Shattered Skies. Alice Henderson

      Chapter 4

      H124 trudged back toward the train tracks in the blistering heat, past the fallen trees again. Wind whistled through holes in one of the rusted barrels. In the distance she spotted the train chugging back in her direction. It pulled up alongside her, and the shield door opened. She climbed into the engine compartment, purple floor and ceiling lights giving the space a slightly spooky feel. Several view screens showed the dusty world scrolling by.

      As soon as the armored doors slammed shut, H124 realized with a grateful sigh that the interior was climate controlled. Coolness spread over her body. Grant hooked a thumb behind him. “The others are in the back compartments.” As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she noticed a door leading to the back cars. She stepped up to it and pushed a button. It slid open.

      The door admitted her into an elaborately decorated train car. Red velvet sofas and recliners, linen-covered tables, and a decorative bar filled the space. Byron sprawled on a red chaise-lounge, holding a glass with some kind of amber liquid in it.

      Raven sat at one of the tables, going over the A14’s schematics on his PRD. Like in the engine compartment, this room showed displays projected from outside. They glowed from within wooden window frames, and after a few moments, she forgot they actually weren’t windows.

      “Welcome!” Byron said. “Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?”

      H124’s mouth was parched. “Definitely.” She made a circuit of the room, taking in the furnishings appreciatively. “Where’s Dirk?”

      Byron mouth turned down at the sides. “He found a bed to lie down in. I’m worried about him.”

      “Me, too,” she said.

      They drank in companionable silence, watching the scenery scroll by. Later, they ate MREs and played cards with Raven. Dirk still hadn’t emerged when night fell. She snuck into the sleeping car to check on him, found him curled up on one of the bunks, face toward the wall, his breathing even and steady. She slipped back out.

      * * * *

      The next day, H124 woke refreshed, finding that the gentle rocking of the train had led to the deepest sleep she’d had in a while. She dressed, watching the terrain scroll by on the wall displays. Heat shimmered off vast dry plains. The landscape was the flattest she’d ever seen, without a hill in sight.

      Exploring the train, she passed from car to car, completely taken aback by the sheer opulence of it. More red and purple velvet seats, antique wooden bars, landscape paintings with rich patinas. In one car, she even found a contraption similar to one she’d seen in an old photograph. In the image, a woman had been seated in front of a large machine of some sort with black and white levers and brass foot pedals.

      H124 approached the contraption.

      She pressed one of the white levers and a tone sounded. She pressed another to the right, and a higher tone rang out. She pressed two at the same time, feeling a vibration through the machine as the tones sounded and faded away. A bench stood before it. There she sat down, tinkering with the levers.

      The door behind her whooshed open, and Byron came through. Lights from the screens passed over his face, the golden afternoon sunrays shining from the displays.

      She paused, her fingers lightly touching the levers. He walked over to the bench, sliding in beside her. She could feel the warmth of his body, their sides touching. She swallowed. “What is this?”

      “Isn’t it amazing?” He stroked the levers affectionately. “It’s a musical instrument, a piano.” He smiled, his expression faraway. “When I was a kid, on one of our scouting expeditions with my folks, we came across this old woman who lived in a huge underground bunker. She’d hoarded all kinds of things down there, including this piano. At first she was scared of us, offered to give us things if we left. But my parents were kind to her, intrigued. She painted like my dad, and they got to talking. After that, we went back to see her again and again. She taught me a little.” He ran his hands over the wood. “When she passed away, I was in my teens. It was a real blow. She was so eccentric—knew so much about the world that had come before, and if you were quiet and listened, she taught you things. I couldn’t bear to let the piano go to some Death Rider camp to be destroyed, so I took it. Gave it to Grant. Figured if it were on a moving target, it would have a better chance of survival.”

      H124 looked down at the instrument. “So this is it? The same piano?”

      “The only piano, as far as I know.”

      “Can you play something?”

      Byron looked a little shy, then straightened his back and flexed his fingers. He played two notes, then eased into a wonderful melody with rich bass notes intermingled with melodic higher notes that sang out. She’d never heard music before, not like this. She’d heard some strange sounds piped into the citizens’ quarters in New Atlantic, but they were somehow artificial and rigid.

      This melody cascaded, and he worked the pedals, making the music deep and resonant. H124’s heart started to beat faster. Her mouth came open a little as he continued, moving his body with feeling as the piece grew more intense until it came to a crashing finish. He took a deep breath then, and slowly brought his fingers away from the levers.

      He rested his hands on his legs and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a bit sheepish.

      “That was…amazing…” she breathed. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

      He turned to face her, swinging one leg over the bench. The pull to him was magnetic. She did the same, swinging her leg over to face him. They sat there for a moment, his green eyes intense with emotion. Then he reached out, touching her hand, pulling her closer. She moved on top of him, straddling his body, crossing her ankles behind his back.

      They faced each other, his eyes smoldering in a way that robbed her of breath. His hand came up on her back, and he pulled her into a kiss. She pressed her lips to his, their bodies clasped together, and he groaned with pleasure.

      His hands moved up her back, fingers navigating through her hair. She felt a fire building in her down below, a desire to devour him and have him devour her. She bent her head down, kissing him deeply, but suddenly the train lurched, throwing Byron off the bench, toppling her over with him. It lurched again, braking hard, and they went sliding across the room, Byron still holding onto her.

      They sat up, peering outside. H124 sucked in a sharp breath. She snapped her head toward the other window, Byron leaping up beside her. Dune buggies roared into sight on both sides of the train, drivers pulling up flush with them. Their faces painted with blood, teeth bared, the marauders brandished battle axes and shotguns, screaming with fury in the thrill of attack. Each buggy was jammed with attackers. Spikes mounted on the back of each vehicle held human heads, bloody hair streaming in the wind from broken skulls.

      The Death Riders had found them.