Lindsay Buroker - Flash Gold

“We have you in our sights,” a woman yelled. “Three of us. Put down your gun.”

“Show me,” Kali called.

A man and a woman stepped out from behind trees several meters away. One carried a shotgun, one a rifle. Lastly, the man she had shot sidled out, his gun aimed at her chest. A hatchet large enough to brain a dragon was slung across his back, the head poking over his shoulder. Blood dripped from his temple. She had only grazed him, but the snarl on his lips and the way his two eyebrows crashed together suggested he was not pleased with her.

“My comrade will be back shortly,” Kali said.

“Not likely,” the woman said. “Jim and Cold Fish will run him all over those hills, while we have a little chat and get what we want.”

“I know what I want,” the bleeding man said, eyeing Kali up and down as he scowled.

“You can have her when we’re done talking.” The woman snickered. “She’s got to be alive when we turn her in, but there’s all kinds of levels of alive.”

A rifle cracked in the distance. Kali grimaced. If that was Cedar, he was nowhere nearby. If that was someone shooting at Cedar…well, he was still nowhere nearby.

Kali lifted her chin. No matter. She did not need him. She had gotten herself out of irksome situations plenty of times.

She laid the old Winchester down and lifted her hands. Inside her pockets, the smoke nuts bumped against her thighs. They would do her no good, however, until her foes drew closer.

“What do you want?” Kali said. “I’m trying to win a race. It’s rather inconsiderate of you to interrupt.”

The woman strolled off the bank and onto the ice, though the two men remained near the trees, covering her. She wore a wool cap with a bandana snugged over her nose, leaving little but brown eyes and freckles for identification. “Yes, I’m surprised your machine doesn’t go faster. Isn’t it powered by flash gold?”

“Flash what?” Kali blinked innocently.

The woman pinned her with a knowing glare.

“The sled uses coal or, in a pinch, wood. See for yourself.” Conscious of the weapons pointed her direction, Kali moved slowly as she opened the firebox door.

The woman drew close enough to peer inside, though not so close Kali could thump her in the back of the head with the door. Just as well. With the rifles pointed her direction, that would not be wise.

“If you want to win the race,” the woman said, “why wouldn’t you use flash gold? All that power in so small a concentration-surely you’d fly down the trail. And they say an engineer can embed commands in it. An ounce is worth a fortune.”

“If flash gold exists, I’ve never seen it,” Kali said.

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” The woman picked up Kali’s discarded rifle, took a couple steps back, and leaned it against the sled.

“Oh?” Kali kept her hands by her side, near her pockets, though there was little point in tossing the smoke device with the two men out of range.

“Thanks to your chatty lover, you’ve come to the attention of Soapy Smith and the Scar of Skagway.”

Kali closed her eyes. That explained much. She had feared Sebastian, out of spite, would blab her secrets to some bartender on his way back to San Francisco; she hadn’t counted on him going to the most notorious gangsters in the West.

“Up until a couple years ago, the world thought your father died in the Civil War,” the woman said. “He did a good job of hiding up here. When his existence was ferreted out, he was already dead. Nobody knew about you. Until now. Soapy wants you brought in for questioning. The Scar, he just wants the recipe for flash gold, whether you’re alive to explain it or not. And my boss would like a sample before we turn you in. She’ll reward me handsomely if I bring it to her.”

“It was my father’s project,” Kali said, seeing no point in continuing to deny the existence of flash gold when this woman knew so much about her. “I lived with the Han until I was ten, and Old Ezekiel barely acknowledged my presence when I was forced to come live with him. I was on my own. He was busy with his projects. He never shared anything with me.”

The woman yawned. “Tragic story, I’m certain. I’m also certain I don’t care. You’ll march us back to your tinkery in town, and show us to any secret stashes you might have. If we don’t find anything useful… Well, we will. One way or another.” She nodded toward the axeman. The bandana hid her lips, but creases at the corners of her dark eyes signaled a smile.

“I’d be happy to show you around,” Kali said, thinking of the various booby traps she had around the shop, “ after the race. Why don’t we meet in town?”

“With all the people hunting you? I’ll not have you out wandering around where someone else can lay a claim.” The woman gestured for her men to come closer. “Time for a hike back to town.”

“I’m not leaving my sled,” Kali said.

“Yes, you are.” The woman nodded toward the bleeding man. “Big Rock, you want to convince her?”

“You people certainly have colorful names.” Kali backed up until she bumped against the furnace door. She slipped a hand into her pocket.

“You’re the one what’s going to be colorful soon,” Rock said. “All blue and black and bumpy.” He chuckled at his own wit as he approached.

The third man stood back, keeping a rifle trained on Kali. It was not an ideal chance, but she might not get a better one. And she had no desire to be made colorful.

Rock reached for her. Kali yanked a sphere out of her pocket, twisted it, and threw it on the ground. Smoke spewed out, and ticks sounded-a countdown timer.

“What the Sam Hill?”

Kali used the distraction to grab her rifle and lunge around the sled.

“It’s just smoke,” the woman growled. “Grab her. Don’t-”

The countdown finished with a hollow clank.

“Yeow!”

Kali was charging away from the sled, slipping and sliding on the icy patches beneath the snow, and did not see the smoke nut in action. She had designed it, though, and knew its operation well. The spring-loaded cache was shooting out metal needles excellent at piercing layers of clothing and gouging holes in tender flesh, especially flesh located waist level and lower.

She reached the snowy bank without any rifles firing behind her and scrambled up the slope into the trees. Climbing the hill was no easy feat. Her snowshoes were on the sled, and her boots sank into deep powder with each floundering step. Unfortunately, it would be impossible to hide her tracks. Though the idea of killing made her stomach churn, she would have to find a good spot and pick them off. Otherwise, they would keep hunting her. And there was the matter of her sled. She was not leaving it there for them to mess with.

Kali spotted a thick copse and squeezed into it. Anyone following her tracks would have no trouble finding her, but at least she could use the trees for cover. She wriggled deeper. Snow dumped from the branches, pattering onto her head. An icy clump slithered past her scarf and invaded her shirt. She grunted and worked it out. That unpleasantness summed up the day so far.

She paused in the middle of rearranging her clothing. Her shoulder blades itched, as if someone’s eyes were upon her. Kali peered through the brush behind her. Nothing stirred.

Shouts came from the river below. It sounded like the pursuers had not started after her yet. Then what-

Something touched her arm.

Kali jumped. Cedar. He squeezed in beside her.

She cursed in her mother’s tongue, a chain of expletives that would have embarrassed most men in the tribe. She had not heard anyone crunching through the snow. It was as if he was a ghost, appearing from nowhere.