Children of the Storm, Part 4

An adventure in the world of The Ace of Redwater Bay

We moved quickly and quietly through the forest and soon found Jameson and his device. He had created a small clearing on top of a hill within the forest. Various tools and boxes lay scattered around the area including metal tongs, axes, and saws. One open crate contained a half dozen strange-looking containers made of metal and glass. The side of the box read “Crystal Containment.” A leatherbound journal and fountain pen lay on a small table next to the box of containers.

The machine was bigger than I expected. The antenna rose ten or twelve feet in the air. Steel beams served as primary structure and guywires provided additional support. Thick copper wires spiraled up the antenna.

Jameson was at the controls of the machine and facing our direction. Luckily, he had not yet noticed us. We couldn’t see the electric gun, but doubtless he kept it nearby in case the creature returned. The man himself was tougher looking than I expected. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and alert. Though not as bulky as Harold, even through his baggy shirt and trousers I could tell he had some muscle. His face had sharp angles in his chin, high cheekbones, and eye sockets. He sported a pencil mustache and hair that had been neatly coiffed. Apparently, the man attempted to look good no matter the circumstances.

We had to incapacitate Jameson before he could shoot us and save the children before he the machine killed them or did something worse. The man pulled a lever, and a low whine came from the machine as it came to life. The children were tied to a makeshift table with thick rope. Electrodes from the machine had been attached to various parts of their bodies. They began to cry as though in pain.

“Can you get a clean shot?” Harold asked in a whisper. “It has to count.”

I aimed down the rifle’s sights, lining them up on Jameson’s head. A second later I said, “I’ve got it.”

I took in a breath and let it out slowly as my finger went to the trigger. Just as I was about to squeeze, an inhuman roar filled the air. A creature unlike anything I had ever seen emerged from the edge of the forest a few yards away. The hulking brute had to have been at least eight feet tall. Its skin looked charred and rocky with purple and silver glowing fissures running throughout. A row of thick spikes jutted back at the top of its head and ran down its back to a taper. A pair of glowing purple eyes glared out from above wide jaws filled with craggy teeth. The thick, muscled arms were longer than its legs. Each of its digits ended in a sharp claw.

“Saints preserve us,” said Harold in a voice mixed with terror and awe.

“You again?” shouted Jameson.

The man quickly stooped low out of sight and then hefted a weapon that looked like a musket with copper coils wrapped around the barrel and a series of vacuum tubes running down its length along the top. A cable ran from the stock to a box on the ground.

When he pulled the trigger, the vacuum tubes lit up in series starting with the one nearest the trigger. Hot blue light pulsed through the coil and exited the end of the weapon as a bolt of lightning. The bolt struck the creature on its shoulder. It screamed in pain and anger as it backed away, smoke rising from the points of impact.

I recovered my wits enough by this point to start rethinking our approach.

I turned to Harold and said, “New plan. When I give the signal, get to your kids and unhook them from that machine.”

Harold, still a little bewildered, blinked at me and then said, “What signal?”

“You’ll see.”

“Ha! Science always triumphs over nature!” Jameson shouted as he fired another bolt at the creature, forcing it back.

I moved around the edge of the area until I was behind Jameson. I had a clear shot at the little box attached to his lightning gun. Kneeling down, I aimed carefully and fired.

The .30 caliber round pierced the box—which I took to be a battery—with a satisfying “ping!” Sparks shot out from the battery as toxic chemicals spilled from the bullet hole. Jameson’s lightning bolt died along with it.

The scientist stared wide-eyed at his now-dead weapon and then at me.

“What have you done, you cretin?!” he said, nearly shrieking.

I fired another round, but he moved faster than I expected. He dove behind the machine, produced a revolver from his hip, and fired in my direction. The shot struck the rifle and to my shock and horror set it on fire. I tossed the gun to one side and rolled behind a cluster of rocks for cover. A white flame consumed the Burchfield rifle. When it reached the magazine, the gun exploded, sending small burning pieces in all directions. Phosphorous rounds?

Peeking around one side, I saw Harold moving to help his children.

“Daddy!” they shouted upon seeing him approach.

This drew Jameson’s attention. Once he registered what was happening, a wicked grin crossed his face as he trained his gun on Harold.

“You came like I knew you would, you fool!”

A purple light from above drew my attention. Just as Cassandra had described, a slow-moving lightning bolt slithered down from the clouds above toward the machine’s antenna.

“Witness now as I become one with the storm!” shouted the mad scientist.

By then, the creature had recovered and lumbered toward him. Jameson shifted his attention to it and fired a couple of rounds, the bullets finding its arm and shoulder, setting them alight. The creature roared and swiped a meaty hand at the ground. The blow sent a spray of rock and sand in a wide arc that engulfed Jameson. He fired blindly twice more, trying to hit the creature. The first shot struck a tree and set it on fire. The other hit Harold in the leg.

The man howled and dropped to the ground.

“Daddy what’s wrong?” cried one of the children. He had managed to loosen their bonds enough that they were able to work themselves the rest of the way free. The boy, Thaddeus, went to help his father.

“Don’t!” I yelled as I ran toward them. “If you touch that stuff, it could kill you. Back away from him.”

The two children stared wide-eyed at me but complied. “Stop thrashing,” I said to Harold, kneeling down and taking care not to get too close to the white fire.

“It burns!” he cried out.

“I know. It’s phosphorous and almost nothing can put it out. You have to stay still. Otherwise, it will spread.”

To his credit, the man did as I said. Fighting against the searing pain and every instinct within him, he lay as still as he could, body shaking from the effort. The phosphorous burned through his pantleg and muscle down to the bone. Because his skin and muscles were now on fire, it was likely he would lose use of his leg. If I didn’t act quickly, he might very well die. I scanned the ground trying to think of some way to help him. Then I laid eyes on a nearby axe.

I glanced over at Jameson. The man was retreating into the forest as the creature gave chase. The purple bolt continued its slow descent.

“Harold, do you trust me?” I asked when I lifted the tool.

He gave me a wild look, first in confusion, then in horrified realization, and finally with resolve, all within the span of a couple of seconds. He gritted his teeth and nodded.

I looked at the children. “Kids, run to the camp and wait for us there.” Unsure they looked at their father.

“Go,” he said. They took off down the path.

As I hefted the axe, he grabbed my pantleg. “One…stroke,” he said through gritted teeth.

Eyeing his sizable lower leg, I said, “I’ll do my best, boss.”

It took me two strokes. Harold cried out in pain first and almost passed out, but he stayed conscious. When the deed was done, I used a Saint John’s tourniquet from the first aid kit and applied it to his thigh. I started hauling him toward the camp when Jameson burst from the tree line and charged across the clearing, eyes wild. The creature loomed not far behind him. He stopped and watched as the lightning was about to reach the antenna.

“No!” He yelled. “The children. I won’t be denied!”

He started forward once again. Harold reached for his trench gun, swung it around with one hand, and fired at the oncoming man. The pellets from the 12-gauge shell slammed into Jameson legs and sent him sprawling and screaming to the ground.

The creature reached Jameson, lifted him by his legs, still screaming, and, with a roar, slammed the man into his own machine. The clearing exploded with bright purple and silver light and a thunderous bang. A shockwave knocked me off my feet.

Regaining my senses, I clumsily rose and surveyed the scene, leaning on a nearby tree for support. Its antenna toppled and the console smashed, the device was broken, though not destroyed completely. Jameson’s body lay to one side, mangled and broken. From this vantage, he looked quite dead. The cluster of rocks I had used for cover had been transformed, turned into bright purple crystals.

My hearing was dulled, so it came as a surprise when I found the creature standing right beside me, looking down at Harold. I went to grab the trench gun but stopped when I realized the creature had what I could only describe as a concerned look on its face as it gazed down at the big man. Incredibly, the injuries it had sustained from Jameson’s weapons had healed completely.

Harold peered up at the creature as though trying to remember something. “Kwame?” he said.

The creature nodded slowly. It was then that I noticed unusual etching on the beast’s skin. They looked like tribal tattoos.

“You were here all this time,” Harold continued. “And I didn’t come back to get you.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m sorry, my friend. I didn’t know.”

The beast that was Kwame reached out a hand and patted Harold on the head. Its expression became sad or something close to that.

Thunder rumbled overhead. The storm was nearly upon us.

“We have to go,” I said. I looked at Kwame and said, “Can you carry him?”

The beast looked down at Harold and nodded. It then lifted him like a parent carrying a child.

I pointed back to the camp and said, “Get him to the camp and wait for me there.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Harold.

“You were right about the machine.” I started pulling the grenades from Harold’s pockets. “I’m going to use these to blow it to smithereens.”

He scowled. “Make sure there’s nothing left.”

I nodded. “And you make sure you tell the kids that your friend is okay. He might scare them at first.”

With that, Kwame took off toward the camp. As I watched him leave, I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle this new development. If we took him back to Port Sauval, there was no telling what would happen to him, or how people would react. There were other scientists out there like Jameson who would do unspeakable things to Kwame in their pursuit of knowledge. I also didn’t know how the beast who was once a man would acclimate to the change in environment. He had survived on this island for years alone. I saw no other solution but to leave him here until we could learn of a way to help him.

I set about placing three of the four explosives around the machine in a way that I thought might cause the most destruction. I found Jameson’s lightning gun and tossed it on top of the machine. No one would use that thing ever again.

I held the revolver with the phosphorus rounds in my hand. I almost threw it onto the machine as well but considered both weapons for a moment. I wondered at their origins and the man who owned them. I had heard a story of how the Republic of Aspalia had experimented with small caliber phosphorous rounds, but that was supposed to have been shut down. The electric gun looked like something from a mad scientist’s laboratory, which may have in fact been the case. The mystery was how a man like Jameson got a hold of them. The man had looked and talked like an Aubrein citizen trained in botany and geology. So how did he wind up with a weapon from a scuttled Aspalian project and a homebrew electric gun? Then there was the device. Had he created it himself or did he have help?

As for the man himself, what had driven him to do any of this? What had he done all those years ago that he felt he needed to kill Kwame and Harold to cover it up? What did he mean by becoming one with the storm? My eyes fell on the journal. The table on which it lay was knocked over in the commotion. Thankfully, the journal looked mostly unscathed. It may shed some light on these mysteries, but they would have to wait.

I pocketed the little volume as well as the revolver. They might lead to some answers. I also made sure to take care of one last task. Once I was done, I wrapped my acquisition in the scarf Essie had given me and slipped the bundle into my bag, collected the trench gun, and moved to a safe distance. I then took my remaining grenade, pulled the pin and tossed it near the machine, and then took cover. After a series of satisfying explosions, the machine was a smoldering, burning heap.

With my work done, I headed for the camp where I found the children hugging Kwame’s legs and smiling.

“I see the kids have taken a liking to him,” I said with a grin.

Harold grunted as his eyes began to droop.

“Let’s go, everyone.” I looked down at the kids. “Your mom is waiting for us at the plane. By the way, my name is Connor.”

“Hi, mister Connor,” said Phoebe.

Thaddeus just nodded at me. The boy hadn’t said much. I hoped he would come out of this okay.

Our strange, bedraggled group moved with all due speed down the path. Wind whipped through the forest, rustling the purple and silver leaves. The storm was less than a mile away as we reached the sands of the beach.

“Hang on to me,” I shouted to the kids over the roar of the wind. “I’ll make sure we make it to the plane.”

They did as they were told and clung to my raised arms as I waded through the frigid saltwater to reach the TP-6. Cassandra emerged and gave a cry of joy at the sight of her children. Her expression changed to surprise when she saw Kwame carrying the barely conscious Harold.

“It’s okay,” I shouted. “It’s Kwame.”

“Yeah, mommy,” said Phoebe. “He’s daddy’s friend and he’s the best.”

I reached the plane and handed each child up to their mother’s waiting arms.

Casandra hugged them in turn, sniffed, and looked down at Kwame. “Thank you,” she said, crying.

“Can we keep him?” said Thaddeus.

“Uh…well, sweetie, I don’t…I don’t know,” she responded.

I helped lift Harold through the hatch.

“Have to…help him,” said Harold, struggling to stay upright.

Cassandra guided him toward the cockpit.

I turned to look at Kwame. This would be difficult. “I want to take you back,” I said, “and get you some help.” I looked up at the storm. “But I can’t this time. I have to get them to safety.” I felt helpless. Betrayed by Jameson and left to fend for himself for years, the power storm had warped Kwame’s very biology and turned him into this beast. There was still a good man inside, a pilot who had done nothing to deserve what had happened to him.

Kwame put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring look and a grunt. He seemed to understand. The beast turned and headed back for the shore.

“We’ll come back for you,” I shouted as I stood. “I swear it.”

Kwame looked back and gave me what I took to be a smile. I then climbed through the hatch and with Cassandra’s help wrestled Harold into the first officer’s seat in the cockpit.

Moving to the cargo area, I grabbed the box of cordite shotgun shells and the mallet and went back outside. I followed the same procedure I’d seen Harold use to start each engine, including smacking the side if it proved stubborn. I took care not to rush; after all, slow is smooth, smooth is fast. The task was made all the more difficult due to the churning sea, but I soon had all four engines running and was back inside the plane.

I sat in the captain’s seat, strapped in and performed a cursory check of the instruments. I didn’t have time for a full pre-flight, so I had to hope that Cassandra had done an adequate job.

“Might need some help,” I said to Harold as I placed my hands on the control yoke.

Harold struggled to stay awake. “Throttle to full. E-ease the yoke back…until skimming th-the surface. Then…like normal.” My injured co-pilot passed out.

Great, I thought, but how do I handle the landing? I grunted. One problem at a time.

I did as he instructed. The going was rough thanks to the choppy waters, but soon we were airborne. The plane itself felt heavier than I was used to. The little experience I had with the machine was at cruising altitude in calm weather. Right then, it was like trying to fly a brick through a sea of molasses.

I glanced out the window and saw Kwame standing on the beach waving at us.

“Mommy, why are we leaving him?” said Phoebe, almost crying.

“Baby, he has to stay here for now,” she said.

“Are we coming back to help him?” asked Thaddeus.

“Someday, dear. Someday.”

The plane lurched thanks to a strong gust of wind. It sent my passengers tumbling in their seats.

“Hang on!” I said, fighting to maintain control.

I heard a thump and a cry of pain from behind me as the plane pitched up suddenly.

“Mommy?” said Phoebe. “Mommy why are you asleep?”

I glanced back and saw Cassandra slumped over in the seat. Her head must have hit something and knocked her out. The children began crying again. Harold groaned with pain.

I let out a long breath. However much I was supposed to be paid, it was not going to be enough.

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