Last Train To Nowhere

by K. C. Sivils

  Before the second attacker hit the ground, the priest latched on to the lapels of the smaller man with both hands, lifting him up. Pivoting hard as he stepped back on the sidewalk, Father Nathan slammed the shorter thug into the steel wall of the prefab building.

  “Apologize.”

  Wide-eyed in terror, the thug did the only thing he could do. He apologized.

  "Now that we understand each other," the priest said firmly, "I have a few questions, and you're going to answer them."

  The little punk stretched his toes in hopes of touching the ground and kicked futilely.

  “Stop squirming.”

  A quick glance at his partner sprawled on the icy ground stopped the squirming.

  “You know priests are supposed to be do gooders. I’m trying to help a gang of pickpockets from winding up like you. Do you know the kids I’m talking about.”

  A quick nod from the punk confirmed he did.

  “They have a Boss Man. I need to meet him. Is that clear?”

  Again, the punk gave a quick nod.

  “You and your friend seem like you could be nice enough young men. In time. Tell the Boss Man the priest would like to talk to him. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yeah, I can do it priest man.”

  Father Nathan sat the terrified thug down and smoothed his greatcoat. “Now, just one more thing.”

  “Sure, whatever, just say the word.”

  “Every Sunday at the Church, you know, the building with a really steep roof? I have services at 0800 and 1000. It would be a good thing if I saw you and your friend on a regular basis.”

  Father Nathan smiled at the bully and made a point of turning his back. As he walked away, he listened to the terrified bully pleading with his friend to wake up. He was certain his message would be delivered. There was even a possibility the two might show up one Sunday.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Praise from Sullivan, though not impossible to receive, was rare enough it always made Josephson feel good when his boss gave it. Sullivan agreed with him. Something was not right about Markeson being in Brownstown.

  It wasn’t the only thing that wasn’t right that day, but it was the one thing the idealistic and inexperienced detective had noticed. Oddly enough, the other thing was something only he would have thought odd. Sullivan would never have.

  Bored, Josephson checked his chronometer again. The conductor had been misguided in his assessment of how long the day's run would take. It could have been a result of the switches that were frozen shut, and the ice had to be melted to switch out the empty container cars and exchange them for loaded ones at one industry. The process had to be repeated at another mine where more loaded ore cars were picked up.

  Probably it was the long spell spent sitting “in the hole” as the crew had called it. Sitting on a siding waiting for the two passenger trains, one northbound and one southbound, to pass the mixed train as it sat waiting for the mainline to be clear for its use.

  Either way, the mixed was running late. Frustrated, but not surprised as he knew a bit about how the railroad operated, Josephson settled back in his seat to try to catch another nap. It was likely to be a long night once he returned to Capital City. Sullivan would want him to report and who knew what the situation was with Sarah or the case.

  His nap would have to wait.

  A sudden series of loud bangs sounded, followed by the locomotive engineer setting the brakes on the train hard. Hard enough to produce a loud squealing sound as the coach lurched suddenly due to the sharp reduction in speed.

  “What was that?” a panicked woman passenger cried, clutching her two small children to her.

  “It’s okay,” Josephson volunteered. “It sounded like a torpedo. It’s like a really big firecracker railroaders use when they need to warn a train and get it to make an unscheduled stop. They put them on the rails, and when the locomotive runs over the torpedoes, you get that loud sound, one right after the other. Then the engineer knows to stop the train."

  Relieved the woman leaned back, whispering to her children, soothing their fears. The other passengers were satisfied with Josephson's explanation and set about grumbling about yet another delay.

  Curious to know the cause of the delay, and not seeing a crewman, Josephson stood up and pulled his great coat on. It took only a few steps to reach the door at the end of the coach. He opened it and stepped into the vestibule, letting the door close behind him. After fiddling with the latch on the vestibule door, it opened inwards, allowing him to lean out into the frigid air and cast a hard glance at the now long line of loaded and heavy freight cars the two coaches were coupled to.

  A blast of air and the hissing sound of its escape combined with the grunt of heavy steel shifting against heavy steel immediately behind the coach drew his attention. Something was not right, and Josephson knew it. There were no sidings here and thus no reason to uncouple any cars.

  Jumping out of the coach and landing hard in the snow, he turned and carefully pulled his phase pistol from its holster. It was then he remembered how odd it was to have the coaches coupled into the train instead of on the very end. The three container flats and their loads attached on the end would complicate any switching of cars during the run.

  Mixed trains always put the passenger coaches at the end of the train. That way they could be uncoupled and allowed to safely sit at a distance while all the switching was done. It was then an easy matter to simply back the train up and couple the coaches on again.

  As glad as he’d felt about sending the message to Sullivan about Markeson, Josephson felt stupid for not noticing the odd change in operations for mixed trains. Something he actually knew more about than Sullivan possibly could have.

  Looking under the wheels of the coach and the adjacent freight car, the young detective noticed three darkish gray greatcoats with black jackboots like Sullivan's protruding. Two long blasts of the locomotives air horn indicated the train was about to start. In seconds it eased forward, leaving the three container flats and their loaded containers behind.

  The locomotive must have hit a patch of ice on the rails or possibly a taller than normal snowdrift. After moving only a few meters, it skidded to a stop. Josephson ran through the gap between the last coach and the first freight car, pistol ready.

  Working quickly to open the seal on the first container, the three men failed to notice Josephson. Without stopping to think, he shouted loud enough for the men to hear him.

  “Freeze! It’s the law! Stop what you’re doing and lay down on your stomachs with your hands behind your heads!”

  For his efforts, two kinesthetic projectiles whizzed past his ears, heating the air in the process hot enough for him to feel it for a mere microsecond. A hot blast of plasma at his feet kicked up dirt, rocks, and ice.

  Josephson fired three times, hitting one of the men in gray dead center in the chest. Not waiting for another round of kinesthetic projectiles to be fired in his direction, Josephson jumped back through the gap, grabbed the handrail on the coach and pulled himself up on the steps just as two long blasts of the horn sounded again and the train bucked forward, this time staying in motion.

  Slamming the vestibule door shut, Josephson peered through the small window in the door at the end of the coach. He pulled his comm out and used the device’s tiny camera to record the two men rolling the dead body out of the way and returning to their efforts to open the first container.

  As the train picked up speed, it kicked up a fine powdery mist of snow and ice, obscuring the view of the stolen freight cars.

  As he dropped his comm back into a side pocket, the interior door behind him opened. Josephson turned around to see a red faced, angry conductor glaring at him.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing,” the man shouted indignantly.

  Josephson started to shake. It was the shaking that drew the angry conductor's eyes down to the right hand that still held the phase pistol. A faint wisp of black smoke curled up from
the recently discharged weapon. Reaching into his greatcoat, he pulled out the leather case that contained his detective's shield and flipped it open.

  “I’m the law. Sergeant Detective Josephson. Conductor, would you mind telling me why three men back there shot at me?”

  ---

  My ceiling had not changed. Not one bit since my last sleepless night. I got up and went to the kitchen and looked at what was available for a snack at this time of the night. Or was it morning? I left the sandwich I made on the counter and sat down at my table to think.

  I thought about the mess things were in. I hadn't been able to save Maria, but I had saved Sarah, for the moment at least. Hiring Sarah as an assistant, a massive ethics violation at work, hadn't kept her safer, I‘d taken her directly to the source of danger it seemed. My old CO appears to have gotten past our issues. I hadn't. The pup, who'd just gotten medical clearance, had almost gotten himself killed in a shootout on the train back home. A train I should have been on or at least I should have made Josephson face up to his fear of flying.

  Then Ralph tells me Father Nathan was prowling the streets looking for trouble. I had a feeling my friend would find it. That collar didn’t fool me. Nathan had a past. Just like I had a past. Like Ralph had a past. And most assuredly, like Joe had a past. I just didn’t know what that past was yet.

  The thing keeping me awake was it was all my fault. I was supposed to keep my friends safe, all of them. Instead, I'd had a hand in placing all of them in danger. Well, not Kilgore. It just bothered me he could look past our beef with each other to get the job done professionally, and I was having trouble with the idea.

  Sarah didn’t just worry me anymore. She scared me. I was certain the way she had lifted my knife and handled it anyone who messed with her was likely to get sliced up. That scared me too. I wasn’t scared of her hurting me. She couldn’t. The most she could do was add a couple more scars to my collection.

  It scared me how she upset me. I hate it when a woman cries. It’s a weapon they use. In the past when that weapon came out of the arsenal it was the end. I cut ‘em loose. Now I was worried sick about Sarah. I was worried I wouldn’t see her again.

  This clone business, I’d lied to her.

  Sarah was a clone. I knew it. She knew it. The people hunting her knew it.

  And I didn’t know what to do about it.

  ---

  Sitting atop the building by the church made Sarah feel better. It was one of her favorite places. She’d disabled all the CCTV cameras with possible coverage of her spot, allowing her to feel a sense of privacy.

  Nobody knew about her spot, and she liked it that way. Not even Sully knew about it, and that pleased her too.

  The spot was good because it also let Sarah watch her part of town. From her vantage point, she could see Joe's where her new friends worked and usually ate their meals. If she leaned out over the ledge a little bit and looked around the wall where the building went up another level, Father Nathan's church and its buildings were visible.

  Leaning back against the wall by the building's ledge, Sarah could see the balcony of Sully's place. It was her third place and the one that confused Sarah the most. Joe's was warm, and so long as she was careful, nobody noticed her presence. Sully paid for the meals she ate there which made her feel better. Stealing made her feel bad, and Miss Alice was kind to her. Plus, Joe looked out for the neighborhood, though he'd never admit it. The dorm at the church was nice too. On the nights it was too cold even for her, it was a place she could sleep with no questions asked. Father Nathan looked out for people, not that she needed him to look out for her.

  Sully’s place was the best, but it scared Sarah to go there. He kept food just for her. There was a big, cushy pillow on the couch and Sully kept two thick survival blankets folded and draped across the back of the sofa. Sarah liked having her own key so she could come and go.

  That was the best.

  Why did the dead man have to be a clone?

  Sarah picked up a handful of snow and compacted it into a hard ball of ice. Without aiming at anything specific, she threw the ball of ice in frustration as hard as she could.

  Seeing the dead clone reminded Sarah the world she was making for herself wasn’t as safe as she’d let herself believe.

  It was Sully’s fault Sarah decided. The big man had not been able to save Maria. She was simple and trusted everyone. Even the men who hurt her. It was better for Maria this way. Sarah had decided that long ago.

  Sully had saved Sarah though. Saved her from a monster she might not have been able to escape. Made her feel safe for a while. Given her a job so she didn’t have to steal what she needed to survive.

  Pulling up the thick, lined collars of the warm greatcoat Sully had given her as a “signing bonus” the first day she’d gone to work for him, Sarah decided her current situation was Sully’s fault.

  His and the hunters who had come for her.

  ---

  They always came after the violence. It never failed. Father Nathan looked at his hands as they shook. There was nothing he could do to stop the tremors. They would pass as the adrenaline cleared out of his system. He looked up from the pew where he knelt and fixed his gaze on the cross behind the altar.

  Lowering his head, Father Nathan closed his eyes. He felt the tremors stop. Without speaking aloud, he cleared his mind and began the comforting words of prayer, Our Father, Who art in heaven…

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “What do you mean,” the tall redhead’s icy response demanded. “He’s dead? Just how did that happen?”

  She listened to the explanation with a stony silence. “I see. Are you certain?”

  More details came through the secure comm.

  “Well, if he says so.”

  The voice on the other end of the link continued.

  “Yes, take care of it. Make it look like a work accident.”

  More talk by the voice on the other end of the link.

  "So long as the product is undamaged. Do what you must."

  Cutting the link, she turned to face the tall, well-groomed man sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of her desk. She paced for several minutes, red coloring her face as the anger inside boiled.

  The man sat patiently. When she reached a decision, he would be ready to carry out her instructions, whatever they might be.

  “We have secured the product.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “There have been complications.”

  “It would seem so from what I heard of the conversation.”

  “I need to talk to Markeson. That man is beyond difficult.”

  The tall man sat in silence for a moment. “Pay him more. He has expensive tastes.”

  “Fly to Capital City. Arrange a meeting there. Some place nice, with class.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  "Reserve a suite for me at the Mayaran Resort. Make sure you have a room nearby. I want our people in place at my lodgings and the meet."

  The tall man nodded. “The accident you mentioned…”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you prefer I handle it?”

  She thought for a moment. "No. It is a simple enough task. Let's see if they can do the job properly. I need you for more important tasks."

  He stood, nodded, and took his leave.

  ---

  I looked up from my tablet at the sound of footsteps entering the detective’s bullpen. The lack of privacy to think and work was something that was going to have to change and soon. I made a mental note to myself to complain to Chief O’Brian about the issue again.

  The footsteps turned out to be none other than my missing pup, Josephson. He sat down, looking as tired as I felt, but not too much worse for the wear.

  “Tell me about it,” I ordered.

  He started at the beginning, in the terminal. Josephson did the best job he could describing our mysterious possible ex-military man. He finished with the trip back after the hi-jacking of thre
e freight cars.

  “Describe the three cars one more time,” I instructed.

  I listened carefully. Josephson's description was a good one. I was going to have to link up with Kilgore as soon as possible. The three cars the train robbers took had to be the same three we’d seen being moved on the spur to the military base.

  “Did I screw up by coming back here first?”

  “No, the containers are gone and so is the guy you shot.”

  Josephson nodded and sat looking down at the floor.

  “It was you or them. What’s more, you warned them.”

  The pup nodded.

  “One more thing.”

  Josephson looked up like the puppy he was, expecting another smack on his nose for being a bad dog.

  “You did the right thing. But you have got to quit carrying that phase pistol.”

  “Sir,” he replied, confused, thinking I wanted to disarm him.

  “We’re getting you a proper sidearm. Let’s go. You’re going to fly for the first time.”

  I grinned as I walked past him. Anything I might have said to Josephson that he thought was some kind of chastisement was forgotten. He’d thank me later.

  He had to get over his fear of flying sooner or later.

  ---

  He knew them by sight and their pitiful reputation as wannabe thugs, but not by name. It was evident to anyone who paid the slightest attention the pair had been traumatized, particularly the shorter of the two.

  “A priest did this to you?”

  "Yeah, see, the guy isn't what he looks like," the taller thug said. "Nobody has ever knocked me out before. I never saw what hit me."

  “Yeah, yeah,” the shorter thug said hurriedly. “This guy is a bad dude. He’s working some kind of angle or somethin’ you know. We’re just deliverin’ the message, that’s all.”

  “I see,” the man replied. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because,” the small thug answered nervously, “we talked it over. We figured you might take it into consideration. Better you know this guy is lookin’ for you than for him to get the drop on you. I mean if we’d known he could handle himself, we woulda done things differently.”