose—and from its ass.
Suddenly laughing wildly, Archimedes raced toward it, straight on as she had, out of the firing line of the two guns. The barrels spun. No ammunition. Faintly, he heard shouting from inside,