A soft puttering sound impinged on his hearing. At first Greg put it down to the sound of blood surging in his head. The sound increased in volume. Weary beyond belief he raised his head and looked about, wondering if he heard an echo of the fast-retreating locomotive. Some quality of the sound made him stare upward.
A huge shape blotted out the stars above. The fires in the mining camp reflected off a long silver cylindrical form, and Greg could make out the glint of glass and metal fittings and an array of windows showing a dull ruddy light.
It's an airship! An honest-to-God airship! Fumbling for the smoldering stave, he swung it over his head. The flow of air made the dying embers on the end flare up anew, and the surrounding sand glowed yellow.
Some moments passed. The puttering sound altered pitch, and the airship slowed to a hover directly overhead. A clanking sound came from above. Seconds passed. Greg sat and watched as a cable emerged from the darkness to land on the sand with a soft thump. Two people stood in stirrups attached to it. One, a tall man with reddish hair, shook his feet free and stepped onto the ground. He opened a dark lantern and walked over to Greg, the beam from the lantern lens casting a swathe of golden light. His companion, a woman, unslung a nasty-looking shotgun and kept watch. Both wore leather dusters and ornate brass goggles that reflected the firelight.
The man stood over Greg, raised the goggles and stared at him. "Good heavens! What a poor creature you are."
"Help me." Greg reached out to clasp the hem of the man's coat.
The man stooped and with graceful strength tossed Greg onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He made his way back to the cable where he carefully put Greg down and handed the lantern to the woman. Setting Greg's feet in the stirrup and securing a leather strap about his chest the man smiled and nodded.
"Cling on tight, mate. We're getting you out of here."
The woman swung the lantern and the two of them stepped quickly into the stirrups. Someone up above understood the signal, and Greg swayed as the cable jerked then rose swiftly into the air.
He gazed down as the wrecked mining compound spread out below. The fires were dying down. He couldn't see anything moving, but plenty of bodies laid scattered there, most of them human. Away in the distance the locomotive rolled down the track heading for the city, the searing white headlamp and the golden glow from the crew compartment marking its progress. He closed his eyes, too tired and numb with cold to wonder who his rescuers were, or how they came to be in this place in such a craft.
They rose through the night for about a minute and then Greg felt the motion slow. He opened his eyes as he and his unknown saviors passed through a hole in the bottom of a small circular platform on one side of the airship. A winch clunked above his head as it wound in the cable and they stopped level with an open door in the gondola.
Greg looked bleary-eyed at the welcoming party standing there. It comprised a tall woman dressed all in leather and a man wearing a striped jersey and black pants. As the red-headed man guided Greg through the door, the woman took his arm and assisted him the rest of the way inside.
"Who have we here?" she asked.
"An escaped slave, Captain." The red-headed man gestured to Greg. "He used a burning brand to signal us."
She cocked her head. "Any others down there?"
He shook his head. "None. We think they escaped on the train."
The woman whom he'd addressed as Captain leaned closer to peer at Greg. She swam like a mirage in his vision, a tall, well-built woman clad in leather and brass with killer cheekbones and a haughty expression. Her exposed midriff displayed a sparkling jewel in her navel and a tattoo of a snake or dragon that twined up toward her breasts. Greg felt long-unused facial muscles ache as he formed a smile.
Then he fainted.
Adena wrinkled her nose as she looked down at the unconscious man. He had several weeks' growth of beard and shaggy hair, which might possibly be brown under coal dust and dirt. She detected a pale skin under the grime covering his emaciated body and shook her head.
"He's gone through the mill by the look of him. The poor bugger stinks." She gestured to Conner. "Strip him and toss everything he's wearing overboard. He's lousy and flea-bitten if I'm any judge, and I'll not have my ship infested. Clean him up, tend to his injuries and put him to bed. I'll talk to him tomorrow — if he recovers."
Conner and a crewman picked up the escapee and carried him away.
Adena sighed and rubbed her brow. "We'll resume our course now, Jake." She yawned. "Let's clear the area then we can stand down."
Jake nodded. "Aye aye, Captain."
They returned to the flight deck. Adena used the binoculars to sweep the ground in and around the mining camp. Nothing moved there. The fires had died down. Wreckage lay strewn everywhere. She addressed the helmsman.
"Come about to starboard thirty-degrees. Resume original course."
When he acknowledged, she grabbed the telegraph handles and rang for full speed. The beat of the engines increased, and the crew swayed under the impulse as the two hundred and sixty feet long airship responded.
Adena turned to Jake, waiting quietly nearby. "When we're back on course, drop to cruising speed. No sense in wasting fuel." She glanced out the windows. "Okay, we're clear of the camp. Sound stand-down."
The bells rang again throughout the gondola, a series of shorter peals that sounded less urgent than the continuous alarm
