The Majestic 311

by Keith C. Blackmore

  Just then, a booming crash came from the door at the far end of the car, the same one Nathan and Eli had entered. A pair of glowing swords punched through the metal—one cut down along the seam, the other cut up. Smoke wafted from those blades as a harsh sawing threatened to make Nathan’s ears bleed. When the weapons reached the ends, they withdrew.

  And the door flew inwards.

  Five figures charged into the car, and Nathan knew they were the same riders pursuing them. The five didn’t give any commands, they simply raised their weapons and fired.

  Green light beams spat through the chamber—and stopped upon a shimmering wall of orange that only appeared when the beams struck it. The five riders continued to shoot. Two of their number drew secondary hand cannons and fired those as well, and a veritable light show that reminded Nathan of the Northern Lights pummeled the orange wall, absorbing the shots upon contact. A tracery of light as fine as spider silk extended back from that mystical protective barrier, and ended…

  Nathan’s eyes widened.

  The man in black had retreated to one side.

  The man in the fine robes had lifted a hand, where that intricate weave of light ended in his outstretched palm. And, as Nathan watched, it leaned forward, revealing the features of an older man with very orange eyes.

  It lifted its other hand and spoke, syllables given sound upon a voice choked with gravel.

  Nathan didn’t understand one word, but the five riders stopped firing their weapons. In fact, they dropped their guns just before great glowing bands of orange seized them all. The riders screamed, one at first, then the others joined in, grunting, high-pitched squeals that bespoke terrible pain. There was a shimmering, a crackling of energy, and the bikers were lifted from the floor like unwilling fence posts.

  The magician—no, the sorcerer, as Nathan now thought of him—watched the five levitating attackers. Those glowing orange eyes peered out from underneath a lowered brow, only partially revealing an expression of loathing. The riders continued to squeal, almost unbearably so, and perhaps those sounds annoyed the sorcerer.

  Whose outstretched hands clenched into fists.

  The five riders crumpled inwards upon themselves in a frightening crackle of bones and a splatter of liquids. Nathan couldn’t see the exact damage done, but he certainly heard.

  The orange bands suddenly disappeared, and five dead rags of meat splashed to the floor.

  The silence after those messy deaths was an ominous thing. Nathan could only gawk at the very much dead creatures at the other end of the train car. A force grabbed Nathan then, and his head whipped back to the glowing eyes of the Sorcerer.

  Just before a mighty invisible force lifted Nathan and slammed him against the belly of a statue.

  52

  Nathan’s arms and legs were splayed across the statue’s belly, his spine bent uncomfortably. He looked down his nose and sighted Eli across the way, similarly spread over another statue. Eli grimaced and attempted to worm himself free, but he was held fast. The once benign smile upon the statue’s face appeared sinister as it stretched Eli’s struggling form across its bloated belly.

  “The hell is this?” Eli grunted, all teeth and vinegar, and dearly wanting to put an end to the man in black and the seated Sorcerer.

  “Let me handle this,” Nathan grated, glad that he could at least speak.

  “The hell you gonna do?”

  “Talk to him.”

  “You sayin’ I can’t talk to people?”

  Nathan rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Eli. For once. We both know you’re shit when it comes to talking to people.”

  Fuming, Eli shut up, but he was none too pleased about it. Eli wasn’t the best at speaking when speaking was important, and now that the riders were dead and gone, it was best to parley with the Sorcerer…or at least try. Nathan still had one of his Colts, as well as a knife. And to his knowledge, Eli still had both his Colts and a boot knife.

  Not that either one of them could use the weapons in their current state.

  His attention turned to the glowing eyes of the Sorcerer.

  “Hey there. Yeah. Thanks for… killing those bastards.” Nathan dipped his chin towards the dead biker creatures. “Appreciated. They got… they killed… two of my friends. We’re not enemies here. We had our guns out because, well, we didn’t know your intentions. But if you killed those things… I think we’re on the same side. I think.”

  The Sorcerer didn’t move, didn’t flinch, content to study the trapped train robbers.

  “How’d you do that anyway?” Nathan asked.

  “Christ Almighty,” Eli growled. “Why don’t you ask him where the shitter is?”

  “Will you shut up and let me talk?”

  “Then talk, goddammit. Don’t be making fucking small talk about his magic tricks. Talk about something important instead of the goddamn weather. You wanted to parley, so parley, ass kisser.”

  That stung Nathan, and he glared at the trapped gun runner. After a moment of resetting himself, he turned his attention back to the Sorcerer, who hadn’t killed them yet. That was a good sign, he realized, despite the stern expression upon the man’s face.

  Or at least, Nathan assumed it was a man.

  The man in black slipped between them, hands by his side.

  “We…” Nathan started and thought about what he could say, what he could offer these creatures, locked away in what felt like a church of some kind, except… what manner of thing could kill others by crushing them with bands of orange light? He had to admit, it had been a sight to behold, and then he scolded himself for his drifting thoughts.

  “We’re trying to get off this train,” he started again, figuring the best approach was with the truth. “We… wanted to rob her.”

  “Holy shit,” Eli moaned from the other side.

  “What now?” Nathan fired back, pissed at being interrupted.

  “Why don’t you tell him we shot and killed innocent people as well? Except they were all monsters when we killed them?”

  “You gonna let me talk or not? ‘Cause right now, you’re a needle in my pee-hole. You understand that?”

  “Ain’t no needle small enough to prick your pee-hole, Rhodes.”

  “Fuck you, Gallant.”

  The Sorcerer’s eyes glowed, and he muttered an alien syllable, which tightened the invisible shackles around both men, pulling their limbs tighter from their bodies, plying their backs even more over the statues’ bellies, to the point of breaking.

  The grunts from the two men filled the chamber.

  “Wait,” Nathan groaned, his eyes becoming slits from the pressure. “Wait. We… we only want to get off the train. We made a mistake. This wasn’t the train we wanted to rob. We were in the Rockies. Waiting for another train. This one came through the tunnel. This one. We boarded her, and life’s been a fucked-up misery ever since. There were seven of us. Now just us, and we only… Christ, my back is breaking here. We only want to get off! Figure we could… get to the caboose… and undo the couplings! Roll to a stop! That’s all! That’s all!”

  As his discomfort bled into pain, Nathan’s speech grew more desperate. Louder. Faster.

  “We didn’t kill anyone that didn’t pull on us first!”

  The invisible force increased upon his joints and sockets and spine, stretching him past his breaking point. His teeth ground to the point of cracking, and water misted his vision. Nathan knew he was seconds away from hearing—and experiencing—a very agonizing death.

  “We met him in a saloon. And he gave us a silver locket! With a woman’s face in it!”

  He almost shrieked the words, not knowing why he said them at all in the first place, but he did, anyway.

  And the pressure being exerted upon him remained in place for a long second.

  Then stopped.

  Not all at once. It took a few seconds, of which Nathan and Eli could only growl and sputter in pain, wondering if their limbs would be ripped free before their spines snappe
d in half. When it stopped, the statues’ invisible vices actually relaxed a bit, back to when they were merely uncomfortable.

  The man in black stood before Nathan.

  The appearance of the thing surprised him. The creature’s eyes studied him intently.

  “That’s right,” he panted. “We met you before. Not you, exactly, but someone like you. Same… outfit and everything. He gave us a locket. In my coat. Right side, inside breast pocket.”

  The man in black reached out and opened Nathan’s coat. He pawed around inside the winter duster, three fingers exploring until the pocket was discovered. The thing’s eyes narrowed, and Nathan didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing.

  The man in black extracted the silver locket, letting the chain dangle from its fingers. The silver gleamed in the firelight.

  “That’s it,” Nathan said in relief. “That’s it.”

  The man in black ignored him. He brought the jewelry piece to the Sorcerer, who actually studied it. The man in black opened the locket, showing the picture of the woman within. In moments, the Sorcerer’s expression faltered and became a reflective thing. He took the locket from the man in black and draped its length across his palm, where he traced the shape with a finger.

  All the while staring at that lovely face.

  Nathan wasn’t the brightest of folks. He’d be the first to admit it, but he possessed enough sense to understand that there was obviously a connection between the woman in the locket and the Sorcerer. He knew the Sorcerer was the man responsible for the disappearance of the 311. He didn’t know how, but seeing as the man could kill with bands of light and seize men with invisible shackles, making a train disappear didn’t seem that big of a magic feat. The question remained why, and that, Nathan supposed, was easy enough to figure out as well, once you got a fire going in the old thinking stack. A lot of men had died in the construction of the railway. A lot of lives of honest working folk, a good number of them from China or someplace else, looking for an honest existence and facing hardships and injustices no one deserved. How many countrymen were subjected to cruelty and ridicule and treated like shit, only to be sent to their deaths with no more regard than one disposing of a piece of paper just used to wipe one’s ass.

  Nathan’s thoughts whirled, but he figured he was on the right path of it. He only recognized the Chinamen in that dreamy replay he and the other gang members once watched aboard the train, but who knew what other nationalities might’ve been sacrificed in the making of the railway, in the construction of that damn tunnel.

  And if he had the knowledge, the power, to get revenge on the heartless bloodsabitches responsible for making the lives of so many a living hell—well, he’d sure as hell make them pay. Damn straight, he would.

  “You did this,” Nathan said to the Sorcerer. “With the train. You did all of this.”

  The man in black didn’t move. The Sorcerer’s shoulders sagged just a little, but then firmed up.

  “I did this,” the Sorcerer spoke, from a mouth and throat that sounded like it hadn’t tasted water in years.

  The words dissipated upon the air, replaced by the familiar, underlying locomotion of the train.

  Chump…chump…chump…chump…

  “I did not know…” the Sorcerer slowly explained, “that she would be… on board. The train. This train. When I… cursed it. To this. All of this.”

  His shoulders sagged again, and the orange light that was his eyes dimmed just a little.

  Nathan wasn’t a heartless man, and even Eli Gallant had to feel the sadness emanating from the Sorcerer.

  The pieces fell together then.

  “She was on the train when you cursed it,” Nathan said. “Just before all this happened. And you found out somehow. Maybe saw her in the window as the train passed by. Maybe… you got on the train, boarded it like we did, but to look for her. You found that locket. In an empty berth.”

  The Sorcerer didn’t respond.

  “Maybe you couldn’t find her. After… years of searching. So you sent someone else to search.” Nathan looked at the man in black. “Or maybe you were both searching at the same time, but the other one went off on its own. That one had the locket, to recognize her. If he found her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Or… perhaps he’d had the locket long enough that he’d recognize that face anywhere. So he passed it on to me… maybe hoping I’d meet up with you. To let you know he’d hadn’t found her yet.”

  Nothing from the Sorcerer.

  “How long,” Eli asked from across the way, surprising Nathan, “have you been looking for her?”

  The Sorcerer didn’t look up. For seconds the only sound was that of the train, but then came the whisper of, “Forever.”

  Nathan believed it.

  He didn’t ask who she was, exactly. The Sorcerer obviously loved her, and for his revenge on the railway, she had been the price to pay. Obviously, the Sorcerer hadn’t been aware of her traveling on the train, but that was life, Nathan mulled, knowing how damn cruel it could be.

  He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to ask more questions, to get greater details about the curse upon the train and the reason behind it, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. One look at the Sorcerer told him that.

  “Forever,” Nathan repeated, weighing the word, thinking he might know how much time forever was, but figuring he didn’t have a clue. Was forever a year on board the train? A hundred and twenty years or more? As it was for old Festus, whom Eli had put out of misery upon request. Or perhaps forever was an even longer period of time for poor Archie Willmoore, who’d eventually become one with the Great Serpent, exploring vast ocean depths, heedless of time entirely.

  Blessed Sacred Heart of Mary, Nathan thought, repeating the oath Mackenzie and Jimmy so often liked to say. Blessed Sacred Heart of Mary. And the Holy Ghost.

  His brain hurt from the weight of his thoughts.

  And then, without warning, the vices holding Nathan and Eli in place vanished. The men crumpled to the floor, grimacing, as the blood resumed flowing through their limbs and backs.

  “Forever,” the Sorcerer said, still holding the locket, but now watching the two men. “But… this train’s journey… will soon end.”

  His face hardened. “Go.”

  Eli looked to Nathan for clarification.

  “Go?” Nathan asked. “Go where?”

  “Anywhere you wish,” the Sorcerer said. “There is no escape. Only…”

  And with that, the man in black lifted an arm and pointed. Behind the Sorcerer.

  An oil lamp, so very much out of place in that supernatural sanctum, weakly flared to life. Beside it was another door.

  Only doors. Nathan realized, finishing the Sorcerer’s sentence. Only doors.

  He exchanged looks with Eli, who looked around his feet for his rifle.

  “Leave it,” Nathan told him, then to the Sorcerer. “Thank you.”

  The man in the long robes studied him for a short time, before returning his attention to the locket. And the face inside.

  The man in black made no move to stop Nathan or Eli as they walked around the seated Sorcerer. The figure still didn’t move when the two men hurried to the door.

  Eli reached it first, and with a glance at Nathan, drew one of his Colts.

  Nathan pulled out his remaining pistol.

  With one last look at the mysterious chamber of the Sorcerer, and learning perhaps something of the how’s and why’s of the Majestic 311’s mind-twisting fate, the two men opened the door.

  A second later, they went through.

  53

  The little platform they stood upon shifted underfoot, prompting the two men to grab hold of the nearby railing. Ahead, across an open gap and the exposed couplings, was another door. To their left was a ladder attached to the wall. And beyond that, little else except a whitening sky.

  “The hell he mean by that?” Eli yelled from the other side of the door, making himself heard over the wind and the moving trai
n.

  “By what?”

  “You heard him—that shit about this train’s journey will end. Will soon end.”

  That was unsettling. Nathan certainly didn’t have everything figured out, but the Sorcerer’s words were indeed ominous. The train’s journey would soon end. What did it mean? For not only Nathan and Eli, but for all those creatures and realities, and… dare he think it… the worlds they passed through to this point? Would all of that end with the train’s journey? Would Jimmy and the place with his supposed grandparents (and perhaps even parents) cease to exist? Even though Jimmy said the force pulling him, pulling them all, had ceased once he reached his grandparents’ farm, would all that be gone with the journey’s end?

  And what was the journey’s end anyway?

  Even with all those troubling thoughts, Nathan still felt that little tug pulling him towards the next door.

  The impulse to climb the ladder grabbed him. Nathan ignored answering Eli for the time being and started climbing the rungs. When he reached the top, he stuck his head above the roof of the train—no more than eye level.

  All words left him then.

  This train’s journey will soon end…

  The sun was bigger, perhaps twice the size of what it was the last time he’d gazed upon it. And the train, the train, was a straight line heading right for its center, so far off that Nathan couldn’t rightly place where the front of the locomotive was. The iron tapered off into a speck, and the sun’s increasing glare pained Nathan to see any further.

  Not that it mattered.

  “What?” Eli barked from below. “What is it?”

  Nathan climbed back down. “The train’s headed for the sun.”

  Eli scrunched up his face in a mixture of confused horror.

  “Straight into the center,” Nathan said. “We gotta get to the caboose. And right now.”

  There was no argument from the gun runner.

  They jumped across the coupling gap, onto the next platform. They entered the train car with guns ready, and saw only another passenger car. Nathan didn’t bother with searching the berths for monsters or money, he merely thundered down the aisle, an impending feeling of dread powering him forward. The sun was going to swallow the train whole, and everything on board. Of that, Nathan had no doubt.