The Hunters h-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘GPS says we are in Chioar,’ Garcia said slowly, enunciating carefully, eyes darting. ‘But the maps say we could be in Lapus … or Cavnic … or even Campia Transilvaniei. Truth be told, we’re actually in some sort of border null-space between those places.’

  ‘Hold on,’ McNutt said. ‘How can the GPS be wrong?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Garcia said. ‘But the regions have been redrawn over the last century, sometimes officially, sometimes unofficially by people with ethnic interests. Depending on what maps we use, all of those regions apply.’

  He screen-grabbed an image and sent it over to Cobb.

  Cobb looked closer himself and compared it to his charts. Sure enough, the Romanian ethnographic regions were denoted with different colored blobs. But there were relatively wide white borders between them with no name or denomination. The glowing, pulsing blue dot representing their train was smack dab in the middle of one of the largest white spaces, between four colored splotches.

  ‘Taking every map into consideration,’ Garcia said, ‘only one thing is certain.’

  ‘And that is?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘We’re literally in the middle of nowhere.’

  46

  Cobb stood and marched to the end of the car. He hit a recessed button on the wall, waited for the door to slide up, then stepped through to the flatbed.

  The view was spectacular. The train was slowly rising up the last of the track, climbing a steady incline as if they were in a scenic tram. McNutt appeared behind him and looked over the side of the five-foot lip that encircled the flatbed. The track seemed part of the earth.

  ‘Holy mackerel,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Cobb agreed.

  Though it was chipped and faded by whatever sunlight had blazed through, the track had been painted brown to appear as if it were roots or the ground itself.

  Sarah went to look over the opposite side, and was nearly knocked down by a tree branch as they entered an even thicker part of the pine and poplar forest. Cobb looked beyond them to the rolling green mountains, white clouds, and blue sky.

  ‘I wish I knew where the hell we were,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t mean on a map — I mean, what’s lurking under all that brush? There could be crevasses that cut us off if we have to travel by foot. Dry riverbeds with sinkholes.’

  ‘Quicksand?’ McNutt asked. ‘I hate that. It always scared me in movies.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Garcia said. ‘The spectro isn’t showing a lot of moisture in any form. No creeks, no bogs, no wells.’

  ‘No wells?’ Cobb said. ‘Interesting. That means this area was completely deserted, even to farmers and shepherds.’

  As he spoke, the train emerged into a more open space where the trio could finally get an unobstructed view. Now it was only the train itself that looked wildly out of place amid layers of green, spread amongst leafy dots of red, yellow, and orange fall foliage. The only thing missing was any hint of other humans.

  ‘Too bad,’ Sarah said.

  ‘About what?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘That there weren’t any sheep or cow herders,’ she said. ‘This is great pastureland.’

  ‘Or battleground,’ Cobb said from the rear of the car.

  They turned to see their commander standing on the top rung of the ladder attached to the outside of the freight car. Sarah and McNutt ran back to join him. McNutt put both hands on the top of the flat car’s fencing and vaulted up to the top of the lip. He put one hand on the side of the compartment car, twisted his body, and looked to where Cobb was staring.

  The train was halfway up the open section of green grass and white flowers, heading toward another long, thick line of trees. The trees were so tall and narrowly spaced that they looked, to Sarah, like the tarnished, bared teeth of a giant bear.

  Something was emerging from those teeth.

  ‘Josh,’ Cobb said, ‘do you have your binoc-’

  He looked over to complete the question, but McNutt was gone. The sniper reappeared a few seconds later with a pair of Steiner 1600 Yard Laser Range Finder Military Binoculars. He handed them to his commander.

  ‘Thanks,’ Cobb said as he put the fog-proof lenses up to his eyes.

  ‘Do you see this?’ Garcia asked in his ear.

  ‘Yes,’ was all Cobb needed to say.

  Coming from between the trees were a herd of horses: white Lipizzaners, praised for their riding; mottled Hungarian Warmbloods, noted for their stamina; and brown Shagyas, depended upon for their endurance.

  ‘Riders!’ Cobb and Garcia shouted, almost at the same time.

  ‘I knew it! Cossacks!’ McNutt raised his own binoculars — a slimmer Apache 10x25 compact model — as he retook his position on the lip top of the car.

  ‘We don’t know that!’ Jasmine said, maintaining her cool in the face of what could be her first firefight.

  McNutt saw the horses — now at least three dozen, with more joining them from the tree cover — and their riders: men of every age group, holding reins in one hand and waving something above their heads with the other.

  ‘Are those Mosin-Nagants?’ McNutt asked incredulously. ‘Those were the standard issue rifle of Soviet troops in World War One!’

  When no one answered, he lowered his binoculars and understood why.

  McNutt was alone on the flatbed.

  He jumped to the floor of the car and charged into his armory.

  The next thirty seconds felt like thirty minutes.

  ‘Two hundred yards, Jack,’ Garcia announced anxiously. The IT wizard was intent on the video screens, trying to get a good look at the riders despite the train’s constant up-and-down motion and side-to-side sway, not to mention the bounce of a man on horseback. Even his seasoned fingers couldn’t digitally stabilize the images with that many variables.

  ‘Who are they, Garcia?’ Cobb asked. He was visually sweeping the terrain, settling on nothing but seeing everything.

  ‘I’m trying to get an image I can profile,’ Garcia said.

  ‘Is profiling illegal here?’ McNutt joked.

  Cobb didn’t have to tell the sharpshooter to focus. His fall into silence said that, and more.

  McNutt was in the freight car, breaking out the Mossberg 590 and Benelli M4 shotguns. He considered both weapons, one in each hand, remembering that the 590 weighs about half a kilogram less but doesn’t have the range of the Italian shotgun. He put down the Mossberg in favor of the one preferred by the Marine Corps. He turned toward the slats on the west side of the car and prepared to open one as he spoke to everyone on their earpieces.

  ‘Could use a little help manning the barricades,’ McNutt called.

  ‘Hold your fire,’ Cobb snapped from the command car.

  ‘Your wish is my command,’ McNutt retorted. ‘But just so you know: they may have vintage rifles, but their carbine rounds could still pop your head like a balloon.’

  Cobb ignored the chatter in his ear and contemplated their next move. Once again, he reminded himself: this is why McNutt was with them and not still with Special Forces. Any regular unit on the globe would have followed Cobb’s orders without backtalk.

  ‘One hundred fifty yards,’ Garcia called out.

  ‘McNutt,’ Cobb said sharply, ‘get to the engine and protect Dobrev and Jasmine. Ward the riders off if they try to stop us or board. No killing, if at all possible.’

  ‘What?!’ McNutt and Sarah shouted as one.

  ‘Um … Jack?’ Garcia begged.

  Cobb ignored him. ‘Use your brains, people! They’re waving the guns, not aiming them!’

  ‘That’s because they’re on horseback on uneven terrain,’ McNutt argued. ‘From this distance, they’d be wasting ammo.’

  ‘You heard my orders, McNutt. Now follow them!’ Cobb barked.

  ‘Jack!’ Garcia shouted.

  ‘What?’ Cobb shouted back.

  ‘They’re aiming at us now,’ Garcia said, watching in fear and admiration as the lead riders used their thighs to control their hors
es while raising their guns with two hands. ‘Not just random potshots. They’re lining up their sights with both arms!’

  ‘That’s what the Cossacks did,’ Jasmine contributed.

  ‘See?’ McNutt said. ‘Didn’t I warn you?’

  Garcia couldn’t help but wonder how they did that. He had been on a horse exactly once, and even though he never went faster than a trot, he had bounced up and down like a dribbled basketball. ‘One hundred twenty-five yards,’ he said.

  ‘Now? Can I shoot them now?’ McNutt demanded.

  ‘Get to the engine!’ Cobb barked.

  ‘I’m already on my way!’ he yelled back, throwing the door open wide to accommodate his duffel bag as he moved between the cars.

  Cobb was no longer watching the riders. He was in seemingly manic motion.

  Sarah gasped when Cobb suddenly lifted sofa cushions and opened or overturned everything that could move. As if waiting for that moment, the glass beyond the curtain cracked, and they heard a distant rifle report a quarter-second later.

  ‘A hundred yards,’ Garcia gulped audibly.

  Cobb dropped the curtain and continued his frantic search. ‘Nice shot,’ he muttered.

  ‘Jack!’ Sarah started.

  ‘Just a glancing hit,’ he said quickly. ‘Maybe even a ricochet.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Sarah exploded.

  Cobb stood in the middle of the command center and calmly said, ‘Does anybody know where I can get a tablecloth?’

  47

  McNutt charged into the engine cab, swinging his bag in ahead of him. Dobrev was crouched, his eyes just over the ledge of the controls, while Jasmine had her back against the lavatory door, her revolver up by her head. She was breathing heavily through her nose, her chest was heaving. But she was alert, steady.

  McNutt threw the duffel down and thrust the Benelli shotgun into Jasmine’s other hand. ‘Take this, would you?’

  She looked incredulously at him. ‘I’ve never fired one of-’

  ‘Good time to start,’ McNutt said.

  ‘Seventy-five yards,’ Garcia said in their ears.

  Jasmine examined the weapon.

  ‘Use it as a club if you have to,’ McNutt said. ‘Though if it was up to me, they wouldn’t get that close.’

  ‘It isn’t, so shut up,’ Sarah said in his ear.

  McNutt was now too busy to argue. He was on one knee, intent on getting the duffel open.

  Dobrev said something.

  ‘What does he need?’ Cobb asked over the earpiece.

  Jasmine answered. ‘He just wants us to know he can’t put on more speed and plow through them. He doesn’t want to go off these old tracks.’

  ‘Thank him for the alert,’ Cobb said. ‘But that’s not my plan.’

  ‘Yeah, we’d run out of track, and then they’d be on us, really pissed,’ Sarah said.

  Jasmine translated for Dobrev as she flattened herself back against the lavatory door. They all heard more snapping and cracking sounds from the riders’ rifles.

  ‘Fifty yards,’ they heard Garcia say.

  ‘Jack said “no killing”, Jack gets “no killing”,’ McNutt said. He straightened, holding the weapon up proudly and looking at Jasmine with a big grin. ‘But I still get to shoot.’

  To her eyes, the weapon looked like the back of a big, gray flare pistol, with a muzzle or barrel or whatever you called it that seemed like a cross between the end of a fireman’s water hose and a big flashlight. As she watched, McNutt added a shoulder stock for better control, then a sniper’s scope for better aiming. She looked down. In the duffel bag were five more devices.

  ‘Twenty-five yards,’ Garcia croaked.

  ‘Net gun,’ McNutt proudly announced while pushing open the cab’s small side windows.

  ‘What?’ Jasmine said. ‘It fires-’

  ‘Nets. Yes. I figured we might need something, or someone, caught and-’

  ‘Josh!’ Jasmine screeched, pointing behind him.

  McNutt whirled to see a rider coming up the engineer’s side, pointing his rifle at Dobrev.

  McNutt only got a glimpse of the ruddy, mustachioed rider in his baggy, beige pants, brown boots, belt, and vest before there was a bang and a whoosh — and what looked like a baseball shot from the end of McNutt’s big-mouthed weapon. Once it was outside the window, the casing of the projectile opened and fell off to the sides, then a big, flying spider’s web spread out and slammed into the rider from his head to his waist.

  Jasmine watched, mesmerized, as the rider was thrown from his horse as if he’d been swatted off by the hand of God. She instinctively leaned forward and checked that the man landed okay before Dobrev pushed her back. She saw, in fact, that the man hit the ground as if he were used to falling off a horse. The net didn’t let him get right up, but the way he was kicking and clawing, it didn’t cause any permanent damage either.

  McNutt was already screwing in another net ball when Cobb came barging in with a tablecloth tied to a curtain rod. Pulling Jasmine out of the way — but protecting her with his own body — he shoved the makeshift white flag out the window and began waving furiously.

  ‘What the fuck, chief?’ McNutt exclaimed, almost with resentment.

  ‘Shut up!’ Cobb snapped. ‘They’re peasant villagers!’

  ‘So? They can still kill us.’

  ‘Dammit, will you think with your brain instead of your trigger finger?’ Cobb yelled. He continued to wave the flag, making sure it was seen as far as the most distant rider. ‘Why would they attack us? You think they’ve never seen a train before?’

  Dobrev said something. He sounded reflective.

  ‘He says we’re trespassing,’ Jasmine said. ‘But the word he used … it’s not exactly trespassing …’

  ‘He means we’re not welcome here, not just uninvited.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jasmine said, impressed. ‘That’s exactly what he means.’

  Cobb said, ‘That’s because they’re protecting something — something that makes them risk their lives to attack a train while on horseback!’

  ‘The treasure,’ Sarah gasped in their ears.

  McNutt and Jasmine looked at Cobb with newfound appreciation.

  ‘They might know about the treasure,’ Sarah said accusingly, ‘and you wanted to gun them down, McNutt.’

  ‘Sorry if I didn’t want any of my teammates to take a musket ball in the brain!’

  ‘They didn’t want to kill,’ Cobb said. ‘They just wanted to let us know they can.’

  ‘How considerate,’ McNutt said.

  ‘Jack, do you know the story of the Golden Fleece?’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Oh goody,’ Sarah said. ‘A story.’

  ‘A relevant one,’ the historian said. ‘Jason and the Argonauts sailed from Thessaly to Colchis to steal the Fleece. King Aeetes allowed them to make landfall — then attacked them. Though Jason got what he came for, it came at loss of life on both sides.’

  ‘I won’t cut them down,’ Cobb said.

  ‘Humanitarian gesture — or because they know where the treasure is?’ Sarah asked.

  Cobb didn’t reply. Which was a reply. The answer was both. Plus, it occurred to him that this generation might be happy to be rid of their stewardship after a century. For the right price, they might even help them load up the train.

  McNutt clearly didn’t agree, but he said nothing as he watched and waited for his next target to ride by.

  "Слушайте."Dobrev said suddenly.

  ‘He wants us to be quiet and listen,’ Jasmine said.

  Cobb did, still waving. The engineer’s trained ears had listened through the noise of the train and heard what they had all missed.

  ‘No more shooting,’ Jasmine said, smiling.

  ‘He’s right,’ Sarah said.

  The horsemen were whooping, whistling, and waving their rifles, but they weren’t aiming and shooting any more. They rode around, beside, in front of, and behind the train with remarkable displays of ho
rsemanship, but it was now obvious they weren’t intending to attack.

  ‘I’m thinking they just don’t want to get netted,’ McNutt said.

  Cobb lowered his arms and tightened his grip on the flagstaff out of frustration. He turned on the sharpshooter. ‘If you’d been paying attention, you would have noticed they didn’t go for the tracks. All it would have taken was a mallet or axe head to bend a single rail enough to force us to stop. They didn’t have to put themselves at risk. But they didn’t do that.’

  ‘Not if it was some macho Cossack thing,’ McNutt grumbled.

  ‘Why don’t you just admit you were wrong?’ they heard Sarah say.

  McNutt looked away, annoyed that they weren’t even allowing that he could be right — which he still believed he was, having put on reckless, bravado-induced displays like that himself. But he brightened when he saw the man he had net-gunned reappear outside of the side window. The man was back on his horse with a gap-toothed smile that went from ear to ear, holding his rifle up proudly, angled slightly outward.

  ‘Wow,’ McNutt breathed.

  ‘What?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘He just saluted me with a Mosin-Nagant M91-30,’ McNutt marveled, seeing three R’s surrounded by crossed stalks stamped on the rifle’s breech. ‘Those were specially modified for Romania and reserved in case of invasion.’

  Suddenly, the team was distracted by a voice from outside the window where the white flag flew. It was a commanding, male voice, rough from years of sharp mountain air and tobacco.

  ‘Who are you?’ he demanded in a Slavonic language.

  Everyone in the cab looked to Jasmine.

  ‘He’s the leader, asking who we are,’ she informed them.

  ‘In Romanian?’ Cobb wanted to know.

  ‘No, Russian,’ Jasmine told him.

  ‘Maybe he recognizes the markings on the train,’ Sarah suggested.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ Cobb said. ‘Tell him we are explorers who come in peace.’

  ‘Tell him we have every intention of upholding the Prime Directive,’ McNutt added.

  Jasmine looked at him as she maneuvered past Cobb, back to the window.