by M. D. Massey
“They can still reach the train even if we move a few feet. The rear car is piled high with infected. That pile will fall if we move the train. We have to do it now!”
She looked at him, then at Victoria, who was vigorously nodding.
“OK, just give me a second, and I'll push us a few feet.”
He looked out the window as the train started to move and could see the panic in the faces of those running toward him, so he moved out onto the walkway of the engine and starting waving them in. He noticed Hayes was already out on the platform, toward the back, watching the action. Still without a gun.
Liam had no intention of doing nothing. He started carefully aiming at the zombies down below, each hit making a little more room for those who were so close to sanctuary. He ran through his nine rounds and was left with an empty gun in his hands. He hoped he helped. There seemed to be large gaps in the crowd of dead closest to the side of the train. Enough space for the runners to make it through.
Thank you, Jones. I won't forget you. Maybe I'll write a book about you.
Soon the panting survivors arrived and scrambled up to whatever car they happened to reach first. Several children were being dragged on the ground by older children, probably their siblings. He tried not to dwell on what had happened to their parents. There were many fewer survivors than when he first saw them on the far rim of the mine. They had suffered horrible casualties.
Once they were safely on board, the train began to roll faster. The survivors at the bottom of the mine were left to their own version of Dante's Inferno. But then, so were hundreds of thousands of others behind them, back in the city. Each a potential vector for the deadly plague.
And there's one less hero in this crappy world.
17
Valkyrie
Liam only had a few minutes to think about what just happened while he rode on the outer railing of the engine. They had saved a lot of people—maybe forty or fifty by his estimate. But he had lost his new friend, and he was unsure of the status of Grandma, or how many had died defending the rear car. They had to put some room between themselves and the frenzy of zombies behind them, but—
He went back inside.
“I need to check on my Grandma. She's on the last car.”
“Not to worry. We have one more stop ahead. There's a road and a little park a mile ahead where I'm meeting my family. You can run back when I stop for them.”
“Won't that give the zombies a chance to catch us again?” Victoria asked. “They seem to be able to follow us pretty well.”
“I'm not just going to drive the train right by my family, am I? We're stopping for as long as it takes to pick them up.”
He and Victoria moved out onto the platform around the engine. He gave her a devilish smile. “You know, you did pretty good coming over the train. We could run back on top of all the cars while we're still moving.”
“Are you nuts? One fall and you'd be dead. The zombies would catch you before you could climb back on. Assuming you don't get yourself cut in half by the wheels.”
“Well, it works in the movies, but I guess you're right. We'll wait until the train stops and then run back on the ground.”
“'Bout time you listened to me,” Victoria said cheerfully.
They had a few moments to wait while the train ground its way through the beginnings of the wooded park. A high cliff rose above the right side of the tracks, so they watched out over the river on the left side.
Things happened so fast today; he tried to process it. Speaking loudly over the dragging created by the disabled engine, he asked: “Do you think Jones made it?” He didn't know what answer he wanted to hear. That he was still alive but surrounded by endless zombies or that he died quickly and heroically.
“I don't know. But I worry we're all gonna die out here. Maybe not on this train, but out in this new horrible world. We joke about calling them zombies, but we ignore the truth. They are Death. I know I shouldn't say it. I don't want to say it. But it's how I feel after everything we've seen. Even my prayers feel hopeless.”
She took a deep breath. “A few days ago, before the plague, before we met, I almost wanted to die. Now I've found I want to live, but we may all die anyway. Funny, huh?”
He didn't know how to answer because his head was foggy. The exhaustion caught up with him in the lull.
The pitch of the motor changed. The engineer had begun to throttle back.
With great effort he focused on what needed to be done in the moment. “Well, I think we're going to make it. And I'll tell you something else; Grandma is going to make it, too. You and I will make sure of that!”
“Amen!”
He turned to her and got serious again. “I want you to stay here because I'm coming right back as soon as I know Grandma is still OK. You and I have to stay up here, so we know what's going on.”
“Liam,” she said with a bit of rejection.
“I promise I’ll be right back. Make sure no one moves the train before I return.” Liam secretly nodded to Hayes, still standing toward the back of the railing.
“I guess that makes sense, but I bet I’m faster than you,” she said. A moment later she looked at her dirty dress shoes. “But not in these.”
“I’ll be fast enough, but I want to race you someday,” he said, knowing it was a bit awkward to suggest. That did, however, end the conversation.
He didn't mention part of his request was so he wouldn't have to worry about her and Grandma in the dangerous rear car. He wanted Victoria to stay in the engine where she'd at least have some protection. In a perfect world, he'd get Grandma up into the engine as well, but without her wheelchair or walker to move her, he didn't want to risk having her on the ground if the train started moving again.
Liam prepared himself to jump. When the train had nearly stopped, he was off and running.
“I'll be right back!”
Victoria, watching behind him, shouted, “Give her my best!”
* * *
2
He approached the rear car to the sound of guns. A few shooters were still alive on the flatcar, and they shot up the remaining zombies as best they could. Many of the other survivors climbed off that last car, making for the safety of the high gondola cars, or the tops of boxcars.
“Grandma,” he shouted when he spotted her, still under the truck axle.
“Hi, Liam,” she replied, pointing up at the sky. “What a beautiful morning.”
“Yeah, sure. Glad you're in such good spirits. I was worried sick!”
“You left me in good hands. Though we lost a lot of good people.”
He climbed up, then shimmied under the trailer so he could be next to her. He gave her a hug. Despite saying she was on a pleasant morning train excursion, her hands trembled just like his had done after he was almost shot by that fake policeman. It scared him to see her in such a state. He grabbed some water and small grain bars from his backpack and shared them with her. He also reloaded his gun and dumped a ton of the small shells into his pockets, so he'd have some with him.
They watched as the last of the injured zombies got cleared from their rail car by the few remaining gun handlers. Everyone that hadn't moved to other cars stood or sat in a small area near the front of the flatcar. The back half was now tainted with lots of blood, though the bodies themselves had been pushed off.
“They're picking someone up, and then the train will be moving again.”
He looked over his shoulder to see if they were followed. The front of the zombie wave from their engagement at the quarry was slowly coming around the corner. They were still several minutes behind but closing the distance with the inevitability of a sunrise.
Liam lifted the radio from his backpack, knowing it didn’t work the last time.
“This is Liam. We have to move the train. The horde will be here in minutes. Over.”
There was no reply.
Is this thing on?
He tried a few more times and still
got no response. The train hadn't moved, either. He thought angrily of every movie he'd ever seen where the radio goes out at the most inopportune time. He couldn't fathom how his radio would similarly fail at his most desperate hour.
“Grandma, will you be OK back here? I have to run up front and tell them what's coming.”
“I'm not going anywhere. I'm a little sore from that big man throwing me. Did he save those people, dear?”
“He saved 'em, yep.” He avoided his eventual fate.
“Oh, that's wonderful,” she replied, appearing satisfied.
“I'll be back for you!” He grabbed his backpack this time, slid out from under the trailer, then off the flat deck. She appeared tiny under the huge trailer. He gave her one last wave and dashed away.
The zombie pursuit slowly approached.
At least they can't run.
He wondered how far he'd run today because he was doing it again. Briefly, he tried to guess how long the 20-car train was, so he could figure out the distance, but that only lasted a few paces because he spotted his friend.
She stood on the edge of the engine and his first impression was that she was a mess. Bruised face. Hair as wild as a cave girl. Black evening dress torn in several places. Legs and arms coal-covered and sweat-soaked from exertion. But she was also striking in her poise and strength, though that illusion was ruined when she spoke.
“Get your buns up here!” she cried out.
He ran the rest of the way, and she gave him a warm hug as he climbed aboard.
“I thought you'd been taken,” she said with emotion.
“I've only been gone a couple of minutes.”
“Seemed like you were gone for a half hour. I'm sorry, I have a horrible sense of time.”
“Let's get inside. The train has to move, now.” Together they entered the engine cab, but the driver wasn't there.
They found her unloading an SUV on the other side of the train along with several kids, a man who must have been her husband, and an older woman. They carried flats of bottled water, pillows and things for the kids, and several guns. They piled everything on the end of the platform where he stood to watch. He and Victoria helped put the gear inside the engine where it would be protected.
“We have to hurry! There are zombies near the back of the train again,” he called down, unsure who might be listening.
He didn't hear the guns yet, which would be the telltale sign trouble had arrived.
To his relief, the man climbed onto the engine and ran past him into the compartment. To no one in particular, the guy yelled out, “I snapped the brake lines on the dead engine. We can open her up now.” His accent was similar to the woman engineer, if not a little stronger.
Once inside the compartment, the man went to work spinning up the engine. Liam assumed he must be the engineer husband of the woman who had been driving. The horn rang out multiple times, each one a long three-second blast. No mistaking it was time to leave, though he only passed a couple of people loitering off the train itself.
The kids came up next. Two young boys, about nine or ten years old, both dressed in jeans and sweatshirts—like they were trying to wear some protection from the biters. Liam thought it might backfire given the heat of the days of June, but he commended them for thinking ahead.
Last up was the woman engineer and her older friend. Once aboard, she ran into the compartment and shouted, “Aboard!”
Shooting started in the rear of the train as it lurched forward.
The man was, indeed, the actual engineer of this train. The engine hummed at fever pitch as he tried to get them up to a fast cruising speed. After many hours of running along at a near-to-walking pace, it seemed like they were on a bullet train. They still pushed the dead engine, but it was no longer sparking and thundering. They were free of that problem, and the powerful engine hit its stride quickly.
“This is amazing!” he shouted to Victoria. He pulled her out to the walkway where his wild hair started blowing around. The breeze caught her hair, too, and she stood like a puppy dog in the car window as they cruised along. They shared a smile and he once again noted how bruised and banged up her face was, even under such wonderful circumstances.
“We’re going to make it,” he mouthed to her.
He had just enough time to celebrate feeling kinship with Victoria when the train came around a bend and screeched in deceleration.
She lost her balance and bumped into him. He was happy to be on the receiving end of that impact, but it didn't soften what he saw ahead.
They were so close to freedom now. The bridge over the Meramec River, and to the suburbs, was a quarter-mile in front of them.
But there was one more roadblock.
* * *
3
The engineer eased off the brakes and let the engine continue the last quarter of a mile toward the end of the line. Some kind of factory or building was on their right—it had four large smokestacks and a huge pile of coal next to it. They went under another conveyor belt that seemed to feed coal from a depot near the river. The train finally went under a large metal pipe of some kind and then skidded to a stop about fifty feet from a bridge.
Several emergency services vehicles—including a green fire engine—were parked on the other side. A number of police cars and highway department trucks also flanked the far edge of the bridge. All of them had their blue and red lights flashing, giving the whole thing a nervous energy. But the real showstopper—a large construction crane—dangled a massive wrecking ball over the middle of the tracks.
The superhero part of his brain tried to run the numbers on whether the train could plow through all that stuff and survive, but it came up with bad news. The engineer seemed to find the same answer as well because he applied more brake, rather than gas.
Several men stood in the middle of the bridge, near the wrecking ball, guns in hand. The message was clear: this was the end of the line.
The engineer spoke up. “These guys again! The City of Arnold is on the other side of that river. They closed all the road bridges into their jurisdiction, including Interstate 55, which is where we tried to cross two days ago. That's when I called Tatia and told her to try to reach my train and bring it south, so I could meet her. I was hopeful they hadn't blocked this route, though I should have known better.”
A few handfuls of people huddled in the bushes and trees on the approach to the bridge. Other survivors emerged from near the big pile of coal. No one came out to greet the train. He figured they were watching this new development at the blockade. If those people weren't being allowed to cross, what hope did the passengers on the train have?
The engineer paced around a bit, then spoke to his wife. “Is there any way we can back up the train and cross downtown? Is it still open?”
She shook her head no.
“We came from downtown,” Liam interjected. “The military bombed it to a pulp.”
The engineer continued. “There are some routes through the city we might be able to use, but I bet they all end just like this one. No one wants to let any of us city folk come into their turf.”
Minutes went by as the engineers deliberated other routes through St. Louis. They found an ancient railroad map tucked under a seat, but none of the routes offered a path to safety. Nothing was as sure as the safety one river away from them.
He looked at Victoria, sensing he needed to do something to help. “While you guys think about other routes, Victoria and I will go talk to the people guarding the bridge. We'll see if they're letting anyone across. Maybe they just don't want the train to go through, but the people are fine?”
It was a lame excuse, but he wasn't running on much sleep. He very much wanted to talk to the authorities on the bridge, so he could figure out what he should do next to protect Grandma and Victoria. He thought of finding a boat or swimming across. Maybe he could find something floaty to put Grandma on. Maybe the little river was shallow enough to wade across at some point. There had to be a
solution.
Hayes, who had been in the background during most of the recent action and discussions, jumped in. “As a CDC employee, maybe they'll talk to me.” Without waiting for approval, he stepped out of the cab and started down.
Liam and Victoria ran out to follow him.
The engineers and their family were content to wait in the safety of the engine. He suspected they were delaying a decision on backing out until they saw what would happen next.
A couple of the St. Louis police officers dismounted from the train and wanted to meet on the bridge as well, but Hayes was very persuasive, arguing he was their most senior government official and could get them across. Too many in the group approaching the bridge would constitute a threat to those on the far side of the river. Better to take it slow ...
Liam said nothing to that. It could very well be true.
The trio walked out onto the bridge, careful to not put a foot through the open railroad ties.
“We meet again,” Hayes said. “I guess you two never leave each other's sides, huh?”
“So what. What's it to you?” Victoria snapped, as she raised her hands high in the face of the police ahead.
“No need to get defensive. Just making small talk.” His bemused tone suggested he knew he pushed her buttons.
“That's far enough!” an officer in a black uniform shouted from ahead. “By order of the Mayor of Arnold, Missouri, you are ordered to turn around and return to the safety of your homes.”
“Safety of our homes?” Victoria muttered.
Liam softly spoke to Hayes. “I'm from Imperial. It's just south of Arnold. They might let a local through.”
“It's OK, kid. I got this.”
“I'm Doctor Hayes, and I work for the CDC. I'm under the direct command of the President of the United States. He orders you to allow me to proceed on foot to complete my duties relating to this pandemic!”
The officers laughed.