‘The girls put their necks on the line to get you back and now you just want to make that all for naught? Hell, a couple have been hit.’
Jacques glanced behind him to ensure that nobody else had got wind of what was being discussed. They hadn’t, thankfully, sparing an uproar. The injured had been brought through and already patched up, though their wounds were nonfatal, the amount of blood lost was relatively alarming. Franco wasn’t immune to what he saw. It was just that at this point he needed to maintain a level head if they were to make it free of this almighty mess.
‘It’s a damn sight easier for one to be on the run than twelve.’
‘And what would you do?’
‘I’ll drive the Den out into the Sand Sea. It’s a big place. There’s plenty of nooks to hide in if you know where.’
Jacques had to look away. This was utter lunacy under the guise of a noble gesture. Self-sacrifice wasn’t heroic, it was a foolish undertaking by those who failed to deduce a solution to a problem.
‘This is a big ask, boss.’
‘I appreciate that. I’m sorry for this burden.’ Franco patted his friend’s shoulder. ‘I need you to protect them. Keep them all safe for me, please. You’re the only one I trust to do it. I’m counting on you.’
Lunacy, Jacques thought. This wasn’t about the Den any more; this was about revenge. Franco was wanted by both parties and this suggestion was the height of foolishness. Did he really think he could outrun them all – that he could make it to the next trading post before a warrant was sent over newswire? Even if he accomplished that feat, there could be a knife in the back around every street corner, every dark alley. There would be nobody he could trust, not out here, not anywhere he rolled on in to. Even if he went to ground, it would be a matter of time until he was sold out for a reward.
Franco was, simply, a dead man. All he needed was an accompanying casket.
‘Is this the part when you tell me it’s an order?’ Jacques wearily sighed. Clearly there was no talking him out of this.
‘It is.’
‘Is there any point disagreeing?’
‘There’s not.’
‘There’s our plan then.’
* * *
Corinne spied through the periscope of the storage car, easing it slowly to mark up the number on horseback giving chase. It was not good. The Bluecoats thrashed the reins of their rides on the right. Wilheim’s men dominated the left, separated by the huge kick-up of dust that the train produced with its escape. They were all riding hard, taking pot shots at one another and when so inclined fired upon the Gambler’s Den, peppering it with bullet holes.
‘Ready!’ Katerina called, loading another shell into the cannon, waiting for the final confirming thump. Corinne held her hand high, lining up the mirrors’ markings to a contingent of outlaws who had gained significant ground. The hand fell. The carriage shook as the cannon let fly its load. Kitty watched as the riders catapulted into the air, horses and all, the very ground rising as if a stone had been dropped into water from a great height.
Katerina repeated herself, yanking at the loading crack. ‘Last one!’ she added, much to the dismay of the faces around her.
‘What do you mean last one? Why last one?’
‘We’re out! We never got a chance to resupply, did we? We couldn’t exactly go buying munitions while impounded.’
Corinne spun back to the periscope. Emerging from great columns of dirt, both factions continued their relentless pursuit. Now there were too many count and, even worse, they were gaining.
‘We better think of something fast!’ Katerina warned, cringing at the raps upon the boxcar.
‘Open the doors up, both sides,’ Corinne ordered, reaching to a shelf-mounted toolbox. She withdrew a knife and began detaching the show materials from the wall. Signs, tables, chairs, anything that was heavy enough to be of use slammed upon the carriage floor. The other girls unbolted the doors and heaved them aside in unison, introducing a roar of wind and a cacophony of noise inside.
‘Keep your heads down and let ’em have it!’ Corinne ordered. She was the first to roll the debris out, sending it skimming through the air as it bounced over and over, missing rider after rider. A chair forced a Bluecoat to dart aside and onto the tracks, meeting a bullet from a bandit. One of the gaming tables was dismantled and hurled into the wind, launching a deadly wooden discus that almost cleaved someone in twain from their horse. Anything not bolted down was tossed, filling the desert with a barrage that peppered their pursuers, knocking an ample amount down.
More took the riders’ places, mostly turning their attention on the train cars, forcing the showgirls to take sudden cover as bullets buzzed overhead, fracturing wood.
‘I hate to say this, but we’re running out of luck here. Anybody partial to an idea?’ Katerina called over the noise, hoping that someone would come up with a suggestion now that things were becoming desperate. Kitty scurried on all fours to a large locked-off crate, adorned with a red stencilled danger sign. She tugged and pulled before noticing a padlock. She ransacked the toolbox, producing a crowbar. With an easy heave the padlock pinged off, stirrup and all.
‘I got one. Why are we ignoring these?’ Kitty revealed, turning the box on its side. It contained sacks of fireworks, multitudes of rockets and cakes that were used in their displays. She emptied the contents into a pile. Proud, she announced quite broadly, ‘I say we go out with a considerable bang!’
As those on horseback drove onward, they were surprised to see sudden balls of bound materials tossed from the Gambler’s Den. With the dust heaving back and forth they were not seen until it was too late. The bundles exploded violently, showering riders with colours and sparks, with cracks and booms filling the air. Over and over bundles of fireworks launched themselves on erratic paths, rockets splitting free and cascading sparks of reds, greens, and blues all around. Firecrackers chattered, causing horses to rear up and buck, violently panicking at the assault. Stick fountains sprayed their hot contents whilst air bombs punted volleys that boomed exponentially.
By the time the smoke cleared and those who were still able to pursue looked around, the train was far, far ahead.
The girls cheered, punching the air as the doors were slid to a close, banishing most of the noise to the outside. Some sat themselves down for a breather, a good number of them hugging.
Whilst Corinne gave her congratulations, Katerina realized that she had not heard Wyld’s rifle fire from the observation car for some considerable time. Without taking a pistol for her own protection, she made for the connecting door and darted outside.
* * *
Franco and Jacques moved through the carriages, door after door swung upon before making it to the carriage coupling, a link and pin that sat in its housing, pulling and straining with momentum. The pair approached with accompanying crowbars from the storage car, straddled their legs to brace themselves, Franco on the engine side and Jacques at the other.
The pin head was gently eased up with timed prises until it rose, shuddering with every push. Instructing Franco to step back for a second, Jacques took the last measure and pulled the pin away. Its weight forced a hasty drop between the now separating carriages and onto the tracks.
Gradually the gap widened and the cars separated from one another with a clunk.
Jacques searched for something to say. The further apart the cars became, the more desperately he did so, but the only thing he could muster was an apology. He had done his best to keep the Den, its owner, and passengers safe for all these years, and now it looked to be that it was all to come crashing down.
‘I’m sorry!’ Jacques shrugged, yelling above the noise, attempting to say something, anything worthwhile.
Franco smiled, deep and heartfelt. ‘You have no need to be!’ he called back and after a pause, as the trains separated further, said the last words between them. ‘Just promise me you’ll look after the others! Make sure of that
for me! I don’t want to be picking up a paper and reading about undue nastiness.’
There was a moment, a handful of seconds in reality, where they locked eyes before going their own ways. The partnership that enforced a brotherly solidarity between them had ended. It was more than just a signed contract. The pair had trusted one another, depending on each other’s respective talents.
It was criminal this could not be mourned correctly.
Franco was the first to turn away. Sentiment would have to be addressed some other time, and as the engine sped away along the tracks, Jacques returned through the carriages, brushing through the showgirls who silently watched him pass. A sudden heavy slide of the carriage car door ahead, leading to the observation car, forced his attention. Before anyone ventured through, Jacques had already released his firearm and raised it to the level of his eyes.
* * *
Katerina emerged, shouldering the weight of Wyld, helping her inside. Wyld herself was sprayed with blood, an ugly wound causing winces and hisses from the injury. She was eased down to sit, and her wound quickly tended to.
Jacques slipped his weapon back into its home.
‘What happened?’ Jacques asked.
‘Just got caught by someone.’ Wyld winced as Kitty knelt and pressed firmly on the wound with a makeshift suture. ‘Nothing to worry about; I’ll be fine. Right?’
Katerina nodded, drawing Wyld to replace the hand with her own, wiping her own bloodied fingers down her waist.
‘Right. The shot missed anything important. She can still hold.’
In response, Wyld lifted her left arm, gripping her revolver by the handle, though it shook quite noticeably in effort.
Jacques lowered the weapon in her hand so the barrel pointed to the floor.
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘What? And where’s the boss?’
Jacques covered his mouth with a hand before speaking. ‘Gone. He’s giving us a chance. As soon as it’s just the law, stop firing. We’re handing ourselves in.’
All of the girls murmured between themselves in concern.
‘Listen well. Make no mistake, everybody. We’re going to be arrested. They’re going to put us through the ringer and they’re not going to be nice while doing so. The story is that we were forced by Franco to go on the run. He was the mastermind; he threatened us to comply. Stick to that when questioned and we’ll all get out. No deviations. No cracks.’
Wyld tossed her head back with a wince against Katerina. This may have been a sound solution for those who were not classified as stowaways, especially ones who had done their fair share of dropping Bluecoats giving chase, but for her it was an invitation to all manner of troubles.
‘I can’t be here for this,’ Wyld declared. ‘If I get detained, I’m not going to see the outside of a cell for a very long time. I’ve got too much on my agenda to reside behind bars. I need your help.’
‘What do you need?’ Katerina willingly asked.
‘I need to get off this bloody train is what I need. I figure I’ve done my bit to earn passage, if the money hadn’t been enough of course.’
‘So what do we do? Hide you away?’
‘Not possible. The Bluecoats will rip this place apart after all this. There’s nowhere to hide. Get me to the door.’
‘You’re going to jump?’ Katerina gasped loudly. This was enough to attract the attention of everyone else.
‘There’s no other way of getting off is there?’
‘No, not really …’
‘Then help me while I still have time.’ Wyld encouraged Katerina to move with a few struggling steps. Jacques unbolted one of the side-car doors and exposed them to the Sand Sea as it raced past. It was a brash move, certain to hurt of course, but it wasn’t like they had the time to discuss anything more sensible. Katerina leant forward, watching rocks of variable sizes and razor-sharp bushweed in scattered patches pass her eye line. If this was mistimed, Wyld would cut herself to pieces or break her skull open.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Katerina asked.
‘Not in the slightest!’ Wyld laughed back.
Jacques reached out and shook Wyld’s hand as she stood on the cusp of the boxcar, already feeling the wind attempting to take her. Sure they were moving, but not fast enough to cause any significant injury. A few scratches and bruises maybe.
She hoped, at least.
‘Happy trails, stowaway. And good luck,’ Jacques said.
‘And to you and yours.’ Wyld gave one final smile before falling backward and tucking into a ball. The onlookers watched her toss over and over until she stopped, lying face first. Was she okay? Had she made it? As the carriages rolled onward with momentum, it was impossible to tell. One thing was for certain though: she wasn’t moving. Bluecoats eventually caught up and thundered past, thrashing their horses’ reins. An eventual cloud of dust from horses’ hooves covered where Wyld limply lay and that was that.
Jacques began his work.
‘I want everybody ready. Stow the guns away. I want anything that could show that we were resisting the law dropped. Corinne, get the rest of the girls from the next carriage, any stragglers, and bring them through. When the Bluecoats get here, we’re arms up and accommodating.’ Jacques raised his voice firmly. ‘Now does everybody understand their role in all this?’
Everyone in attendance nodded, though some looked decidedly rattled. This wasn’t how things were envisioned to play out.
* * *
The decoupled carriages had been slowly losing speed but now their momentum was easing to a stop. It wouldn’t be long before the law reached them. Corrine did as was asked and rounded up the handful of women who moved to the next carriage back to defend the train via rifle. The firearms were locked away in their designated places, indicating they had never been fired in defence.
It didn’t take long for this to be accomplished, enough time for the cars to come to rest, miles out of Windberg, far enough that the city resembled a shimmering blob in the heat haze. Plumes of dust grew larger and larger until the Bluecoats formed a perimeter on horseback. When they advanced on the boxcar at the rear, they found the huddled women inside playing their part spectacularly, some even coaxing tears for the performance.
Jacques rested on the door edge, wearily holding his arms above his head.
As a line of riders rested their rifles over forearms in threat, Jacques praised their arrival with as much fake sentiment he could muster.
‘Oh bless you for saving us, sirs. It was terrible, simply terrible. He was an absolute animal. The things he did …’
From inside the shadow-drenched carriages, one of the showgirls suddenly began to take stock of those around her, counting each head in company and coming to an alarming realization.
It was Kitty who secretly tugged against the pleated layers of Corinne’s dress and hissed repeatedly for acknowledgement. Initially she was ignored, until her urgency became impossible to brush away. When Corinne finally yielded, she did so not with a turn of the head, for that would raise suspicion, but with a dart of the eyes to her side.
‘Corinne, this isn’t right,’ Kitty whispered in concern. ‘Where’s Misu?’
Chapter Seventeen
The Show’s Over
With the carriages decoupled, leaving only the engine and tender, the Gambler’s Den burst into speed, careering along the wastes. It wouldn’t be long until it hit the Sand Sea, where Franco would be impossible to follow. All he needed was enough time and escape was a certainty.
Again Franco looked back at the line of cars, which he had abandoned, and those therein. Franco told himself, repeatedly, while walking around the tender box, using the handrail for security, that it was the right decision. They would be let off with a caution at worst, denying knowledge of the breakout. After all, who would help with something like that and be apprehended so easily? No, the onus was on Franco. That’s what the court papers would say, t
hat’s what the newswire would carry, and that’s what every wanted poster would reflect: just him and him alone.
The way things were before, before this whole ugly affair started.
Jumping off the tender platform to the engine cabin, he froze, staring at the controls that were untouched, and alarmingly unmanned. Rosso was missing from his post as was his boy; instead someone else much younger had replaced Rosso, with very visible intentions.
Misu leant against the cabin side, tear-stained and resolute. At Franco’s first step forward, she took one of own backward, holding up a revolver, stopping his advance.
‘Misu, what are you doing? Where is the damned driver?’ he asked.
Her bottom lip trembled with every sentence, the words tumbling out haphazardly.
‘They had to get off,’ she stammered correcting herself, seemingly quite surprised by this revelation. ‘I had to force them out. I didn’t want to. Believe me I didn’t want to but there’s no way out. Franco, I’m so sorry but I have to do this.’
‘No, you don’t. You really don’t.’
‘He wants the Den and he will not stop until it’s in his possession.’
‘Of course. That’s what he blackmailed you with.’
‘Did you think I would do something like this willingly?’ she cried out in protest. ‘Wilheim. You can’t stop him. He will chase and chase and chase until he chokes the life out of those against him. I spent four years at the mercy of that man. Four years! I’m not going back, do you hear? I have to do this, Franco. It’s the only way he will leave me alone! It is the only way!’
‘I’ve seen you breathe fire plenty of times before me darlin’.’ He threatened with a step, though this time she didn’t relent. ‘And in case you ain’t ever noticed, I don’t flinch. I’m going to put something to you and you best open your ears to it: I will see the Den in pieces before it’s in the hands of someone else. This is my train, do you hear? Mine. So lower your damned weapon or you’ll spring me to do something equally foolish.’
Den of Shadows Page 26