6. Skyhook
Edmonton and I emerged from the carpark and headed for the trees, aiming to maintain cover. Once in the brush I looked back to see Montgomery raise his hand, following our progress from his concealment at the car park's stone ramp. Luckily the tree line provided enough shadow to conceal our own passing from the police, apparently more interested in their lunch bags than a tight watch. Approaching a clearing Edmonton noted that the lift lines ran nearest to a gaunt building, whose broad pilasters towered like gravestones above its slate blue outer wall.
"That seems like an able boarding ramp there." Edmonton said with cast towards the high walls surrounding the structure. Hefting harness to the sod, he discarded his jacket before strapping it on. "Think you're up to it, old fellow?" He said as he puzzled at the buckles.
Glancing to mine I followed his lead. "Sure. Just don't look when I close my damned eyes."
"Afraid of heights, are we now? It seems you picked the wrong venue for a job."
"And you've flown around a city by Skyhook before?" Finished with his own bindings, he tended to mine.
"No, but I've done a great deal of mountaineering. The principal is similar, but if you're going to leap I'd recommend not doing so more than a few feet and never letting one bone take the load. The chest harness and armbrace I expect should help somewhat." I spun the three hook at the end and it made a whirring sound. It looked a lot friendlier from this end.
Overall, the hook wasn't as cumbersome as one might have suspected, perhaps not made of steel at all but something lighter yet just as strong. With braces in hand, we broke for the street, delaying only for an empty trolley's passing before we crossed the road. Wrought iron gates led to a courtyard, within which rose a large and ungainly statue. From the distance it seemed to be Comstock assailed by a coiled serpent. The serpent had three heads, each with a different ethnicity. Below its marble roils a placard read:
Comstock Fights the
Serpent of Nations
Yellow peril stuff. The gates were unlocked, and as I swung them open Edmonton gleaned upward toward the freight line that ran overhead. The fifth story of the place seemed a reasonable jumping off point, but I was already looking back toward the gondola. To my right toward Edmonton and the statue I heard a door open, a motely cast of purple robed figures issuing forth brandishing makeshift clubs. I yanked my British mate back to me only to be caught outside the gate by an approaching truck. Alerted by its blaring horn, one of the men pointed at me. "By the Prophet, that's him, Larry! Get him!"
To my left over a run of shrubbery was yawning infinity, piles of cloud streaming by and around Monument Island perhaps a mile away. As the truck sped off the men charged. The blue building's outer wall seemed to stop just short of the bushes. I made the narrow between them only to realize at the last moment no such ledge existed. Back wheeling from the dizzying plunge to Atlantic, I saw Edmonton's hands rise as five hooded gentlemen surrounded us.
"Edgar..." The one on the far right said. "You sure it's him?" As he spoke I noticed our impending altercation had gained the attention of the four green coats at the fount.
"Who else would be pokin' aroun' here?" Came the answer from the middle, a tall man with a Louisville Slugger in hand. "Vern was right to put us out. Only question is, who's the other guy?"
"I've got no quarrel with you men." I said. By their continued approach they obviously had quarrel with me. "Edmonton, are you just going to stand there?!"
"Just waiting for the right moment, DeWitt."
"So you the False Shepherd..." The tall one answered, and through the slits of his purple head cover I could see hate filled hazel eyes. "Can't rightly believe it, but with my own eyes here you is, jus' like Father C. said."
"I ain't no False Shepherd." My words didn't seem to have sufficient impact so I drew the Broadsider. "But I sure as hell will see you to your graves if you come a single step closer." Through the slits in their hoods I could see eyes widen. For a moment my threat worked.
"That's him!" I heard from my right, the coppers rushing across the grass directly toward us. Sensing their advantage, the men in purple keened and charged. At their break I saw Edmonton moving, leaping into one of the purples and deftly taking him to the ground with a lightning swash of leg.
"God Dammit!" I yelled as a bat flew over my head. Two of the bedsheets were on me and by my shoulders took me down backward onto the red brick of the street. As my elbow hit the gun went off, pumping a round into Edgar's chest. His bat struck the ground, eyes glazing over inches above mine before falling into his own pooling blood. Deciding it was a good precedent I rolled him off and put a round into the other as he groped for the bat in the dirt. By now Edmonton had made short service of his first assailant and had produced his own firearm, that brown pommeled, black barreled Steyr M1912. His two remaining attackers cowered backward, pushing into the shrubbery surrounding the compound's wall.
Plaster and stonework exploded about us.
"Jesus!" I bellowed, diving headlong through the open black gates and onto the grass beyond. With the many-headed statue behind me I swung my weapon up and unloaded. As I fired a cop's automatic hammered rounds into the cobblestone at my feet, but my shots were better aimed and he fell. In unison his three partners opened fire with pistols, driving Edmonton hastily through the gate alongside me. Now behind cover, he swung about and joined my fusillade, pelting the trees and bushes the police had sheltered behind. I heard a scream and one of the cops went down, even as another leapt the bush and dashed across the road for the dead gunner's heavy weapon. Two more shots, this time from the Steyr, and the fool crumpled to the stonework feet shy of his goal.
"Come out with your hands up..." A quaking voice managed from behind the tree. "If you want to live."
"Why do I get the idea you'd kill me even if I did?" I shouted through the wrought iron gate, careful not to expose myself. As I yelled, I could see Edmonton dealing with a reddening leg, making a makeshift bandage to bind a concealed wound.
"You'll never get away with it! You won't take our Lamb!"
Having staunched his calf with a wrap of his suspender Edmonton motioned me to keep talking and made for our far left and the crook of the wall. "Who the hell is the 'Lamb'?" I shouted back, drawing confused silence. Somewhere out in the street a man moaned, and though they'd been there since the fight had begun I suddenly registered all of the bodies strewn across its breadth. I single shot rang out. Behind the tree I heard a groan...saw a figure slump into the bushes.
"That should be it then, DeWitt. Let us be on our way." I heard Edmonton say from my left as he descended from the wall. Still wary for the near dozen who'd assaulted us, I held my position, surveying with pistol in hand the carnage. Somewhere in the distance but getting louder I heard sirens. Sirens. Always the sirens. "Come on." Edmonton said with outstretched hand. "They're dead. We need to make the rooftop before their reinforcements arrive." Regarding his appendage, I eventually accepted and he drew me upward. "They left us with no choice, you know."
"Yeah..." I said. "And I don't think they'll be the last of it."
Edmonton looked out to the carnage, ears tuning to the approaching vehicles. "Mmmmm...perhaps, but we'll handle it in due course. First things first...we're here for a girl?"
"Yeah..." I said, head still ringing, heart only grudgingly beginning to slow. "How'd they know to come?" I asked, eyes toward the sirens. Together we began to trot toward the building's open doors, and with the increasing wail, run.
"I told you, DeWitt...the man's a prophet." He said with cocked eyebrow. "He always knows."
#
Above the portico an all-seeing eye loomed, cast of bronze and pierced by five upthrust swords. Half the size of the blue building's frontage or more, above it in winding faux scrolls were engraved the words "Audemus Patria Nostra Defendere." Hearing approaching vehicles, I didn't hesitate, just long enough for Edmonton to take notice.
"Any idea what it means?" I asked, looking again back over my shoulder.
Edmonton continued up the stoop and flung wide the twin oak doors. "We dare defend our homeland." He muttered. "Or at least I think that's what they're trying to say.
"Why trying?" Turning about, I threw the lock on the doors and forced a nearby table before them.
Gun at his side, Edmonton seemed amused. "You really think that will hold them off?"
I grabbed my Broadsider and began to move. "Maybe for a few seconds. Why trying?"
"Because they don't know their Latin."
Inside the passage was ill-lit and gloomy, leading to a round foyer. At the chamber's center was set a sconce filled with water, a statue of a raven standing guard over the black and white zig zag tile. Uncannily its eyes seemed to follow our passage. As Edmonton went on to lecture me about the proper conjugation of a dead language we passed paintings of several luminaries. Dim lights illuminated our progress, and following the passageway further we came up empty in our search for stairs. Presently we emerged into an even larger chamber about which several rooms were arrayed.
Dominating this rotunda was a thirty foot statue of John Wilkes Booth...not that I'd have known the man's impression, but a placard placed at his boots prominently announced his identity. Rounds of stairs spiraled upward to both his left and right. To both left and right the antechambers bore tapestries, hung with the words, "Sic Semper Tyrannis."
"They got that one right, didn't they?" I asked.
Edmonton nodded. "I believe so."
Within one of the side chambers lay a long dining hall, its floor tile like the foyer but centered by a table and two sets of chairs. Upon the tabletop were set six candleholders, each of four candles with a higher central wick. Beneath them lay a sumptuous banquet, set for many more than six men. Having apparently caught the men in their feast, I helped myself to a swig of whiskey from a tabletop decanter...followed it with a wing of chicken. Looking at an expansive painting above the fireplace mantle, I offered the bottle to Edmonton. He poured it upon his wound. "What do you make of this?" I said, gazing at the oil of Ford's Theater. In it Booth had entered from behind, pistol in hand, blasting a devil horned, red eyed Lincoln from behind.
"They certainly have their peculiarities, don't they?" He said, wincing at the burn. "I do believe they are no friends of the African race...nor perhaps any other race."
Reaching to the table with my free hand, I perused a printed menu. "Fraternal Order of the Raven. Ever heard of it?"
"No." He said. "Would you mind?"
Realizing he was still bleeding, I let the chicken and menu fall to the black and white checkerboard tile. Appropriating an unused napkin, I redid his bandage and tightened it. "That should do it for now."
With his weight he tested it. "It will have to." Hearing sirens arriving outside, he glanced upward. "I believe we should go."
Into the foyer we went, rounding the stairs to emerge upon a second floor, a floor that overlooked the statue. There I was pleasantly surprised to discover an elevator. "Here's our ticket." I said to Edmonton's relief. The sirens had stopped now, and I could hear a great commotion in the courtyard and a frenetic exchange of words. Edmonton heard it too. "Come on...let's go."
The lift doors opened promptly when I slammed the button, and once inside I commanded it upward to the fifth floor with an equally vigorous smash of clenched fist. The doors closed and upward we went. Negotiating that upper floor we discovered within a few anxious minutes a windowed chamber and broad balcony on the Order's backside. From the park we'd seen the skylines and cabled stanchions running behind the building, but distance had skewed my perspective. Above a cluster of heavier cables the cargo lines swung minutely in the wind at least twenty feet away. Seventy feet below, the ground was solid and waiting...to our left the ocean was worse. "Now what do we do?" I asked, seeing no way to bridge the gap.
"Rope." Edmonton said. "We'll need rope and go hand over hand to the cables. Somewhere below I heard bashing and the faint shouts of policemen.
Rushing from the room and back to the lift, I opened the door...shot out its control panel with a bullet. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my second and last magazine to reload. "All right...let's find us some rope."
Hastily we searched the fifth floor without luck, listening to the thumping and anxious cries below. Knowing I was racing against time, I sighed and headed down a flight of stairs. A long passage lay before me. Off in a side chamber that appeared to be a smoking room, I heard a radio playing…
"Scoundrels, believed by many to be Vox Polpuli, began their terrible rampage but hours ago at the Fairgrounds Raffle. Brimming with danger and evil intent, we implore you not to tempt ruination by confronting them without the protection of Columbia's finest."
'Columbia's finest.' As I stood there looking, the announcer began enumerating street closures and where citizens should expect roadblocks. Edmonton shouted from down the passage.
Down the hallway he came hobbling, a coil of rope about his neck and shoulders. "Where'd you find that?" I asked, noting that there was a fair amount of dried blood upon its length.
"Would you stop asking if I told you that you didn't want to know?"
"No." Together we hastened up the steps. Crashing into the penthouse, I spun and shuttered the twin doors. Seeing as there was no other entrance, I began piling sofas up against it. 'They'll be here soon."
"I know." Edmonton said from behind me, tying a poker he'd found next to the fireplace at its end.
"You can throw that far enough?"
"I can try. Some assistance of yours might be useful." Racing toward the balcony's stone railing, he hurtled the improvised grapple high and outward. The rope sailed over the lines before the poker dropped. Caught in the gust near Emporia's balustraded rim, it came down and back at us with a vengeance.
"Son of a Bitch!" I cried, throwing myself to the carpet atop the wood plank floor with a muffled thud. Edmonton landed beside me as the poker came crashing into the French doors. Leaping upward amid falling glass, he caught the shaft with his hands. Anchoring it to a floor fixed brass lamp work inside along with the other end, he pulled the line taught.
"Upstairs!" I heard from somewhere outside.
"That worked rather more smartly than I'd expected."
"You still didn't answer me where you found it."
Testing the rope's carrying strength, Edmonton mounted the makeshift bridge and cocked his head toward mine. "Attached to a dead body. Come on. It's time to go."
As I looked outward the heights were immobilizing, but from behind came a crash and the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching the doors. "In there!" I heard a man shout followed by the turning of doorknobs.
"It's locked." Came another voice, followed by, "Bash it in!"
A mighty blow struck the doors which bowed inward under some man's thrown weight. Molding flew across the floors, spattering the fireplace and carpet. I gripped onto the rope and swallowed...felt it strain against the brass wall mounting holding it taught. Hand over hand I followed Edmonton outward and tried not to look down.
Stray bullets stung the air beside me, and with renewed vigor I increased my pace toward the skyline. Edmonton was reaching outward from the rope with his steely contraption, trying to hook on. Below me seventy feet of void loomed. I heard him curse, saw him slam his hook onto the cable again he was off.
"There he is!" I heard from behind. "Get him!"
I flung my contraption-rigged appendage outward. Unlike Edmonton's mine latched in effortlessly as it made contact. Acceleration nearly wrenched my shoulder out of socket, increasing with each passing second. A growing wind began to press my face, and below I knew it I was out over open ocean. I hated heights, but I hated deadly heights into shark infested iceberg waters even more. Nearby the air sang and I cranked my head back to spy a uniformed sharpshooter taking aim with a repeating rifle amid a handful of others. They were all still too close. Whipping my weapon out against the growing blast, I twisted backwards and discharged half my magazine in rapid succession. Amid snapping stone and plaster, the cops fell back through the window.
Behind me Emporia was falling away, though again I had the sinking suspicion I'd not seen the last of it. Somewhere above I heard a droning, squinted upward to spy a zeppelin breaking the cottony vapor above, its silver limb catching the glint of the afternoon sun, guns and soldiers darkly spoiling its sleek flanks. Edmonton, who was perhaps a hundred feet ahead of me, careened now upward along the lines, seemingly defying gravity. A pair of impossible floating green pylons passed us in quick succession by to either side, lights flashing, impelled to altitude by fast spinning fans at their bases. Ahead the statue of Columbia loomed, seeming larger the nearer we came.
Despite their gift I was cursing the Montgomerys now, for my arm felt as though it was about to pull from my socket. Off to our left a frontage approached, backdropped by the more distant tower. Two landings dominated its frontage, above each rising a rectangular tower. Built in the same ritzy fashion as so many of the buildings I'd seen, its blue slate rooftops were surmounted by red and white striped pennants and an arced glowing sign calling out, "Monument Island."
Flying over its outer wall at speed, we came ten feet above a grassy lawn. In passing I couldn't help but notice the signs calling the place out as "Closed Until Further Notice." Glancing ahead I saw Edmonton cut clear and fall into the grass, seeing the rails approaching a disused cargo landing. Registering the freight bins at rest ahead, I jerked at the hook to no avail. I heard him shout something just before I smashed into a box car.
#
As I lay in the dirt the freight bins rocked overhead, detritus from the overhanging trees falling from their sides to the ground about me. "You all right old chap?!" Edmonton shouted, hobbling to my side. He offered an outstretched arm. Head still ringing, I accepted. "You're lucky this is the end of the line." He said as he pulled me to my feet. "It seems whatever locomotion these lines incorporate is set to slow for this last several hundred feet." He looked at the rocking crates. "You don't look so good."
"I don't feel so good." I bent over, hands upon knees as I tried to regain my breath. "What...what the hell were you trying to tell me?" Blood oozed from my nose.
Edmonton smirked, pointing toward a latch on my mechanism. "I was trying to tell you to use your release."
"Oh." Taking handkerchief in hand I spit upon it and wiped the mess away. "You might want to point that out beforehand next time."
The cargo boxes were still swaying as we descended the grass to the pathway below. About us trees rose from mossy slopes, an untended garden shrouded in a deep forest of silence. As we alighted on the building's brick approach birdsong resumed. The place even smelled abandoned. Ahead the path was blocked by a wall and three gates, a trio of red lights glowing atop them in sun split shadow. Below an abandoned guard tower a sign warned:
CAUTION! CLOSED!
OFF LIMITS!
I glanced about, expecting police to arrive at any moment. In my weapon I wished I had something more potent than my seven remaining rounds. Approaching the barrier, we found the gates heavily chained. Another sign advertised, "Danger! Risk of Death!"
I looked up. I couldn't see the zepp through the canopy, but I could hear it now...the droning of motors against the tittering birds. "We have to get moving. They have to know where we've gotten too...they'll be coming soon."
Motes of dust hung in the sun beams missed by the trees, and through their leafy partings the Angel Columbia gleamed in golden light above. "Agreed. Whoever closed this place certainly wished people to know there was a danger. Did your patrons mention this?"
"This?" I said, looking about at the decaying grounds. Leaf litter lay like a carpet over the footpath, while here and there a railing hung broken and rusting. "No. Nothing about this. Any ideas?"
"The closure appears deliberate, and from the overgrown condition of the wall and lawn not a recent event." Studying the twenty-foot barrier before us, he spoke to me without looking. "Perhaps we'll find our answer inside."
I drew on the chains but found them strong, the rust having not had enough years to work its magic. Looking for some other way into the sanctum I discovered only frustration. "How's the leg?"
"I've had worse." Edmonton answered. Perspiration trailed down his temple and brow as he assaulted the chains.
"Sealed tight." Undaunted, I placed my foot on the rightmost embankment, found a toe hold in the truss work of the gate's flank and began to climb. The skyhook was a bulky burden. I kept slinging it over my back but it would just flop out to the side, the gyration threatening to break my arm. I unstrapped the contraption and flung it over, scampering up the wall after it. Shortly afterward Edmonton followed, cringing as he alighted.
I looked at his leg with a grimace. "Maybe there's an infirmary inside. This place certainly has the air of a sanitarium."
"And what do you intend to do, DeWitt? Sew it up? I don't believe I heard you qualifying yourself as a physician." Though it had finally stopped oozing his wound could be easily seen through the man's soiled white pant. It had to hurt like hell.
"No, but I've been in a few scrapes and more than my fair share of battles. I know how to wash a wound out and bind a bullet hole. I've had enough of them."