When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  The eMites in her clothes had served him well, streaming data to his laboratory in Tyler via a hijacked geosynchronous satellite. He was pleased to see that the latest iteration of eMites were more robust, capable of withstanding the rigors of open-road travel. The streaming-video was grainy at first, but a quick resolution adjustment produced a sharp image. The eMites video cameras had limitations due to the lens size. He found it helpful to stitch several images together which produced a 3D image of useable clarity but far from perfect.

  His voyeuristic tendencies surfaced during the first video download. From there on he looked forward to watching the snippets of the two women interacting. They proved themselves capable of handling any situation, so he remained hidden, watching from a distance. Given the ensuing chaos, his mission hadn’t changed, it had become urgent. The train was his for the taking. He had the one and only gear lever concealed in his pack. Without it the train would not roll forward or back. The train wasn’t going anywhere without his cooperation and, for the moment he wasn’t going anywhere either.

  He exited the warehouse and paused, studying the horizon. A rim of crimson shown through the crown of the naked forest, he had about twenty minutes of daylight remaining. It would be difficult to search the containers after dark. However, he was willing to risk the use of a flashlight in his quest for bullets. Where did they stow the ammunition? It would be loaded first, close to locomotive for security reasons. There had to be other supplies on board, too. From the looks of this wedge of Swans, they needed everything: food, medicine, clothing, bedding, razor blades, deodorant, toothbrushes, you name it, these poor bastards looked like they had been sleeping in the woods for months. Apparently, discipline had escaped along with health and hygiene. He intended to take full advantage of them before they could re-equip themselves.

  He was feeling unusually secure under the veil, after dark, invisible, untouchable, wearing the veil at night always put him in a surreal frame of mind, as if he were invincible. He admired the universe as he walked toward the front of the train. It was going to be a beautiful night...THUD...was knocked off balance. He recovered. Oh no, one of the idiots had walked into him.

  Milton shrieked at the inexplicable collision. He stumbled backwards from the collision with nothingness, managing to catch his balance before hitting the ground. Jordan quickly deactivated the veil. It was a very uncomfortable moment for both of them. Milton wasn’t sure he saw what he saw. Jordan was pissed at himself for not paying attention. The narrow, old man had discovered him by accident and worse yet, he had seen the NoVisVeil in action. This idiot better not say a word about that.

  “Whoa...where the hell did you come from?” Milton backed away, looking for a way out. His last bullet was buried in the bathroom wall. He did’t know a thing about hand to hand combat. Was this guy a Swan or what? Didn’t look like the others. He was clean. His clothes glistened. And he just fucking appeared out of....fucking nowhere. Milton was freaking the fuck out.

  Jordan attempted to calm him by offering a plausible explanation for his sudden appearance.

  “Hey, sorry about that, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I...ah was just checking the load on this car. I’m the locomotive engineer.”

  Milton got over his freak at the word, locomotive. Being a heavy-equipment operator, he was keenly interested in learning how to operate the train. Becoming a railroad engineer had actually been one of his boyhood dreams. Here was his opportunity.

  “Oh man, you’re lucky you just got here. This place was a madhouse a few hours ago. Bullets flying and all kinds of shit. I killed a guy up in the bathroom. Do you believe that? Me. I killed a guy.”

  Jordan remained mute. What was he supposed to say to that? Congratulations?

  This was the clown who had spoiled the coming-out in the warehouse.

  “So you drive this thing, huh?” Milton asked.

  “Yes sir, I’m the...ah...driver.” Jordan had a knack for taking on local dialects. It was a quick way to dispel suspicion and garner information from the locals. New guy in town. Let’s help him out sort of thinking. It had been a effective ploy in most instances.

  “Names Jordan,” he extended his hand toward Milton who was thrilled to make his acquaintance. They shook.

  “I’m Milton, nice to meet you, Jordan.”

  “I guess I’m one lucky guy, Milton. I was out for a walk when all the commotion began. I decided to keep my distance until the dust settled. I’m responsible for this train. My boss wouldn’t appreciate it if I got hurt and wasn’t able to bring it home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “The Twin Cities. How about you? Where are you from?” Jordan asked.

  “Right here. Well not right here, but in town. Saint Cloud, that is. I grew up here. Worked here. Looks like I’m gonna die here, too.”

  “Everybody dies,” Jordan said.

  “I didn’t mean die as in dead. I mean I’m dying inside. I feel trapped here. There’s no way out.” He didn’t say what he was really thinking. The train was a way out.

  “I see. So how is it that you are out here after dark? Aren’t you afraid you might get shot and die right here?” Jordan prompted.

  “We, I mean me and my friends were the only ones doing the shooting. The Swans don’t have one bullet between them. Except...”he glanced over his shoulder.

  “Except what?”

  “Well, we, me and my buddy Harold, suspect there might be some ammunition in one of these containers. We saw a couple of the Swans running that way.” He pointed toward the front of the train. “We think they might have been after some weapons or ammunition...or both.”

  Jordan was pleased. The village idiots had done some reconnaissance work for him. With a little encouragement they would likely do more.

  He played innocent. “Is that right? I don’t have any ammunition on the shipping manifest. This train was supposed to be unloaded and homeward bound by now.”

  “Yeah?” Milton hesitated, thinking, would he really leave if given the chance? He had resisted the urge for years, preferring to stay in his comfort zone where he was relatively safe hanging out with Harold, doing next to nothing and that was the problem. He was suffering a mid-life crisis and could find no cure. This might be it. This might be his only chance to get away, to get a life. He needed some specifics as to how to operate the locomotive. How to best go about that?

  “So, does this thing have a key or what?” He hoped his demure would provoke a satisfactory answer.

  “It’s not that simple.” Jordan said, laughing. He relaxed in his role as railroad engineer, he too had great admiration for all things mechanical and was happy to impress this country bumpkin with his extensive knowledge on the subject going into minute detail regarding the cold-start procedure. Milton listened intently, wishing he could take notes as Jordan chattered on, eventually offering the nugget of information that Milton needed.

  “... if someone was able to start the engine, they couldn’t move the train without the gear lever, which in this instance, I carry with me at all times.” He patted the strap of his backpack as he said it.

  Milton set his mind to be on the train with or without the engineer’s permission.

  he nodded, “No kidding,” he replied, off-handedly, as if he were losing interest in the topic. “You secret is safe with me, man. You taking on any passengers?”

  Jordan hadn’t anticipated the question. Fortunately, he was able to dodge it for the time being, due to the arrival of another village idiot.

  It was Leland.

  “What are you doing here by yourself, Milt? Where is my dad?”

  Then he saw the black, glistening, silhouette standing nearby. He reacted badly. Swinging his shotgun over his head like a fly swatter, he attempted to swat the dark figure with the butt of the shotgun.

  Jordan ducked and slid behind Leland in a flash, laying the cutting edge of his knife against Leland’s trachea.

  “You done?” he asked, calmly.

&
nbsp; Leland remained rigid and he spoke softly. “I’m done.”

  “Wise choice,” Jordan said, releasing him.

  Milton emitted a tentative laugh. “Relax, Lee. This is Jordan, he’s the engineer. We were just talking.” Milton suspected there was more to Jordan than he was admitting after witnessing his lighting-quick movements.

  Leland stared at Jordan intensely, the name was familiar. “What about?”

  “Oh...about the...train, you know. Engineering stuff.”

  Leland wasn’t paying attention, he was scanning his data bank. Hadn’t Amber mentioned the name Jordan? Wasn’t he...then it came to him like a virus.

  ”Ohhhh, so you’re Sheila’s brother?”

  Jordan grumbled silently. He wasn’t surprised to learn that these two belonged with the rest of the hillbilly mercenaries. Suddenly it had become a family reunion.

  “That’s correct, sir. Am I to assume that you have met my sister.” Jordan loved playing the proper gentleman. He was an odd looking man and he knew it. Strangers didn’t expect the air of sophistication he brought to the table and it kept them off guard.

  Leland was relieved. “Just this morning...”

  “Yesterday morning, HC.”

  “Whatever. We met her and Amber and the dog, Red something. Do you know Amber, too?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” That was the end of polite. He was becoming impatient with the impromptu question and answer session. There was much to do.

  “Have you seen them?”

  “Not for hours, we, Jerry and I, have been searching the train.”

  Jordan wasn’t happy to here that everyone seemed to be searching the train. The locals were as desperate as the Swans. He could feel a stand-off brewing, and if that wasn’t bad enough, it sounded like another village idiot was nearby. “Who’s Jerry?”

  “A friend. He’s down there by the first car...” Leland decided to revise the truth, slightly, hoping to establish some credibility with Jordan and shelter his wounded self-esteem.

  “We captured a couple of the Swans. We’ve got them locked in one of the containers.”

  First things first Jordan thought. “You said you were searching the train. What did you find?”

  “Not much. Mostly a bunch of plastic thingamajigs; boxes and boxes and boxes of them. I guess they are part of the bottling plant.”

  “What’s that? What did you say?” Jordan’s interest red-lined.

  “There was a portable water bottling plant on the train. The Swan’s unloaded it into the warehouse. They were trying to assemble it when we raided them. We think they were planning to bottle the water in the quarry and ship it somewhere.”

  “To Kansas. They’re going to ship it to Kansas and sell it.” Milton insisted. “For billions of dollars.”

  “They told you that?” Jordan’s mind was racing. His plans were changing.

  “Well...not exactly, we overheard them talking.” Milton admitted.

  Jordan had to decide at that moment whether to pursue Sheila and Amber or help the inept trio standing before him. He chose the latter, assuming that Sheila and Amber were fine, likely catching a few winks somewhere nearby. The supplies were a windfall and he wanted them regardless of what they were. He was thinking he would do whatever it takes to make that happen.

  “OK, gentlemen, let’s see what we can do about your...prisoners.”

  Milton led the way to the first car, calling for Jerry as they neared so he wouldn’t pierce the black shadow with an arrow.

  Milton took care of the introductions before launching into his story about how it all went down; according to his heroic version he had nothing to do with the panic following his shootout in the bathroom.

  “Our prisoners are in this one, here.” His story was up to date.

  They stopped, waiting for a sound from inside. No cries for help, no hammering on the door. No voices. Nothing.

  “They must be sleeping,” Milton guessed. He looked at Jordan, waiting for directions.

  Jordan eyed them suspiciously from a few feet away. For an instant he thought this might be a trap. It was doubtful but possible. He quickly concluded that he had not underestimated the motley crew. Once an idiot always an idiot.

  “Are you sure they’re in there?” Jordan waited. Testing. He was sure he could tell if they were lying by watching their body language.

  Milton replied with body bravado. “Damn skippy, man. I locked the doors myself.” Then his imagination got the better of him.

  “They’re probably waiting for us to open the door so they can mow us down with machine guns.” He managed a self-conscious smile while he chastised himself for playing the fool. He wanted to get serious, to project confidence but was unaccustomed to doing so.

  Jordan wasn’t amused. That scenario could be closer to the truth than these idiots suspected. He hammered on the side of the container with his fists. Unfortunately for the terrified Swans locked inside, the surrounding steel was mightier than the lead blasting from the barrels of their automatic weapons. The bits of lead ricocheted like balls in a lottery machine. Within seconds, they were both wounded, crying for help.

  Jordan smiled, “Sounds like they found the bullets...” He looked at Milton.

  “You were almost right.” He scrambled up on the car and unlocked the doors. He crouched as the doors swung wide and activated his NoVisVeil in case their cries for help was a ruse. “You gentlemen need some assistance?”

  The two Swans staggered toward the doors with their hands held high. Both were leaking profusely. One bled from the gut and shoulder, the other from a nasty head wound and twin holes in the torso. It was clear they needed medical attention. It was also clear that they would receive none, unless they administered it to themselves.

  “Get off this train,” Jordan ordered. “You men are on your own. If I see you again you’ll be worse off than you are right now. Do you understand?”

  They both nodded. One of them started to plead for mercy. His pleas were cutoff when Jordan pushed them overboard. They continued to plead as they lay on the ground.

  Jordan wasn’t affected. “Get lost,” he commanded.

  They started limping toward the warehouse.

  “Go that way.” Jordan pointed toward the field. He knew the men wouldn’t survive the day and he wanted them out of the way. Forgotten. He watched them hobble into the dark. Shortly after he heard painful cries coming from where they fell.

  Jerry and Leland stood stock still, bearing witness to the seemingly ruthless act, unsure whether to applaud or object.

  Milton was already inside the container, tossing the contents about in the dark looking for food.

  The cold-hearted display made a significant impression on Jerry. He realized that the he too would have to act with the same degree of callousness in his quest to right some long-standing wrongs. The only rule on the battleground would have to be survival of the fittest. Sympathy and mercy were out. He suspected that this was not the beginning of the revolution; it had just come to town. According to Sheila, there were people in other towns equally willing to stand up and fight for democracy and justice. If only they could communicate...get organized. They needed radios. Not the walkie-talkie type, but some capable of long distance communication. Harold had a short wave radio...

  “What are you thinking about, Jer?” Leland asked.

  “I’m thinking about kicking some more colonialist asses, Lee. I’m thinkin’ about taking my people’s land back for starters.”

  “Before we continue with our conquests, I suggest we get some training. You read me, chief?”

  “Loud and clear good buddy.”

  At least they are self-aware, Jordan thought. Maybe with a little training they would become valuable assets. Maybe later. Milton was ransacking the container. Better slow him down.

  Visibility was improving by the minute as sunrise approached. “Let’s see what we have inside, gentleman.” He followed Leland and Jerry into the container.

/>   “I found it...” Milton exclaimed. “I found the food.”

  “That’s good,” Jordan said, happy to see that their priorities didn’t collide. He pushed his way deeper into the container, looking for the weapons and ammunition. He found one of the discarded M4 assault weapons on the floor, picked it up, chambered a round and turned around, leveling the barrel in the direction of his three odd companions.

  “Get out.” he demanded.

  #

  Milton’s mouth full of Super Butter coated granola bars didn’t prevent him first responding to the unexpected turn of events.

  “Huh? waff the fuff you tahin bout?” The pained expression of sudden-realization molded his face. He spit his cud on the floor and stood up, stretching to his full stature of five-foot-five-inches while trying to establish eye contact with the black silhouette which suddenly disappeared.

  “You bastard, you’re a Swan aren’t you?” He blinked like Morse’s code, trying to overcome the invisible technology with willpower but failed.

  “Where are you?” He held his breath...listening. He could hear Jordan’s labored breathing.

  “That’s cool, man. I’ll wait. You can’t make a move without bumping into something. I know right where you are. I can wait to kick your ass.”

  He waited, hoping for some sound to penetrate the darkness to help him identify his target. A brief flashback reminded him that his Colt was empty. Shortly thereafter, sound reasoning caused him to forfeit the challenge due to the fact that he wasn’t feeling much like a bad-ass in the presence of Jordan’s automatic weapon. A sequel to the flashback allowed that he might be a bad-ass after all, just not at the moment.

  He turned, glancing at Jerry and Leland who had been unloading the container, pulling the crates into the daylight to better see the labels but were now stopped, mouths agape knowing only that they had again been hoodwinked.

  Jordan grinned at them. “You country cousins didn’t think I was going to let you have all the goodies, did you?”

  Jerry and Leland could only stare into the darkness wondering if Jordan was seriously serious or just pulling a prank. Really?