The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  “Nothing else out there. Not for us, anyway.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “You do what you want,” Nathan said. “We’ll do the same.”

  “So you’re takin’ over for Leland now, Rhodes?” Eli asked, his eyes narrowed. “You seem to be doin’ a lot of talkin’ for these boys. Maybe they’ll want to stick with me.”

  A distinct silence fell over the interior then, one which Nathan was familiar with. He needed to be extra careful with his next few words, because he knew, just knew, Eli was thinking about taking over the gang.

  The men heard a loud click of a hammer then, and Eli didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of a rifle barrel not three inches from his profile. An unwavering Jimmy Norquay eyed the gun runner with disdain.

  “Got a question, Jimmy?” Eli asked, apparently unfazed that the buffalo hunter had a gun to his head.

  Gilbert didn’t have his rifle on him, but Mackenzie had his revolvers still hanging off his naked hips. Mackenzie glared at the other gun runner, making it clear that if Gilbert was stupid enough to try anything, Mackenzie would draw and fire.

  Despite the cool air filling the interior, Nathan felt the temperature rise.

  “Got a message,” Jimmy said after a solemn moment.

  “Yeah?” Eli asked. “What’s that then?”

  “I’ll let Nathan talk for me before I let the likes of you talk for me.”

  “That so, now?”

  “That’s so.”

  “Huh,” Eli stated, mulling over the situation. “You know about him, right? ‘Member that conversation we had about the lawman here? Huh? How he tried for a job with the North West police? And during the sit-down with the sheriff he got called on to back the sheriff up? Real life test, see if’n Nathan had the nerves, the calm, to settle things down without firing a shot. Remember that?”

  “I remember.”

  Nathan remembered as well.

  Going with Sheriff Parkinson just as Eli had said, to confront a couple of horse thieves spotted in town by a bystander. An unexpected shootout in a stable, and Sheriff Parkinson going down on one bloody knee. His shooter bleeding out on a mat of hay, done in by Parkinson’s bullet, fired at the same time. The sheriff screaming at Nathan not to let the other boy get away, so Nathan, carrying only a rifle, chased the boy out through the back, into the prairie town. He remembered the thrill of the chase, until the bastard he was chasing realized there was only one on his tail, and decided he’d had enough running. The boy, an eighteen-year-old brute with a baby face and a few hairs for a mustache, smiled in a dirty fashion when he realized he was being chased by a kid perhaps the same age as himself. And about fifty pounds lighter.

  “You don’t have the guts to shoot me,” the bigger boy had said, balling his fists up and walking forward. “I’m gonna put my boot up your ass.”

  “You’re…” Nathan tried to say ‘under arrest’, but the other boy didn’t give him a chance. The other boy started swinging. The two youngsters traded blows, and while the bigger boy was stronger, Nathan was faster, and he had more sting to his punches. Still, ruddy cheeks were bruised on both, as were eyes and noses. They swung for the fences for a good minute, before the fight went to the ground and they wrestled for a bit. After that brief tussle, they broke off and stood up, and Nathan thought he could win this thing, really win it.

  Until the bigger boy pulled out a boot knife and cut Nathan’s cheek.

  A lawman was supposed to uphold the law, his father once told him. To the best of his ability, and to protect the people. A lawman was supposed to keep calm during challenging, stressful times, especially when bad blood was boiling, and the need to spill some blood seemed unavoidable. A lawman had to stay in control at all times.

  Nathan had told his father he could do that.

  But when the bigger boy opened up his cheek with one flash of a knife, smiling when he did so, well, Nathan discovered he had something no lawman should ever have.

  And that was rage.

  A killer rage.

  “That one right there killed a boy no older than himself with his bare fists,” Eli said, nodding at Nathan. “Broke open the boy’s head like it was a melon. Only stopped when the fury left him and his arms felt like goddamn lead. In the rush of the moment, neither one of them noticed the crowd following them. About a dozen of us. Me included, though young Nate there didn’t recognize me. I remembered him, though. Won’t forget that sight. Him all ferocious and bloody, bent over the other one with his goddamn face smashed in. That the one you’re looking to let speak for you, Jimmy?”

  “Rather him than you, Eli,” Jimmy replied quietly.

  “That says a lot.”

  “It does, don’t it,” Jimmy agreed.

  “Hell with this,” Eli said after a few seconds. “You coming, Gilbert?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Though, Gilbert didn’t sound so happy about it.

  And Eli picked up on it. “You sound like you’d rather be stuck in here, with them.”

  “Strength in numbers, Eli,” Gilbert said with a touch of shame, knowing full well he might look like he was betraying his friend. “And, anyway, I think we were on the right path. Until all them crab fuckers jumped on us.”

  Eli studied him, then the rest, branding each as if warning them to be on guard later, when he made it back to the Rockies. “I’m leavin’.”

  “That’s a mistake, Eli,” Nathan said, exchanging looks with Jimmy and Mackenzie.

  “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “You’re right. Go on then, if you’re that stubborn.”

  “I am. Goddamn right, too. Let me outta here.”

  Nathan shook his head and located the whirlpool picture. Jimmy lowered the rifle, and surprisingly, Gilbert stood aside. Eli noticed and his jawline twitched at the betrayal.

  “Let me out of this shithouse,” he grumped and snatched up his rifle. He adjusted the bandolier across his chest and pushed his way to the door.

  When he looked ready, Nathan reached up and paused, fingers poised over the whirlpool.

  He touched the picture.

  And the door opened.

  The sun had indeed dropped from the sky, rendering the desert in shade. The sky was cloudless, however, and a wonderfully clear and startling deep hue of purple. The air remained warm and uncomfortably humid, the first breath of it clashing with the cooler stuff already in their chests.

  “Christ,” Eli muttered. “Like breathing in steam. Or worse.”

  Nathan and the others gazed out into the night. The green light extended a few feet outside, offering a glimpse of the desert. The crab hordes were gone, leaving tracks half-filled by some long-spent wind. Bits and pieces of clothing were scattered everywhere, as well as bits and pieces of gear the men dropped while fleeing their attackers. There was no sign of Leland or Shorty, however.

  “Looks like a herd of cattle ran through here,” Mackenzie said.

  “One that’ll take your damn head off,” Nathan added. “I don’t see Shorty or Leland.” Which was a good thing, he didn’t add, knowing he did not want to see their remains. A pang of sadness resurfaced in Nathan’s craw. He’d liked both men. Especially Leland, almost in a favorite uncle kind of way. They’d only known each other for a week and a bit, but still, Nathan was already thinking about asking to stay on with Leland’s gang a little longer if he needed an extra gun hand.

  “Any of them crabs around?” Jimmy asked.

  “Not a sign,” Nathan replied, grateful for the question. “Some clothes out there, though.”

  “Good.”

  It was good. No one needed to be walking around with their bare asses hanging out. Or their bird’s nests on display. Nathan studied the land, and before he could give the okay, Eli pushed by him and started searching for his gear.

  “I’ll give him one thing,” Mackenzie said under his breath. “The bastard don’t scare at all.”

  “You got that right,” Jimmy added.
>
  They watched for a bit, then Gilbert shoved his way through the portal, earning a few scowls. Gilbert caught up with his partner, and the two gun runners searched the sands, collecting what was theirs while discarding what wasn’t.

  “Hey,” Gilbert exclaimed softly. “My drawers are dried. Everything’s dried. Little hot, though. And dustier than your mother’s hooch, Eli, but everything’s warm and dry.”

  “Shut up, Gilbert,” Eli fired back as he dug out his own possessions. “You insult my mother’s memory again and I’ll put a bullet in your hairy ass without thinking about it.”

  “Awww, Eli. I was only joking.”

  “Joke about how goddamn small your pecker is then, but don’t you be sayin’ shit about my mother. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Burned by the scolding, Gilbert returned to picking his things out of the sand.

  “Well,” Nathan said in defeat. “Might as well go out and get our things. Just keep an eye on the hills. In case those things decide to show up again.”

  They stepped outside, and Eli stopped and studied them. “Grew some balls, didja?”

  “Go to hell, Eli,” Nathan replied and began searching for his own possessions.

  “Anything with a yellow shit stain on it is yours,” Eli said.

  “Said go to hell, or you and I are gonna take up where we left off, and if that comes to guns, Lord knows what it might attract.”

  “Thought you might say something like that,” Eli said with a hint of sly sauciness, but when Nathan didn’t take it any further, the gun runner returned to searching the broken surface of the sands.

  They collected what they could, identifying who owned what by the green light from the shelter. Nathan managed to pick up most of what was his. His father’s felt hat had flattened in the crab skirmish, but a fist rectified that problem. The others’ hats weren’t so fortunate, as many were trampled and pocked with ragged holes, as if punctured by the crabs’ legs. And everything was indeed dry, if not on the side of steamy, and dusty. They discovered the bloody tatters of Leland and Shorty’s dusters. Jimmy picked up Shorty’s undamaged shotgun and placed it on his load of gear. They pulled ammunition belts and bandoliers from the sand, still holding most of their shells. They each had a rifle for themselves now, as well as the Colts. Of the remaining dynamite, however, they could find only five sticks. The box of matches was still in the inside pocket of Jimmy’s winter duster, so that was good… but most had been snapped, leaving very short sticks indeed.

  With every passing second, Nathan grew a little more nervous, scanning the nearby shadows.

  “We gotta get going,” he finally said.

  “Which way?”

  Nathan settled on a direction. It wasn’t just any random choice. It was directly past the green-lit shelter that had saved their lives. Something tugged him that way.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  To his surprise, Eli didn’t argue, and both he and Gilbert followed the rest. The man might be dangerous, but Nathan was glad to see he wasn’t stupid.

  They marched, and as they passed the shelter, Nathan reached out and patted its alabaster side.

  Nathan wasn’t the only one to do that.

  Mackenzie did his own thankful pat upon the shelter’s rump, as did Jimmy Norquay. Gilbert slapped the side a little too loud, enough for him to sputter, “goddammit” at the resulting twang. Even Eli Gallant took a moment to nod at the thing, offering his own way of thanks for saving his miserable hide.

  They only marched so far, when Nathan slowed in his sandy tracks and squinted up ahead.

  “What’s wrong?” Mackenzie asked.

  “You don’t feel that?”

  Jimmy stopped beside Mackenzie, and both men waited. The others halted a few strides behind, wondering what the hold-up was.

  “Feel what?” Mackenzie asked.

  “I feel it,” Jimmy said somberly and turned around.

  “Yeah,” Nathan whispered, turning to look back at the shelter, its shell gone somber under the purple night sky.

  “I feel it, too,” Gilbert said, and one look at Eli confirmed it.

  That gentle tug they were feeling, like some unseen magnet, was pulling them back.

  To the white shelter.

  “We already been there,” Mackenzie said.

  But Nathan was already walking back. Jimmy was behind him, which turned the others around. Mackenzie’s head drooped in resignation, and he eventually trudged after them.

  They returned to the shelter and circled its substantial girth. Fallen sand piled against the base, but the exterior was unblemished, which seemed remarkable considering the pounding the structure had taken from the crabs.

  They stopped at the door. Which was closed.

  “You close that?” Jimmy asked.

  “Did no such thing,” Nathan said. “It was open when I left.”

  “Yeah, it was,” Gilbert agreed. “It was. I remember.”

  “So who closed the goddamn thing?” Eli demanded.

  No one had an answer.

  Until Mackenzie said, “Maybe it closed itself.”

  Such a thing wasn’t so hard to believe.

  “You know,” Gilbert said. “That whole door? Where it’s round and all? It kinda looks like a nipple.”

  “Everything looks like a nipple to you,” Jimmy muttered without turning his head.

  “Being on the go for a week and a bit will do that to a man,” Gilbert explained with a shrug and a little smile.

  Nathan dropped his gear onto the sand. He located that odd indentation and rubbed his fingertips over it. “I’m gonna open it.”

  “Then do it,” Eli softly urged. “Because something’s coming.”

  That turned them all around, and the gun runner pointed, though there really wasn’t any need to point.

  There, already descending from the purple sky, was a light. A green light, shining like a crashing comet. It dropped beneath that far-off horizon of mountain peaks and seemingly hung in the shadows like candlelight in a dark window.

  “It’s coming this way,” Mackenzie realized. “Nate, that damn thing is coming this way.”

  And it was.

  Just in the few seconds they took to watch it, the light had grown considerably. It was miles to those mountains, perhaps even hundreds of miles, but the light was buzzing towards them much faster than any train. Much faster than a bullet, even.

  The men fidgeted with unease.

  “The hell you waiting for, Rhodes?” Eli said in a low tone.

  Nathan faced the door. He located the groove and slipped his fingers inside that odd-looking bullseye. Once again, that pliable material of unknown origin chilled his fingertips.

  A whine of unseen gears and machinery started up, and ended with that circular hatch whirling open.

  Except the interior was no longer the bare, green-lit interior they were expecting.

  Directly before them was a dimly lit passenger car of the 311, gently rocking with the train’s movement, the rows of windows reflecting pale lamplight. Light fixtures swayed from the ceiling, directly over that familiar aisle running through the center of the car, dividing the seats. A scattering of passengers rode in some of the berths, though their faces were hidden in shadow and they showed no inclination of having seen the gang members. Even that smell of fading varnish, ghostly perfume, and spent tobacco, wafted past them.

  The sight of it all rendered the men speechless.

  Except for Eli Gallant.

  “Get in there!” the gun runner shouted, exasperated by the lack of movement. And the man was right.

  Nathan grabbed up his gear and rifle. He stepped through first, staggering into the aisle and righting himself with his armload.

  The shadowy passengers didn’t react.

  The others came through, piling in behind him, forcing him a few steps up the aisle. He stopped at the third berth, where he heaved his stuff into the nearest seat and brought up his rifle, aiming it at those still, dark f
igures. There were two lamps in the car, one lit at either end, in a corner.

  “Close that door, Eli,” Mackenzie yelled.

  The gun runner dumped everything he carried to do exactly that. He slammed the train car door shut on that weird speeding light.

  Eli straightened and placed his back to the wall. An oil lamp burned on the opposite side. He snatched up his rifle and aimed at the door.

  Nathan and the others did the same.

  *

  The Vog herdsvog parked his lander and slowly got out of the transport amidst spurts of troubling fumes and a clattering of rotors. Its eye stalks parted in a way suggesting it was bored, or weary from the long trip to this particular sector. The creature straightened, looked around without moving its head, and lifted its kor blaster. Out of habit, the Vog reached up and adjusted its black felt hat so that the lip hung just over its eye stalks, creating a shady scowl.

  The Vog sized up the capsule. One eye stalk swung to the right before slowly returning to line up with the left eye stalk. The proboscis beneath them drew up, closer to its eyes, creating the Vog equivalent of a scowl.

  The herder marched up to the closed capsule. Standing before it, it readied its weapon with that same weary attitude and inserted a finger into the activation slot. The circular door opened wide with a motorized buzz.

  To reveal an empty interior, illuminated by green light.

  32

  They waited, guns at the ready, poised for violence.

  Mackenzie shifted so that he was in the next berth, aiming at the unmoving figures seated farther back in the passenger car. Nathan was aware of the man’s movements, but he was more aware of that car door and the orange glow coming from its window. So they waited, for the green light, and whatever it might bring.

  And they waited.

  And waited.

  Eli had his head pressed up against the wall, eyeing the door, in position to blow the face off whatever might come through. His mouth was a tight button and his eyes narrowed to slits. Gilbert was only a seat back, taking cover in a berth while aiming his Winchester at the door. Jimmy had Shorty’s shotgun—now his shotgun—leveled and waiting for whatever might appear.