All Jack could hear was his own rasping breath. A roll onto his side was attempted but the labour involved was too much. Nothing was broken; at least he believed nothing was broken. From a number of decks above, Alvina called over the side, gazing down at his spread-eagled body in shock.
‘Jack?! Jack! Answer me!’
Instead of calling back, an endeavour that evaded him for this moment, he instead wearily waved his hand before it landed above his head. Sleep called to him. Pain did its best to be heard over the voices in his head but it was of no use.
Jackdaw cursed at the realization that he wasn’t dead yet.
* * *
The owners of the Morning Star hung from the carriage window and watched the Messiah lumber further and further away from them. Franco made a number of concerned murmurs, with the binoculars pressed firmly against his face. This wasn’t what they were expecting.
Misu stood alongside him but even without the need to enhance her vision, she could see the tracks that the ship was making had significantly shifted and the angle of it moving away from them being all wrong.
‘What’s it doing?’
Franco lowered his binoculars in reservation, confirming what they both feared. ‘The ship’s drifting off course.’
‘Did we do that?’
‘I think so. That wasn’t intentional in the slightest.’
For a moment the pair watched silently, the cool wind whipping past them, providing a welcome relief to the scorching day.
‘Franco …’ Misu placed a hand on his arm ‘… it’s heading towards the cliff side.’
‘I know.’
‘Then they’re going to crash,’ Misu stated with urgency.
‘I’m well aware. I can see it just as well as you.’ Franco failed to show any concern and by doing so urged Misu into action.
‘I’m getting Ferry to stop,’ she insisted, reaching for the carriage phone once more. Franco turned back inside, removing the binoculars, and tossed them upon a leather-clad seat.
‘They’re on their own. We are not getting involved … any more than we are already.’
‘The hell we’re not! We just caused that!’ Misu flared, throwing her arm out to point.
‘Jack knew the risks he was undertaking. We were only to provide support, his words. Anything else is a danger!’
‘Then you stay here. I’m going out there to help.’
‘The hell you are!’ Franco demanded, his voice raised. Instinctively he reached out and took her by the wrist, interrupting her stride. She glanced to his hand, then to him, taken aback that he would lay his hands on her in such a fashion after all the pair had been through. Her eyes narrowed and her voice became cold like stone.
‘Are you going to stop me?’
‘If I have to – you’re not thinking straight. If Bluecoats catch wind of what’s going on, we’ll all be implicated. The Morning Star will be hunted again. We’ll be on the run! Everything that we’ve ever done will have been for naught! Is that what you want?’
Misu snatched her hand back. ‘As much of a crook as Jackdaw is, he helped me find you. That in itself is worth something.’
‘And we’ve done something.’
‘Then let’s be better and do more, shall we?’
Franco finally relented, knowing full well that despite his best efforts Misu would never be sensible again. She had the taste of acting rashly, letting her heart dictate the outcome of tough decisions. Sensibilities and level-headedness kept people like them afloat and, more importantly, alive.
But Franco reminded himself that he wasn’t solely in charge of the Morning Star any more. Their ownership was a shared burden. As was Misu’s decision. There wasn’t any point arguing with her over this.
‘Go and prepare the horses from the rear car. I’ll speak to Ferry.’ Franco paused, trying not to mirror Misu’s emerging smile as she witnessed his surrender. ‘You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?’
* * *
Jack craved sleep above all else. If he could rest, just for a few minutes, would that be so wrong? There would be no harm in taking a breather; it wasn’t a crime. Just a few minutes to sort himself out, he justified in hazy thought.
Fate, like always, had other ideas.
‘Jackdaw! We’re not finished, you and I!’ Derek bellowed.
The carnage was extensive. The loading bay was scattered with unsecured crates, barrels, topped off with flaming sections of metalwork. The interior of the Messiah now resembled a battleground with neither side giving an inch. Finally parting his eyelids, Jackdaw examined the man among the melee of wreckage. Derek Sanders, to his credit, still stood. A long gash from his head matted his hair with blood, the overspill trickling down a cheek. When he walked forward, one of his legs gave slightly with every step, a knee twisted wrong if Jack had to guess as to the cause. His tunic was stained with dirt and dashes of blood, a far cry from its former impeccable condition.
But even with the pain that took residence in his bones, Derek wasn’t done yet.
‘Ugh … You’ve got that right.’ Jack slipped through what remained of the gantry guardrail, rolled off the crate and landed with difficultly, holding his ribs. Despite earlier assumptions, something had given inside of him, something, presumably, required to be in a working and in a non-fractured state. As to how bad his injuries actually were, he couldn’t tell. A few scratches and scrapes dogged his mobility and that landing didn’t do his hip any favours. He hurt, considerably. The gamble now was hoping that Derek had endured worse.
Derek himself held his arms out in disbelief, wincing from time to time.
‘All I wanted to do was steal this damn rig and sell it off … That was it. The pay was going to be good as well, would set the family right up. Let our mom, our pops, our kid sister live in security without worrying about having a scrap to eat on the daily … Ahh. Why do you think we do what we do? Do you think that the family is, somehow, inherently bad? No. We just so happen to be skilled on that front. So ask yourself, Jack, what –’
Jackdaw whined aloud, stopping Derek in the middle of his rant.
‘Whenever did I ever give you the impression that I cared in the slightest about any of that? When it comes down to it, the here and now, you will do whatever it takes to cut me down and get this rig to your paymaster. We both know that I’m planning on getting off it, but pride dictates that one of us ain’t leaving here breathing.’
‘That may be the smartest thing you’ve ever said in your life,’ Derek acknowledged.
‘Then I’ve a proposal to make … You shut that fat mouth of yours.’ Jackdaw clenched his fists together and held them aloft. Thanks to being disarmed, he would have to do this the old-fashioned way. ‘And we finish off what we each set out to do.’
Derek didn’t reply but instead ran forward as best as he could, slamming into Jack until they bundled into a pile. Fists were thrown with Jack working the kidneys as best he could, all while his right hand screamed in pain. A finger gave under the pressure, an injury from his beating that had yet to properly heal. Rolling away Jack got to his feet, while Derek did the same, now sporting a bloodied nose from a stray shot to the face.
The resulting fury Derek succumbed to caught Jack off guard and whilst he braced himself for the lunge, it still skidded him back as Derek’s shoulder delivered a powerful impact, trapping Jack against a crate. Derek was enraged. Jack had caught glimpses of the Sanders sibling’s eyes, harbouring a craving that was only brought about by the red mist descending. Frantically Jack attempted to defend himself, steeling himself to deliver a bevy of punches to the kidneys, then protecting his head from blows. When these failed, Derek clamped his hands around Jack’s neck with the intention of choking the very life from him.
The attempt at strangling didn’t work. Jack drove a fist like a piston to the kidneys until the fingers withdrew, sending Derek recoiling backward, but that only made him more dangerous. A glint of metal flashed in the dull light. A hip knife was withdrawn from Derek’s belt, followed by a rapid swipe of the arm. A hop backward wasn’t far enough and Jack’s shirt was sliced clean through, though amazingly, it missed any of the meat.
Derek flashed the knife this way and that, wild slashes carving the air designed to intimidate Jack. It worked. Jack could disarm a man at close range with few problems, even those of substantial height and strength, but in the state he was, he was far from confident in doing so. Sensing this, Derek set about darting the weapon forward. A single slash struck Jack over a forearm, skimming the surface of his limb, forcing drops of red to pool along the seeping wound. Sensing a finality, Derek refused to give Jack even a second to recover, lashing the empty air. All luckily missed, but when Jack snagged his trousers on a broken beam, the lunge aiming straight for his heart was impossible to avoid.
The pair toppled backward, with Derek seething through his teeth, pressing down, wrestling against Jack’s grip that had latched around his own hands. Whilst Jack gallantly held the knife at bay with all his strength, the weight from Derek was greater. The knife travelled lower, hovering above Jack’s abdomen.
Ever so slowly did the knife brush Jackdaw’s shirt.
Patiently did the tip of the blade penetrate his attire.
Gently did the knife pierce his flesh.
Jackdaw cried out in agony.
‘I’m sorry,’ Derek apologized as the knife slipped in a quarter inch deeper. ‘Isn’t this how you expected things to go? You thought you could play the plucky hero and save the day?’
Jack rocked his head forward, striking Derek on the forehead, stunning him.
With an almighty surge of defiance, Jack roared as he lifted Derek up, the knife burning in the wound as it trembled, before finally slipping free from flesh. With a kick of a leg, Jack tossed him overhead. The knife scattered onto the floor, to a place neither man could see.
The wound was a worry. It was deep enough to cause considerable pain, to bleed significantly too. Jack clamoured to his feet, pulling at the ropes that bound a pallet of sacks together.
‘Look at me,’ Jack hissed in defiance, clenching the wound that had already begun to soil his shirt. ‘I took out a handful of your kin without blinking. I hopped onto this rig while it was in motion and even now the Jackrabbits are robbing it good … I’m about to kill a buffoon like you without ever losing sleep about it … All this I have done for simple monetary gain. Whatever gave you the impression that I was something resembling a good guy?’
‘Point made,’ Derek said.
The air felt too hot for Jack, the room increasingly claustrophobic. Everything was out of joint though he fought against waves of nausea.
‘You say you’re robbing the ship, then why don’t you just leave? Take whatever is valuable to you and be content with that! What compels you to remain? Do you think you’re making your mark in history – is that it?’ Derek advanced, spying Jack struggling to even stand. An effortless sweep to the legs sent Jackdaw slamming onto the floor. His wheezes were coupled with throaty coughs.
Once more Derek fell upon Jack, once more did he clamp his hands around Jack’s throat and once more did he sense the end of this debacle. Within seconds Jackdaw’s face had been painted an alarming shade of maroon as he resisted blacking out.
‘Nothing of the sort,’ Jackdaw grunted, a smile through red teeth suddenly emerging. ‘I’m just … buying time again.’
With a jerk of his head to the side, he looked out to Alvina who had been waiting for a clean shot since her arrival in the cargo bay, kneeling with her rifle steadied upon a ream of bound boxes.
‘Be a dear?’ Jack croaked.
The crack of a gunshot was joined by the gentle ‘ping-ping-ping’ of the hot shell casing as it was ejected with a heave of the weapon’s bolt. Derek’s head jolted to the side, eyes snapping in shock as part of his skull took its leave.
Jack had closed his eyes, feeling a dash of something wet strike across a cheek.
The gruesome visage was heaved aside, morbidly twitching with the last struggles of life.
Jack swallowed as much air as he could, his brow sweating profusely. The thick red welts around his neck settled but they did little for the pain elsewhere.
‘Remind me to lecture you on the dangers of joining in an affray at the last minute. I thought you couldn’t stand people being late.’ Jack panted, quite relieved that Alvina had shown up in the nick of time.
‘I’m complicated.’ Alvina smiled, tossing the rifle over her shoulder.
‘No arguments there. Could you do me a …’ His arm rose wearily. Alvina rushed to help him onto his feet, looking down to him clenching the wound in his stomach. His hands were wet and crimson. The injury, presumably severe.
‘Ugh … Asshole ruined a good shirt,’ Jack mumbled.
‘Let’s hope Blake and Cole have done what they need to do. I think we need to get off this here boat, Jack. We’re not welcome any more.’
‘I’ve got faith in those two. And leaving sounds like the perfect idea.’ He attempted a chuckle but could only concoct a splutter.
Alvina dragged him to a mounted control panel, examining the bulbous buttons that protruded from it. She slapped the one marked Ramp Control to have it rudely buzz in compliance. A wall of metal shuddered into life from the vehicle’s rear. It slowly eased outward, letting the evening’s cool air blast through, sending the fires dancing wildly. The ramp finally slammed into the gully surface and dragged a trough into the sand and rock.
The Messiah rumbled onward, unperturbed that the pair on board were looking to depart.
‘Hold on, Jack, this’ll be one bumpy ride. You ready?’ Alvina asked over the deafening noise of the tracks. She helped him advance down the ramp. Careful footfalls were paramount as the metal quivered beneath them.
‘Nah.’ Jack looked to the stars that were starting to pierce the twilight, only to be hidden with smoke and sand and dirt. ‘But that’s never stopped me before.’
The pair jumped as best they could and rolled over and over in the clouds of sand, seemingly endlessly. Still they remained, feeling the sand land atop them, covering their heads whilst suffering fits of coughs. Finally, when there was no more sand falling on her head, Alvina sat up, pulling herself free from the drifts, shaking it from her hair and spitting it from her mouth. Finally, her attention turned to Jack. The newly coated mound that comprised Jackdaw didn’t move. Scrambling over, she brushed the deposits away, yanking him into her lap. He responded with a deep inhalation followed by riotous coughs.
‘Come on, Jack, move your feet – you can do this,’ she insisted.
Jackdaw grunted with every movement. Alvina grabbed his lapels and glared into his defeated eyes, withholding the urge to shake him.
‘One last time, boss,’ she hissed, ‘one last damned time. Don’t make me slap you. Listen to me and get on your feet!’
Jackdaw cracked his eyes open once more but his vision bobbed as if he fought against a great current of water. Alvina attempted to bargain with him next.
‘We’ve got the score to count, right? What good is the money if you’re not around to spend it?’
The darkness was now taking hold. Dull light was being pushed aside for black, where the moon failed to penetrate and the stars themselves shunned. Alvina looked behind her to see the rear end of the sand ship rumble off in the wrong direction, only now noticing that they had been knocked off course and were heading for calamity.
The Messiah slammed into the cliff side with an almighty boom, causing a rockslide to rain upon its bow. In seconds it had been completely engulfed by smoke and dust, the tumble of boulders attempting to bury its nose. The once mighty sand ship had been stopped dead.
‘I had a good run didn’t I?’ Jackdaw let slip the river of blood that had collected on his lower lip.
Alvina pressed it against her sleeve, turning the red suede a few shades deeper.
‘The best, boss. Kept us all in check. Never turned a blind eye to those who wronged you.’ She smiled, blinking back tears. ‘You, uh … you ain’t looking at calling it a day on us are you?’
Jackdaw winced as he inhaled. The stab wound pulsed white-hot, forcing his hand to press down tighter, stemming the blood. That bastard got in a good one, right where he didn’t want it to be. Jackdaw chuckled at the absurdity, blinking away tears, making an inconceivable confession. ‘Maybe all this is a younger man’s game now.’
Alvina felt her bottom lip give way. In a spark of inspiration, she recollected that somewhere, out in the Dead Corridor, Ralust was going to be following to pick up the goods – provided that Cole and Blake had managed to get them off the ship of course.
‘Ralust! Ralust! Where the hell are you?!’ Alvina hoisted her rifle and fired into the night sky until the magazine it harboured ran empty. The cracks echoed off the canyon walls until finally dissipating. It was too dark to see anything and any voices on the wind would have been blown away by the constant churning of the struggling Messiah. By the time she had finished, Alvina fell on all fours, feeling quite defeated.
‘If you left me now, you would be a free woman. Could go off and make something of yourself … Be all fancy, like … You deserve that …’ A spluttering cough robbed Jack of any further words.
‘Whatever would I do with all that time?’
There was no response. Jack’s head became loose and his eyes began to roll back.
Jack passed out, lying limp in Alvina’s lap as she cradled him.
‘Come on, hold on in there, help will come soon. Help will come.’
Alvina lay cradling Jack in the Dead Corridor. She was not a religious sort but prayed to the Sorceress that luck would ensure their discovery no matter how doubtful it may be given these circumstances.