Refraction

by Christopher Hinz

  “Look,” Jessie hissed, pointing at the screen.

  One of the ground sensors blinked red. Seconds later, two men in ghillie suits slunk into view on the wide-angle cam. They hid in a cluster of bushes on the far side of the tracks, north of the bridge. One of them carried a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

  Keats donned his headset and activated his mic. “Bling, Toothpick?”

  “I see ’em.” Bling said. “Too many trees in my way. No clean shot.”

  “Snakes one and two targeted,” Toothpick reported. “Their RPG has a nonstandard warhead. Long and thin, possibly custom made. Not sure what it’s for.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Keats said. “We don’t let them fire it.”

  “Roger that.”

  Another ground sensor went red. A big dark-skinned merc carrying a large knapsack dashed out of the trees. He ducked under the north bridge pier and disappeared from camera view.

  “We’ve got snake three,” Keats said. “It’s Kokay. Anyone have a bead on him?”

  “Negative,” Toothpick and Bling uttered in unison.

  Keats stood and hefted his submachine gun. “All right, we’re going in.”

  Rory and Chef affirmed the order and the three of them raced off into the trees. Aiden stared at the screen, riveted. Other mercs must be out there as well. His hunch was confirmed a moment later when a third ground sensor blinked red. The duration of the signal suggested multiple targets. It was impossible to tell how many but he guessed a large group. They were approaching from the west, on the far side of the rail line. The number of mercs Nobe had tasked for the assault was a question Keats and his men had batted around since last night.

  Don’t think about the odds, just about staying alive, Keats had reminded them.

  Jessie froze and grabbed his arm. “Listen!”

  Aiden couldn’t hear anything. The forest seemed to have gone unnaturally quiet. No chirping birds, no background hum of insects. Maybe the silence was the native denizens sensing that something bad was about to happen.

  He finally discerned what her more sensitive ears had picked up. From the north came the distant rumble of approaching locomotives.

  “Time to go,” Jessie uttered.

  She lunged to her feet and strapped the shotgun across her back.

  “We should wait,” Aiden urged. “Follow Keats’ orders.”

  She ignored him and sprinted away. Aiden muttered a curse at her eagerness and his own lunacy for volunteering for such madness. Then he closed the laptop, tucked it under his arm and scrambled after her.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Héloise’s escape plan called for her to hike to her waiting SUV, hidden off-road several miles from ground zero. She’d drive straight through to Seattle and take an early-morning flight to Los Angeles. A wealth of confusion arising from the assault should keep the authorities bewildered for a time, making it doubtful they’d heighten security at such relatively distant airports. As an added precaution she’d booked her flight with a fake ID obtained with the help of one of Unit X’s illicit contacts.

  From LA she’d board a second flight to Mexico City, where Unit X had arranged for a plastic surgeon. Her facial alterations would be minor but should change her appearance enough to pass through most border gateways. Eventually she intended to make her way to South America.

  Her attention was drawn to the left windows. The train was passing a rotting tree that had fallen two winters ago during a storm. It was the first signpost. They were almost at ground zero.

  Ten seconds later they reached signpost two, a quartet of soaring pines in a square-ish configuration. The train was now half a mile from the bridge.

  Héloise pried the cushion off the empty seat beside her. She pinched it between her knees and the empty seat in front. Popping in a set of ear buds, she checked the radio app on her phone. During these rides, she often listened to a streaming FM station that played Nineties rap.

  The station came in loud and clear, the DJ droning on about tickets available for some concert. She waited expectantly. Any second now, the frequency jamming equipment planted by Unit X’s men should wipe out the train’s satellite-enabled Wi-Fi.

  The station went dead. The train was incommunicado.

  Héloise lowered her head against the cushion and braced for impact.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Aiden couldn’t believe he’d lost sight of Jessie. She’d been right in front of him, tearing through the bushes with what initially seemed like maniacal speed, although on second thought probably was more indicative of his own excessive caution. He’d come up and over a slight rise and she was gone.

  The ground was too hard to leave signs of her passage, at least none he could discern. He had no idea which way she’d headed. The growl of the locomotives grew stronger but the wilderness was playing sonic tricks, disguising the train’s location.

  He tried her on his headset but whispered appeals brought no response. He guessed she’d angled left and zigzagged through the trees in that direction. A dozen paces later he came to a sudden stop. The tracks were directly ahead, less than thirty feet away. The train sounded perilously close.

  I shouldn’t be standing in plain view.

  He pancaked behind a cluster of bushes, wincing as thorns from hostile foliage scratched his arms and legs. The locomotives burst into view to his left. The earth rumbled beneath him, the vibrations seeming to course through muscle and bone.

  Peering through the underbrush, Aiden could just make out the tiny figures of the engineer and conductor in the rounded contours of the lead cab. The train was slowing in anticipation of the bridge and the S-curve beyond. Flashes of late-day sun reflected off the shaded windows of the four passenger cars. He couldn’t see inside and hoped he was hidden well enough to avoid being spotted.

  The coaches passed his place of concealment. He flipped open the laptop, maximized the view from the panoramic camera as the train approached the bridge. He was startled by Toothpick’s voice in his headset.

  “Snake one is aiming the RPG. I think they’re targeting the last coach.”

  “Take ’em,” Keats ordered.

  Two rifle shots rang out.

  “Snakes one and two down,” Toothpick said.

  “First blood.” It was Rory’s voice. He sounded juiced.

  A round of machine-gun fire spilled through the forest. Another burst sounded, this one closer to Aiden.

  “I’m taking fire,” Toothpick said. “Snakes at my ten o’clock. Can’t see ’em.”

  Aiden’s attention was drawn back to the laptop. Kokay raced out from under the bridge pier, his face now hidden by black mask and goggles. He carried a dark object the size and shape of a bowling ball. Climbing the short embankment, he darted across the tracks and rolled the ball toward the oncoming train.

  The engineer spotted him, laid on the horn. Bullets pinged at Kokay’s feet. One of Keats’ men was trying to bring him down. The diesel’s screaming chimes nearly muffled the gunfire.

  Kokay leaped off the far side of the tracks and vanished from view.

  Despite the train’s reduced speed there wasn’t enough time to brake hundreds of tons of steel. The front coupler and snowplow of the lead diesel passed over the bowling ball.

  A burst of luminescence erupted from beneath the locomotive. The blast echoed through the forest.

  Gilded flames and a shower of debris shot out from beneath the diesel. The front wheel truck jerked upward and swiveled sideways, momentarily putting inches of air between the undercarriage and the rails. The wheels slammed down an instant later but no longer aligned with the twin ribbons of steel.

  Hideous screeching filled the air. The distressed locomotive skidded across the bridge, its snowplow raking the ballasted surface. Waves of gravel cascaded off the deck, pelting the waters below like jet-powered hail.

  Before the locomotive could complete the crossing, its coupler and snowplow dug in. A shudder seemed to pass through the entire train.

 
; The diesel splintered the flimsy railing and sailed off the side of the bridge. With a percussive howl, it plowed headfirst into the stream embankment.

  Plumes of dirt swirled into the air. The rear coupler snagged a length of broken rail and ripped free, severing the lead locomotive’s connection with the second diesel and the coaches. The untracked leviathan, its front end planted deep in the dirt embankment, uttered a defeated groan and rolled onto its side, slamming the shallow waters with a thunderous splash. The rest of the train came to a jerking halt with the remaining locomotive and the first coach centered on the bridge. The train remained railed but would be going no farther. Fifty feet of track in front of it had been buckled by the bomb and the lead unit’s wild trek.

  Aiden was stunned by the wreck’s savagery. They’d envisioned mercs leaping from the trees and onto the coaches like nineteenth century train robbers, not blasting a locomotive off its rails.

  The upward-facing cab door of the overturned diesel was pushed open. A crewman struggled to climb from the compartment. He was bleeding from the forehead and clutching a pistol.

  Someone lobbed a grenade. It bounced off the crewman’s chest and dropped through the open hatch at his feet. Panicked, he struggled to get clear of the cab.

  He didn’t make it. The grenade exploded, catapulting him twenty feet into the air. His body slammed into the stream.

  Rory’s voice erupted. “They’ve got another RPG!”

  The unseen merc fired before Rory could call out a position. Aiden watched onscreen as the rocketed grenade ripped through a window in the middle of the last coach. Moments later, a dense cloud of pinkish smoke poured out through the shattered window frame.

  Doors were flung open at both ends of the coach, emitting more swirls of pink haze. Marines appeared within it, hands pasted over mouths and noses, trying not to draw breaths.

  They seemed to be exiting in slow motion. Two of them, male and female, managed to navigate the steps and reach the ground. But they got no farther and collapsed face down in the dirt. The rest didn’t even make it that far. Aiden watched several more fall in the vestibules at both ends of the coach. The warhead must have contained a fast-acting knockout gas. At least he hoped that’s what it was and not something more permanent.

  He was a good hundred yards behind the afflicted car. The gas was already dispersing but he had no intention of venturing closer.

  Hollering and occasional screams emanated from the forward coaches. Presumably there were injured passengers, hurled from their seats when the train was brought to its abrupt stop. No one attempted to exit. The sporadic gunfire was enough to keep them inside.

  Aiden stood up. A mistake. Machine-gun fire ripped at the earth in front of him. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

  He dove back into the bushes. On the other side of the tracks, a figure lunged out of the trees. Another merc in black mask and goggles. His weapon looked similar to Aiden’s.

  The man charged at him, firing short bursts. Aiden tried to raise his own gun. But the twice-be-damned bushes snared the shoulder strap. He couldn’t swing the barrel toward the fast-approaching threat.

  The merc reached the tracks, took note of Aiden’s problem. He stopped, planted his own gun against his shoulder and took careful aim. But suddenly he hesitated and lowered his gaze. His trigger hand was enveloped in a gelatinous brown mass.

  One of Jessie’s droppers.

  The merc started to turn. Jessie burst from the trees behind him, fired her shotgun from three yards away. The blast ripped into the man’s flank, flinging him violently sideways.

  Aiden untangled himself from the bushes, in the process violently tearing off the headset when the mouthpiece caught a sprig. He checked the merc for a pulse. The man was gone. He wasn’t wearing body armor, which meant the others probably weren’t as well.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, fumbling to get the headset back on.

  “You… lucky… wasn’t close enough… aim was… ”

  Her words were cutting in and out. His headset may have been damaged.

  “Gas… dispersing…”

  That was all he got. Either she’d stopped talking or his headset was finished. She turned and dashed toward the train.

  “No don’t!” Aiden warned. “The gas!”

  Either she didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Her optimism was alarming, more the byproduct of adrenalin than common sense. Aiden grabbed the laptop and hurried after her.

  SIXTY

  Héloise got up and moved into the aisle. She was unhurt. The six occupants at the front of coach three had been thrown forward against the seat backs. Their injuries seemed limited to minor bruising. They huddled low, checking phones, perplexed that calls and texts weren’t getting through. Occasionally, one of them would peek out the bottom of a window to see who was doing the shooting.

  She’d expected a bit of gunfire but not this much. It sounded like a war zone out there. Had something gone haywire with Unit X’s plan?

  Turning to the vestibule’s rear door, she smacked the hydraulic actuator. Erring on the side of caution, she covered her mouth and nose with a hankie and strode across the metal plates between cars to enter the last coach. The Marines were strewn around like rag dolls, out of commission from Unit X’s fast-dissipating gas. By the time they awoke in a few hours, Héloise and the mercs would be long gone.

  As planned, she crouched over the nearest Marine and retrieved his radio. She also drew the brown Sig P320 from his belt holster, which was not part of the plan. Checking to make sure the slide lock was engaged, she popped the magazine out. Seventeen 9mm rounds. She snapped the mag back in and tucked the gun in her handbag.

  She was an excellent shot. Whatever all the shooting was about, she’d be ready. But that wasn’t her main purpose in securing a weapon. She’d decided early on to arm herself in case Unit X attempted a double-cross.

  Keeping low, she made her way back to the third coach. Movement out the right-side windows caught her attention. On the hill above, two of Unit X’s men in black masks were chasing and firing their machine guns at a third man running parallel to the train. Their quarry was neither masked nor in uniform.

  Héloise was astonished. Their quarry wasn’t military. Who the hell was he?

  The mercs closed on the man, whose movement revealed an odd gait. Either he’d been shot in the left leg or had some kind of preexisting condition that resulted in a limp.

  He ducked behind a tree, spun and returned fire. The two mercs separated, closed in from diverging angles to catch him in a crossfire. In seconds his cover was gone, his flanks exposed. He limped toward a new hiding place behind more distant trees but didn’t make it. Amid bursts of gunfire he fell forward and tumbled out of sight over a hill.

  A machine gun raked the left side of Héloise’s coach. She and the workers at the front dove to the floor as bullets shattered three windows.

  She switched the radio’s frequency to the one provided by Unit X and punched in the encryption code.

  “Miracle to Downspin One!” she whispered, using their code names. “I need a status update.”

  She plugged in an earpiece to avoid being overheard by the others and waited. No response came. She repeated the message.

  This time she was answered by a man with a Scottish accent.

  “Is it secure?” he asked.

  “Yes. What the hell’s going on out there?”

  “The situation is being resolved. Hold your position. We’ll come to you.”

  The radio went silent. Héloise wished she had access to the mercs’ tactical channel so she’d have some idea of how the battle was going. But that wasn’t something Unit X had been willing to provide.

  She crouched as low as possible in the rearmost seat with her back to the bulkhead, making herself as small a target as possible. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope no further glitches disrupted the plan.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Aiden watched Jessie run parallel to the trac
k, heading toward the last coach of the disabled train. But just before reaching it she darted left into the woods. He guessed she’d been spotted by mercs and sought cover. He lost sight of her amid the trees.

  The gunfire had relented. He continued on but with extreme caution, hyper-aware of every sound and movement. He squatted behind a large tree and opened the laptop. The panoramic camera view of the train and bridge was eerily devoid of movement. He may as well have been looking at a still shot.

  He switched to the tighter, low-angled perspective from the other camera. Prominent in shot was the front end of the overturned locomotive. Its headlight, just beneath the stream’s surface, continued to shine, the yellowish beam forming an eerie cone of subterranean light. Camera resolution was good enough to make out small fish darting back and forth in the beam, distressed by the massive intruder into their habitat.

  A man in a ghillie suit armed with a submachine gun emerged from under the bridge pier. He waded into the stream, moving along the locomotive’s flank in waist-deep water, heading toward the camera. Even in disguise, Aiden recognized Toothpick’s skinny frame and oversized glasses.

  A second man entered the frame, creeping into view on the edge of the embankment and heading down toward the stream. Although masked, Aiden knew it was Kokay.

  They were moving perpendicular, on a collision course. Once they cleared the locomotive’s bulk, they’d be within sight of one another.

  He whispered urgently into the headset, hoping that at least the mic was still working.

  “Toothpick, watch out. There’s a merc, at the front of the locomotive.”

  No response. He tried again. Nothing.

  “Keats, Rory, anyone? Can you hear me?”

  Frustrated, he ripped off the headset and cast it aside.

  Kokay froze at the bottom of the embankment. He must have heard Toothpick splashing toward him through the stream. The merc took three bounding steps and leaped out into the flowing waters.