The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Oh Sweet Mary and Joseph,” Leland sputtered nearby, his rifle pointed at the grinning apparition. “Oh Sweet—”

  The engineer considered them both, even though it had no eyes within its orbital cavities. A bony, impossibly functioning hand rose and clutched a lever, each skeletal digit enclosing the metal with foul purpose. Candlelight flickered in the deep vats that were its eye sockets.

  Nathan couldn’t speak.

  Leland grunted a religious verse, but the words were lost upon the rising of the wind and the clamor of the engine—which was picking up speed.

  “Don’t…” Leland warned the engineer.

  The ghost didn’t listen before, however, and it sure as hell wasn’t listening now. It pulled the lever, releasing a shriek as piercing and startling as a hot thumb goosing one’s ass.

  And despite all his talk about crowd control, Leland fired first.

  Nathan fired second.

  The shots ripped through the engineer’s gray uniform, barely moving the figure, and ricocheted off the iron plate behind it in a sizzling stutter where each metallic ping marked a new bounce.

  A miniaturized comet fired past Nathan’s profile, close enough for him to flinch.

  In that reflexive moment, the engineer lunged.

  5

  When Eli opened the passenger car’s door, all he felt was warmth. All he saw were empty seats. He moved inside, nudged along by Gilbert, who wanted to get out of the weather.

  “Ease off,” Eli warned with a stern look.

  Gilbert scowled back, soaking up the reprimand, but grateful to be inside.

  Eli turned back to the empty car, walking ahead a few steps as the rest of the group entered.

  “What the hell?” Gilbert said.

  “What the hell, indeed,” a puzzled Mackenzie repeated as he studied the interior.

  The passenger car had, at a glance, about two dozen rows or more split down the middle by a well-worn aisle. Wide-berthed seats with a framework of polished mahogany gleamed softly underneath burning oil lamps. Fancy glass fixtures hung over the main aisle, three of them in total, spaced along the ceiling at measured intervals. They provided ample, if not a touch subdued, light. Frost covered the windows’ exteriors, but there wasn’t much to see out there anyway. A smell of spent tobacco scented the air, mixed with a complicated blend of different perfumes and a hint of rancid breath.

  Eli stepped into the first row of seats and inspected the cushions of deep grassy green.

  “Did someone shit in here or something?” he asked with a disapproving frown, eyeing all the empty berths.

  “You smell shit?” Gilbert asked, sniffing in earnest. “I don’t smell any shit, Eli. I smell pipe smoke. And maybe perfume.”

  “There’s no dung in here,” Mackenzie said, stopping in a berth and inspecting the remainder of the passenger car.

  “No, there’s no dung,” an annoyed Eli said. “I said ‘shit’. As in ‘horseshit’ or otherwise. Just makin’ a point is all, ‘cause there’s sure as hell no other reason why there’s no one in here.”

  Mackenzie looked at rifle-toting Jimmy Norquay, and the serious Metis shook his head. Shorty Charlie Williams blocked the door they’d all come through, his shoulders dusted with snow and his tall hat almost touching the ceiling. Snow covered them all to some degree, but mostly for color, and not so thick as to be a hindrance.

  “So this is first class,” Mackenzie said, taking in the comforts of the car. “Nice.”

  “What time is it?” Jimmy asked.

  “Some time past nine, perhaps?” Mackenzie suggested.

  “Felt more like ten.”

  Eli eyed both men. “Neither one of you educated peckerheads got a watch?”

  Neither man answered.

  “Shorty,” Eli barked. “You got a pocket watch?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks, Shorty,” Eli muttered in annoyance.

  “Leland’s got a pocket watch,” Jimmy said, remembering. “Though it does us no good. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Daresay the passengers are in the next car,” Mackenzie said. “Sleeper car. Must be later than we figure.”

  “Doubt if it’s a sleeper,” Jimmy thought aloud. “If this is first class, there’s supposed to be another. Supposed to be four passenger cars.”

  “Maybe they’re in the dining car?”

  “This train has a dining car?”

  “Certainly does.” Mackenzie said. “It’s a long trip.”

  “It is a long trip,” Jimmy said.

  “From Montreal to Port Whats-his-face.”

  “Eight days.”

  “Ten or eleven in the winter,” Mackenzie pointed out. “Depending on the weather.”

  “Long trip,” Jimmy said quietly.

  “Fuck the long trip,” Eli rumbled with heat and walked right up the middle of the car. “Goddamn educated cocktuggers. All I asked for was the goddamn time and I get a report on traveling conditions. You bastards are in the wrong fucking line of work, that’s all I gotta say. The wrong fucking kind.”

  Gilbert scowled at Jimmy and Mackenzie, reinforcing those sentiments. Gilbert didn’t dare look at Shorty Charlie Williams, however. Shorty secretly scared the shit out of him, and it took every ounce of courage he could muster to keep calm while around the hulking bodyguard.

  Gilbert followed Eli, their boots scuffling along a clean floor.

  Jimmy and Mackenzie exchanged looks, shared a consulting glance with Shorty (who said nothing) and then followed the two leading men.

  Not seeing any need to hang around at the head of the car, Shorty dutifully followed them all, keeping his shotgun ready at the shoulder.

  Mindful of what Leland had said, Eli stopped at the next door and waited for the others to catch up, eyeing them all from underneath an unimpressed lowered brow.

  “You shit-squirts best keep up,” he warned. “I’m tellin’ you now. Don’t dawdle on me. Don’t none of you dare to fuckin’ dawdle on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dawdle on you, Eli,” Gilbert protested. “Not me.”

  “All right, maybe not you. Sorry. But you three.”

  Mackenzie looked indifferent, but Jimmy and Shorty didn’t flinch from Eli’s gaze.

  “You just mind what Leland told you to do,” Jimmy Norquay warned him. “And remember, while you might be in the lead here, you ain’t the one in charge. Until Leland gets back here, I’m in charge. Not you. Me.”

  Eli’s frown deepened. “Did I say I wanted to be in charge? Just said don’t dawdle on me. That’s all. Quit tryin’ to make something outta nothin’, Jimmy. Christ Almighty.”

  “You just open that door and mind your business,” Jimmy said with a dangerous calm.

  Shaking his head, Eli did just that. He gripped the lever and pulled up, and the door slid open on ball bearing rollers. A short, weather-protected vestibule between the two cars appeared, and Eli craned his neck to inspect the enclosure. Three strides ahead was the other door. Light glowed from a single square window marred with dust. The whole area was dark, somewhat narrow, and rocked with the locomotion of the train.

  “What are you waiting for?” Jimmy asked.

  “Hold on a goddamn second, goddammit,” Eli shot back. “Ain’t never seen one like this.”

  “It’s a vestibule,” Mackenzie explained. “Think they’re called gangway connectors or something of the like. They’re mounted over the couplers.”

  “The hell’s a coupler?” Gilbert asked behind his scarf.

  “Ain’t you ever been on a train before?”

  “Yeah, but…” Gilbert shrugged and pulled down his scarf, revealing a scraggly beard, a large mole on his left cheek, and a pimpled nose. He spat cotton bits, licked his lips, and once done with all that, said, “Not recently.”

  “Coupler’s what keeps the cars together,” Jimmy informed him.

  Eli was inspecting the enclosed section bridging the space between the two cars. “That roof looks like my old man’s accordion, except
we’re on the inside.”

  “It keeps the snow out,” Jimmy said. “And rain.”

  “Not the heat,” Eli said and, with his rifle up, proceeded across the shaking floor, testing it as one might crossing a pane of river ice. The train wheels rolled unseen underfoot.

  Chump, chump, chump, chump…

  Gilbert tugged his scarf up over his nose.

  Once across, Eli snorted and took hold of the next lever.

  “Go on,” Jimmy said to Gilbert.

  “You go on,” Gilbert shot back, so Jimmy went forward. The others went after him, including Shorty, whom Gilbert shied away from just a touch. Once they were all inside, Gilbert stepped somewhat uncertainly into the cramped space.

  The door rolled closed behind them.

  “You say this is another first-class car?” Eli said, peeking through the window.

  “Supposed to be,” Jimmy said. “Two total. The other’s for regular-paying folk.”

  “Oh yeah?” Eli leered and slid the door open.

  Another passenger car with the same fine adornments and comforts as the previous one. And, like the one before it, the interior was also deserted.

  The train’s movement gently rocked the men upon the threshold as they stared at that puzzling sight.

  “What the hell…?” Mackenzie whispered in confusion.

  “They can’t all be in the sleeper car,” Jimmy declared.

  “Or the diner.”

  “Sure as hell can’t all be in the shitter,” Eli said and moved inside. The rest of the men did the same. Some twenty-plus rows back, another closed door waited. They stopped and studied the empty car.

  “This ain’t right,” Jimmy said.

  “You’re tellin’ me?” Eli asked, not expecting an answer.

  In the lapse of conversation that followed, the sound of the moving train filled their ears.

  “Well, we stick to the plan,” Jimmy said after a time. “We’ll go on ahead. You two,” he indicated Shorty and Mackenzie, “stay around here. Wait for Leland to show up.”

  Mackenzie looked around. “We got no passengers to look after.”

  Standing a full head taller and looming behind the man, Shorty shook his head in support of the assessment.

  “Maybe it’s best we stick together,” Mackenzie continued. “Until we find the passengers.”

  “Come on, then,” Eli said and strode through the rows of seats. Gilbert immediately pushed his way through the other three (being quite careful with Shorty Charlie Williams) and hurried after the man.

  Sharing yet another puzzled look with Mackenzie and Shorty, Jimmy sighed and walked after the pair. Mackenzie marched after him, while Shorty turned and watched the closed door behind them, mindful of the light fixtures overhead. He glanced from one row of seats to the other before finally turning around, when something lying in the middle of a green cushion seat caught his eye.

  A child’s rattle, round, with little noisemaking dingles on it, or what Shorty identified as little noisemaking dingles.

  Shotgun held in both hands, Shorty stooped and inspected the little toy, his low brow scrunched up in thought.

  Then, without another thought, he hurried to catch up with the rest of the group.

  6

  The engineer grabbed both Nathan and Leland by their coats before either one could react. The uniformed skeleton lifted both men off their feet, slamming their heads into the hard ceiling. The impact stunned Nathan, but he was aware of falling, his hat coming off, and Leland crashing down beside him. He realized he was on the floor, and rolled about like a man attempting to regain control of his legs.

  Chump,chump,chump,chump…

  The engineer turned back toward the train’s controls and inspected a gauge as if far-sighted. It then reached down and opened the lid to the firebox, revealing a roaring blaze within. Only for a second, before the engineer slammed the door shut again.

  Leland was slumped against the cab wall, clawing at the air as if swiping at mosquitoes. Nathan wasn’t much better, but he discovered he could move his legs and arms. He winced as he pulled himself to a sitting position, and that little bit of effort spun his head like a greased roulette table. As the interior twirled and even bobbed, Nathan watched the engineer as it fiddled with a lever.

  The effect was immediate. The train picked up speed.

  Chumpchumpchumpchump … Chumpchumpchumpchump…

  A lurch threw Nathan backwards. He pawed at air, missed whatever he was grabbing for, and clocked the back of his skull on the steel floor. Dazed and confused but fighting to sort matters out, he found himself staring at one of the cab’s windows, where a tattered screen of snow and night flashed by.

  The engineer strode past him, ignoring the fumbling men at its feet. Nathan lifted his head, struggling to keep the figure in sight. The engineer went to a wood box and gripped two large chunks of cut fir. The skeletal figure, still darkly smiling, turned and strode back to the fire box, where it opened the door and threw in the wood.

  The click of a revolver’s hammer brought Nathan back to the present.

  “Nathan,” Leland said weakly, gun drawn, and fighting to draw the strength to aim it.

  “Yuh,” Nathan answered, rolling onto his side.

  Chumpchumpchumpchump … Chumpchumpchumpchump…

  “We’re speeding up,” Leland said.

  “I know.”

  The engineer tapped a gauge with a skeletal finger. It then slapped the metal, twice for effect, and threw up a hand in frustration. The ghostly figure then consulted two more dials before standing back and, in a pose of pure vexation, at least to the living, placed its hands on its hips and shook its head.

  Nathan picked up a rifle and aimed at the thing’s back.

  Chumpchumpchumpchumpchumpchumpchumpchump…

  The engineer cocked his head back as if remembering something.

  “Hey,” Leland said with deadly intent, aiming his pistol. “You.”

  The engineer half-turned. Those empty eye sockets spied Nathan first, then Leland. Both men pointed their guns at the thing. The engineer didn’t lift his hands in surrender. It stood there, while the machine it commanded continued to increase speed.

  Without warning, Leland fired, the report hot and deafening in the cab.

  The engineer’s head snapped backwards a split instant before the shell blew out the back of its skull and ricocheted all over the cab. Metal punched metal. Glass crinkled and Nathan cringed at the explosive scene.

  The engineer remained standing, however, and when it righted its skull, Nathan could see right through a ragged bullet hole drilled in the thing’s forehead. No blood came from the wound, but there was a single, haunting wisp of smoke. The engineer lowered its head, its smile still firmly in place, but taking on a decidedly darker, more menacing demeanor towards the two men, as if realizing that simply subduing the pair wouldn’t do.

  Or so Nathan thought. He fired his rifle at the thing’s dead heart, and blew a hole straight through that old uniform and out the back in a tent punch of cloth.

  Which did nothing to the engineer.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Leland muttered, and took aim again.

  Not waiting to be shot, the engineer abruptly raced past the men, the unexpected speed startling.

  “Shoot him!” Leland cried out, struggling to find the fleeing figure.

  Nathan slammed himself against the cab wall, twisting, attempting to keep the ghost in sight. The engineer leaped outside the cab and landed upon a woodpile. There it stood, the escalating wind ruffling its uniform until it resembled a flag caught in a tempest. Smoky clouds streaked by, as if the very universe was accelerating around them.

  “Stop!” Nathan shouted and lined up his sights. The thing wasn’t ten paces away.

  The engineer crouched, very much aware of the aimed rifle.

  Nathan didn’t fire, however, even though his finger rested on the trigger.

  “What are you waiting for?” Leland demanded. “Shoot th
e bastard!”

  “What about the train?” Nathan asked, not taking his eyes off the engineer.

  Leland looked at the controls. “Jesus H. Christ, get him back in here.”

  His senses fully returned to him, Nathan bore down on his Winchester. “You hear that, you…” he started, but was at a loss as to what to call the crouching thing on the woodpile. “You get back in here or I’ll shoot!” he finally shouted.

  Snow and steam and wind streaked overhead, partially concealing the uniformed apparition with the bullet hole decorating its forehead. For a moment, Nathan actually thought the thing was going to do as ordered.

  But then the engineer jumped clear of the train, and vanished into the stormy night.

  7

  Seven passenger cars deep into the train, Eli stopped at the midway point between a pair of green cushiony seats, and threw a tantrum under a set of fancy light fixtures.

  “How fuckin’ long is this thing, anyway?” he demanded with a stomp of his boots. He whirled upon his companions, who were equally mystified at what they were seeing. No one told Eli to calm down, to relax, because, quite frankly, they were increasingly uneasy themselves.

  “There’s only one engine, right?” Mackenzie asked of Jimmy, who stood right behind him in the aisle.

  “I only saw one,” Jimmy said.

  “Me too,” Gilbert said with a note of nervousness. “All I saw was one.”

  “What about the goddamn engines?” Eli asked.

  Jimmy pulled down his scarf. “We’ve walked through seven passenger cars and no passengers. The train would need an extra locomotive to pull all this weight, but this thing’s outfitted with just one.”

  “So?”

  Jimmy paused to sift through his buzzing, spinning thoughts. “So… we’re on a bigger train than expected. There should be two engines.”

  “So what?” Eli said.

  Jimmy clearly didn’t know what, but he felt the train’s tempo underneath his feet. “Feel that?”

  The men looked to the floor.