by Alex Wells
Hob waved the Bone Collector over and held up one of their spare helmets. “You comfortable wearin’ one of these?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Then you’re gonna have to find another way to tell me where we ought to stop. And I might say no, since I gotta find good ground for us to fight on as well.”
He nodded. “If I think we ought to stop, I’ll put some pressure on your arm. If you don’t wish to stop there, then don’t stop.”
“Fair enough.” She threw one leg over the motorcycle, then paused to look him up and down. “Think you’d better leave the staff behind.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Fair enough.” There was just an edge of mockery in his voice as he copied her inflections. “Where shall I leave it?”
“Corner of the garage. You can collect it when you get back.” Hob shouted to the men, “You boys ready for a payday? And you ready to piss in the company’s ear while you’re at it?” The men roared and laughed; some of them threw back their heads and howled. “Mount up!” she yelled, then put on her helmet. Perhaps she should say more, about why they were doing what they were doing, about stopping the Weatherman meaning they were stopping TransRift dead, for a while at least. But it would be redundant, she realized. They all knew why they were here. All of them, except for her and the twins, were already once dead by the company, men who had been blacklisted, had been thrown out of their own towns. Give them money and a chance to spit in TransRift’s eye, and they’d go to their graves singing. She’d leave the fancy speeches to Mag.
Hob signaled the Bone Collector to get on the back of her motorcycle. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d had a passenger, but this felt a special kind of awkward. “Raff, hang back and close the gate once we’re all out,” she said over the radio channel.
“Aye, sir.”
Dambala laughed, “Wouldn’t want eagles nestin’ in here when we get back.”
“Bird shit on your bed, I don’t think anyone’d notice,” Geri said, “’cept maybe the smell would improve.”
She listened to the chatter with half an ear as they started engines and rolled out through the gate. If they were teasing each other, it meant that they couldn’t be too scared. And why should they be, not knowing firsthand what the Weatherman could do to them? And hell, they were only outnumbered by a little more than two and a half times. What could be scary about that?
All of them were crazy. And she was the craziest, leading them out there.
Chapter Forty
They rode for hours just to get to Ludlow, then cut a wide circle, picking their way through canyons to keep the dust cloud down. Out past Ludlow they hit another dune sea, making a long arc until they found the train tracks, a black thread in the red-gold sand. They sped along that line, following to a stretch of hardpan. The Bone Collector grabbed her upper arm and squeezed, there. She shook her head and didn’t even slow. There was nowhere to hide on the hardpan, no cover.
More sand, and into another set of flat-bottomed canyons made of deep red rocks that the train tracks wove through. These canyons hadn’t been made by any ancient and long-dead river; they were oddly straight and far too wide. Drifts of dust, too low to be proper dunes, made waves along the ground. Some had been cut in half by the passing of the last train. The last of the canyons held the least sand, talus spilling from the walls out onto another stretch of hardpan dotted with scrub.
Hob was already slowing before the Bone Collector had a chance to grab her arm. “Let’s get some scouts on a route up to the canyon walls,” she said over the radio. “I want a place for the big guns. If you have to go more’n fifteen kilometers, just come back.” Six riders peeled off, two circling to each side and two heading back into the canyon’s mouth. “Let’s get another party findin’ me some good hidey places for riders on the ground.” More moved out, coordinated by Geri. “Lobo, go ahead and set up, start cookin’ us some dinner in the shade. Won’t be anyone on these tracks for another ten hours at least. Grab whatever assistants you need.”
She checked her odometer before pulling off her helmet. They were a good hundred and twenty kilometers down the train line from Ludlow, and probably another three fifty by track from the next nearest town. They’d have enough time to get the job finished and get the hell out before reinforcements could arrive. “This gonna work for you?” she asked the Bone Collector.
He slipped off the motorcycle and stepped out onto the hardpan, dropping to one knee and pressing his palms into the ground. “It’ll do.”
“Don’t know how precise you can be, but if you can get the train stopped at the canyon mouth, that’d be best. Gives us plenty of room to work on the ground out here, but not too far away from the walls so I can have the big guns rainin’ down.”
“It’s my first time derailing a train, but I’ll do my best.” He straightened, brushing the dust from his hands. “The bedrock is very close to the surface here. And there is an old fault here,” he drew a line across the canyon mouth with one hand, “that I should be able to use.”
“Where will you need to be to do this?”
“Here, on the hardpan. I will need to be close.”
Hob paced around the tracks. Outside of the canyon, there wasn’t much cover. “You flip the train, it’s gonna get messy.”
“That’s the least of my worries, I assure you.”
She glanced at him, then laughed. “Guess it ain’t so scary, if you can turn to stone.” A faint noise from her helmet caught her attention. She slipped it back on. “Repeat the last.”
“Got a nice little place where we can shelter about ten men with motorcycles,” Lykaios said. She had a low voice for a woman, easy to mistake for a man’s. “If we get friendly.”
“We’re all a friendly sort. Head on back.” She pulled the helmet off and tucked it under her arm, then started pacing the area, trying to get a good idea about line of sight and the best places to station the men up top.
“I will need quiet,” the Bone Collector said.
Hob glanced over her shoulder. “Dunno if I can give you quiet. But I can keep all my yahoos from botherin’ you.”
He laughed, then lowered himself gracefully to his knees. “That will suffice.” Head bowed, he rested his hands flat on the hard ground, fingers sinking into the hard salt crust like it was dough.
* * *
The scouts found a route up to the north wall of the canyon, but none to the south. Hob let the men get their late dinner, then counted off who would be riding, who would be firing the two .60 caliber machine guns and the .50 caliber sniper rifle, who would be running ammo or using regular rifles for cover fire. Most of the men sent to the canyon walls weren’t necessarily the best shots, though she trusted them to not take out any of their friends; they were the weakest riders, the ones who shouldn’t be trying to navigate around in a hot mess on a motorcycle. Though she did also send Maheegan up to take the .50 cal, since he’d been a sniper in his previous life. Seven men total went up the canyon walls to wait, and to watch for the lights of an approaching train or helicopter.
The Bone Collector sounded tired when Hob brought him his share of dinner: beans and rice that most ate with their fingers. He picked at his food when prompted.
“Lookin’ mite peaky,” Hob commented, sitting down on the hardpan across from him. She waved an evening fly away from her food.
“This isn’t as easy as it looks.”
“You gonna be able to do this and take on the Weatherman too?”
“Yes. This is the hard part, right now. I’m putting energy into the rocks, getting them ready to slip while holding them so they cannot. When the train comes, I’ll merely be releasing all of that tension.” He smiled slyly, picking beans off his plate with dust-coated fingers and eating them one by one. “If we succeed tomorrow, this will be… one for the history books, as I’ve heard your people say.”
Hob snorted. She knew enough to not bother asking if he had that kind of asshole smile on his face. “Depe
nds on who’s writin’ that book.” She pointed back behind him. “I’m gonna be there, on that little ledge among the rocks. So I can see things right away. Geri’s hidin’ place is good, but it don’t have a view. That an OK place to be?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, it is. If the train decides otherwise… that, I cannot guarantee.”
“Guess I’ll take my chances. Because it’s that or the canyon wall, and I’d be damn near useless up there.”
“I doubt that.”
“You never seen me try to hit somethin’ with a rifle.” She grinned at him and got a tired smile in response.
Not one to fill silence or be worried about it, she let it sit there, finishing her dinner and then laying the light plastic plate aside, looking out over the horizon. The sky went from deep blue to pure black quickly, bands and clouds of stars revealing themselves. When she looked back at the Bone Collector, his half-finished dinner was set aside as well, and he had his hands pressed against the ground once more. She ate the rest of his dinner for him and took the plates to be washed. She returned, though, to sit beside him and just listen to the quiet sound of him breathing, regular as a clock.
And maybe it was her imagination, but she felt a low rumble build. When she pressed her ear against the hardpan, it was the steady rush of her own heartbeat, echoing in the deeps.
Chapter Forty-One
Technically it was a day off in Ludlow for the miners. Everything was shut down for the arrival of the Weatherman, and the night shift was even allowed extra time off so they could sleep. Mag suspected that piece of generosity was a way to head off excuses, not that anyone was given a choice about attending this to-do. She’d heard about the other towns, greenbellies checking houses and even sheds to make sure everyone was gathered and waiting.
Clarence left before sunrise, since it was up to him to get the workers on his shift organized, count noses and the like. He had to rub elbows with the company men. Mag was grateful for that; it made things easier for what she planned.
She woke Anabi as the sky went red with dawn. They made pancakes together, coffee, and fried a couple of eggs. Midway through breakfast, someone started hammering on the door, shouting to be let in. Anabi’s face went pale and still, and she shot Mag a wide-eyed look.
“Don’t you worry about it,” Mag said. “Eat your pancakes.”
The front door opened, the greenbelly coming in to search the house. He came around the corner rifle-barrel first, but looked relieved that it was just two women. He lowered his rifle. “You ladies need to get to the square.”
“We’re eatin’.”
“You can eat it later.”
“And when we’re done with breakfast, we got sewin’ to do. Don’t have time for your nonsense today.”
“You don’t have a choice. You’re both coming with me. I don’t want it to get unpleasant.”
Anabi stood up. Her face was sheet white, breath coming fast like a rabbit’s.
“Sit down, Anabi. We’re not goin’ anywhere.” Mag finished her coffee, waiting for Anabi to sink slowly back down. Something in the back of her head itched, a feeling that had grown stronger and stronger since Hob had rescued her from Newcastle. Instinct had been screaming at her that she could do this, that she had a stubborn will that was better than any weapon. She’d resisted it before now out of respect for Clarence and Odalia, and maybe out of fear. Well, no time left for fear, and she sure as hell didn’t respect the greenbellies.
The greenbelly cussed, and took a step toward her. Mag set her cup down and tilted her head to look into his eyes. The motion felt strange, like she’d grabbed his hand instead of just looking at him, like there was a connection being made. Looking into his watery hazel eyes, she measured him up in a heartbeat, felt him telling himself he was just following orders, didn’t matter anyway. He was a mouse of a man, just waiting to be told what to do.
Mag leaned into him, pushing at his brain with all her will like he was a wall instead of a man.
He stopped in his tracks, pupils blowing out wide.
Mag took in a shaky breath. Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears. She planted one hand firmly against the table to steady herself, then pushed her empty cup toward Anabi with the other. “Mind gettin’ me more coffee? I may be here a while.”
Anabi knocked over her chair as she stood, snatching the cup up with a trembling hand.
“You’re gonna forget all about this,” Mag told the greenbelly, leaning harder and harder. Her right eye started to hurt, the vision clouding, but she didn’t let her concentration waver. “Ain’t nothin’ in this house.” For a moment he seemed to struggle, lips parting slightly, and she pushed, clenching her teeth. “Nothin’ at all.”
Something behind his eyes gave. Blood began to seep from the man’s right nostril.
There was a rumble in the distance, like a collapse in the mine, only that was impossible; no one was working today. Dishes rattled on the shelves, and a cup tumbled off the table to smash on the floor. The guard reeled back, clutching at the doorframe vainly with one hand.
Mag smiled, sitting back in the chair. She knew what she’d paid the Ghost Wolves to do, and she knew Hob, like Uncle Nick, had a penchant to be showy. “Mayhap you got bigger things to worry about than a couple o’ innocent ladies anyway.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“Ravani, north wall has visual on lights.” The voice was tinny and thin, a whine in the air by her ear. She’d dozed with her head pillowed on the helmet, listening for just that message.
Grunting as her hip complained about the bruising, uncomfortable hardpan, Hob rolled upright. The sky had gone from black to purple and red, the sun’s rise hidden by the canyon walls. She stuck the helmet on and reached over to shake the Bone Collector’s arm. “Can I get some confirmation on that?”
“Give me a second.”
The Bone Collector lifted his head slowly, eyes dark with fatigue. She pointed out at the tracks and stood.
“South landing confirms it. Visual on lights, low to the horizon.”
“Can you tell if it’s a train yet?”
“Lights are bright, but can’t tell for certain, not yet.”
“Keep watchin’ it. Geri?”
“Heard it. Had to kick a couple awake, but we’re gettin’ ready now. There an ETA?”
“Not yet.” Again, she turned to the Bone Collector. “Gotta go get in my place. You gonna be OK?”
“I will be ready.”
The two weren’t the same thing, but this wasn’t the time to argue. She tugged the spare revolver from her belt after a second of thought and offered it to him; he just shook his head. “Suit yourself.” Her motorcycle awaited her; she coasted the short distance to her own position, then stowed it in a crevice where it would hopefully be safe from debris. The rocks were rough against her fingers, like warm sandpaper as she scrambled up to the ledge. She pulled back the faceplate of her helmet, brought up her own binoculars to watch. She caught a quick peep of lights in the distance, like they’d just bobbed over a hill. “Whatever it is, it’s following the landscape,” she said over the channel. “Ain’t a chopper.” She checked her pocket watch. “Time’s about right.”
The light bobbed into view again. “Maheegan confirms. Three lights in a triangle, it’s a train.” Someone on the channel whooped. Hob couldn’t help but grin. “Comin’ fast, but it’ll be a while yet.”
“Just let it come to us, boys,” Hob said.
“Keep the updates coming,” Geri said. His voice was dimmed with static even over the short distance. “We can’t see a damn thing in the hidey hole.”
The light crested another hill, and then it was steady, coming right at them. “They just hit the flats. They’re speedin’ up,” Hob said.
“Confirmed. Look at ’em go,” Maheegan drawled.
Overhead, the sky lightened pink and orange, the color climbing steadily to blue. Even better, Hob thought grimly, that they’d have the sun behind them. P
ut the company men at another disadvantage. Every little bit helped.
“They just hit the edge of the hardpan. Five minutes at most.”
“Get ready, Geri. But wait for my mark,” Hob said. “No matter what you hear.”
The train was a silver streak behind the lights, a bullet made giant. The tracks hummed and sang; thunder rolled up through her boots. She dropped low onto the ledge, not needing her height any more to watch. She turned to look at the Bone Collector, still sitting, seemingly oblivious.
Closer.
She gritted her teeth, willing the man to just move, because now she was starting to wonder if she needed to run down there, shake him, wake him up, anything. But the train was too close, only a few kilometers.
She tasted blood in her mouth.
The Bone Collector stood in one fluid motion, his hands coming up to clutch at the sky. His mouth opened to shout, but it was lost in the sound of the train echoing from the canyon walls. And then he dropped again, to drive his fist into the ground.
The hardpan rippled around him, rocks snarling like living things, and then the world cracked, lightning and gunshot and bone, a sound that touched her at the animal base of her brain and told her to fucking run.
Hob dropped the binoculars. They shattered on the ground below.
The train tracks bent, twisted, snapped like guitar strings as the earth beneath them contorted. The ground at the canyon mouth dropped four meters in an instant. The ledge bucked under her and she grabbed it with both hands, nails splitting as she clawed to hang on. A tinny scream came out of the helmet speakers, followed by cursing, hoarse shouting.
The train hopped off the impossibly warped tracks. The engine rolled, couplings to the cars behind it snapping, and then slammed into the new canyon wall sideways, bursting into a cloud of torn metal and a wash of fire as the fuel lines ruptured. The fire went up, rolled outward in a wave of blistering heat, flames licking up around the Bone Collector and turning him into a black cutout. More shouts echoed through the radio as the wall of heat washed up.