The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Like I’m on a frying pan here,” Nathan said, taking the burn.

  “Sand’s like coal just coming to life,” Mackenzie noted, already stripped down to his red long johns.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Nathan said. He pinched at his own cotton unmentionables, pulling the white material off his chest. They all stood around in their winter undergarments, and Nathan grimaced upon seeing Eli stripped down to his dirty white drawers, but with half of the exit hatch in the rear unbuttoned and hanging, exposing one shadowed ass cheek.

  “Cover yourself up, Eli,” Nathan grumped. “God Almighty, no one needs to see that.”

  “Then quit staring at it,” Eli said and, with deliberate slowness, fastened up his back flap.

  “All I need is to see your ass crack in my sleep.”

  “Stop talkin’ about my ass, willya? I know how sweet lookin’ it is. The ladies tell me all the time. ‘That’s a damn sweet ass you got there, Eli,’ they say. ‘Damn sweet ass’. ‘I feel a touch jealous of how sweet that ass of yours is’. Women have been pinching my ass since I don’t know when. I might not have the goods up top, but goddamnit my ass is damn near perfect.”

  “It’s true,” Gilbert supplied as an afterthought, already down to his own gray underbits, and opening his shirt to his navel, revealing patchy chest moss. “They say that.”

  “Gilbert,” Nathan said, “does Eli pay you to back him up like you do?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then maybe he should. ‘Cause you do a damn fine job for nothing.”

  “He does,” Mackenzie agreed.

  The seven train robbers stood about in their soaked unmentionables.

  “Hell with this,” Eli said and stripped that final bit of clothing off as well.

  The others reluctantly did the same, and soon the seven stood with their arms full of about thirty pounds of wet clothing and gear. Bandoliers were slung over naked shoulders, while belts and gun holsters hung off bare hips.

  “Christ,” someone muttered. “What a sight we are.”

  “I feel better already,” Eli announced, taking a deep breath and filling his sinewy chest. “Everything’s feeling free-like.”

  “Which way we going, Leland?” Nathan asked, ignoring the gun runner holding his gear at waist level. They all did so, carrying their possessions in untidy clumps. They balanced their rifles across the top of their clothing, along with their boots. At least with his clothes off, the heat was tolerable.

  “That way, I think.” Leland pointed toward a craggy line where purple sky met black earth. “You all fine with that?”

  They were.

  Nathan noticed that the direction Leland pointed in seemed to be in line with the tunnel exit. “Any reason you chose that way, Leland?”

  The gang leader thought about it. “No.”

  “No?”

  “The man said no, Jesus Christ,” Eli said.

  “Because,” Nathan stated in a voice loud enough to drown out Eli’s. “That direction seems to be in line with the tunnel here. Or what was the tunnel. And, if we’re still on the train, and we’re making a straight line, it would go to the door of the next rail car.”

  Leland’s shadowed face crunched up at that.

  “Interesting find there, Nate,” Mackenzie said. “I was thinking about that way myself before Leland even mentioned it.”

  “So did I,” Jimmy said.

  “I was thinking it,” Gilbert admitted.

  Shorty Charlie Williams held his peace, as did Eli.

  “I was feeling a tug,” Nathan finally revealed, “for that direction myself.”

  “That way it is, then,” Leland said and started walking.

  The others followed in a loose clump, as disheveled as the clothes they carried.

  Shorty Charlie Williams, as so often as before, was the last to follow. He stood for a few seconds, taking in that vast royal hue of the sky with all its trappings. He turned one way, then the other, holding his gear before him like a tub of freshly laundered clothing.

  “Pretty,” he murmured, struck by the beauty of it all.

  Then he, too, got to walking.

  *

  Under purple skies where cloudy streamers stretched to the point of fraying, the seven men marched. The black sand became tolerable underfoot, and Nathan wondered how the ground could maintain such a heat without a sun. That little mystery picked at his mind every now and again, distracting him from the growing ache of his arms, and the disturbing events ever since they’d boarded the Majestic. Memories of the passengers scrabbling over the seats and ceiling tormented him. The knife-wielding arms. The nightmarish faces belonging to the whalers. Even poor old Archie, made part of the great serpent, bothered Nathan more than he cared to admit. Whenever those pictures threatened to overwhelm him, he squinted and dug his feet a little deeper into that hot sand—just to get his mind back on track.

  “Where’s the sun?” Gilbert asked. “Where’s the goddamn sun? How long we been walking?”

  “About an hour,” Mackenzie answered.

  “An hour.”

  “About that.”

  “And the sun ain’t rose or set yet,” Eli said. “Goddamn if that ain’t queer.”

  “No more queer than being in the belly of an honest-to-God sea serpent,” Jimmy Norquay rumbled.

  “And all them passenger folk,” Gilbert added.

  “And all them passenger folk,” Jimmy agreed. “Compared to that, all this is pretty damn peaceful.”

  Their feet shuffled through the hot sand, the grit caked to their soles sloughing off as it dried.

  “In the belly of a sea serpent,” Leland Baxter said with a hint of wonder.

  “Wasn’t that something?” Jimmy said.

  “I’m thinking about Archie,” Mackenzie said. “How he came to be like that.”

  “Didn’t seem to bother him.”

  “It did at first, when he saw that the serpent had… absorbed him.”

  “That was disturbing,” Leland said. “As if he was… awakening. From a dream. But once he was aware, he eventually settled down. Damn if I’ll be thinking about that in my sleep.”

  “I’ll be thinking about them whaler things,” Gilbert said. “Those bloodsabitches made me shiver, I ain’t too proud to say.”

  They gave Nathan a shiver as well, especially those weird vertical mouths.

  “They didn’t speak English,” Nathan remarked.

  “They were monsters,” Gilbert said. “Monsters don’t speak English.”

  That quieted the bunch.

  They continued shuffling along, glancing around, studying the shadows for signs of pursuit and seeing none.

  “This shit reminds me of a desert,” Eli said. “A goddamn desert. Ain’t there a desert out your way, there, chief?”

  Leland took his time answering. “No desert. Some parts like a desert, I suppose. In and around Fraser Canyon. And along the Thompson River. But those places aren’t like this. This is fine sand. Dust almost. And not a rock to be felt underfoot. I haven’t stepped on a rock or pebble or jabbed my toes since we started walking.”

  Nathan stomped a few steps, spraying sand before him. Mackenzie, who walked alongside, frowned a question. Nathan shook his head. “You’re right about the sand,” he said, not needing to raise his voice. “This place is flatter than the whole of Saskatchewan. Not a lick of grass, even. Or a prairie dog hole. Just sand.”

  “Just keep your eyes open,” Leland warned, his frame a silhouette under the deep purple overhead. “After the things we’ve seen, a healthy dose of caution would not go astray.”

  “The hell that mean?” Eli asked.

  “I mean just what I said, Eli. Be on guard. We’re in another place we have no right to be, far and away from the Rockies, walking upon sand that’s close to burning our feet. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s predators about.”

  “Like what? Coyotes?”

  “Rattlesnakes?” Gilbert asked.

  “I don’t kno
w,” Leland replied. “Possible, however. Or worse.”

  “Or worse,” Nathan said under his breath, surveying the horizon.

  “Just be ready to drop your gear and grab for whatever’s handy,” Jimmy Norquay told them. “Winchesters or pistols.”

  “We got bigger problems than what might be worse than coyotes,” Nathan said. “And that’s water. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m getting thirsty.”

  “Me too,” Mackenzie said.

  “I’m already thirsty,” Gilbert said.

  “I could gargle my own piss right about now,” Eli said. “If I could squeeze out a drop.”

  “You win, Eli,” Leland said in a tired voice.

  “I always fuckin’ win.”

  The rolling seam of sky and land stayed right where it was an hour before, informing the men that the desert of black sand was a very big place indeed. Nothing stirred around the seven men and, in time, Leland stopped, halting the procession.

  “What is it?” Eli asked.

  “Shush now.”

  So Eli shushed, which impressed the hell out of Nathan. The sky was the same shade of purple, not getting any darker or lighter as the evening (or morning) wore on. He stopped and gazed across the unnatural sprawl of the desert, hearing nothing but the breathing of the men and the clatter of their gear. Nothing darted across his field of vision. No wind blew.

  Then it hit him—the enormity of the silence surrounding them.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, suddenly very conscious of the lack of noise.

  “You hear anything?” Mackenzie asked.

  Nathan didn’t answer right away. “Nope,” he finally said after trying to squeeze a note out of the air.

  The others listened, straining to keep quiet, to better gauge the desert silence.

  “Holy shit,” Eli finally let out, unable to contain himself any longer.

  “Figured you’d be the first,” Nathan whispered.

  “Go fuck yourself, Nathan Rhodes.”

  “I said shush,” Leland ordered in an urgent whisper.

  So they did once again. Nathan’s ears buzzed, creating their own sound in the absence of any other. He strained to hear, a distant caw, a chirp of an insect, or even just a breeze, but got nothing. Mackenzie’s expression was one of thoughtful attentiveness, and he shook his head when Nathan questioned him with a look. And after a few long seconds, Nathan’s imagination began to spark and burn, envisioning things like the whalers hanging back in the deeper parts of the dark, studying the seven strangers with interest, all the while readying spears. Or flexing misshapen claws.

  “This ain’t right, Leland,” Eli murmured. “This is goddamn eerie.”

  Leland didn’t answer, his shadowy profile set and alert.

  “When might the sun come up?” Nathan asked Mackenzie.

  “No idea, Nate.”

  The hush in between that exchange seemed all the deeper now.

  “None?” Nathan pressed.

  Mackenzie leaned in close. “We’ve been walking for more than an hour. The sun should’ve cracked the horizon but it hasn’t. The moon should’ve come up but it hasn’t. We’re just walking along in this twilight.”

  The others didn’t speak, but Nathan knew they were listening. “So what’s that all mean?”

  “I don’t know, Nate. Don’t know. It’s beyond me. Maybe Jimmy might know.”

  “I do not,” Jimmy said quietly.

  “God Almighty, Jimmy,” Mackenzie said in controlled dismay. “Rest of you hear that?”

  “Everyone heard that, dingle wood,” Eli muttered.

  The men quieted again, gazing around in growing unease. The stringy clouds, or what they assumed were clouds, didn’t cross the sky or diminish, and that was damn peculiar.

  Then the sound of someone taking a piss got Nathan’s attention.

  Shorty Charlie Williams, no longer able to contain himself, stood back from the group and cut loose. No one admonished him for taking a leak, although Nathan thought the sound was as loud as a flooded river. Eli kept his smartass remarks to himself, however, and for that, damn near everyone was thankful.

  Shorty’s stream dribbled to a stop. There was a sigh, and the stream resumed, sputtered, then stopped. Only to start up again.

  “God Almighty, Shorty,” Leland whispered from on ahead.

  The voiding tapered off. “Can’t help it,” the big man whispered back. “Held it as long as I could.”

  “Anyone else need to relieve themselves?” Leland asked, and lowered his load to the sand. “Do it now.”

  No one did, however, but they did put their gear down, and that little bit of relief did them all good. In the minutes that followed, the men decided to sit. In ones and twos they spread out their damp dusters and planted their bare asses. Leland remained standing, turning one way and then the other as he studied the skyline.

  Roughly ten minutes later, the men stood again.

  They picked up their belongings and rearranged their weapons. Leland trekked off and Jimmy was only a step behind him. The others carried on as before, a little refreshed from the short rest, although the sand and air remained only just tolerable.

  Purple sky, an unending, never changing portrait missing its centerpiece.

  Two hours later and nothing had changed overhead. The silence was just as awesome. Sweat coated them all when they halted for another rest, and that time Leland plunked himself down as well. He drew up his legs and stared at the way they’d yet to travel, studying the mysterious landscape for clues as to where the end might be. Nathan didn’t see one. He’d once feared the whalers might’ve followed them, but that notion had perished entirely. Now he wished they’d find a marker of some sort, anything that might reveal where they were in the world.

  “Nothing,” Mackenzie said in a low voice. Nathan didn’t think he had to whisper anymore, but the lack of noise imposed its will upon the men, compelling them to speak in hushed tones.

  “Not a thing,” Nathan agreed.

  “What do you think of it all?”

  “I think we’d better find some water soon. I’m parched.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Just ahead, a sitting Gilbert bent over and pulled his foot up to study the sole. He brushed off the bottom and picked at his feet.

  “Never been in a desert before,” Nathan admitted. “Only prairie. So all this is… new to me.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s been about a place like this before,” Mackenzie said.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Be different if the sky did whatever it was going to do. That being either light up or get dark.”

  “Right now, I’m fine with all this.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Nathan stared at the darkness just below the skyline. “Because, if there is something out there, maybe it can’t see us. Because there’s no light. Sunlight or moonlight or whatever, I mean.”

  Mackenzie didn’t say anything to that.

  Leland rose then, signaling the end of the rest period, and that was the end of the conversation.

  28

  If Nathan had been parched before, he was truly in want of a drink when Leland and Jimmy, walking side-by-side, both staggered and dropped to their knees.

  Leland keeled over onto his right while Jimmy flopped forwards, landing flat on his chest like a discarded saddlebag. The collapse of both men froze the others in a fluttering state of paralysis.

  Broken only when Gilbert screamed. “Holy fuckin’ shit Leland and Jimmy’s been SHOT!”

  They all dove for cover.

  Seeing how there was no cover to dive for, however, all Gilbert really did was splash down face first into the sand. He did so with great conviction, however, as it convinced Eli to kiss the dirt as well, who’d been looking away when Leland and Jimmy fell.

  That prompted a quick, better-safe-than-dead flurry of activity among the remaining men. The loudest still came from Gilbert, who Nathan knew, just knew, was ready and
waiting to unload his Winchester at the first thing daring to cross his sights.

  Nathan lay upon his naked chest, heaving his gear before himself and establishing a wall of cover. Mackenzie did the same, and his rifle sprouted over the top, aimed and ready to spit lead if needed. Shorty Charlie Williams had dropped to one knee behind them all, hunched over but considering the scene before him.

  “Get your ass down, Shorty,” Mackenzie urged. “Before someone pops a shell between your eyes and blows out the back of your head.”

  “I will not,” Shorty replied tersely, taking stock of the situation.

  “Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! The boys have been shot! Oh Jesus!” Gilbert continued to wail, loud enough to shake the heavens.

  “Shut the hell up for Christ’s sake,” Eli barked right back. He lay on his belly with his head lifted above his own mound of gear. His self-proclaimed sweet ass gleamed with perspiration in the twilight.

  “But the boys’ve been shot, Eli!”

  “I said shut up!”

  So Gilbert shut up, frantically worming around behind his winter duds and armaments, his head spastically rattling as if he’d taken two hard hooves to the face. Nathan checked on Mackenzie, who was peering off to the right, rifle raised and ready.

  “I didn’t hear a shot,” Nathan whispered.

  “Neither did I,” Mackenzie whispered back.

  “I sure as hell didn’t hear no shot,” Eli declared.

  “You hear a shot, Gilbert?” Nathan asked.

  That was met with resounding and sobering silence. “Well…”

  “There was no shot,” Shorty Williams grumbled. “Not even a hiss of wind being split.”

  “So what are you saying?” Eli asked.

  “It’s obvious what he’s saying,” Mackenzie rasped in dehydrated annoyance. “No one’s been shot. And your little buddy over there missed his calling with a Kansas City chorus line. He’s got quite the set of pipes.”

  “You be careful, now,” Eli fired back. “I ain’t decided you being on my Christmas list just yet.”