Klein nodded. “I vud like to see my home again. I spent my life at sea, expecting to return in old age. Now my final years have arrived and I find myself further away zan ever.”
Tony glanced at Diane. He wanted to help the girl see past her rage. “What about you, Diane? What do you wish for?”
She seemed surprised by the question, and her eyes flickered with sadness. She opened her mouth to speak but then changed her mind. Without uttering a single word, she stood from the table and exited the carriage.
Klein raised his eyebrows. “Zat girl frightens me more zan a leaking hatch at ze bottom of the sea.”
“She’s angry,” said Tony. “I don’t blame her. Wickstaff was a saviour to a lot of people. Now that she’s dead, she’s become a martyr.”
“A dangerous zing.”
“Keep an eye on her, Klein. While I’m gone, I mean.”
The German officer chuckled. “I keep an eye on everything, Tony, don’t you know? Take care on your trip. I enjoy your company.”
Tony stood and offered a handshake. “I’ll send you a postcard.”
“Auf wiedersehen, Colonel. I hope you return in good health.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Mass spat blood on the floorboards, awaiting his death – a death that had been hounding him for a week now, a death that would not stop chasing him. He knew the moment it had all gone wrong. It had been one week ago. He’d been huddled in the rear of an overturned coach with Addy, Tox, Smithy, and a dozen screaming women – chattel rescued from a monster named Naseem hours earlier.
They’d have been better off if I’d left them at the farm. Some hero I turned out to be.
I never wanted to be a hero.
Back then in the coach, Mass had searched desperately for his handgun, which had fallen under the seats, but try as he might, he could not find the damn thing. Only Smithy had a weapon – but there was no way to fire it inside their cramped confines without deafening themselves.
Demons surrounded the upturned coach, their crooked faces pressed against the cracked windows, their shadows melting into the nearby undergrowth. The coach was a henhouse surrounded by foxes, and Mass and his companions were the hens.
“What’s the plan, big man?” Smithy managed to sound unconcerned by their imminent deaths. Unflappability was his Smithy skill, even with a massive gash bleeding on his forehead. “You have a plan, right? A good one I’ll bet. Come on, tell us how you’re gonna save the day. Please?”
“I don’t have a plan. We need to get the women out of here.”
“Too right,” said Tox, covering his ears to drown out their screaming. “They’re driving me insane.”
“They’re afraid,” said Addy, pushing against one of the windows that was starting to crack. “Who can blame them?”
Smithy threw down his hunting rifle, knowing it was of no use, then rummaged beneath the seats and around the window ledges.
Tox grunted. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a solution. My mum always told me that the worst thing you can do in a crisis is nothing.”
Tox sighed, but his displeasure went ignored. Addy joined Smithy in his search, getting down on her belly and looking under the seats for something to help. There was little chance of an apache helicopter appearing and blasting them a way out, but maybe they could find something.
The first thing Mass spotted was a handheld fire extinguisher mounted against the coach’s fire escape. He grabbed the small red canister in both hands and examined it. “We have a chance,” he muttered, not fully knowing his own thoughts until the words were out of his mouth. “Smithy, get the door.”
Smithy frowned but did as asked. He stood by the fire escape and wrapped his fingers around the handle. Addy seemed on board with whatever they were about to do as well. She had known Mass long enough to trust him. “I’ll gather the women,” she said.
Tox stopped grumbling and asked what he could do too.
“You can jump out when I do,” said Mass. “Shove any demons aside long enough for the women to make it onto the road.”
“That’s suicide! The demons’ll tear us to shreds.”
“Not if they can’t see us. Okay, Smithy, after three. One… two… three!”
Smithy shouldered open the fire escape. It opened diagonally, hinges twisted and bent. Demons immediately tried to get inside, but Mass threw his colossal bulk through the gap and collided with them. He took them by surprise and bought himself enough time to plant his feet in the uneven ditch and quickly pull the tab on the handheld fire extinguisher. He squeezed the handle. Part of him feared a harmless jet of water coming out, but it was exactly what he had hoped for – a thick cloud of white smoke. “Move, move, move!” he shouted as bodies shoved by him. The women whimpered and screamed, but they knew this was life and death. They had no choice but to make a run for it.
Tox appeared beside Mass, planting a boot in the centre of a small demon’s chest and sending it backwards into the weeds. Meanwhile, Mass sprayed the smoky powder into the air, aiming for eyes and snarling mouths. The demons spluttered like sickly children.
Tox shoved aside another demon, this one half-blind and clawing at its own eyes. He pointed to the women halfway up the embankment and about to make it to the road. Addy was right behind them. “It’s working,” he said. “They’re getting away.”
Mass threw out a hand and waved. “Smithy, go with the women. Get them out of here.”
But Smithy ignored him. He bent to pick something up and swung his arm, bringing down a fist-sized rock on the back of the half-blind demon’s skull.
