1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Local

by Ryohgo Narita

  “Is that the monster everyone keeps talking about? From here, it doesn’t look like it’s shaped much differently than a human…”

  Feeling the train sway, he calculated the slope of the curve the car he was on had just passed through. Using those results, he estimated the trajectory of the bullet, then quickly pulled the trigger.

  “Annnd kaboom.”

  A gunshot rang out, and a moment later, one of the figures fell.

  It was Chané, the woman in the black dress. Even on top of a moving train, the bullet Spike had fired had found its target like a charm.

  “Poor doll. Well, if we’re going to take Huey’s ‘blessing’ by force, you’d be in the way, see.”

  With a light whistle, Spike began to line the red shadow up in his sights.

  “Okay, Mr. Monster, would you hurry and finish off Chané for me?”

  Even seeing the monster at a distance, Spike felt no particular fear. From what he’d seen of it, it wasn’t as if he’d be going up against a dinosaur. Spike didn’t believe in superstitions of any kind, so he was convinced beyond a doubt that that red shadow was human.

  And if it was human, there was nothing to fear.

  He’d snipe its body before it got close, and when it stopped moving, he’d nail it in the head. That would be that.

  As long as it didn’t gauge the timing with which he’d pull the trigger, with Spike’s skills, this would be easy.

  However, the red shadow didn’t move. Spike got the feeling that its face was turned toward him, glaring at him.

  “C’mon, what’s the matter? Hurry up and kill Chané…”

  His words stopped, and his heart jumped.

  The red shadow had moved. It was traveling at incredible speed. Over the roof, in a straight line, heading for Spike.

  “What the hell?! What is that thing?! That’s way too fast!”

  Spike sounded flustered, but his eyes and fingers were still calm. The red shadow didn’t even sway from side to side; it was simply running toward him in a straight line. It looked like a red cannonball skimming right above the roof.

  He took aim, then pulled the trigger.

  “Just die.”

  However, the instant he squeezed the trigger, the red shadow changed its course for the first time, slipping out of the crosshairs.

  “What?! Aw, c’mon!”

  He lined up the crosshairs and pulled the trigger again.

  But, as before, just as he squeezed the trigger, it slipped out of the center of the sight.

  He fired twice, three times, but it evaded every bullet.

  “Can it see my finger or something?!”

  With a stunned expression, he pulled the trigger, but all that emerged was a futile click.

  Out of bullets. For the first time, Spike sensed that the red monster might not be human, and he felt fear.

  “Dammit! What about this?!”

  Pushing the rifle aside, he brought forward other equipment he’d had ready, just in case.

  In contrast to his weapon of choice, it was a rough gun with a barrel that was fat the whole way down.

  It was a Lewis light machine gun, a barrage piece designed by an American and adopted by the British army.

  “If you’re all red, then act red and turn into chopped meat!”

  As Spike yelled, a barrage that easily surpassed five hundred rounds per minute erupted.

  At that, as you’d expect, the red shadow stopped moving. It rolled sideways on the train roof, then fell right over the edge.

  It was two cars behind the one where Spike was, probably just about the middle of the dining car.

  Involuntarily, Spike whistled, or tried to; his jaw was shaking, and the sound didn’t come out right.

  It might climb back onto the roof. Keeping his guard up, Spike kept his aim fixed on the roof near where the red shadow had fallen.

  However, it showed no sign of coming back up.

  Finally giving a sigh of relief, Spike felt his heart begin to settle down. When he looked across the roof again, Chané was still sitting where he’d sniped her.

  Apparently, he hadn’t killed her.

  “Stubborn lil’ pup. She’s trained way too well. That’s the problem.”

  Spike took aim through the scope, intending to make a flower of blood bloom in her head.

  However, naturally, the Lewis light machine gun was equipped with no such thing.

  “Whoops. I guess I’m still feeling jumpy.”

  At that, he picked up the sniper rifle beside him.

  “Right, I have to reload…”

  He didn’t see his ammunition case. Had he left it on the connecting platform?

  When Spike climbed down to the platform, the ammunition case was indeed sitting there.

  “Man oh man…”

  He put out his right hand for the case, which was on the foothold by the coupling, and in that moment…

  … a bright red arm reached out from under the train and latched onto Spike’s right hand.

  “!”

  Tremendous strength pulled Spike’s body down.

  Before Spike even had time to scream, he was dragged under the coupling.

  In the time before his body connected with the ground, Spike finally realized something:

  No wonder nobody ever ran into that red shadow on the move.

  He’d seen it. The surprisingly big space underneath the train, into which the wheels and all sorts of mechanical systems were packed. And the red shadow that clung dexterously to those metal fittings.

  This thing, this monster, wasn’t going over the roof or through the train. It went under—it was creeping around under the train!

  Then a shock ran through Spike’s head, and eternal darkness came.

  Initially, the black-suited orchestra had had nearly thirty members. Now it had been reduced to the six who were gathered in Goose’s room. There had been no further contact from the five who’d headed for the rear cars. Had they been killed by the Rail Tracer or the white suits, or had Chané finished off her would-be killers instead?

  It had been a little while since the gunshots they’d assumed were Spike’s had stopped. Goose had personally gone to check, but he hadn’t seen Spike anywhere.

  Goose was certain of two things. One was that Spike was probably no longer among the living. The other was that the conditions for winning this game were no longer to bring the train under control, but to escape from it alive.

  When his thoughts had taken him that far, he realized once again that he really wasn’t a military man. A soldier would never have compared the situation to a game.

  It was possible that he hadn’t been able to cope with the abnormal circumstances on this train because, not being a soldier, he’d harbored some sort of naïveté.

  He didn’t know how many of the white suits were left. He did know that his group was at a complete disadvantage in this game.

  “There’s no help for it. Let’s abandon the mission and retreat. We’ll cut the coupling to the freight cars and escape.”

  As he thought of his next words, he realized, yet again, that he was a terrorist, not a military man. There wasn’t a shred of regret or repentance in that thought.

  “We’ll make sure no one remembers our faces. As per the original plan, dispose of all the passengers.”

  Just then, the door of the room opened slightly.

  As everyone’s eyes focused on it, something was thrown in through the gap.

  It rolled, noisily; at the same time, it made a sort of popping, sparking sound, and it was smoking very slightly.

  Realizing what the cylinder really was, Goose quickly picked it up.

  As if he couldn’t spare the time to open the window, he smashed the glass with the butt of his gun, then flung the object out through it.

  A few beats later, a roar shook the train.

  The cylinder—the dynamite—hadn’t had as much force as he’d anticipated from its size, but it probably would have been more than enoug
h to incapacitate the people in this room.

  “The corridor! Eliminate the enemies in the corridor immediately!”

  At Goose’s order, a few men leaped into the hallway.

  A new stick of dynamite lay there, hissing.

  “Close the door!”

  Hastily shutting the door, everyone hit the floor.

  Immediately afterward, the door of the room blew off with a roar.

  As he gazed at the wooden fragments, Goose bit his lip in hatred.

  “I’d forgotten. Those hostages aren’t easy to manage, either.”

  Goose smiled masochistically, then put a hand on the window frame behind him. That blast had shattered the glass to smithereens.

  “I’ll get rid of them. You get your equipment in order in the room behind this one, then wait.”

  Naturally, the sound of the explosion had been audible in the dining car as well.

  “Oh.”

  Jacuzzi stopped moving, then turned in the direction of the sound. Then he spoke to Fang and Jon, who were beside him.

  “Sorry. Could you take care of the rest?”

  “C’mon, man, where are you gonna go?”

  “That sound just now… was that Nice?”

  Fang had connected the explosion to the one-eyed girl with glasses. If he was right, there was only one place Jacuzzi would be going.

  “Yeah, that explosion was probably Nice. I’m going to go help her.”

  “Are you nuts? Donny’s already headed to the freight room. Why don’t we go along and—?”

  “No, that’s no good. I’m leaving the dining car in your hands. The plan is what I just told you. I think it’ll go better if Jon gives the orders instead of me.”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a point there. In situations like this, you just get in the way.”

  “That’s harsh…”

  Jacuzzi answered with unusual composure, and Jon questioned him, puzzled:

  “Come to think of it, you’re not crying, for once. Aren’t you scared?”

  “I’m scared.”

  The response was immediate.

  “I’m so scared it feels like my legs are going to start shaking any second. There are probably still several black suits in the first-class rooms, and I bet they’ve all got guns.”

  “Then just skip it. You’d usually be crying and making a break for it right about now.”

  Jon tried to stop his friend from being reckless, but Jacuzzi smiled at him apologetically and spoke:

  “I promised. I told her I’d absolutely come back alive. If Nice dies, I won’t be able to go back to her, see? That means I have to go while she’s alive.”

  Then, shouldering a single machine gun, the young, tattooed lad started for the door to the connecting platform.

  “Besides, I decided that I wouldn’t cry anymore. That I’d be ready for any kind of pain.”

  On hearing that, Jon and Fang immediately gave up on trying to stop him. As they watched his receding back, Fang muttered:

  “He’s not worried about Nick…?”

  “Well, the guy’s kind of forgettable, y’know.”

  “You okay, Miz Nice?”

  When the man who was kind of forgettable spoke to her, Nice nodded happily.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself, I’m having fun, I’m so incredibly happy to be able to use so much dynamite like this, one after another.”

  The eye he could see behind her glasses looked rapturous, and her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

  “Yeah, you’re not okay.”

  Nick sat down uneasily.

  He’d known about her bomb mania, but to think the coolheaded Nice would turn into this…

  Ordinarily, Jacuzzi scolded her right away, so he hadn’t noticed it. If she was like this, forget “bomb fanatic”—she was a complete mad bomber. Still, he’d been startled by how she’d adjusted the amount of explosives right beforehand, lowering their force to something that wouldn’t affect the train’s walls or the way it was traveling. Privately, Nick genuinely admired her skill, thinking how impressive it was that she could do that much through rough estimates.

  Two nights ago, she’d blown the mafiosi’s corpses away, but from what he knew, she’d never blown up a live human being—except for herself, anyway.

  “Let’s beat it soon, all right? We should go meet up with Jacuzzi and the other guys.”

  “Yes. As reluctant as I am to leave, that would probably be best.”

  Taking out another of the sticks of dynamite she’d hidden under her clothes, Nice removed a moderate amount of explosive, then lit it.

  The fuse smoked and sputtered. She opened the door and hurled it out into the corridor.

  The sound of an explosion echoed, and the vibrations resonated in the pit of his stomach.

  At the same time, Nick set his hands on the window frame. He had to get up to the roof first, then pull Nice up. Parenthetically, after releasing them, the woman in the coveralls had promptly exited through that same window.

  Just as Nick looked up, about to set a hand on the ornamentation…

  “Gyaah!”

  A pair of boot toes swung down in an arc, kicking him back into the room.

  “Wha…?”

  The feet that had sent Nick flying belonged to a figure who’d come down off the roof. Nick was probably lucky he hadn’t been kicked outside.

  “You’re—!”

  The person who’d appeared in front of Nick and Nice was a man with sharp, dark eyes.

  Goose had made it clear into the room. He held a gun in each hand and was pointing one at Nice and the other at Nick.

  “Checkmate, scum.”

  Slowly, he walked toward the two.

  “To think you had dynamite stowed under your clothes, young lady. Apparently, treating you with courtesy backfired.”

  Even as his lips smiled, his eyes glared at Nice’s body with hatred.

  “Let’s have you remove all the remaining explosives, shall we?”

  Nice glared back silently, but when she saw Goose’s hand tense on the gun he was pointing at Nick, she hastily checked him.

  “Wait! … All right.”

  Looking down as if in frustration, she took all the remaining dynamite from her clothes and set it on the floor.

  There were about twelve sticks.

  “To think you had that much… I’m glad we didn’t try to shoot you. It wouldn’t have done to cause an explosion.”

  Without lowering his weapon, Goose walked over to Nice and decked her with the butt of the gun.

  “Ghk!”

  “Bastard!”

  Seeing this, Nick flew into a rage and raised the knife he’d taken from an inside pocket.

  Bang.

  There was a dry sound, and blood spurted from Nick’s raised arm.

  “Uaaah… aaah!”

  “Be quiet, oaf.”

  With zero hesitation, Goose took aim at Nick’s head.

  Then, just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, someone kicked the door in.

  Immediately, he whipped his gaze and guns that way. A man with a leveled machine gun stood there. He had a tattoo on his face and the air of a devil about him.

  Realizing that the guy’s finger was on the trigger, Goose leaped sideways, squeezing his own as he did so.

  The bullets launched from his hands grazed the youth’s arm and side.

  At the same time, the tattooed young man’s machine gun spit fire.

  “Uoooooooooooh!”

  Yelling, Goose leaped even farther to the side. Hearing the sound of bullets striking closer and closer to his feet, he rolled behind the deluxe bed that was exclusive to the first-class passenger compartments.

  Nick took that opportunity to help Nice up, and they slipped out behind Jacuzzi, evacuating into the hall.

  Jacuzzi himself backed up, strafing the bed with the machine gun as he went, then shut the door with a bang.

  When Goose crawled out from behind the bed, he had a warped smile on his fa
ce. It was as if he was enjoying the unexpected situations that kept cropping up one after another. However, the flames of hatred in his eyes were blazing even more fiercely.

  “Interesting. Is this a trial? A trial, in order to become a being like Huey?! In that case, I really must not die here, nor must I run! As with Chané, I’ll rip through all obstacles on this train!”

  After Jacuzzi and the others had passed by, Goose’s subordinates, who’d been on standby, poked their heads out into the hall. At first, they’d thought the gunshots were Goose’s, but he hadn’t taken a machine gun.

  Then Goose came walking toward them from farther up the corridor. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression seemed to say that, like Chané, he’d discarded his humanity—only in the opposite sense.

  “Have you put the equipment in order?”

  “Y-yes, sir!”

  On seeing Goose’s expression, his subordinates’ voices tensed involuntarily as they responded. Goose passed his men, crossing to the equipment that was for his private use.

  Goose shouldered that heavy weapon, and then, with an expression somewhere between anger and a smile, he started after Jacuzzi’s group.

  Meanwhile, on the connecting platform by the dining car, Jacuzzi was giving Nice and Nick their next instructions.

  A look to the side showed that the train was about to cross a great river. They could see a vast body of water through the gaps in the iron bridge. Sunrise was already near, and the surface of the water reflected the pale light beautifully. Several boats, large and small, floated on it.

  On seeing this, Nice realized that this was where they’d arranged to meet up with their companions.

  In fact, she’d forgotten that they were technically here for a robbery.

  That’s right: They were going to drop the cargo in question into this river. That had been their plan. And Jacuzzi hadn’t abandoned the plan; in fact, on top of that, he’d come to rescue Nice and Nick—with a recklessness that would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. Nice was appalled, but at the same time she felt renewed confidence that Jacuzzi really was their leader.

  In an ordinary organization, he probably wouldn’t have been qualified to lead. However, in a way, Jacuzzi’s actions suited their group better than they would have suited any other people.