Looking back over the group of seekers nearest the back of the train, Mac saw a black writhing mass following behind them. There were at least three hundred seekers left chasing them – possibly more.
“Ok, Coop – I’m gonna drop this thing on a three count. You need to hit it a soon as it touches the ground. Any hesitation and those things will be running over it and you won’t be able to see it. Understand?”
Again Cooper Wyse spoke no words in response to Mac, but merely nodded his head.
Mac gave the countdown and dropped the explosive just a few feet behind the moving train. A half second later Cooper fired his pistol.
Nothing happened.
His face wincing slightly after realizing he had missed, the rancher had just enough time to get off one more shot before the seeker’s bodies would cover the small plastic cylinder that lay in between the tracks. Closing his left eye and looking down at his target with his open right eye, Cooper Wyse held his breath, focused on keeping his right hand absolutely still, and squeezed the trigger.
The explosion, just forty feet behind the moving train, created enough force to push both Cooper and Mac back a few steps against the outside wall of the passenger car. Several seekers were thrown into the air, their bodies ripped apart by the power of the detonation. A temporary cloud of dust and dirt was created, making it difficult to determine how many of the seekers were actually killed – or how many remained chasing after the train.
Mac and the others looked silently behind them, waiting to be able to see how effective the blast had been in stopping the seekers’ pursuit of them. Before the dust cloud fully dissipated, a throng of seekers ran through it, their mouths spread open, teeth exposed, and eyes filled with rage. Whatever emotion the seekers were capable of, fear was apparently not among them.
Cooper held up two fingers to Mac, indicating it was time to throw the second explosive cylinder. As he did so, one of the seekers managed to lunge forward, its clawed hand gripping the bottom of the platform railing. Both Mac and Cooper found themselves staring into the eyes of the creature as it too hesitated while glaring back at them. The thing emitted a foul stench, like curdled milk that had sat out in the sun for many days.
Mac took his right foot and slammed it against the creature’s fingers, trying to force it to let go of the railing. The seeker hissed menacingly back at him as it pulled the rest of its hairless, mottled gray body onto the lower portion of the platform, its long-clawed toes curling around the bottom railing.
Cooper prepared to shoot the thing, but just as he raised his gun to the creature’s head, Brando lunged forward from the passenger car and snapped his jaws shut just inches from the seeker’s face. The thing responded to Brando’s attack by reaching through the railing and grabbing the Doberman’s neck, its claws sinking into the dog’s flesh. Crying out with a sharp yelp that was more anger than pain, Brando lunged forward again, this time closing his jaws over the face of the seeker, one of his long canine teeth sinking deeply into the creature’s right eye. The effect was immediate as the seeker released its grip on Brando’s neck and unleashed a high pitched howling shriek of pain as it fell from the platform, landing on its back against the tracks below, where it was almost instantly buried beneath the mass of other seekers that continued to follow the train.
Mac dropped the second cylinder behind the now faster moving train and both he and Cooper watched as Cooper’s aim proved true. The explosion again ripped through the dark mass of creatures. The hundreds of seekers that still remained alive paused in their pursuit, stopping alongside the tracks as they stood on their legs and raised their noses into the air, their heads bobbing up and down excitedly. Again their mouths opened wide to emit a collective, loud, piercing shriek.
The Russian smiled as he heard the second blast go off behind the train, knowing Mac and the others had been smart enough to use the explosives the Muslim bandits had intended to use to stop his train. Now they were being used to kill whatever monsters those things were coming after them. Bear was leaning out the other side of the locomotive, trying to see the damage inflicted on the seekers by the second explosion. Unable to see well enough behind the train, he turned back around to look out in front of them.
“We got more in front of us.”
Yakov had already spotted what Bear had just seen. No more than three hundred yards further up on the tracks was yet another mass of seekers running directly toward them with seemingly no concern over hurtling themselves at the quickly approaching train.
The Russian grinned as his right hand reached down to pull back a small brass lever that was just below the locomotive’s main control panel. He then opened up the steam dome valve which in turn propelled the train forward even faster. They were now travelling at just over thirty miles an hour.
Bear watched silently as the Russian’s eyes glinted in anticipation of what he had planned for the seekers who thought to slow or stall the train’s movement by attacking it from both the front and the back. The gap between the creatures and the thick plated iron face of the locomotive was less than a hundred yards. Yakov began to loudly and with considerable enthusiasm, shout in his halting English a verse from an old 19th Century Russian folk song titled “Dark Eyes”, his hands slashing up and down to the words as his train hurtled toward the running mass of seekers.
Oh, not for nothing are you darker than the deep!
I see mourning for my soul in you!
I see a triumphant flame in you!
XXXVI.
Bear’s eyes grew wide as he watched the long arc of flame shoot out from the Ronson system the Russian had installed at the front of his train. The first seekers to be hit by the stream of hot fire were blown from the track where the outer layer of their bodies literally melted away. The next wave of seekers were pummeled both by fire and the still accelerating train, their bodies slamming into the train’s front and then ground up by the massive churning train wheels underneath.
The smell of the creatures’ burning flesh was almost unbearable, causing Bear to fight from vomiting. Yakov merely laughed as seeker after seeker slammed into the train, either burned, crushed, or often both.
“Smells like burning shit, huh? Probably tastes like it too!”
The flame thrower sent another blast of fire into yet more seekers. Apparently undeterred by how many of them were being killed, they continued to throw themselves at the train, their shrieking howls growing more intense. One of the creatures managed to cling to the front right side of the locomotive, its black eyes glaring back at Bear and the Russian as its body flexed and tensed in preparation of leaping forward into the cab where Yakov and Bear stood looking back at the thing.
The Russian’s eyes caught movement just to his left. Another seeker was able to grasp onto the outside of the locomotive and was quickly working its way toward him. It took no more than a second for the thing to make a final leap into the cab, its clawed fingers grasping at the front of Yakov’s winter coat. The Russian fell backward into a corner of the cab, losing his footing as the creature fell on top of him, its wide mouth hissing as it attempted to snap its jaws around Yakov’s face.
Bear grabbed one of the shovels used to feed the firebox and swung it at the seeker’s head, only landing a glancing blow as the thing managed to duck right before being hit. The distraction allowed the Russian the opportunity to lock both of his hands around the monster’s sinewy throat as he pushed himself back onto his feet. Yakov’s incredibly strong fingers squeezed tightly, his large thumbs pressing deeply just below the seeker’s jaw until he was rewarded with the sound of the thing’s windpipe crunching beneath his thumbs.
The seeker in Yakov’s grasp made one last desperate attempt to free itself, snapping its jaws just inches from the Russian’s nose. Ignoring the threat, Yakov continued to push his thumbs further into the thing’s throat, snapping more bone and cartilage just before throwing the creature out the side of the cab.
Bear was about to give the Russian a co
ngratulatory shout of approval but instead found himself catching in midair the leaping seeker that had moments earlier been clinging to the right side of the locomotive. Bear swung the creature’s body down against the thick iron floor of the cab with such force it left a small indentation. The seeker’s head slammed backward, temporarily stunning it as its dark eyes rolled upward into its skull. This allowed Bear the second he needed to lift his booted right foot and send it crashing into the thing’s chest, snapping its ribcage apart and impaling a fractured rib directly into the seeker’s heart, killing it instantly. Sensing the thing was dead, Bear took the same foot he had just crushed the seeker’s chest with and pushed it out of the cab where its body rolled against the tracks and was crushed below the moving train.
Looking over Bear’s work, Yakov simply nodded. The train was now travelling at nearly forty miles an hour. No more seekers could be seen in front of them.
Mac, Reese, Dublin, and Cooper looked back at the dark forms that were falling from view behind the passenger car. Mac was attempting to estimate how many of the things were left alive, knowing the seekers would continue to stalk them all the way to Manitoba if able to do so.
“I’m guessing about a hundred and fifty of those things are left, at least from the ones we saw today. We blew through at least two-thirds of our ammo dealing with them. Another attack like that…we just don’t have the firepower to handle it.”
Cooper was already reloading his two Colt revolvers as Mac spoke.
“I’m down to eighteen rounds. Guess that means I better make them count, huh?”
Reese and Dublin were inventorying the other weapons and ammo that still remained - ten shotgun shells and just enough rounds to refill one assault rifle magazine. Mac, Reese, and Dublin’s handguns were already empty, and no more ammunition for those, or any of the other weapons was left.
Mac covered his mouth as he shook with another series of violent coughs. Dublin stepped toward him but he shook his head several times and waved her away.
“I’m fine. More worried about our chances of being able to defend ourselves. If we run into any more trouble…”
Mac’s words remained hanging between the others as all of them turned to look through the windowed door at the back of the passenger car. The light outside was already diminishing. Soon, it would be dark.
Cooper noted the train was traveling southeast, as more trees began to dot the landscape outside. Their speed continued to increase.
“We’re definitely making good time. Figure we must be traveling at almost fifty miles an hour now. Those things back there are fast, but not this fast.”
Mac eased himself back into his window seat, trying to hide yet another shot of pain that coursed through his lower back as he did so. Despite this pain, as soon as he was seated, he could feel sleep already working to overtake him. Mere minutes later, and his head dropped to his chest and the sound of his increasingly labored breathing mixed with that of the train wheels moving over the tracks below the passenger car. Brando walked over to where Mac sat, paused to briefly sniff the older man’s sleeping form, and then lay down next to him, the dog’s head setting down gently atop Mac’s feet.
Cooper carefully watched the attention Brando was giving to Mac, before turning to Reese and Dublin and whispering to them.
“Whatever it is Mac is suffering from, it’s got him in a real bad way. What you saw Brando do right there, reminds me of this old cat that would show up at the ranch every few weeks. Tough thing, big white and black long haired Tom, always looking like it had just gotten into a scrape with another cat, raccoon, whatever – ears all torn up. It would hang out around the porch for a day or two, eat a few scraps of food I’d give it, before setting out to wherever it would go. Well, it had that routine for a few years. Brando didn’t pay it much attention. Guess he sensed I had kind of adopted it as a part time resident or something.
“Last summer though, the cat just kept hanging around the porch. He would lay there curled up for hours at a time. I finally picked it up to look it over and noticed how much weight it had lost. No sign of trauma, but it just didn’t want to eat. Then it didn’t want to drink. With cats like that, it can be feline leukemia, basic renal failure, any number of things. The end result though, is the cat don’t get better, right? They just...die. Well, after I set it down, Brando walks up and sniffs at it, then lays right down next to it with the end his nose nudged up against the cat’s body. I go back and get Brando to leave the cat alone, have him follow me out to the barn, and then kind of forget all about it.
“Later in the day, I’m heading into the house for some lunch and there’s Brando lying down next to that cat on the porch again. So I go over and tell him to get into the house. He’s a good dog, he listens, and that’s what he does, but inside the house, I can tell he’s agitated. He’s not barking or anything, just a nervous tension. When you’re around an animal for a while, you can sense when something’s bothering them, and I could tell, Brando was bothered by having to be inside the house. Normally, that’s not the case. Wherever I’m at, he wants to be. Not that day though. So I let him back outside and he goes right over to the cat, sniffs at it again, and then lays right down next to it. By the time its dark I go out to see if Brando wants back inside. Nope. He stays next to the cat, who by then, I could tell was having a lot of trouble breathing.
Next morning, Brando is at the door wanting in and the cat is curled up where I saw it the last time, but it’s dead. And at that point, Brando didn’t seem to even notice it there. He came in the house and waited for me to give him breakfast like he didn’t have a care in the world.”
Cooper Wyse paused for a moment, his eyes looking over at Mac sleeping as Brando lay down at his feet.
“Thing is, I figure Brando had some need in him to be there for that cat in the last moments of its life. The cat didn’t have anybody else. It was old, had lived a long, hard life full of all kinds of cat-related adventure, and now that life was coming to an end. Brando could smell the death on it, knew the cat didn’t have long to live, and for whatever reason, he just wanted to be there for it when it happened. That might sound crazy, like I’m giving a dog way too much credit, but I’m telling you, that is what Brando was doing. He was helping that cat, in some unspoken way that animals have, he was helping that old cat come to terms with dying. He was comforting it.”
Dublin looked at Cooper and then back to Mac, trying hard to stop her eyes from tearing up.
“And that’s what you think Brando senses with Mac? That he’s dying? He’s trying to…to comfort him?”
Cooper slowly nodded.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what Brando’s doing. I noticed it the first day Mac arrived at the ranch, how Brando seemed to be watching over him.”
Reese put his arm around Dublin and drew her close, sensing her growing sadness and how hard she was fighting not to break down completely.
“So what do we do? We can’t turn back.”
Cooper gave Reese a slight smile.
“No, we can’t turn back. Frankly, I wouldn’t even consider it. You two know Mac about as well as anybody. He strikes me as the kind of fella who wants to be contributing something right to the very end, right?”
Dublin nodded as she put a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob.
“So I figure we keep letting the old dog have his days, however many he’s got left. That’s what would make him happiest. And when the time comes, and I’m pretty sure it’s coming sooner than later, we learn from Brando’s example. We make sure we’re there for Mac at the end. That’s not such a bad thing after all, to be leaving this world with others you care about watching over you, comforting you, reminding you that you’re loved. A lot worse ways to go out than that. A lot worse…”
XXXVII.
“That Libya situation was a real shit-hole Mac. We never should have taken that assignment. That place was never right from the moment we arrived. We give CIA the coordinates on Gaddafi and an hour later they
are lighting up his caravan? It was supposed to be a locate and capture. Not an assassination. Did you see how many of ours were in that crowd? The ones who shot Gadaffi? That thing was staged. That was a team who caught him. One of ours who killed him.”
Mac looked back at Benny with confusion. What the hell was he doing here? And why was he talking about Libya? That was almost thirty years ago. Actually, Benny was dead. All of them were dead. Except for Mac.
“Benny – you’re dead. This must be a dream, because you died years ago. After I went to prison. Before Dominatus. Way before now.”
The tall black man who had been an integral part of Mac’s off the books military team shook his head and laughed at Mac’s remark.
“Good old Mac, some things never change. Always trying to stay in the here and now. I don’t have to do that anymore. I’m living in the then and when. Catch my drift?”
Mac looked away from Benny and realized he was in fact standing in their former safe house just outside Benghazi proper. An upscale, off white, two story building that had a much larger lower level basement from which they had been working from for nearly three weeks – three weeks marked by increasing tribal violence throughout the northern half of Libya and pleas from those left in the Gadaffi regime that they were willing to turn themselves over to the United Nations authorities.
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