Against the Fading of the Light (Action of Purpose, 3)

by Stu Jones

  She looked over her group again—disgusting, ugly highwaymen, each and every one. They were a violent bunch, but success was not guaranteed, and there were no other options. Her skin tingled at the thought of how pleased Lord Malak would be when she arrived with news of Kane’s death while also producing a loaded train as a bonus.

  As if on cue, the piercing whistle of the steam train cut through the air, the chugging of the engine loud and powerful, the sound so strange in the silence of the new world. Kane was surely headed toward the dam. She had to stop him, and suddenly, she knew just how to do it.

  23

  “HOLD UP, SAM,” Kane said, leaning his head out of the window to get a better look at the debris that was blocking the track. It was a foregone conclusion that sections of the track would be blocked along their route. Kane had simply hoped that they could make it out of town first.

  Kane scanned the horizon as Sam began to gradually apply the brake lever, the train squealing and gradually slowing to a stop. Farmington, New Mexico, hadn’t been much to look at when it was alive: a small mountain town with squat, square one-story buildings and little definition in the way of architectural diversity. Now the hollow, abandoned adobe structures appeared like the stone dwellings of some long-forgotten indigenous people who’d left long ago in search of greener pastures.

  “We’re going to have to remove it from the tracks.” Sam looked toward the broken-down, rusted sedan that straddled the tracks before them.

  “Yeah,” Kane muttered. His portable radio crackled; it was Ari.

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s a vehicle blocking the tracks; it’s going to have to be moved. Keep security tight.”

  Kane didn’t feel right about this. Something was wrong about the vehicle, like it was too perfectly placed—designed to force them to stop.

  Just as Kane thought this, he caught a flash of movement from behind the vehicle. Someone was crouched down, waiting.

  Ambush.

  “Ram it!” Kane bared his teeth and grabbed the throttle, forcing it fully open.

  “What?” Sam cried out, grabbing Kane’s arm. “It could derail us!”

  “Do it! It’s a trap!” Kane yelled as the train screamed a trail of steam and began to pick up speed. “Everyone brace for impact,” Kane called into his radio. “We’ve been set up. Get ready to fight.”

  Two bandits popped up from behind the abandoned vehicle, firing wildly, the bullets striking the front of the train and bouncing off the interior walls around Kane and Sam.

  “Get down, Sam. Keep us going.”

  Sam ducked his head, and Kane rose, shouldering his M16 rifle. The first shot was dead on, a fine pink mist spraying from the first bandit’s skull as the other broke from the cover of the vehicle and began to run. Kane tracked him, firing single rounds to conserve ammo. With a jarring concussion, the train slammed into the sedan, shoving it down the tracks in a squalling grind of steel against steel. The vehicle was stuck sliding down the track as they went.

  “This isn’t good,” Sam groaned. “If that catches on anything, it could flip us.”

  “Just keep going. Don’t stop, no matter what.” Kane slung his rifle over a chest rig loaded with eight rifle magazines and a few fragmentation grenades. He climbed up the ladder outside the cab and onto the roof of the train just in time to see a bunch of vehicles spinning their tires on the dirt as they approached the train from the rear. Kane conducted a quick assessment.

  “Twelve vehicles; about fifty bad guys,” Kane said to himself, as he ran across the top of the train toward the rear. Definitely Coyotes. He grabbed his radio. Suddenly a multitude of thoughts stopped his transmission. Was this it—the final confrontation? Was this the whole group or just a faction sent to kill them? Was Malak with them? His kids?

  Kane composed himself and continued running. He keyed the radio.

  “Ari, Courtland, and everyone else, they’re going to try to board us. If they do, we’re dead. They’ve got us outnumbered. Defend the train but identify your targets; they could have my kids or other hostages with them.”

  Kane ran to the edge of the car. Dropping to a knee, he took aim on the raiders as they drew alongside the chugging train, their screams wild with psychotic hate. Kane fired rapidly and saw his rounds find their marks, his targets slumping or tumbling from the bouncing vehicles as they struggled to keep up with the train.

  Pulling the pin from a frag grenade, the spoon sang as it ejected. Kane hurled it as hard as he could into the midst of the pursuing bandit vehicles. With a flash, the grenade disintegrated a vehicle’s tires, causing it to roll and catch fire. The bandits inside were trapped, their screams fading as the train gained speed.

  “Ari, did you copy that?” Kane yelled, bullets pinging off the railcar around him.

  From the dark interior of the rearmost railcar, Ari took a deep breath and nodded to Courtland.

  “I copy,” she replied, stone-faced. “You worry about the sides of the train. I’ve got the rear covered.”

  Courtland unbolted the double doors and flung them both open with a shout. Immediately five of the bandit vehicles came into view, their painted riders screaming as they quickly approached to board. Ari swung the barrel of her stationary M2 .50-caliber machine gun in the direction of their pursuers and watched as rage and invincibility gave way to unchecked terror.

  The heavy machine gun pounded to life, in a surge of absolute, overwhelming violence. Ari snarled with iron determination, her entire body shaking with the pounding of the weapon. The Coyotes’ vehicles exploded, metal and glass shrapnel flying everywhere. The bandits, now wild with hysteria, swerved their vehicles, desperate to get clear of the devastating weapon.

  Ari tracked them with controlled bursts, the thin metal husks of the vehicles proving insufficient cover from the large, devastating rounds fired by the heavy machine gun. The highwaymen screamed as buckets of hot lead ripped them apart, tossing torn limbs into the air and showering the bodies of their comrades in bloody pulp.

  The remaining six cars approached from either side of the train, trying to get close enough for the psychos to board. Shana approached up the right side of the train with two beat-up, full-size trucks and an old flatbed tow truck loaded with goons. She screamed wildly, swinging her arms and shouting for her men to board the train.

  “Now!” Jenna yelled. The locomotive came alive with the sound of gunfire, the shooters in Kane’s group opening up on the bandits from the length of the train. Jenna breathed deeply, choosing her targets and pulling the trigger as her rifle recoiled again and again against her. It was working.

  Kane watched the Coyotes’ vehicles approaching, his people striking good hits on the bandits and thinning their numbers as they tried to close the gap. He continued to fire, his weapon running dry. He quickly extracted a fresh magazine from his carrier, inserted it in the mag well, and slapped the bolt catch. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Courtland leap from the left side of the train. The Coyotes never saw the giant coming.

  Dropping in with a roar, Courtland landed with a titanic boom against the engine block of the lead vehicle, a nearly ruined Chevy S-10, causing it to flip. Bellowing, surging with heavenly strength, Courtland caught the vehicle by its roof as it flipped upside down in the air. Taking two lunging strides, he pivoted and slammed its tailgate down like a giant sledgehammer into the top of the second vehicle. Spinning, he flung the crushed vehicle from his hands across the ground, and it tossed end over end, launching mangled bodies from the windows.

  “Hit that big bastard!” a thug in the third vehicle shouted, encouraging the driver to floor it at the now-stationary giant. Posting up and digging in as the train continued past, Courtland balled his enormous bowling-ball-size fists and prepared for the vehicle to hit him.

  “Strike me down if you can!” the giant shouted in defiance.

  In one deft movement, just as the bandit’s vehicle prepared to make contact with him, Courtland dropped low and assum
ed his old Crushball lineman stance. The giant bristled with inhuman power as the vehicle collided with him. From atop the train, Kane watched in amazement. There was no doubt that the opponents of Courtland “the Sledge” Thompson had faced a similarly unstoppable force in the famed Crushball arenas of the previous century. The bandit occupants of the vehicle might as well have hit a bridge support at eighty miles per hour, their broken bodies melding with the twisting metal of the truck, their screams cut short.

  Atop the train, Kane cheered as Courtland stood free of the mangled vehicle. But his elation was short-lived as bullets zipped past his own head, causing him to duck. Kane turned and watched as the last two cars made their move for the driver’s cab.

  “Sam!” Kane shouted and began to run back to the front of the train. Just as he arrived, he slung his rifle and jumped, forgoing the ladder. Grabbing a crossbar as he fell, Kane swung his legs toward the opening of the cab just as a thug scrambled up the ladder from one of the vehicles. With the full force of his body weight, Kane planted both feet squarely in the chest of the man, launching him from the opening with a howl, his body disappearing beneath the wheels of the closest vehicle.

  The second man was quickly up the ladder, as Kane dropped to the ground and chanced a look at Sam, who was still trying to control the train. The painted man, wild with fury, rose into the cabin and leveled his handgun. Kane had no time to unsling his rifle. Dodging to the left as the bandit fired twice, Kane intercepted the man’s gun hand at the wrist. Torquing the barrel, Kane disarmed the thug, kicking him in the pelvic bowl and simultaneously firing a round pointblank into the dead man’s face.

  Stepping to the opening, Kane pulled his last frag grenade, tossing it through the open window of one of the closest trucks. He emptied the thug’s handgun into several bandits who had latched onto the train, knocking them from the side of the cab. He dropped the bandit’s weapon at his feet, and quickly transitioning to his rifle, he tabbed the selector switch into the full-auto position. The rifle blazed a white-hot stream of lead into the final two vehicles, just as the frag grenade exploded inside the truck, turning its driver into a loose pile of meat. Out of control, the truck slammed into the side of the train with the sound of metal tearing.

  Kane ran dry, quickly made his weapon ready, and fired again into the last vehicle; the M16’s rounds cutting through the sidewall like a hot knife through butter. Slowing, the vehicle drifted away from the train, inert.

  “Sam, stop the train,” Kane shouted, heaving and trying to catch his breath. After no response Kane said again, “Sam, stop…” He turned to see old Sam weakly clutching at a bad chest wound. The blood had already spread across his shirt and was beginning to soak the front of his pants. He had been hit by one of the two rounds Kane had dodged.

  Reaching past the downed man, Kane disengaged the throttle and engaged the brake lever himself, bringing the train squealing slowly to a stop.

  “Come on, Sam; don’t do this to me.” Kane broke open a military trauma pack and pulled a chest seal from the pouch. Sam stopped him.

  “Forget about it. I’ve about exhausted my usefulness anyway,” he said, wheezing.

  “Dammit, Sam, that bullet was meant for me.” Kane frowned, still putting pressure on the old man’s wound.

  “It’s alright. I showed you everything I knew about this old thing. You drive the train now. You don’t need me.”

  “Not true. You’ve been with us since we took refuge at the radio station. You’re an asset and a good man.”

  “Well, between you and me, you are needed much more than I am. Kane, go and save your kids.”

  Kane nodded. “I will.”

  “That’s good. Don’t lose hope,” the old man said in a whisper, his body going limp.

  Kane ducked his head and sighed at the loss of another one of his people. Swearing, his anger building, he picked up his rifle, exited the cab, and started back toward the ruined bandit vehicles. Approaching the truck that had veered away, he saw a figure crawl from the passenger side, mortally wounded.

  The rest of Kane’s group was exiting the train, everyone weary with the stress of battle. Kane scanned the wounded female bandit for weapons but came up empty.

  He turned and saw Ari hop down from the train, alongside several others. Everyone else was happily cheering and hugging over their victory. Behind them Courtland approached, just now catching up with the now-stationary train.

  Kane turned back to the female bandit, a flare of recognition in his face.

  “Shana?”

  “Yeah,” Shana sputtered. She had more holes in her than he could count.

  “Where’s Malak? Too scared to fight his own battles?”

  Shana smirked. “My lord is above fucking with you people any longer. He has his sights set on greater glories.”

  “Then what the hell is this about?”

  “It’s about murdering you and everyone associated with you.”

  “How’s that working out for ya?” Kane quipped.

  “Pretty good till this,” she said, smiling with evil intent. “Your friend…that kid, Jacob? That obnoxious little shit was my kill.”

  Kane’s face hardened.

  “Yeah, brought the whole fuckin’ roof down on you, didn’t we? Did your wife. Enslaved your kids—”

  Kane placed the barrel of his rifle against her head, a remorseless look of disgust hanging on his face. “You should think real hard how you want to spend your last few moments, because you aren’t going to mention my wife and children again.”

  “Heh.” Shana spat blood. “Don’t you wanna know?”

  “Know what?”

  “How we knew where you would be. How we knew where to set this little ambush?”

  “Seems irrelevant now that we’ve won.”

  “Oh, but it is relevant,” Shana said, gurgling, crimson bubbles foaming on her lips as she choked back her own blood. “There’s a traitor in your midst.”

  Behind them Winston began to back away, slowly shaking his head, his face a mask of horror.

  “Yeah, that’s right, Winston. You’re in trouble now,” Shana gloated.

  Kane turned to look at Winston. “What’s she talking about?”

  Winston continued to back away, unable to speak.

  “Winston, what’s going on?” Jenna said, approaching.

  “Yeah, Winston, what’s going on?” Shana mocked, initiating a bout of coughing. “Tell them,” she resumed raggedly. “Tell them how you dimed them out to save your own skin. Tell them…” Shana coughed, gasping and gurgling as she grabbed at her wounded body and slumped over dead.

  Kane turned fully toward Winston, who drew a blue snub-nosed revolver from his waistband and pointed it back at him. Kane didn’t bother raising his hands. “You sold us out, and now Sam is dead for it.”

  “Sam?” Jenna questioned Kane with loss in her eyes.

  Kane nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Winston.

  “I didn’t have a choice—you don’t understand!” Winston shrieked.

  “Winston, just put the gun down. Let’s talk about this,” Jenna said.

  Kane shook his head.

  “I didn’t have a choice!” Winston shouted. “They made me do it!”

  “Winston, please,” Jenna pleaded.

  Winston turned the gun on himself, pushing it to his temple. “I can’t live with myself. I wasn’t strong enough. I know. Kane was right. I am a coward.”

  Kane took a deep breath and let it out, checking his own anger. He couldn’t figure out how the Coyotes could have gotten to Winston— much less swayed him against them. The man had been with them the entire time. “Winston, put the gun down. You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

  Courtland, Ari, and a few others approached slowly. “Come on, Winston,” Courtland began. “It’s never too late to come back. You’re one of us. We’ll work it out.”

  Tears of shame dribbled down Winston’s cheeks. “No. It is too late. You don’t understand. They put so
mething inside me—something evil. I wasn’t strong enough to fight it, and now I’ve gone too far. I can’t come back, not now.”

  “That’s not true, Winston,” Jenna said. “You can always come back to us. You’ve done a lot of good—you saved all those children at the station. Don’t end your life over a mistake you made. We understand why you had to do it.”

  “Come on, Winston,” Ari whispered.

  Kane’s face softened. “Winston, seriously, don’t do this. You are still one of us. Sam was enough. We don’t need to lose you too. Don’t do this. We’ll work it out.”

  “Please, brother, put the gun down; it’s going to be OK,” Courtland pleaded.

  “No…it’s not. It can’t ever be OK now. I can feel it moving under my skin. I want to get it out. Help me get it out!”

  Kane and Courtland exchanged a worried glance as Winston continued.

  “I don’t want to live in this world anymore. I’m all used up. I’m a traitor, and traitors deserve to die.”

  “Winston, look at me. Look at me,” Kane started.

  Winston seemed to calm considerably, his eyes distant, a confirmation of some terrible decision. “It’s OK, guys. I won’t bother you with this. I can get the darkness out. I know how. I don’t want it inside me anymore.”

  “Don’t do it, Winston!” Jenna cried.

  Kane, Jenna, Courtland, Ari, and several others all shouted, pleading in unison for him to stop. Winston pinched his eyes shut and pulled the trigger. In an instant, the revolver’s hammer slammed down, concussively exclaiming the final moments of Winston’s life. His friends, now but helpless bystanders, were unable to do anything but look on with shock and horror, as the poor man blasted the contents of his skull into the air.

  24

  IN THE FADING light of the day, Dagen brought the desert-tan military Humvee rolling to a stop. He had come close enough, for now. He sat in the silence of the vehicle and watched the Glen Canyon Dam facility through a pair of military binoculars. No sign of Malak on the top of the dam or on the adjacent bridge that crossed the canyon. The place was a fortress—armed to the teeth. There was plenty going on as well. Men hustled back and forth, setting barricades, positioning weapon systems, and generally making preparations for the assault they knew Kane would be bringing. Kane and his people would be walking into a death trap.