Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [109]
"I told you, sucker! I told you!" His triumphant cry edged on sheer mania; he had broken through to his own true element. The dark spray from the sheep carcasses coursed across his chest and face, as though spelling an emblem of the Future on his form. The machine mounted into the sky again as Miss McThane's laughter mingled with his. "Eat shit, turkeys!" came her mocking shout.
Another voice came from behind me. One of the beaters, an aged Scot with a beard like an Old Testament prophet's, lifted a trembling finger towards the apparition in the sky. "The Beast!" he cried. "Frae th' Book o Revelation! D'ye ken the heads, and th' Whore 'pon its back?" His eyes wild, the old man exhorted the others. "Laughing; she was – th' whore o' Babylon! The last days have come 'pon us!" This hypothesis was rapidly taken up by the other men, their voices rising into a panicky babble. Over the valley, the flying machine turned around, its. wings bending almost vertical, and headed back towards the hill.
"The Beast!" Voices from the hillside in front of me took up the cry; the recognition had swept through all of the religiously minded. It was no respecter of persons; several of the Godly Army had thrown away their rifles, the better to clasp their hands in fervent prayer.
Another cry went up from around the hillside: "Its fiery breath!" Smoke and flames billowing along the device's wings had been spotted by several of the aghast onlookers. I could see sparks shooting from the metal joints; the results of Scape's hurried assemblage of the machine were now becoming apparent. The sheepskins covering the wings had begun to smoulder, sending greasy smoke trailing behind.
The machine started to disintegrate, from the inadequacy of its construction and the violence of its manoeuvres through the air. Flaming carcasses peeled away from the wings; sheep's heads, smelling of singed meat, rained upon the men circled about the hill. This last sent them into complete terror, as well it might; with inarticulate shouts, they turned, Godly Army and native Scot alike, and sprinted in all directions, fleeing the burning wrath of Satan visited upon them.
Above me, I saw the flying machine wheel about, the controlling lines in Scape's hands no longer functioning. Miss McThane screamed as the device turned upside down; she grasped desperately for one of the metal struts to keep from falling. Poor Abel howled as the cord tethering him to the disintegrating machine tangled into the gears and chains. Struck dumb, I watched in horror as it spun about, glided for a moment with flames and smoke billowing, then plummeted into the range of hills on the other side of the valley.
For a moment I was rooted to the spot. Then remembered my own plight; however tragic the consequences, the sudden appearance of the flying machine had afforded me a chance of escape. The beaters and the Godly Army had taken to their heels, pursued by the Biblical demons of their own imaginations. I hurried to the cliff's edge behind me and headed down the slope to where I could cross the river below.
"Dower!" the voice froze me in my tracks. I nearly fell forward as I halted, the small stones sliding out from beneath my boots. At the bottom of the slope, by the river's bank, Sir Charles stood waiting for me.
Our eyes met across the distance. He then lifted his rifle to his shoulder, his narrowed gaze squinting into my chest. The hillside afforded no place to hide;. I was trapped against its heathery flank. With no hope, no thought, I turned and ran, my feet scrabbling at the stony trail.
I heard the shot, sounding as if from miles away. For a moment I thought he had missed me, and I