Free Iron Jackal by Chris Wooding

back of the buggy, making the suspension groan.
    ‘Whoa! Y’know, you could stand to lose a pound or two,’ Jez told her. Bess made an angry bubbling noise in response.
    Crake got back into his seat, reached around and took one of Bess’s massive hands in his.
    ‘Well done,’ he said, because he couldn’t put into words how much it pained him to see her so battered and bullet-riddled. ‘Good girl.’
    Jez set off again, chasing the train. The others were far ahead of them now. She put on some speed to catch up.
    Crake sat back, relishing a few moments of relative safety when no one was trying to kill them. The baking wind blew his hair around his face. His lips were dry and cracked, and his face felt scoured with grit. The Rattletrap bumped and clattered underneath him as its wheels bounced over the uneven hardpan.
    He hated bringing Bess along on missions like these. Even though she’d proved herself all but invulnerable to small-arms fire, he knew it caused her great distress. She was heedless of her own safety, and he was afraid that one day, she would come up against something that really could hurt her. What if she took an autocannon shell in the chest? Would the ethereal presence that was Bess survive the destruction of the suit that housed her? He didn’t ever want to find out.
    ‘What’s this idea you said you had?’ he asked Jez. ‘Nothing dangerous, I hope?’
    She pointed at the train. Crake looked. The back of the rear carriage was lying open. It had flipped downward to form a ramp, which was dragging along the ground between the wide-spaced tracks, scuffing up a cloud of dust. Visible through the dust was the empty interior of the carriage.
    ‘You’re joking,’ said Crake.
    Jez shrugged. ‘Reckon that’s where the Rattletraps came out. No reason we can’t get in that way too.’
    ‘We’re supposed to wait for the train to stop. That was the plan.’
    ‘Live a little, huh?’
    ‘That’s rich, coming from you. You’re not even alive.’
    ‘Touché. We’re still going in. I’d cover my eyes, if I were you.’
    She swung the Rattletrap to the left, bumping over the rail until they were driving directly behind the train. The cloud of dust that it left in its wake consumed them. Crake held his hand in front of his eyes. He couldn’t see a thing. The noise of the train was overwhelming, a torrent of machine sound, clashing and screeching and rumbling.
    Then he felt a bump, and a sensation of lifting. The Rattletrap pushed on uncertainly, and then lurched forward. Crake hung on as they raced up the ramp, into the hot gloom of the carriage, and thumped to a clumsy halt.
    He wiped his eyes, blinked, and looked around. The carriage was empty but for a few rings set into the walls and floor, hung with restraining straps for the Rattletraps that had been stored here. Bright light shone in through high, slatted windows and from large vents in the roof. The sound of the train was muffled and hollow.
    They were in the belly of the beast. Or, more accurately, its colon.
    ‘We need to stop that train!’ Frey said over the noise of the engine. ‘Any ideas?’
    Silo didn’t reply. Frey should have known better than to expect a suggestion from him. The Murthian was concentrating on driving, leaning over the wheel. His bald head and beaklike nose made him look like a plucked vulture.
    Frey scanned his surroundings, trying to come up with a plan. Having never hijacked a train before, he wasn’t sure of the protocol. He’d sort of hoped something would present itself by this point, but it looked like it was going to take a bit more thought than that.
    Ashua, Pinn and Harkins were still harassing the last of the Rattletraps: they seemed to have matters well in hand. He’d lost sight of Jez and the others somewhere behind them. Belatedly he wished that he’d issued the daemonically thralled earcuffs they used to communicate with each other in the sky, so that they could keep in contact. He should have