Iron Rage. James Axler
concussed,â Mildred said. âBut sheâs tough. Sheâll make it. Thereâs nothing more to do for her right now. Ow! What?â
The last was directed at J.B., who had taken off his fedora and was swatting her on top of the head with it.
âYour hairâs smoldering up top,â he said.
âOh,â she said sheepishly. âSomething made me dive for the deck. Since Krysty was hanging on to my wrist it was easy to take her down with me. But she still caught more of the blast than I did.â
âHelp!â somebody yelled from inside the cabin. âSomebody help the captain!â
Ryan and Mildred looked at each other. âLook out after Krysty, John,â she said. Easing Krystyâs head to the planks, she extricated herself and stood.
As soon as he saw Krystyâs head laid gently down, Ryan moved ahead of Mildred to the door and looked inside.
A dense haze of greenish smoke filled the bridge, lit poorly by afternoon sunlight slanting in through the hole, and a few oily flickering yellow flames. The stink of burned gunpowder, hair and overcooked flesh was intense. Ryan had to clamp his jaw shut against acid vomit that shot up his throat.
Nataly Dobrynin stood at the wheel. Like Krystyâs, her face was a black-and-crimson mask. She was craning to her left to peer out the front port. The polycarbonate there had been blasted free by the explosion. The right side, though intact, was smoke-smudged, partially melted and tricky to see through.
âIâm fine,â she said. âScalp cut and smoke damage. Itâs not as bad as it looks.â Despite her words, she seemed to be as much holding herself upright as steering the Queen through its hard left turn.
She jerked her head toward the cabin wall to her right. âHelp the captain.â
Ryan looked the way she indicated. Trace Conoyer was slumped against the bulkhead. Her right arm was missing from above the elbow. Avery knelt beside her, frantically trying to tie off the wound with a handkerchief. He didnât seem to be making much headway against the blood spurting all over him, and rendering the floorboards slippery.
âMildred,â Ryan rasped.
âAlready on it,â the predark doctor said. She actually shouldered him out of the way as she entered the bridge and went to the captain.
When she had been studying to become a doctor, Mildred had discovered she enjoyed research more than tending to the sick and injured, so she chose the field of medical research and focused on cryogenics. Ultimately, her research had saved her life, as it allowed her colleagues to freeze her after the botched surgery. Her sleep lasted longer than a hundred years, and when she awakened, the world had drastically changed. And to surviveâemotionally as well as physicallyâshe had to change, as well. She had thrown herself wholeheartedly into the role of healer, bringing real medical skill and knowledge to a world that almost completely lacked them. And when she went into full-on healer mode, she would turn aside for nothing.
Not even Ryan Cawdor.
To the right of the entrance, at the bridgeâs rear, was a hatch leading to the deck below. Just short of it lay a body. At one time it had been human, but now it was hard to tell. It seemed to have been blown open, with entrails scattered on the deck. A string of intestine was draped over a chart table lying on its side. The chill was still smoldering.
âI had just gone below,â Avery said over his shoulder. He was now helping the dazed captain hold her stump upright while Mildred tied it off properly. âEdna was headed down right behind me.â
âShe had to have taken the brunt of the blast,â Nataly said. âShe never had a chance. Poor woman.â
Another salvo landed around the vessel. From the sounds they made, Ryan gathered the Poteetville ironclads were firing a mix of solid shot and explosive shells. Probably whatever was closest to hand.
Ryan stepped up alongside Nataly and began pistoning the butt-plate of his Steyr into what remained of the windscreen. Even damaged as it was, the tough polymer resisted his jackhammer blows. But he managed to pop it out of its framework.
Nataly nodded her thanks as she straightened, showing a quick flash of teeth, bright white against her horror mask of a face.
âWhat about you?â he asked.
âI was right beside the captain,â she said through gritted teeth. âThe blast didnât do much to me. I thought I was chilled for sure.â
Seeing that both the tall, thin woman and Mildred both had their respective situations well in hand, Ryan went back outside. He found Krysty sitting up against the remains of the cabinâs front wall, while J.B. tried to daub the blood and soot from her face with a wet rag.
She was awake, and she smiled as her emerald green eyes met his.
âYou were worried,â she said. âThatâs sweet.â
âWeâre not out of the woods yet,â he said. She was clearly still dazed.
He looked around. The Mississippi Queen had already swung its bow past due west and was continuing to turn back south. In the process it had moved most of the way to that shore. Most of the barge was visible to port behind the tug.
Suddenly the rest of the companions were gathered around. âHowâs Krysty?â Ricky asked. âNuestra Señora, please let her be okay!â
âIâll be fine,â Krysty said, more in the tone of voice of a person agreeing with someone who had just said something she didnât really understand than as an actual affirmation.
âWhat are you all doing here?â Ryan demanded of the boy, Jak and Doc.
The old man shot his cuffs with elaborate unconcern. âThere seems to be a dearth of jobs for us to do at the moment.â
A shattering sound erupted from aft of the cabin. Pieces of the roof flew off in a big gout of smoke. Yellow flames began to flick just above the jagged edges of the bulkhead.
âDark night!â J.B. exclaimed, as voices began shouting in alarm. âIt mustâve set bedding on fire.â
âWeâve got a job now,â Ryan said grimly. âWeâll man the hoses and try to get the fire out. J.B., help me carry Krysty into the cabin.â
âJust leave me here, lover,â Krysty said. She still sounded out of it, but was clearly pulling her blast-scattered wits back together. âBe as safe here as anywhere.â
âNo way,â Ryan said, gathering her in his arms for the briefest of hugs, then pulling her away from the bulkhead so he could hoist her by the shoulders while J.B. lifted her feet. âItâs at least some protection. Better than none.â
âYou know what old line about lightning not striking twice in the same place?â Krysty asked, her head lolling. âItâs not true. Lots of times lightning hits the same place a dozen times in the blink of an eye.â
âI know that,â he said. âStay with me.â
He managed not to say, Youâre starting to sound like Doc. Although it probably wouldnât have mattered because the old man had already led the two youngest members of the team back to where several of the crew were unrolling canvas hoses to fight the flames.
Inside, Mildred was letting Trace Conoyer lower her arm, gingerly, to see if the pressure bandage she had taped over the wound would hold. The dirty-rag tourniquet had already been removed and discarded.
Myron Conoyer and Arliss Moriarty hunched over the captain. Avery hovered