by Stu Jones
Kane looked down the line and did a final head count. He counted twenty-eight adults—everyone but Dagen. He looked at Jenna but said nothing.
She caught his gaze and understood his meaning. “I know. It’s time to go,” she whimpered halfheartedly. “I just keep thinking he’ll come back.”
“Maybe he will, but we can’t wait for him any longer.”
Jenna nodded, touching her fingertips to her lips.
Kane turned to survey the old train, which included seven boxcars and five flatbeds, plus the engine. While the fancy, modern, computerized trains were all dead, this old World War II–era, steam-powered, 5011-class locomotive wasn’t. Somehow it still functioned. They had found it, unloaded, on the rails inside the base. The idea of trying to use it had been a moot point, until Sam spoke up. It turned out the old guy had been a caretaker at one of the largest railroad museums in the nation—the National Railroad Museum in Wisconsin. It took everybody by surprise that Sam was highly familiar with steam engines, but how could he not be after a thirty-year career working on and helping to restore locomotives of all kinds? Kane half wondered how they had not known this information about the old guy till now. But he also realized it was a matter of relevance, and only now was that knowledge invaluable.
“Why is it here?” Kane inquired.
Sam scratched his head. “It’s on the rails and in working condition. The best I can figure is someone, maybe a bunch of people, came up here on it from the railroad museum in Albuquerque. I would guess after all this mess started. They were probably looking for refuge here at the military base.”
“Then where are those people now?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sam said and shrugged.
“And you can drive this thing?”
Sam chuckled. “I haven’t driven one before, if that’s what you’re asking, but I think I can figure it out. I’ll just need some help with keeping the furnace hot.”
Kane nodded. “You have what you need?” He noted a few people carrying wood logs up to the storage hold in the engine compartment. They had been hard at work cutting down trees and loading the logs onto the train for the past few hours.
“Yep. Marcus and Carl are loading up the last of the wood for the furnace, and I just topped off the water tank with the base’s well water.”
“I know I asked before, but you’re sure the railway goes to the dam?”
“No doubt,” Sam replied. “I verified it on the map. Besides, I remember hearing that they used trains back in the day for hauling all the raw materials necessary for pouring the concrete and building the dam itself.”
“Good deal, Sam. You’re a lifesaver.”
Sam bobbed his head. “I’ll go get the furnace started.”
Kane looked to Courtland. “Everything loaded up?”
“Ari is loading the last of the Humvees now.”
“Weapons and ammunition?”
“More than we could use in three lifetimes.”
“Food, water, fuel, and other supplies?”
“We’re good to go. It’s all on board.”
“Security in place for our journey?”
“We’ve got it all buttoned up, my friend.” Courtland smiled.
“I knew you would.” Kane smiled back. “Alright, big man, let’s get everyone loaded up.”
“You got it,” Courtland said and then turned, bellowing, “Everyone who is going to the dam, load up on the train! We’re heading out!”
Courtland reached over to pick up two enormous, black, scimitar-shaped blades and hefted them over his shoulder. Each was likely five feet long and looked to weigh a hundred pounds.
Kane grinned. “You’re still hanging on to those things?”
Courtland leveled his eyes seriously at his friend. “Do you remember how I got them?”
“As bizarre as all that was—yes, I remember.”
“And you have seen what I can do with them, then?”
Kane guffawed. “Oh yeah, I’ve seen it. You don’t forget stuff like that, my man.”
“Then you know why I’m bringing them.” The gentle giant smiled with a spark in his deep brown eyes that wasn’t so gentle.
“Absolutely.” Kane saluted good-naturedly. “Very good, sir.”
Courtland lumbered up and onto the train as the others followed suit. Kane watched as all the familiar faces, some of whom had been with them from the very first days at the radio control station, moved toward the train. These people’s loyalty was remarkable: even now, they volunteered to fight, and probably die, for the cause of heaven and the safety of another man’s children. The support overwhelmed him. He took a moment to thank God for it. He turned and noticed Jenna boarding the train.
“What are you doing?” He gazed at her with concern.
“I’m going with you guys,” Jenna stated plainly.
“I thought you’d stay here with James and Marilyn to look after the children. Maybe see if Dagen showed back up.”
Jenna shouldered a military M16 rifle. “I’m probably better suited for those things, and I do hope Dagen shows back up, but I’m not going to stay here while you guys confront Malak.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kane asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.
“No,” Jenna swallowed, “but I trust that our God will win us the day. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to miss the moment when my king shows these monsters who’s boss.”
Kane smiled. “Absolutely.”
Jenna walked up the steps and onto the train. Kane took a last look about. Sam gave him the thumbs-up as the engine chuffed to life, black smoke billowing into the air. Swiveling the other direction, Kane watched as Ari repeated the gesture from the rear of the train. Kane reciprocated and moved to the base’s main gate to open it.
On one of the flatbeds next to a secured Hummer, Winston looked around anxiously before snapping on his radio with a bleep and a wash of static.
“Winston to Shana. We’re leaving the base by train. I repeat we are on a train. We’re headed west toward the dam. That’s all.” The chubby man didn’t wait for a response before snapping the radio back off and swearing under his breath. He took a deep breath and hated himself for what he was doing. Like this train, none of it could be stopped now.
With a squeal, the ancient, tar-black steam train lurched forward, the cars clanking and grinding as they began to move. Kane was ready, scanning Ryback’s ID and opening the gate for it as the train huffed slowly past. Kane snagged a rail, pulled himself up into the train, and turned to see James and Marilyn with the children, waving goodbye from the center of the base’s courtyard. Above them, fluttering at full mast, a tattered American flag rippled, its faded colors still striking as they flapped in the wind. Kane waved back, and the gate shut behind them with a clunk of finality. It was time to finish this fight. It was time for the good guys to stand one last time.
22
NICK CORVALESKI POINTED to the vault. “The…uh…It’s…OK, so…” He licked his lips.
“Spit it out, queer.” The bandit behind him jerked his collar, jostling his frail body.
“Yeah, man, look, you need to get to the lowest level of the facility.”
“And?” Malak brooded.
“And you’re not going to get there without a security access key for the elevator.”
“Do I have to pry everything out of you? Where is the key, little man!” Malak snarled.
Nick shrank back, his fear bringing on a whole new wave of stuttering. “In…In…In the vault.” He pointed a shaking finger at the thick plate-steel vault at the far end of the room.
“In the vault, you say,” Malak cooed, turning his greedy black eyes to the door.
“Want us to blast it, boss?” a thug nearby said, shouldering an RPG.
With a wave of his hand, Malak dismissed him, lumbering forward and gazing at the steel door that had to weigh thousands of pounds.
“Nothing can keep me out!” he growled, grabbing the upper cor
ners of the door and bending them downward as though they were made of flexible plastic. With each pull, the door bent farther, the metal screeching as it distorted. With a shout of fury, Malak jerked the door open, the bolts popping in unison and revealing an empty vault. All the valuables had been removed long ago, everything but two identical red key cards hanging on opposite ends of the vault.
Malak glanced at Nick, and the thin man eagerly nodded his confirmation. The keys were quickly retrieved, and they made their way to the service elevator, where Malak and Nick simultaneously swiped their cards against the internal card readers of the elevator. The elevator lurched to life as it began its descent into the bowels of the dam. There was no floor button for where they were going.
The descent took longer than expected. Malak and his small crew of thugs, along with the electrical engineer, waited in anticipation as the elevator began to slow. It came to a stop with a ding, the doors sliding open to reveal the open corridors of an underground lab.
Suddenly Malak felt it. He took in a breath sharply, his eyes widening. He could feel it, calling to him, begging him to find it. He stormed from the elevator, overcome with the desire to have it. Passing isolated labs, one after another, he entered the last room off the hall, a gray, lifeless prison cell—with a magnetically sealed storage vault. A note on the outside of the door stated plainly, “Do not personally touch the device. No one has done so and survived the interaction. In the event of an emergency in which the device must be moved, wear gloves, use tongs, and transport it in a level-four, secure-locking, hazardous-material case.”
It was stronger now. He could feel the Machine reaching out for him, longing to be found after all this time. After waving his red card over the lock, the bolts released with a clunk, and the door parted slightly. Malak reached forward and eased the door open. Everyone else looked on in awe.
There before him, nestled in a custom-made depression, was the Machine. Malak spoke but did not take his eyes off the Machine. “What else is down here?”
“Other high-priority projects,” Nick said, his voice wavering.
“Like what?”
“Well, I had a friend who told me—I mean, he wasn’t supposed to, but he told me—that they were working on an active HPM project down here.”
“High-powered-microwave technology doesn’t work,” Malak mumbled, still highly enamored with the device.
“My friend said it did—that they were weaponizing it.” Nick gulped.
“Can you make it work?”
“If it runs on electricity, yeah, I think so. But I don’t think it’s stable—or safe.”
“I’m not worried about all that. Find it and take it topside. Anything else that may be of value to us, as well.” He stared longingly at the Machine and marveled that it was actually here within his reach.
“Finally,” the possessed warlord intoned with malevolent intent, “the time has come.”
“Is it not your life?”
Tynuk took another step back, the surreal nature of the moment overcoming his resistance to it. He couldn’t find the words to answer. He looked over the elaborate floor painting again. It was beautiful, an elaborately detailed image, far removed from what one would expect to be painted on the floor of a cave in the middle of nowhere.
“Everyone against the walls, so he can see all of it.” Queenashano motioned with his arms.
As the warriors shuffled back, the whole scene came together. Tynuk scanned his eyes back to the first image—a Native American man and woman in modern civilian clothes, holding a newborn child. They were both smiling. The next image was of the man leaving as a young child reached for him, the mother crying behind him. Then followed images of the bullies, his mother’s drunken fury, and his harsh training at the hands of Grandfather Nuk’Chala.
Tynuk scanned the images from left to right, recounting every major event from the moment of his birth to the present. He saw it all: Azolja and then Kane and Courtland, the initial fight for the station, his fight with the mutants in the woods, his trials at the hands of these very people—all of it was there, painted into the stone hundreds of years ago.
He marveled over the accuracy of it all, surreal in its complexity and entirety. He peered wordlessly at a depiction of this very moment, an image of a warrior boy peering at the floor of this place while many eager faces looked on.
He shook his head and stepped back. “This…This is too much.”
Queenashano smiled. “But is it not correct?”
The boy was quiet. “It is, but—”
“Do not ask how,” Queenashano replied with a smile. “That is for the ancients alone to know. What matters is that it is true.”
Tynuk remained silent.
“Allow me to dispel any remaining doubt, Tynuk,” Queenashano said. “You are the one. It is you who will unite and lead our people to greatness.” He stepped forward and presented Nuk’Chala’s war belt to the boy. “I believe now that this was given to you by the great Nuk’Chala when you earned its trust. I am sorry for having taken it from you and for any mistreatment you received at our hands. It was necessary for all of us to understand what you really were.”
Tynuk took the belt in his hands, his heart swelling at its return.
“Will you lead us, young Tynuk?” Queenashano bowed his head and took a knee. The entire cavern of warriors followed suit.
“But you are their leader.” Tynuk looked around in astonishment.
“I was. But I am growing old. It is time for new blood to direct us. It is time for the prophecy to be realized.”
After a reluctant moment of deliberation, Tynuk placed his hand on Queenashano’s shoulder and nodded. “I will lead my people.”
Smiling, Queenashano stood and embraced Tynuk as his own blood. Then, grasping his shoulders, he asked, “What would you have us do now, Wolf Born?”
Tynuk scanned the myriad of images depicting his future and saw several that appeared quite terrifying. He looked to the final image, a depiction of a massive battle. In it, Tynuk was depicted riding fearlessly atop Azolja toward a towering dam, his Comanche brothers charging on horseback behind him.
“Where is this?” He pointed to the image.
“Our elders believe it is the Glen Canyon Dam, about three hundred fifty miles due west of here in northern Arizona. The battle, I cannot say.”
“I think I know. I have felt pulled to reunite with my friends, our allies, who may have now journeyed west to this place. They will need our help in this conflict. They are involved in something very big, something that concerns us all.”
Many faces looked on, puzzled.
“May I ask how this conflict concerns the New Comanche Nation, war chief?”
“It affects us because they fight the forces of darkness. We could easily allow them to be consumed, saying it is not our fight, only to have to face this same evil ourselves in the future. No, we will join them in this fight and see this blight vanquished.”
“Very well,” Queenashano said, ducking his head. “This battle was predicted long ago by men much wiser than I. Who am I to question it?” He motioned toward the images on the floor of the cavern. “We are with you and at your command, young Tynuk. The battle does not frighten us. We were born of war.”
Tynuk nodded and surveyed the large group of warriors, nearly one hundred fifty in number. “Then this dam is our destination, and we will leave for it at once.”
“Very well, war chief, but before we make your position official with ceremony and celebration, there’s just one other thing I must ask,” Queenashano said, “about one part of this great image that no one has yet to explain.”
Tynuk raised his eyebrows.
“What is this?”
Tynuk followed the steady hand of the former war chief to where it stopped, his finger pointing to a black presence in the mural. Like a large, shaggy coal smudge, it appeared with the boy more often than not in the images, a white morning star emblazoned in the dark fur of its chest, a m
ark that was set below silvery eyes and huge daggerlike fangs.
Tynuk broke into a genuine smile. “You don’t know what this is because you have yet to truly experience the supernatural.” He pushed his fingers into his mouth and whistled.
From somewhere above them, a shadow leaped from a ledge, unseen until this moment. With catlike grace, Azolja landed in the center of the floor with a thud that shook the room. The Comanche warriors gasped, squeezing themselves against the walls of the cavern as they backed away, raising their weapons. The great beast swung its massive head, taking in the smallish brown men around it, looking far more like some ancient shape-shifter than anything that belonged in the natural world. Tynuk placed his hand upon the massive beast’s dark flank of solid muscle.
“This is Azolja. He is with me,” Tynuk stated with utter confidence, “and though he is quite fearsome, he is not to be feared—by you. The Great Spirit, in all its wisdom, knew we would need his help.”
“You could have called on this great beast for aid throughout the entirety of the trials?” Queenashano was breathless.
“I could have, but I did not.”
Not a breath was taken in the cavernous space for what seemed like an eternity, and for just a moment, Tynuk secretly reveled in the unconcealed looks of shock and terror on everyone’s faces, including that of the great Queenashano.
In the deserted shantytown ruins of what had once been Farmington, New Mexico, Shana waited. She pulled at her short, unkempt hair, her tongue stroking across blistered lips. Behind her were no less than fifty dirty, rabid wasteland bandits—some of the Coyotes’ finest.
She’d received Winston’s last transmission. Kane and his group would be leaving the army base aboard a train. She couldn’t believe her shitty luck. A train. She had sworn on her life that she would produce Kane’s head on a stick and that not a single member of his group would survive.
She was beginning to regret those promises. And now she also had to figure out how to assault a moving train. Not an easy feat. Shana had to assume they were already beaten down from their journey, that they wouldn’t have much fight left in them. Once she coupled that with the sheer surprise of an ambush, surely this little group wouldn’t be able to resist the Coyotes for long. Her men would board the train and slaughter everyone on board.