At least on a positive note, we aren’t covered in ash anymore. The wind took care of that, sweeping it away. Hopefully, it gets tossed around enough that it won’t be effective anymore. I look to the sky, seeing rain clouds off to the east. That’ll help too, I think, feeling hopeful.
On a positive note, my AA-12 would be perfect for that. I’d be able to blow holes straight through anything that got in my way. The slugs I’m using instead of the standard buckshot-filled shells would make short work of just about anything underneath my feet.
Running up to the last of the passenger cars, Kane, who is again in the lead, stops. He fully kneels from his crouch run, inching towards the edge of the car, weapon drawn and pointed down. Having the best weapon for up close and personal combat, I keep in stride with him.
“Wait!” Nicole says, trying not to yell too loud, her SCAR over her shoulder. She lays down and belly crawls towards the edge quickly peeks over it.
Kane and I wait, fingers hovering over our respective triggers, waiting for someone to try us. It’s been a long day for everyone and we would sure love to finish this thing before we ended up sipping Molsons with our neighbors to the north.
I wonder if Cheryl would care if I stopped by uninvited and covered in corpse-ash and blood.
Just thinking of my Aunt gives me chest pains as I think back to Mom dying all those years ago…and now Dad. I know I haven’t mourned properly—I haven’t exactly had time—but when I do… it’s gonna be ugly. I could never have told you growing up, that both my parents would be gone before my 31st birthday. I figured I would have had more time. But as Dad always said, C’est la vie—that’s life.
Nicole holds up her hand, thumb raised to the sky in the universal sign for, “We good.” Two steps behind her, Kane and I lean forward covering Nicole as she silently descends to the partition between the lead car and the locomotive.
As she lands, the door from the locomotive swings open and a set of hands reach out and grab Nicole. She screams and fights, but gets cold-cocked by the bastard, whacking her on the back of the head with a gun. Her body falls limp and she is dragged inside.
Before he can shut the door, I jump down, shotgun at the ready, where a familiar, yet unfamiliar face greets me, gun to Nicole’s head. He has a hideous scar across the left side of his face, his eyebrow singed. The skin on his face is peeled back like he had one too many facial reconstructive surgeries.
It’s then I realize that the only time I’ve actually met Frost, was underground in the Smithsonian Castle’s basement.
While he killed my father, I think, seething with anger. And Sophia. I raise my shotgun, pointing it at the man’s ragged face, but he just smiles. It’s a sickly grin, with only half of it completing the gesture. The other half is frozen, the nerve endings fried after the accident in Colombia.
“Why hello again, Mr. Boyd,” Frost says, cooing me. “How’s your father?”
The mocking tone is almost enough for me to pull the trigger and erase the smug look on the half of his face that works. But then he cocks the hammer back on his pistol, effectively neutering me. The gun is still pointing at Nicole, more specifically her head.
“Toss it,” he says, motioning to my right. I turn, contemplating my next move, while looking at the world zip by in various shades of color. Knowing that I can’t win this battle with sheer force, I toss the AA-12.
I turn back to Frost, hands at my sides. I will not give him the benefit of watching me raise them in surrender. Where’s Kane, I think, wondering where he went. If he’s smart, he’ll stay on top of the first class car and wait until we have left… Or until he kills us.
“Come inside, Mr. Boyd. We have much to discuss while we wait for Kane to show his face…before I erase it.”
The door behind me opens and another of his hired helpers steps out, weapon drawn. I feel the prodding of the small caliber pistol in my back and do as he says, for Nicole’s sake more than my own.
Her unconscious body is carried away by the other man with Frost, as I’m lead in at gun point. I look up to the roof of the locomotive just before I’m shoved in and the door is slammed shut.
Right before the jerk with the gun, the one poking it into my back shuts the rear door, I had one thought going through my mind.
Where the hell are you, man?
* * *
For the first time in forever, Kane had no idea what to do. Nicole had been attacked and knocked out and Hank was subsequently captured at gunpoint, losing his weapon in the process. The only positive was that Nicole still had both of her Rugers holstered on her thighs and the FN SCAR was secured around her back. He knew the jerkoffs would relieve her of them, but at least they would be around for Hank or her to use if they could get ahold of them, but for now… He needed to do something about the other people aboard the train.
He waited until he knew that no one was left to watch the rear door of the locomotive and jumped down, almost falling off. His knee buckled, the joint shot from the last few day’s beatings. Luckily, he reached out with his good hand and caught a support bar next to the door.
Kane turned and faced the first class car. He would clear it and the remaining cars if he had time, and then try to figure out a way to disengage the cars from the locomotive, freeing the hostages.
He’d seen it done countless times in the movies, but knew it had to be more complicated than just pulling the locking pin. Newer cars had a breaking system that would kick in once the couplings were separated—a failsafe to prevent passenger cars from careening down the railway. But would the locomotive keep going?
Runaway train never going back.
Wrong way on a one-way track.
The lyrics from Soul Asylum’s 1992 single, Runaway Train, popped into his head as he gripped the handle of the first class car’s door. He pulled on it, sliding it open. He was then greeted by silence as he stepped in and quickly shut the door, quieting the howling wind.
“Doogie, that you?”
Kane froze as someone’s voice perked up.
Doogie? Seriously? I swear if Neil Patrick Harris is a part of this…
Kane slid into a blind spot behind a divider wall and waited. A few seconds later, a man a foot shorter than him stepped into view, pistol holstered. These guys are awful at their job.
Shorty reached for the handle, popping it open asking, “McDougal?”
Kane acted swiftly, grabbing the man around the neck and yanking hard to the right. The man’s spine resisted, but Kane’s height and leverage added to his superior upper body strength. The additional pressure was too much and Tiny’s neck cracked with a sickening snapping sound.
“What the…” A voice rang out in alarm from behind him.
Holding the now dead merc as a shield, Kane spun, lifted his Eagle and found his next target. The man was at the end of the car, guarding the other door, but the narrow space and look of confusion were enough. Kane pulled the trigger, sending a single .50 caliber round through the throng of screaming passengers, and the empty walkway, and into man’s chest, just below the throat.
Blood splattered against the sound proof door’s window, his body following a split-second later. The man, dead on his feet like his partner who was still in Kane’s arms, hit the door hard and slid to the floor.
As the second dead mercenary fell over, Kane backpedaled until he was close enough to launch Short Round out the door of the car, landing somewhere between D.C. and Boston.
He then marched through the car’s central aisle yelling, “Quiet!”
The people, women with smeared makeup and men with quivering lips, fell silent immediately.
“My name is Kane and I am with the United States government. I need you to stay seated and calm down.” The last of them quieted, getting their reeling minds back under control.
He understood their plight first hand. He and his mom were in a bank when he was eight, when a man in a mask and a gun, marched up and put a gun to the closest woman’s head. The bank happily
gave the thief what they had available and no one was hurt. But the damage was done. Kane, who was the size of a twelve-year-old at the time, was scared to death of going inside a bank until he was in high school and bigger than anyone in there, including his teachers.
These people, being adults, would heal mentally much quicker than he did… And that’s when he saw the twins staring at him from halfway across the train car.
Kane continued forward, stopping next to them and their parent’s seats. He knelt down next to the two girls, who were maybe ten at most. Kane looked up into the eyes of their mother and smiled.
“What are your names?” He asked the two blonde girls.
“Bailey,” one of them said. “And this is Laura.”
“Well, Bailey and Laura,” he said. “My name is Kane and I’m here to help, okay?” The two girls nodded. He then gave the girls a responsibility, knowing that would take their minds off the current circumstances.
“Can you do me a favor?”
Both girls nodded in unison.
“Have your mom call 911 and tell them what train we are on and where we are going.” He stood. “Then,” he continued, glancing up to Mom and Dad, making sure they got the message loud and clear. “Keep your phone connected so they can track it.”
Both parents nodded.
“What are you going to do?” The mother asked, her eyes saying thank you.
Kane smiled and said, “Gonna rid us of some varmint.” Then he turned, squeezing the handgrip of his weapon tight, marching towards the next door, leading to the second passenger car.
44
Washington D.C., USA
We are led into the utilitarian rear of the Amtrak locomotive at gunpoint. Well, I’m led at gunpoint actually, Nicole is dragged through unconscious and bleeding from the back of her head, where that assface coldcocked her in the back of the head.
“She is gonna be so pissed when she wakes up,” I say softly, but loud enough to be heard.
“If she wakes up,” says the guy who hit her. He really has no idea how pissed, though. If he thinks a gun is going to stop her from trying to rip his head off, he’s got another thing coming. Plus, he has another problem on his hands…me.
This asshole just knocked out my girlfriend right in front of me and has the balls to taunt me. No, check that. Nicole is going to rip off his balls and feed them to him. The only reason I haven’t tried to rip him apart is because he has his gun leveled at me while he tugs on Nicole’s arm.
I can’t help her if I’m dead, I think as we make our way past the loud humming of the 8,600 horsepower engine. We are skirting through a cramped hallway to the left of the engine, which is behind a wall, out of sight to us.
Now that’s a lot of horses.
Nicole is unceremoniously dropped on the floor, rousing her a little. I’m about to complain, but notice that we have entered another part of the locomotive.
The door to the cockpit is wedged open, which I know is supposed to be treated like that of an aircraft for security purposes. There are two other men inside waiting for us, one is a black man in his forties dressed for the job of conducting trains, and the other is… “Frost.”
I say his name with venom, lunging forward only to get the wind knocked out of me. Heaving heavy breaths, I look up and see the shit eating grin of Nicole’s attacker.
“You,” I say, slowly getting to my feet, “are really getting on my nerves.”
He winds up to hit me, but I beat him to the punch with my words. “You lay another hand on me,” I glance down to Nicole, “or her,” I bring my deadly gaze up to him, my gold eyes swirling with hate, “and I will end you.”
His hand pauses in mid-air, unsure if to take my threat seriously. He looks to Frost, who is casually sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, legs crossed, gun trained on the conductor. Then, the other man’s stupid grin comes back and he attacks.
With Frost and the conductor watching us, he lashes out but is too slow. His fist sails over my head, throwing him off balance. I reach out, snatching the front of his shirt collar, and yank. The crack of his face on the wall behind me is nauseating and lucky for him he’s still alive.
The noise rouses Nicole fully as the bloodied mercenary slides down to the ground, his face leaving a smear of blood on the wall.
I turn and face Frost, who calmly swings his pistol, a Sig Sauer from the looks of it, in my direction. I ignore the gun and instead check on Nicole, who is trying to shake off the cobwebs.
“Who the hell hit me?” She asks with a groan of disapproval as she attempts to stand on wobbly legs.
I step aside, revealing the bleeding man on the ground. His face is still smushed up against the wall, nose pinned back, and nostrils flared. He looks just plain ridiculous.
“Oh,” she says, looking surprised at his condition. She looks up to me. “You?”
I shrug. “He had a go at me. So I slammed him face first into a wall.”
Nodding her approval, Nicole turns, noticing Frost and the conductor for the first time. She steps forward, but I hold her back.
Frost’s gun, moves from me to her as he smoothly lifts his right leg over his other knee, shifting in his chair, sitting like an uptight prick. His nonchalant behavior is really starting to boil my blood, but there really isn’t much I can do about it.
I look out the front windshield and see something I recognize. Shortly, we will be coming up on the Anacostia River, so at least I know where we are. Not Washington D.C. We are, in fact, in Maryland now, just passing the theoretical border a little while ago.
“Where’s Kane?”
I turn my full attention back to Frost. The look on his face is that of loathing, but there is a little worry in there as well.
“Back at the station,” I lie. “He was injured after he killed Brooks.”
The second part gets a slight raise of Frost’s working eyebrow, but I’m not sure he buys the fact that Kane isn’t on the train.
“Bullshit,” he answers plainly. “You’re lying.” He then turns the gun back on me. “Kane is on the train…somewhere.”
He lifts a walkie-talkie to his mangled lips, “McDougal. Come in McDougal.”
No answer.
“Conners?”
No answer.
“Hartley? Jacobs?” Frost’s face reddens. “Bard? Adduci? Howard? Anybody!”
He then slams the radio into the windshield, where the plastic casing shatters, pieces flying.
I glance at Nicole, the surprise on her face evident. Kane’s been busy.
Frost combs through his hair with his free hand. “No matter. I’ve got what I want.”
“What?” I ask, not understanding.
He quickly readjusts his aim back to Nicole and smiles. “Tell me where Jeremy is or your sweet tart dies.”
I take a half step towards him but am stopped.
“Don’t test me, Boyd!” He yells, veins pulsating in his forehead. “I’ve already killed one person you loved. Try me again and I’ll make it two!”
I step back from the threat. I can’t take the chance. Nicole is at point blank range and Frost is no doubt a great shot.
“Speaking of that,” he says, with half a dead smile on his face. “Ms. Andersson, would you like to know who put a bullet in your dear sweet Tomas?”
Nicole’s face goes white.
“I never thought I’d have the pleasure of shooting you again either.”
Nicole’s hands twitch slightly and I see why. Both of her Rugers are still strapped to her thighs. The loudmouthed idiot that just lost half his teeth didn’t disarm her before mouthing off to me.
Her stare deepens and her breathing slows, and then two things happen at once. Nicole quick draws both her weapons, surprising even Frost. Then, I dive to the floor, as they both pull their triggers simultaneously.
Lead flies and people cry out in pain, but there is another shout too. The train conductor lifts his hands to his ears as the deafening explosion of gunfire erupts in the smallish
cockpit.
Nicole is hit with a round, as she fires two quick shots, one from each of her Rugers. One finds its mark, burying itself in Frost’s shoulder. The other one, thrown off course from Nicole getting hit, obliterates the windshield, shattering it in an explosion of glass. Wind rushes in, swirling through the hole like a tornado.
I gotta’ give credit to the old guy, though. Through everything going on, the conductor dives straight for the emergency brake, slapping his hand down on the big red button attached to the main console.
Its effect is immediate.
Brakes lock and metal squeals, as the air brakes catch the rail wheels. Instantaneously, we start losing forward momentum as the passenger train begins its abrupt deceleration.
Everyone is tossed about the cockpit like rag dolls, except for Frost, he is thrown forward onto the console, dropping his weapon in the process.
“Mammaknullare!” Nicole curses in Swedish, grabbing her shoulder as she’s thrown into the steel leg of the conductor’s chair. It’s impressive that she can speak at all with the bullet lodged in her suit’s Kevlar vest. Kane suggested the addition. His paranoia is paying off, I think, blinking hard.
The harmonious boom of three gunshots ringing out in a room the size of a large walk-in closet, makes my eyes dance and my headache.
I look up in time to see Frost, scurry out of the slowing Amtrak, and try to stand. The train bucks once, finally coming to a stop and I’m thrown back against the wall, losing my balance. I catch myself and leap towards the empty co-pilot’s seat, looking out the broken window.
Frost is gone but suddenly reappears, running straight down the tracks in front of us. I scramble over the console and carefully skirt the broken glass leaping onto the hood of the locomotive.
I lean out over the drop. It’s maybe eight or even ten feet—an easy jump on any other day. This isn’t a normal day, though, I think, as I half-jump, half-fall, absorbing the painful impact with my knees and rolling forward like Kane taught me to do.
Mayan Darkness (A Hank Boyd Adventure Book 2) (The Hank Boyd Adventures) Page 23