by Brant, Jason
She’d been working at freeing her hands from the wire they’d tied her in. The cable was small and had already cut into her skin. She could feel blood running down her palm from the gash opening on her wrist. The warm liquid gave her a small amount of leeway as the wire became slick.
“Phallic, you fool.”
Evans stupefied expression didn’t change.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jones released his wrist and turned his gaze back to Karen. “It would be a lot easier if you just answered our questions. What is it going to hurt to tell us what happened back in Gehenna? Obviously, we ain’t friends with the law.”
Karen shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t lie. I don’t know him.”
“You ran from a large group of people, boarded the train together, and then he handed you his pistol. Now you’re telling us that you don’t know him?” Jones asked.
“I met him a few hours ago. We were both doing our best to keep from being eaten alive.” Karen thought about Barbara, Lauren, and Ellis, and immediately felt the sting of tears in the back of her eyes. “We’re the only two that made it.”
“Eaten alive?” Evans anger abated a bit and he now seemed as interested in her story as Jones.
“Yes. The people of Gehenna turned into monsters and began eating and murdering each other.”
The boys in the back were growing restless, but they stopped their bickering when they heard what she said.
“They turned into monsters?” Jones clearly wasn’t buying it.
“If I have to repeat everything I say, this is going to take a long time. They turned into monsters. I think there is some kind of plague breaking out, and it turns people into cannibals.” She could see the disbelief on the faces around the room and shrugged her shoulders again. “You don’t believe me now, but give it another twenty minutes.”
“What do you mean?” the mom in the back asked.
“The disease seems to be spread by bite.”
She didn’t want to tell them about Doc Randy’s theory, afraid that religious fervor would only make their situation worse. Besides, if this really was a biblical plague, what could they do against the will of God?
Jones looked back at the door leading to the second passenger car. Karen could tell he was sharper than your average criminal and he had already figured out what she was suggesting.
“Are you telling us that the people who were attacked in the back car are going to turn into monsters and eat us?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“This is already scaring my boys enough! I don’t need you telling them no ghost stories!” The mother drew her boys near, hugging each of them with one arm.
“They should be scared. You should be too. We’re all in deep shit.”
“No way,” Evans said. “This is all bullshit. You just don’t want us to toss your ass off the train.”
Karen ignored him and looked at Jones. “What did McCall do when he went into the car? Did he kill that thing? Throw it from the train? Both?”
“He threw the man out the door as soon as he got back there. He didn’t even ask him any questions.” Jones looked back and forth from the door to her. “But what does that prove? McCall is known as a cold-blooded bastard.”
“What did you do to him anyway? How did you get that gun back?” She felt guilty that it had taken her so long to ask about McCall. He had just saved her life, but she was already more concerned about herself.
Jones hesitated for a second, watching her. “He’s dead. I cut his throat and threw his body out the door.”
Karen felt her heart climb into her throat. Now she truly was alone. The only survivor of Gehenna. Though McCall had been just another worthless criminal by reputation, she had felt there might be something more to him. He helped her escape the saloon, escorted her through the streets, and came back for her when she was surround by the dead.
And now he was gone, like so many others. She slumped against the wall and lowered her head until her chin rested on her chest. Getting her hands free didn’t seem as important as it had twenty seconds earlier.
Jones laughed again. “I thought you didn’t know him.”
A sob shook her body as she finally let herself fully relax. The memories of the past night finally overtook her. She sat against the wall and wept.
Shouting erupted from the other passenger car. Everyone turned toward the rear door, the tension in the air palpable.
“No way... ” Evans said.
A bloodcurdling scream made the youngest boy start to cry as he buried his head against his mother’s shoulder.
Karen didn’t even look up.
Chapter 3
A scream startled McCall, waking him with a jump.
His eyes struggled to focus. He blinked in confusion, trying to remember where he was. Pounding in his head caused him to grunt as he tried to sit up. His arms refused to move.
Another shriek pulled him out of the daze. A moan followed it.
Shit.
McCall looked down to see that a rope encircled his arms and torso. His legs were similarly bound, leaving him practically immobile. He looked around to see the teenager he’d followed into the car feasting on the neck of a middle-aged woman. Her screams turned to gargles as she choked on her own blood.
A man and a woman, both with wounds of their own, did their best to pull the moaner away, but were each rewarded with severe bites on their hands. The man’s index finger disappeared at the second knuckle, spurting small streams of blood from the stump.
The woman that slapped McCall kicked at the teen, screaming for him to stop. His attack did slow for a short time as he crunched on the finger. The jagged fingernail slid from his lips and fell to the floor.
Mad Dog was on the floor by the back of the car, close to the door. He tried to wriggle free of the ropes that surrounded his body, but found them too tight. His hands were bound separately by some kind of cloth by the feel of it. If he could get his hands free, he could at least work at the knots in the rope.
A man stood from behind one of the chairs, saliva running down his chin. He groaned from deep in his throat and looked at McCall with coal black eyes.
Shit!
He rolled to his stomach and curled his legs, bringing his heels to his ass. He felt around with his fingers until he found one of his boot spurs. Never taking his eyes from the moaner, he began sawing at the cloth holding his hands with the spur, working as fast as he could. The palms of his hands were sliced several times as he frantically jabbed them at the metal blades on his boots.
The moaner struggled to climb across the seats to get to McCall. Its black eyes fixated on him as it continued to trip and stumble its way to him. Mad Dog knew that he couldn’t get free before it reached him.
At the other end of the aisle, the door leading to the other passenger car opened and the man that incapacitated him stepped through. His mouth dropped open when he saw the carnage playing out before him. The moaner climbing toward McCall stopped and turned back to the door, distracted by the sound of it swinging shut.
“What the hell?” the man asked.
“Shoot them!” McCall winced as his palms suffered more tiny nicks.
“Holy shit, the woman ain’t lying!” The tall man left the car in a hurry, slamming the door behind him. McCall heard the click of an exterior lock snapping in place. A third man, his shirt bloodied from a bite mark on his bicep, fell out of a chair not five feet in front of McCall.
He was young, maybe twenty, and built like a farmer or miner with powerful, striated forearms. His wife stood from her chair beside him, calling his name repeatedly as she watched him slither across the floor and join the teen in his human feast.
Still struggling with the seats, the moaner that had previously fixated on McCall snapped in her direction, attracted by her voice. She seemed not to notice him until he fell upon her, tearing at her pretty, if not beautiful, face with gnashing teeth. Screams escaped her for a while as Mad Dog
continued to cut at his restraints, before she mercifully fell silent.
His hands sprang free suddenly, giving him a glimmer of hope as those around him were consumed by the same madness that had swallowed Gehenna whole. He rolled to his back and sat up, shrugging his shoulders in an odd rhythm, trying to inch the ropes around his body up to his shoulders.
The process proved slower than he hoped. He knew that these things preferred fresh meat and would soon move on as the flesh they ate cooled. The smacking sounds of their lips threatened to drive him mad.
He could hear a woman whimpering somewhere ahead of him.
“Quiet,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “Don’t let them hear you.”
He immediately wished he hadn’t said anything. The teenager, or what used to be one, lifted its black eyes toward him. It croaked, slow and long, and started working its way down the aisle. Bodies blocked the way, which slowed it considerably as it crawled on its hands and knees.
McCall worked faster, inching the ropes up his arms as fast as he could. His shoulders ached from the movement, his fatigue deep and overwhelming. A cramp seized his neck, sending the muscles in his right shoulder into painful spasms.
His left forearm popped free, allowing him to lift the ropes over his head and free his torso. He threw the looped rope at the moaner coming for him and worked at the bindings around his legs. The tight knot held firm, and would take time to untie, which he didn’t have.
Pushing himself to his feet, he hopped to the door on his left and pushed it open. The moaner followed his lead and stood up, closing the distance between them. McCall hung his head out the open door, squinting against the wind blowing past, and searched for anything he could use as a weapon.
An inch thick railing ran along the side of the car, above the windows and door. The moaner slammed into his back just as he reached for it, sending them careening through the air. He grabbed a hold of the railing as he fell, all of his weight tugging at his shoulder joint.
The used-to-be teenager held onto the ropes that bound its legs, the lower half of its body dragging along the dusty ground. Their combined weight was too much for McCall’s already depleted strength. He could feel the energy sapping from his grip. His forearms burned, screaming for him to let go.
The moaner slid further down his body, letting go of the ropes to try to take a bite out of his leg. Its mouth closed over a loop of rope and gnawed on it, chewing its way toward McCall’s calf. He bucked his legs in a frenzy, finding the movement difficult with his limbs tied together and a boy hanging from them.
His hands loosened, the bar sliding from his palm to his fingers, his grip almost gone. He gave one final kick, screaming as he did, and felt the boy fall free. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw the teen fall under the iron wheels of the locomotive. Its torso severed at the sternum, mashed organs and shattered bone splattering the ground.
With what little strength he had left, McCall inched his way down the car, passing the door, and reached the end of the rail. He held on with only his fingertips, his sweaty hands no longer able to grip the thin bar. By swinging his left foot, he was able to get the toe of his boot on the connecting joint that held the cars together.
Carefully he put some of his weight on that foot and released the bar with his left hand, feeling around the back of the car for a handhold. He found one and grabbed it, pulling his body around the corner and collapsing on the joint. His fingers throbbed and his shoulder felt like a hot poker had been stuck in it.
He shook his hands, trying to get the blood circulating again. Minutes passed as he sat there, trying to work up the willpower to move on. Where was Karen? Had she been captured by the man with the hard face and blue eyes in the other passenger car? Or was it the man that had kicked McCall’s ass?
Both of those men looked familiar to him, though he couldn’t quite remember their names. He assumed they were criminals based on their calm demeanor in such intense situations. That or they were soldiers. Small-town lawmen typically wilt under the kinds of pressure they were dealing with now.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he recuperated, trying to think of what to do next. He looked around the corner of the car behind him, wondering how far the train had traveled while he was unconscious. Gehenna couldn’t be seen in the distance; nor could he smell the burning wood and flesh of the town.
The sun stood over the horizon, beating down on the desolate area they sped through. McCall didn’t see much of anything outside of cracked earth and browned plant life. The desert spread in every direction, stretching as far as he could see.
Over the roaring wind, he heard a scream from inside the car. He grimaced at the thought of the fate that would soon consume those still surviving in there. Without a gun, he had no means of helping anyone. At this point, he didn’t think he would be able to defend himself, let alone someone else.
His mind turned to Karen and he felt a pang of guilt about leaving her behind. He struggled to his feet, swaying slightly in exhaustion. The top of the passenger car stretched about a foot above his reach and he jumped for it, grabbing the edge. His feet kicked at the wall, finding only small amounts of purchase as he pulled himself up.
Air rushed past his face and shoulders again as his upper body crested the roof. He held a hand up to protect his eyes while he looked forward, trying to gauge his next series of moves. The top of the car had a slight curve, but he would be able to walk on it as long as he stayed near the center of the roof.
He carefully slid the rest of his body across the wood top, making sure he stayed in the middle. The wind, though strong, didn’t feel like it would be enough to throw him off the train. He kept his center of gravity low and made his way toward the front of the car. Heat rose in waves above the roof in front him, baking his feet.
He crept on his hands and knees for the last few feet as he reached the edge of the roof. A four-foot gap separated the two passenger cars, giving him pause while he tried to determine the best way to cross it. The distance wouldn’t have been an issue except that the air blew toward him.
Knowing the two men in the first car could possibly hear him as he landed also made him reticent to jump. His current state of fatigue combined with the fact that he didn’t have a gun, made the element of surprise his best asset. If he could get the drop on them, he might have a chance of taking them out. Though he had no way of knowing if they were in cahoots, his gut told him they were working together.
He had the option of climbing down the front of this car and up the back of the next, but he didn’t think he had the strength to do so. If one of them came outside while he was in the process, he would be dead.
Another scream came from beneath him. McCall closed his eyes and tried not to picture the faces of those most likely dying under his feet. Knowing he could do nothing to help them didn’t assuage his guilt. Thuds reverberated through the wood and into his legs, making him cringe.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind and refocus on the task at hand. Jumping seemed to be his best bet. He crouched low, counted to three mentally, and made the leap. The distance proved easier to manage than he thought, and he landed several inches from the edge.
McCall’s boots thumped against the wood and he winced at the sound, knowing that anyone in the back of the car would have heard it. He waited several seconds, trying to listen, but hearing only the onrushing wind. When no one came out of the door below him, he began sneaking along the roof, doing his best to quiet his footsteps.
It took him a full minute to reach the other side and lower himself between the passenger and engine cars. He eased the door to the steam engine room open and glanced inside. The conductor stood in front of the furnace, tossing in small shovelfuls of coal. His small stature didn’t allow him to use the entire blade of the shovel he wielded.
McCall moved inside the door and gently closed it behind him. The latch clicked as it closed and the conductor turned around, lifting the shovel up in a defensive gesture
.
“Stay away from me!”
McCall stopped a couple of feet away and stared him down. “Give me the shovel.”
“I’m tired of being pushed around by a bunch of criminals! Stay back!”
That confirmed McCall’s suspicions – the two men were outlaws, just as he was. “What are their names?”
“Who? Your friends back there?” The conductor held his ground, but the shovel trembled in his hands.
“They aren’t my friends. What are their names?”
The small man stood in place, his brow furrowing as he looked back at McCall. “Jones and Evans,” he said cautiously.
Shit again, McCall thought. He knew he recognized both of them. Jones had a reputation as being the fastest gun around. The way he had dismantled McCall seemed to verify those rumors were true. He’d only been toying with Mad Dog, not even breaking a sweat.
Evans on the other hand, had a renowned sadistic streak. They were both killers, but Evans took a particular interest in tormenting his victims before brutally putting them down. Though McCall gave himself the moniker of ‘Mad Dog’, the title actually seemed fitting for Evans.
He didn’t like their chances of surviving this ride on the rail with the moaners behind them before, but now he downright doubted the possibility. There would be no way of controlling those two, short of killing them, and they had all of the guns on board. Getting off the train would be suicide, so their options were limited.
“Are you aware of their reputations?” McCall asked.
“Yes. I know of yours as well,” the conductor said.
“You have my word that I will not hurt you,” McCall said. He held his hand out for the shovel. It seemed to be the best weapon at his disposal. “Give me that shovel and I’ll try to take care of those two.”
The conductor pushed his glasses up his nose and considered McCall for several seconds in silence. One of the lenses had been shattered since Mad Dog had last seen him. Judging from the little man’s consideration of McCall’s offer, he assumed that one of the assholes in the next car had broken it.