Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) by Robert III (great books for teens .txt) 📗

or, worse, a human. Gnomish engineering never fails, but I digress. With no radio reception, I have no way to get in touch with support.”

“But we can hear each other,” Bolt said. “Through our radios.”

“Ours work through what’s called line of sight communications,” Sykes explained. “We can radio each other as long as we can see each other.”

“Curious,” Poes said.

“Sir,” a soldier said to Sykes. “Some of our men report three of the tubes were involved in a collision during flight. There appear to be streams of smoke below that corroborate their account.”

Most of them stepped carefully to the open doors and peered down.

“Yup,” Sykes agreed. “Those aren’t coal fires. Hopefully someone’s out to investigate. However, with regard to the altitude, the probability of survival is not good.”

Poes and Quolo glanced at each other.

“What happened?” asked Bolt.

The soldier shook his head. “Not sure. They saw flames and black smoke from two of the tubes. One spun out of control and struck the others. By deduction, it appears the lost tubes contained Duone, Vonteg and Coyle, along with their crewmates. Nine souls in all,” he said.

“All of our law enforcement is gone. Seems like too much of a coincidence,” Quolo added.

After a few moments, Poes stirred and frowned. “What would be flammable onboard the tubes?” he asked.

“Determining the nature of the accident isn’t a priority right now,” Bolt growled. “What is important is determining the nature of this ship’s stability and the whereabouts of her crew,” he said. He turned to Sykes. “Which way to the bridge?”

“This way,” Sykes answered, and the others followed him up flights of stairs until they reached the passenger decks.

As they moved away from the windows, the rooms and hallways darkened. Each of them switched on their lanterns and cast glowing light back and forth across empty spaces. The men kept their weapons trained on the darker spaces where their lights couldn’t penetrate. The surroundings changed from slate gray and practical to the rich colors of luxury, resembling the train cars in every way. Their heavy boots echoed across polished mahogany floors and walls. Plush, leather recliners and couches rested in corners, and rare tapestries and paintings hung on the walls. They passed rooms large enough to hold ceremonies, dinners and banquets with ease. But among all the beautiful furniture and accompaniments, there was one thing missing.

“Where are the people?” Quolo asked.

“Let’s hold on a second,” Poes said, and everyone stopped and listened. Their eyes searched the surroundings, and their ears waited for the sound of life.

“This is unsettling,” Quolo said.

“Let’s get moving,” Sykes said. “They’re holding the passengers somewhere.”

“How many ballrooms does this ship have?” Poes asked.

“Eight,” Sykes answered around his cigar.

“Shouldn’t we try to rescue them?” Quolo asked.

“Our priority is control of the ship,” Sykes answered. “Then we look for the passengers.”

They searched through rooms as they passed and gazed up elegant staircases and around darkened corners. But there was nothing. No voices. No music. No scent of food. No lights but their own.

“When was the last contact,” Poes asked, “besides the emergency beacon?”

Chief Sykes thought for a moment. “Two days ago.”

“And there was no hint of something amiss? Concerns?” Poes asked.

Sykes shook his head. “The chief mate sent word with their position and a requisition list of supplies about six hours after she launched. That was the last time we heard from the Dawn’s Edge.”

Finally, they reached the bridge level. They were making their way up the wide stairs when short bursts of static filled their communications line. Everyone froze. Garbled transmissions flooded the air for a few seconds.

“Who’s that?” Bolt asked.

Everyone waited for a few moments, but there was nothing else.

“The ship’s crew?” Quolo asked.

“Possibly.” Poes nodded. “Has to be. But where are they?”

“Let’s get to the bridge so we can access the power. Once power is restored, we can use that area as a base of operations,” Sykes said. They agreed and continued.

“Stop,” Poes said. “Do you hear something?” Everyone stood still.

“What are we listening for?” Quolo asked.

“I’m not sure,” Poes said. “But it sounded like... groaning. As if someone were trying to speak.”

They all stood and waited, but the only sounds were distant taps and creaks echoing through the airship.

“I hear nothing,” Bolt said, and continued through the hallway.

Everyone followed when a sharp burst of static pierced their ears. Everyone stopped and grabbed their ears. Poes winced and pulled his earpiece away from his head. The electronic screeching tore through their ears for a few seconds and then stopped.

“Bolt, any ideas on what could have caused that noise?” Quolo asked.

He shook his head. “Could be anything, though all of us receiving the same level of noise is curious.”

Another blast flooded their ears, and most of them pulled their earpieces away from their head. The loud squelching abruptly stopped when another sound caught their attention. Everyone stood still and listened.

Scrapes. Moans. Shuffling feet. Sharp objects scraping against the wood.

“Someone’s alive and trying to get help,” Quolo said. “Up there, in the bridge.”

All at once, they hurried up the stairs, their small lamps flashing across the wall and double doors of the bridge. Their eyes fixed on the frosted-glass doors as a shadow passed on the other side.

“There! See?” Quolo said. He stepped toward the door, but Sykes stopped him.

“Something’s covering the glass,” Sykes said. “It looks like...”

“Blood,” said Poes.

Everyone stared at the reddish-brown streaks covering the glass. Traces of handprints and fingertips streaked through the gore.

“There may be poisonous gasses inside,” Bolt said. “Everyone, get your masks and goggles on for safety.”

Everyone put on the contraptions, their oxygen scrubbers humming to life. After everyone had checked their seals and given a thumbs-up, they were ready.

“Everyone on alert,” Sykes said through the radio. “Ready your weapons just in case. Remember: we’re here for a rescue operation, so mind your triggers.”

As he finished giving them instructions, one of the soldiers pointed at the glass behind him. An unnaturally long, bony hand scraped the glass door before disappearing.

The men glanced at each other. Some