Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  Carter paused behind the door, listening carefully. He slowly pushed past the door, before moving quickly to hide Cassidy behind a crate inside the room. Putting her down on the ground, he grabbed her face in both hands and spoke quietly. “Little dear, I need you to stay right here. Do not move.”

  “No. No.” She was barely able to gasp out the words.

  “I'm not leaving you. I will be back. I need to make sure things are safe, first. Ok.” Cassidy nodded. “You're not going to move?” Cassidy nodded again. “Good. I'll be back.” Carter got up and pulled a small pistol from his jacket. He paused to look at it for a moment before continuing. He pressed his body against the wall near the door, breathed deeply, then peeked out. He looked up the hallway to his destination, the exploded hole. Before he was able to move, he heard the sound of men running, followed by the sound of gun shots. As he stood by the door, the body of one of the invaders fell, dead, in the doorway, a revolver clunking to the floor next to it. Carter quickly grabbed the revolver then poked the body inquisitively with his foot. Suddenly, shockingly, the Chubby German appeared in the doorway, carrying three of the invaders' big, black guns.

  “Carter St. Claire!” the Chubby German yelled.

  Carter gawked back at him. “... I don't know your name.”

  “Oh yes. No use in anonymity now. My name is Hans. Here is a gun. It is much better than that gun. I recommend that you use it.” Carter smiled and grabbed the gun, holding it in both hands.

  “Looks like a fight,” Carter said.

  “Yes. A fight we are losing. But if I am to die today, I will take many of them with me,” Hans said as he held up his gun slightly and gave it a confident shake. Hans then leaned out the door and looked down the hallway. “I don't hear many guns. I suspect that the battle is almost over. They will come for us. I think they are here for the machines. If we make ourselves difficult enough to kill, they may just leave us alone until they are done.” Carter nodded, then glanced back into the room. Hans noticed this. “Is your family hiding?”

  Carter looked down, then back into Hans' eyes. “Only my daughter.”

  Hans sighed, and paused briefly. “I'm sorry.”

  “And I'm sorry that you appear to have lost your friend.”

  “Friend?” Hans scoffed. “No. Just an annoying associate.” Hans leaned out the door again and waited, staring down the hallway, unblinking. He breathed in deeply before leaning back into the door and near to Carter's face. “They are coming.”

  “We should try hiding,” said Carter.

  “I'm sorry my friend, but I fear that I have led them right here. Hiding is no longer an option. I do not think hiding was ever an option.” Carter nodded faintly, looked down at the gun in his hands, then looked over toward Cassidy with a gaze of resigned sadness.

  Hans grabbed Carter's shoulder strongly. “Do not be sad,” he said quietly. “There is always hope.”

  Carter looked at Hans, unsure at first, but then steeled and at peace. “Even if there is none, perhaps this will be sufficient punishment for my arrogance.”

  Hans squeezed Carter's shoulder. “Atonement comes in life, not death.”

  “That's an odd philosophy for a merchant of war,” replied Carter.

  Hans smiled. “As I said, I am here only as a representative.”

  Carter smiled faintly before turning and looking at Cassidy who had walked out from behind the crate. She stood there with her small bag in her hand. Carter ran over to Cassidy. “Alright little dear. Hans and I have to go out there. No matter what you hear, do not come out. Even if you hear me screaming, or crying, absolutely, do not come out. Stay right behind that crate!” Cassidy breathed quickly and shallow. Carter grabbed her upper arms and shook her slightly. “Do you understand?! Please! Do not come out, no matter what!” Cassidy nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. He got up and as he left, he turned to look at Cassidy. “I love you, little dear. Now hide.”

  Cassidy scurried back behind the crate. After she plopped down onto the floor, her frilly dress poofing out around her like a cake, she ripped open her little bag and took out the golden derringer, holding it tightly with both hands. Carter and Hans held there guns to their chests, breathed deeply, and went out. Cassidy sat, hidden, breathing quickly, her face covered in tears, choking on sobs. For a time, there was silence. Cassidy stared at the door from around the corner of the crate, her heart pounding. Then, suddenly, there was deafening chaos. Cassidy screamed in fright. Gun shots, screams, the crashing of metal. Every new explosion caused Cassidy to jump.

  Just as suddenly as it started, the noise stopped. For another time, there was nothing. Then Hans and Carter reappeared in the door. Hans was supporting Carter who was bleeding from a severe wound to his leg. Cassidy peaked out from behind the crate and saw as Hans was placing Carter on the ground, leaning against a wall. Cassidy got up and ran over to him. “Papa!”

  “Cassidy, I said stay hidden!”

  “No!” Cassidy knelt beside him and leaned upon his chest, crying.

  By now, Carter was crying. “Dammit, Cassidy. Just listen to me. Please!”

  “I won't leave!” she yelled as she rocked her body against him.

  Hans was standing by the door with his gun ready. He reached around his back and got the second gun he had on a strap. Then, holding one gun in each hand, stepped outside and fired a number of rounds down the hall. He glanced quickly in the other direction, then stepped back in the door. He looked back at Carter. “It appears that they are backing off!” No sooner had Hans expressed his optimism when a hail of bullets peppered the door frame. Hans crouched down and backed off. After the barrage was complete, Hans moved toward the door again but hadn't made more than a few steps before a grenade bounced into the door. Hans and Carter watched in slow-motion. They both exhaled deeply as it hit the door frame, bounced off, hit the other side of the door frame, then landed on the floor. The first grenade was followed quickly by a second which hit the door before falling slowly to the ground, rolling around in a small circle, and rocking in place. Carter closed his eyes, then rolled over on top of Cassidy. Hans leapt upon Carter as the grenades exploded.

  ---

  There was silence. Smoke and dust filled the air. Light beams from lamps and flames flickered in the haze. Emerging from this were the silhouettes and footsteps of the invaders. They moved slowly, with guns raised. They walked down the hallway toward the door. Outside of the room, they spoke in terse French. One of the men leaned in briefly, his face obscured by shadow. His head paused, then leaned in slightly further. He looked upon Cassidy, still alive, covered in dirt and blood, illuminated brightly by a still-burning gas lamp on the wall. The body of Hans was mangled and bloody to her side, the body of her father, seemingly uninjured save for his bloody and mangled legs. She cradled Carter's head in her lap. She was breathing rapidly as she held her arms rigid and upright, her derringer pointed at the door. The man emerged from cover, spoke to another man in the hallway and started toward Cassidy. She fired, screaming as the shot rang out. The man stumbled and fell back into the hallway. Cassidy whimpered and choked, finally turning her head and vomiting on herself. She kept the gun aimed at the door.

  After a moment, and more French chatter, the Mysterious Man slowly appeared in the door. He glanced down at his soldier, seeing a bullet wound almost squarely between his eyes. He looked back up at Cassidy. “Excellent shot,” he said. Someone spoke quietly into the Mysterious Man's ear. He leaned to listen, then returned his gaze to Cassidy. “No. The crimes were of her father, not hers. She has been punished enough.”

  “Don't you think it cruel... to leave her alive after all this?” A voice in the hallway said.

  The Mysterious Man paused, keeping his eyes on Cassidy. “She is now the sole heir to an immeasurable fortune. She will want for nothing. Her destiny is the same as all of ours. Our actions tonight cannot change that. Leave her. Leave her to mourn.” The Mysterious Man backed away from the door frame. “Get the carts ready.”
He then turned, and walked down the hallway.

  Cassidy's aim remained unchanged. “Papa?” She said, quietly. “Papa?” she said again. “Papa, please.” She started to choke on tears as faint coughs and sobs interrupted her words. “Papa? Please, Papa. Please. Please... Please...... Please.” She gently caressed his head. Tears flowed ceaselessly down her cheeks and upon the tattered edifice that was her father. “Papa... please,” she again whispered. Her aim never wavered.

  2

  -Thirty Years Later-

  The horses thundered along the ground, their speed reducing it to nothing more than a blur of greens and browns. In hot pursuit, the beasts and their riders slowly converged on train tracks and the train ahead. Streaks of sunlight danced in the dust through the shadows of the riders as their bodies and clothing bobbed up and down with each undulation of the horse underneath. The horses snorted. The sun beamed like blinding fire in the blue, cloud-peppered sky. Dirt, dust, and rocks erupted from each hoof fall as the horses shook the Earth.

  Leading the riders, clad in rugged and weathered leather and suede, broad-backed, thick-legged, steely-eyed, and covered in dust, a woman with an explosion of copper hair whipping behind her tightly gripped her reins with gloved hands. She squinted as the sun glinted and glared off of the train’s windows, looking on with a scowl of grim determination.

  As the group neared the rear car, the woman flipped her right leg over the horse, riding it on one side, with her leather coat and fiery hair flowing in the wind behind her. She drew the beast close in, reaching her arm out in anticipation. Finally, with a push on the stirrup, she launched herself onto the rear platform, taking only a moment to stabilize herself before turning, holding onto the rail, and leaning out with her arm outstretched. Her horse veered away to the side as one of the other men detached four shotguns from mounts on his saddle, tossing them one by one to the woman. After, he repeated her maneuver to get onto the train, followed by the four other men. One by one, they walked into the caboose.

  “Alright then,” the woman said as she took her gloves off and tossed them on the floor near a stove. “Stephen,” she said, looking at a tall, gangly man with a scruffy beard. “I want you to stay back here. There’s always the possibility that more of them could arrive. Also, you’re delicate and it would break my heart if you got hurt.” The men chuckled and Stephen nodded.

  “Yes ma'am,” replied Stephen. “I'm not one to ignore a kind word.”

  She took off her coat, dust falling off as she moved, likewise tossing it on the floor. “That’s only going to get in the way,” she said as the coat fell to the ground with a fumph.

  “Alright, gentlemen, this is it. Load up,” the woman said, removing a large, double-cylinder revolver from a hip holster, opening it, spinning the top cylinder, then flicking it closed with her wrist. The other men followed the same pattern with their guns. “If you should happen to kill everyone we meet, I would not be opposed to that.” She reached out to a stocky man in a bowler hat with a neatly trimmed beard and nice, tweed suit under his coat. “Joseph, scattergun,” she ordered. The man dutifully handed her one. She cocked it. “Now. Let’s get my goddamned train back.”

  ---

  The man’s eyes, not old but weathered and wrinkled, covered with dust and sweat, squinted as flashes of bright sunlight went across them. He gazed out from the open side door of the freight car, between puffs of steam, flowing back from the large engine, past the tender, and past a flatbed car, as the train made its way through track-side trees. Another man, clad in a gray button-up shirt and suede pants, his hands grimy, walked up behind him. The weathered man took a swig from a tarnished silver flask before turning. “And?” the weathered man grumbled.

  With a straight gaze, the grimy-handed man responded. “Nothing yet.”

  “Tricky bastards.”

  “Want we should question the men again, Mr. Caesar?”

  The weathered man, Mr. Caesar, paused briefly. “No. I doubt they know anything. It’s better to spend our time searching. Keep ripping up the cars. And make sure you've gone over every last box.”

  “Aye. If it's here, we'll find it, no doubt about that.” The grimy-handed man turned and walked off back out the back door of the train car.

  Mr. Caesar turned back to looking out the open cargo door, unscrewing and taking another swig from his flask.

  ---

  The door to the train car slid open slightly. Stacked on top of one another, three eyes from three heads peered through. After a brief look around, the door slid open fully. The woman and her men walked in quickly, and knelt down to address five men, bound and gagged on the floor. The woman removed the gag from the engineer who breathed in deep, spit, and licked at his mouth. “Are you alright?” the woman asked.

  “Ms. St. Claire! Thank you, and yes. No one was injured, much.” The engineer spoke as the other train crew members were untied. “ They’ve been on the train for over an hour. They came on us just after Salinas. They had us in multiple cars, but moved us all back here about thirty minutes ago. I don't know what they're here for.”

  The woman, Cassidy, stood up. “How many of them are there?”

  The engineer stood up, sticking his chest out as he cracked his back and stretched. “A dozen? Maybe? I don’t know where they came from. We didn’t see any horses. They just... appeared. It's like they were dropped in from above.”

  “It’s unimportant,” replied Cassidy. All we need to know is how many there are and whether they’re armed.”

  Another crew member chimed in. “Oh, they’re armed, alright. Strange guns. I’ve never seen their like before.”

  “Strange guns?” stocky Joseph asked.

  “Yes. Big, very polished. They held them like shotguns.”

  “Have you seen them fired?” Levi, a tall, lanky man with a prominent scar on his cheek.

  “No. And I’m happy about that.”

  Everyone looked to Cassidy. “Cassidy?” inquired Joseph.

  Cassidy looked away with a furrowed brow, biting her lower lip. “Doesn’t matter. Continue as we planned. Strange guns or not. You boys head back to the caboose. We have a man back there.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” they said in unison.

  “Miss St. Claire,” the engineer began. “Their leader, whoever he is, be careful with him.”

  “Why?” asked Cassidy.

  “He's a mean lookin' piece of work in a away I've never seen before. He's got these cold, dead eyes, as though there's nothing human behind them. I've never been scared by someone just looking at me before, but I was with him.”

  Cassidy gazed back, seemingly unmoved by this warning aside from her silence. She nodded. “You boys get back there, now.” They all nodded and left. “Keep your guns close at hand,” she said, turning around and adjusting her shirt. “Our guns may not be strange, but they'll kill the bastards all the same.”

  ---

  The robber had taken his shirt off. With bloody hands and sweaty body, he was ripping up the floor boards with a pick-axe. He stopped when he heard a knock on the door of the train car. “Who’s there?” Another knock. The man put down his pick-axe and picked up a large, polished chrome gun, flat and tall, with vents on the side and multiple barrels on the front. Another knock. He walked up the door.

  “Donny? Is that you?” He asked.

  BLAM!

  The door exploded and shattered, sending splinters throughout the car and filling the man with shot. His chrome gun dropped into one of the holes he had ripped into the floor, exploding into parts on the tracks below. Cassidy walked in, carrying a shotgun in both hands. “Knock knock.”

  Another man ran in from the next car. “What the hell are you—” He stopped, wide-eyed in his tracks, faced with five people all aiming guns at him.

  “Howdy,” Cassidy said. The man twitched a bit in his tracks.

  “Don’t try it, son,” commented Joseph.

  The man stared for a moment before managing words. “Who are you?”

/>   “I’m the owner of this train you’re robbing,” replied Cassidy.

  The man whispered to himself. “Cassidy St. Claire.”

  “It's always a thrill when people know who I am,” Cassidy said to Joseph standing next to her. “So who's doing all this?”

  The man shook his head. “I’m not talking... I can't.”

  “Fine. Joe, tie him up and bring him back to the others.” Cassidy said, lowering her shotgun. Joe holstered his revolver and walked over to the robber, and removing a length of rope from some sacks on the floor, began to tie his hands and arms. “When you’re done, get back up here.”

  “I’ll be back in a flash,” Joseph said, has he began to walk the man out the back of the car.

  “Alright,” Cassidy said, cocking the shotgun. “Let’s go ruin a whole bunch of people’s day.” She turned and opened the door to the next car. The next car was even more ripped up, with the boxes that were stored there all blown open, their contents scattered around the car. Gears and small pieces of machinery were falling out through holes in the floor. “God DAMN it! They’re ruining the entire train! What the hell are they looking for?”

  Peter, built and hirsute, placed his shotgun on the ground to roll up his sleeves, revealing muscled forearms covered in hair. “You own the train. What’s on it?”

  “Nothing,” Cassidy replied, kicking debris away to clear a path. “Suspension parts, tractor pieces, some raw metals, I think.” She lifted up a large piece of wood with her boot, shoving it aside.

  “Black market?“ asked Jacob, the last of Cassidy’s team, in a somewhat thick Russian accent.

  “Maybe,” Cassidy replied, annoyed and confused. “Weird shit to steal for that, though.”

  “You would be surprised what people want to buy,” replied Jacob.

  “Doesn’t matter,” replied Cassidy. “We’ve got ten more cars to get through then the tender.” The door on the front of the car opened and a robber peered through, gasping before turning to run. “Shit!” Cassidy yelled, leaping over another piece of wood in pursuit. The gang moved quickly through the front door and slammed into the locked back door on the next car. Cassidy blew open the door with another shotgun blast, cocking it after she fired. They entered the car just in time to see the robber leap over a crate and out the front door of the car. Cassidy ran up, shuffling through the junk from spilled crates and sacks, to the crate and yelling, pushed it aside, clearing the path. She burst into the next car, her gang coming in behind her. Crates were stacked to the ceiling on the left side, piles of sacks on the right, and a single crate sat in the middle walkway, directly in front of Cassidy. Waiting right out in the open was another robber, armed with one of the strange guns. He held it up and, flicking a switch, caused the circle of barrels on the front to rotate quickly with a loud hum. “Take cover!” yelled, Cassidy, just as Peter was coming in. The gun started firing off bullets at an incredible speed, with two shots hitting Peter in the arm and right side. He yelled and fell against the wall with Cassidy, Jacob, and Levi.