She took a deep breath and sighed it out. Ill give it a try. Ernie, you and Larsen-
Well make for the rails. Ill help him walk. Good luck to you, maam.
And to the pair of you, too. You- She indicated the Reb whod asked her help. -take me to this colonel of yours. Let me get a look at him.
My names Jensen, he told her on the way between the trees. I hope you can help him. Its worse for us if we lose him. You, uh . . . you one of ours?
One of yours? Sweetheart, Ive spent the war working at the Robertson Hospital.
The Robertson? Hope pinked his cheeks. Mercy could see the flush rise up, even under the trees, in the dark, with only a sliver of moonlight to tell about it. Thats a damn fine joint, if youll pardon my language.
Damn fine indeed, and I dont give a fistful of horseshit about your language.
She looked back once to see if Larsen and Ernie were making good progress away from the fighting, but the woods wouldnt let her see much, and soon the cannon smoke and barricades swallowed the rest of her view.
Jensen towed her through the lines, guiding her around wheeled artillery carts and the amazing crawling transporters. She gave them as wide a berth as she could, since he told her, Dont touch them! Theyre hot as hell. Theyll take your skin off if you graze them.
Past both good and poorly regimented lines of soldiers coming, going, and lining up alongside the road they dashed, always back-to the back of the line-following the same path as the wounded, who were either lumbering toward help or being hauled that way on tight cotton stretchers.
Back on the other side of the road, on the other side of the line, she heard a mechanical wail that blasted like a steam whistle for twenty full seconds. It shook the leaves at the top of the trees and gusted through the camp like a storm. Soldiers and officers froze, and shuddered; and then the wail was answered by a returning call from someplace farther away. The second scream was less preternatural, though it made Mercys throat cinch up tight.
Its only a train, out there, she breathed.
Jensen heard her. He said, No. Not only a train. That metal monster they got-its talking to the Dreadnought .
The metal monster? The . . . the walker? Is that what they called it? she asked as they resumed their dodging through the chaos of the back line. One of your fellows told me they have one, but I dont know what that is.
Yeah, thats it. Its a machine shaped like a real big man, with a pair of men inside it. They armor the things up and make them as flexible as they can, and once youre inside it, not even a direct artillery hit-at real close range-will bring you down. The Yanks have got only a couple of them, praise Jesus. Theyre expensive to make and power.
You sound like a man whos met one, once or twice.
Maam, Im a man whos helped build one. He turned to her and flashed a beaming smile that, for just this once, wasnt even half desperate. And as if itd heard him, from somewhere behind the Confederate lines a different, equally loud and terrible mechanical scream split the night across the road with a promise and a threat like nothing else on earth.
We got one, too? she wheezed, for her breath was running out on her and she wasnt sure how much longer she could keep up this pace.
Yes maam. That-there is what we like to call the Hellbender .
She saw its head first, looming over the trees like a low gray moon. It swiveled, looking this way and that, the tip of some astounding Goliath made of steel and powered
by something that smelled like kerosene and blood, or vinegar. It strode slowly into a small clearing, parting the trees as if they were reeds in a pond, and stood up perfectly straight, before emitting a gurgling howl that answered the mechanized walker on the other side of the road-and sent out a challenge to the terrifying train engine, too.
Mercy froze, spellbound, at the things feet.
It was approximately six or seven times her height-maybe thirty-five or forty feet tall, and as wide around as the cart that had carried her away from the Zephyr . Only very roughly shaped like a man, its head was something like an upturned bucket big enough to hold a horse, with glowing red eyes that cast a beam stronger than a lighthouse lamp. This beam swept the top of the trees. It was searching, hunting.
Lets go. Jensen put himself between her and the mechanized walker, flashing it a giant thumbs-up before leading her toward a set of flapping canvas tents.
But she couldnt look away.
She couldnt help but stare at the human-style joints that creaked and bent and sprung, oozing oil or some other industrial lubricant in black trails from each elbow and knee. She had to watch as the gray-skinned thing saw what it was looking for, pointed itself at the road, and marched, spilling puffs of black clouds from its seams. The mechanized walker didnt march quickly, yet it covered quite a lot of space with each step; and each step rang against the ground like a muffled bell with a clapper as large as a house. It crashed against the ground with its beveled oval feet and began a pace that could best be described as a slow run.