Tumultus

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “Get up, you asshole! You have to save Dublin!”

  Mac rose to his feet again, and began running unsteadily down the train tracks, the landscape fading into a murky grey curtain in front of him as his eyes were again losing the ability to focus. And still Mac Walker pushed himself to continue running after Dublin and the Muslim bandits who had taken her.

  He managed to cover another forty yards before his legs buckled beneath him, causing Mac’s face to crash into the ground between the railroad tracks. His breathing came in short, wheezing gasps before being interrupted by another series of violent coughs.

  “NO! I am not dying now. Not yet. Move, you old fucker! Get up and move!”

  Mac’s lips drew back into a snarl, the blood from his coughing lungs covering his teeth and gums.

  Again he stood on his feet and began running to save Dublin.

  This time Mac was only able to move ahead just a few yards more before he again collapsed onto the ground. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he began to realize his body would no longer obey his orders. Dublin was gone, and Mac was unable to save her.

  “Fuck you, God! If you exist, you are a worthless, conniving, uncaring pile of shit!”

  Mac rolled onto his back, his eyes staring into the cloud covered sky above him, his shallow, wheezing breath causing a misty fog to form just above his face.

  The sound of running footsteps approaching from where Mac had just come from echoed around the former Navy SEAL. Mac attempted to sit up as he tried to aim the M16 in front of him. His vision re-focused enough for Mac to see Reese running as fast as possible toward him, as Brando gracefully sped alongside him as well.

  A moment later, Reese knelt beside Mac, his eyes wide with alarm.

  “Yakov said they got Dublin! Mac – where is she?”

  Mac handed the M16 to Reese.

  “Keep following the tracks. You’ll get to them soon. Their camp has to be close. You got to hurry Reese – they’ll kill her. When they’re done with her…they’ll kill her.”

  Reese stared back at Mac with an intensity the older man had not seen in him before. Nodding his head, Reese stood back up with the M16 cradled tightly under his right arm and began running down the tracks with Brando following beside him.

  Looking desperately for any sign of the bandits and Dublin, Reese noticed Brando sprinting out in front of him and then coming to a stop near a group of large rocks jutting out from the ground. The Doberman remained silent, though his body language suggested he sensed the presence of others near where he stood.

  Reese stopped running and walked as quietly as possible where Brando stood. The dog continued to stare intently at something just beyond the outcropping of rocks. Then he heard the sound of laughter.

  Brando glanced back at Reese and then walked silently to the rocks before looking back at Reese as if to ask why he wasn’t following him. Reese in turn was surveying the surrounding area, and soon spotted the markings of recent tire tracks cutting through the dirt and pebbles, and disappearing in the direction he had just heard the laughter coming from.

  Looking down at the M16 to ensure it was ready to go, Reese made his way to the rocks and began to move just left of them, and was soon able to spot the bandit camp. No more than forty feet beyond the rocks was a dilapidated military jeep parked next to a large, dirt covered tent. It was from inside of that tent that the continued laughter issued from.

  Brando issued a low, menacing growl before again looking up at Reese, who in turn was attempting to determine the best way to approach the tent without being seen or heard.

  Dublin’s scream cut through the air and into Reese’s heart. Without thought, he found himself running directly into the bandit camp with the M16 pointed in front of him. Within seconds he stood just inside the tent entrance where he saw Dublin hanging naked from the ceiling, a single rope tied around both of her wrists. One of the bandits stood behind her, his hands clutching at her breasts, while another stood directly in front of her and was in the act of removing his own clothing as his tongue crept along Dublin’s right shoulder and neck.

  Reese locked eyes with Dublin for a half second. She looked over to her right. There stood the third bandit some twenty feet from where the other two were preparing to rape her. This bandit was armed, and had followed Dublin’s gaze to the tent entrance where Reese stood.

  Both men raised their assault rifles and fired them simultaneously. The bandit shot wide, the bullets passing left and high of Reese’s position. Having spent hours working with Mac on improving his shooting in the two years following the bombing of Dominatus, Reese’s aim proved far more accurate. While the first two bullets just grazed the arm of the bandit, the next two entered his chest and sent him flying backward, a single departing scream exiting his mouth as his body struck the ground.

  The bandit standing directly in front Dublin turned to look at Reese, his face shocked to see someone he had thought dead from the grenade blast so soon before. Reese hesitated to aim his weapon at the bandit, fearing he could hit Dublin. Sensing how her position was compromising Reese’s ability to shoot, Dublin lifted both of her feet from the ground and sent them flying into the bandit’s back, sending the man flying forward and giving Reese the room he needed to fire the M16. Five rapid shots later, and the second of the three Muslims lay dead.

  The last bandit, the one whose hands just seconds earlier were groping Dublin’s breasts, remained behind Dublin, though now he had a blade held firmly to her throat with just enough pressure it left a thin streak of blood across her skin. Just a bit more pressure and the knife would easily cut through her skin, find an artery, leaving her to bleed out and die.

  The Muslim bandit glared back at Reese. His face was housed in a dark, dirt encrusted beard above which a long, sharp nose protruded above his mouth. He had been the leader of the bandit camp, sent here by the Vancouver warlord to halt the Russian’s train and take whatever was on board. His shirtless chest was covered in a layer of dark hair, the exposed skin as dirty as his beard. He attempted to speak to Reese in English.

  “I cut her throat, make her bleed like pig. Put down gun, or she die now.”

  Dublin took several deep breaths, preparing for whatever move Reese would decide to take. Reese in turn tried to determine if he could shoot the M16 accurately enough to hit the bandit but not Dublin. He feared he would be unable to do so.

  The hard, cold end of a rifle barrel jammed into the small of Reese’s back. Another bandit, likely assigned to some guard position away from the camp, had returned, crept up behind Reese, and now threatened to shoot him if he didn’t drop the M16.

  Reese froze, knowing if he dropped the assault rifle, both he and Dublin would likely end of up dead. Suddenly the pressure of the rifle against his back disappeared as the form of Brando blurred past him. The Doberman, who had been lurking just outside the tent entrance, jumped into the Muslim bandit, the dog’s teeth sinking deeply into the man’s exposed throat. Without looking to see if Brando could handle the bandit on his own, Reese took several quick steps to his left, trying to get a better angle to shoot and kill the Muslim still threatening Dublin with the knife.

  Dublin in turn took the moment of confusion and surprise caused by Brando’s attack, snapped her head backwards into the bandit leader’s face. A move familiar to what she had seen Mac utilize when he was challenging Santos in Wilfrid.

  The knife momentarily fell from Dublin’s neck as the Muslim bandit cried out in pain and anger, cursing in Arabic as he took several steps back from where Dublin hung from her wrists that remained secured to the tent rafters. That space was more than enough for Reese. The first two bullets struck the bandit’s right shoulder, spinning him around and causing him to collapse to the ground against the back wall of the tent. Reese moved forward and fired seven more rounds into the man’s back. His eyes filled with rage over seeing what the Muslim had intended to do to Dublin, Reese then placed the end of the assault rifle to the back of the man’s he
ad and fired three more rounds that ripped through the bandit’s skull, sending bloody paste-like bone and brain fragments splattering against the tent wall like some macabre canvas of death.

  Dropping the M16, Reese grabbed the bandit leader’s knife and used it to cut Dublin down. Her clothes, just minutes earlier ripped from her body, were found on the ground in a corner of the tent. Dublin quickly dressed herself as Reese stood just outside trying to calm the still manic beating of his heart.

  Every time he thought of what had been done…what would have been done, to Dublin, the rage re-ignited inside of him. He knew he had to calm himself to ensure he would be at his most efficient and useful to ensure both he and Dublin returned to Mac and the others. Reese knew Mac and the Russian remained alive. He didn’t know the status of either Bear or Cooper Wyse.

  Dublin stood next to Reese. For several seconds, neither of them spoke a word, before Reese finally turned to face her, looking down into her eyes as he gently placed his hands against both sides of her head.

  “I would never let anyone harm you, Dublin. Never.”

  Dublin remained silent, looking back into Reese’s eyes. Then she gave him a small smile before hugging him tightly as she leaned up to whisper into his ear.

  ‘Right back at you.”

  XXXIV.

  Reese, Dublin and Brando sat in the rusted out military jeep. A small toggle taped to the right of the steering column was used to start the vehicle. Despite its quite ragged outward appearance, the engine quickly fired up and idled smoothly.

  Within a few minutes the three returned to where Reese had left Mac and the others when he ran off to save Dublin. Mac was standing alongside Bear, and though he looked weak, Reese was simply grateful to see the older man back on his feet and breathing with far less discomfort than when he had last seen him.

  Bear looked as immovable as ever, the only indication of the grenade attack being a shallow scratch that ran from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. He was agitated at not having recovered sooner from the grenade blast to have been able to assist Reese with going after the bandits who had taken Dublin.

  “I’m sorry, Reese, by the time I was sitting up you were already gone. Then I found Mac and wasn’t sure if I should stay and help him or head out after you. Looks like you did fine on your own, though.”

  Reese quickly outlined what had happened back at the bandit encampment – a story that left Mac smiling back at both him and Dublin. Mac was proud, knowing he had played a significant part in teaching both of them the skills needed to protect themselves in a life and death situation. Today, that teaching proved successful.

  Dublin’s eyes scanned behind Mac and Bear, looking for Yakov and Cooper Wyse.

  “Where are Cooper and Yakov? Are they both ok?”

  Bear pointed back at where the train had been left a mile or so behind them.

  “They both walked back to the train. Well, more like the Russian limped back with Cooper helping him. Yakov had this thing…a piece of rock that the grenade blast had shot into his leg. Dumb asshole that he is, he just grabs onto it and yanks it out. Blood everywhere. So much that we all start thinking he’s gonna bleed out right in front of us. So Cooper rips off part of his shirt and ties it tight around the leg, and they start heading back to the train where we have a med kit with our supplies. Cooper says he’s stitched up plenty of animals before, so the Russian shouldn’t be any different.”

  Reese was looking at Mac intently.

  “And what about you, Mac? How are you feeling?”

  Mac’s eyes fell to his feet momentarily before he looked back up at Reese.

  “I’m ok, Reese. Been better…but I’m ok.”

  Reese decided now was not the time to push Mac on what was wrong with his health. That would have to happen soon – but after they were back on the train and traveling to Manitoba.

  Right before they all got into the bandit’s jeep to drive back to the Russian’s train, Mac pointed some sixty or so yards in front of where they were standing.

  “Good thing the Russian stopped the train. The bandits had placed explosives on the track. Probably would have derailed the train. Apparently Yakov’s got these motion detectors sitting all along this stretch of tracks – about seven miles worth. Anyone starts messing around on or near the tracks and his monitor inside the locomotive lets him know. He says this area has always been trouble for bandits because the terrain allows them easy access to the tracks. Once we get past here, that danger is quite a bit less, and then when we start heading back northeast, we’ll be so isolated, there’ll be almost no danger of bandits. Smooth sailing he said. When I pointed out we were on a train and not a sailboat, he told me to fuck off – said that while blood was pouring out of his leg.

  “I’m really starting to like that Russian.”

  Just before Reese put the jeep into gear Mac used his handheld communicator to let Cooper know they were all headed back to the train.

  The drive back to the train was brief, and upon arriving, Reese and the others found both Cooper and Yakov working to replenish the engine’s firebox with coal. Actually, it was Cooper who was doing the shoveling as the Russian stood scowling, muttering under his breath how the rancher was shoveling, “too slow – too slow”.

  Seeing the others, Cooper offered them a big smile as he stepped from the locomotive and gave both Reese and Dublin a brief hug.

  “Reese, I take it you killed the bandits who took Dublin?”

  Reese gave a brief nod of his head.

  “Yeah – I did. With Brando’s help. He tore out the throat of one of them.”

  Cooper Wyse didn’t appear surprised at the mention of Brando’s recent heroics.

  “Sounds about right. That dog can flat out fight if it’s needed. As for you, Reese - well done. Did good.”

  Yakov remained inside the locomotive, trying to shovel coal on one good leg. The other was wrapped tightly in white gauze.

  Mac nodded in Yakov’s direction while addressing Cooper.

  “Get him stitched up ok?”

  Cooper shook his head as he glanced back in the Russian’s direction.

  “Yeah – you could say that I suppose. Got him back here, tied off the tourniquet a little more, and he grabs a bottle of vodka and pours it all over the wound. Must have hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. Drinks about a third of the bottle himself, and then tells me to heat up the backside of that same shovel he’s using now to cauterize the wound. Says he doesn’t like stitches. Calls them a waste of time. I hesitated cauterizing it – figure there’s going to be a hell of a risk of infection. He starts cursing me out, calling me things I don’t even understand, and grabs that shovel himself and pushes the back end of it right up against the wound on his leg. Holds it there for about ten seconds and all you can smell is his skin burning to hell. Terrible smell. He looks down at it, pours some more vodka over it, wraps it up in gauze, and then goes back to shoveling coal like he doesn’t have a care in the world.”

  Yakov leaned out of the locomotive and nodded at Dublin and Reese.

  “Kill the Muslims?”

  Reese answered back.

  “Yeah – we killed them.”

  The Russian nodded his head once.

  “Good. We go soon. Ten minutes. Be ready.”

  Cooper Wyse, himself known to be a man who would rather do than say, shook his head at the Russian’s brevity.

  As Bear rejoined the Russian in helping him shovel coal into the firebox, Mac and the others took their seats in the passenger car and waited for the train to start moving again. Ten minutes later, just as Yakov had told them, the train began to inch its way forward. It was at that very moment Brando’s head raised and he bolted from his position at Cooper’s feet to the back of the passenger car where he began to snarl and bark loudly.

  Everyone else in the passenger car turned their head to follow Brando, wondering what could have the Doberman so agitated. Cooper rose from his seat and began to make his way to the back of the pass
enger car, his eyes straining to see whatever it was the dog was sensing behind them. The train’s speed was slowly increasing to nearly ten miles an hour.

  “What the hell is that?”

  Cooper’s question was barely heard above the din of the locomotive as it worked itself slowly down the train tracks, pulling the passenger car behind it.

  The others joined Cooper at the back of the train car, looking out the same small window as the rancher was. All of them inhaled sharply at the sight of the hellish nightmare that followed them. Even Mac Walker, who had seen countless horrors during his seventy five years of existence, was both stunned and frightened at the sight.

  “Oh my god.”

  XXXV.

  Hundreds of dark shaped monsters moved quickly toward the train, running with an odd hunched gait where their heads hung well ahead of their bodies, and their claw fingered hands would push them forward in unison with their feet, similar to how a monkey would run. Their sleek, lean, hairless bodies were moving with considerable speed – much faster that the train was managing to travel at that time. Unless the train’s speed increased more quickly, the creatures would likely catch up to them within another minute, possibly even sooner.