by Brant, Jason
Jones’ head popped up beside him, coughing and sputtering as he tried to clear the water from his lungs. He looked at McCall in panic, fighting to keep his head above the rising surface.
“I can’t swim with my hands tied! Cut me loose!”
“With what, my teeth?” McCall felt his conscious tug at him again. He knew this man was a son of a bitch, but he didn’t think he could let him drown. Damn.
He took a deep breath and dove down, scanning the area for something to cut Jones’ wire. He spotted Karen’s knife a few feet below him. That must have been what splashed beside him during the crash. Had it been two feet to his left it probably would have skewered him.
Grabbing the knife with his right hand, he tried to see through the water to the other end of the car. He had Karen’s weapon, but where was she? Sediment swirled in front of him, not allowing him to see more than a few feet. Karen didn’t appear to be anywhere near him.
He resurfaced to find that the water had risen another two feet. They would be out of room shortly. Jones’ head tilted back as he struggled to keep his mouth above the water. He spit out a large amount and turned his eyes to McCall. The fear in them made up Mad Dog’s mind – he would cut him loose.
Jones tried to spin around, attempting to give McCall access to his hands, but he accomplished more flailing than anything else. McCall grabbed his shoulder and turned him with a jerk. He used his left hand to feel for the bindings before going to work at them with the knife. Jones flinched several times as the blade bit into his hands, but he didn’t complain. They both knew that they didn’t have much time.
“Karen?” McCall yelled. The water had risen too high for him to see the other end of the car. “Karen, are you ok?”
The wire holding Jones’ hands finally gave way, and McCall pushed the criminal away from him before working toward Karen and the boys. Jones didn’t say a word before climbing out of the broken window directly above him. He heaved himself through the opening and disappeared.
“Karen, where are you?” McCall kept calling her name, but he never heard anything in return. He made it halfway through the car before the water rose past the windows, fully submerging the train. He slid the knife between his belt and pants, feeling the edge press against the fabric of his clothing. Losing the blade felt like a bad idea, though he knew he would suffer some cuts trying to keep it.
He kicked his legs as he swam forward, using the seats to pull him along at a faster pace. He could see hair floating a few feet ahead of him and felt a momentary flutter of panic before he saw its silver color. It was Ethel. Her neck swiveled in an unnatural way in the water.
McCall pushed her body out of the way and continued going. The last he’d seen the boys and Karen, they were three or four rows behind Ethel. The crash could have sent them anywhere, but that was all he had to go on. His hand brushed against skin. He turned to see Sarah. She was dead.
His lungs started to burn as he looked around for everyone else. If he didn’t see someone in the next few seconds he would have to go up for air. The flow of the water rushing past the windows told him he wouldn’t be able to get back to the train before he floated too far down stream.
A few feet ahead of him, a small arm popped out from between two seats. McCall grabbed it and pulled one of the boys clear. He released the arm and pushed the boy through the window above them. The child kicked his way to the surface and out of McCall’s sight.
A hand grabbed his boot and pulled him down. He kicked his foot away on instinct, hoping a moaner wasn’t about to take a bite out of his leg. Looking down, he saw Karen below him, bubbles escaping her nose and open mouth. Veins stuck out of her forehead and neck. He could tell she was near drowning – he was too.
He ignored the agony in his chest and pushed off the ceiling with his feet, closing the distance between them. When he got closer, he could see why she hadn’t fled the train; her foot was caught under a collapsed chair. Its metal legs bent at ninety degree angles, folding over on her ankle.
His hands searched under the chair for holds as he placed his feet against the wall beneath them. The fingers of his right hand found a groove and he grasped it, tugging on it to see if it would hold. It didn’t budge, so he placed both of his hands around it and pulled with everything he had.
What little strength remained in his muscles wasn’t enough. The chair didn’t move. He looked at Karen’s face and saw acceptance flash across it. That pissed McCall off. They didn’t survive the horrors of Gehenna to be drowned by the Tartarus. He repositioned his feet a little wider, straightened his back, and heaved at the seat.
It gave little more than an inch, but that was all Karen needed to pull her leg free. McCall threw his arm around her waist and kicked for the surface. He could see the whites of her eyes as they rolled back in her head, fluttering rapidly. Her mouth opened and he feared she would draw in water so he clamped his hand over it.
The body of the older boy floated a few feet away as they swam through the window, causing him to hesitate. He pushed Karen as hard as he could, hoping it would get her the last couple of yards to the surface. Though his vision started closing in and fading around its edges, he fought to go back for the child.
McCall grabbed the boy’s collared shirt and kicked toward the surface. The kid never moved, but Mad Dog tried to get him ashore anyway, hoping Karen could do something to revive him. The sun bounced off the surface of the water ahead of them, tantalizingly close, yet far enough away that he didn’t think he would make it.
His throat convulsed, trying to make him breathe in. His legs and arms began to cramp, but he kicked and paddled through the pain, gritting his teeth. The boy’s weight slowed his pace, forcing him to reconsider letting him go. He kicked harder, feeling lightheaded, his limbs suddenly heavy and awkward.
His forehead broke the surface and he gulped for the air before his mouth caught up. More water than air hit his lungs and he hacked, struggling to stay afloat while coughing out mouthfuls of soot-laden river. The boy’s body floated beside him, face down, so he flipped it, laboring to keep his face out of the cool water.
It felt as if weights had been placed in his boots. Each kick required a greater effort than the last. McCall wanted to kick them free, but he knew that he couldn’t walk through the desert in his bare feet. Assuming he didn’t drown while trying to get to the shore that was.
The current ran fast, threatening to pull them farther down the river. McCall angled his body toward the West and swam. For every five feet he moved to the side, the flow of the water took him ten downstream. He could see Karen further along the shore, attempting to pull herself from the water.
The younger brother sat on the ground close to Karen, his head hanging low. McCall swam toward them, hoping he could reach the shore before the boy dragged him under the surface again. He didn’t think he had the strength to fight his way back up.
His feet brushed against solid ground beneath him and he let out a sigh of relief when he gained his footing. Nothing had ever made him feel so secure in his entire life. A few steps later and his torso emerged from the water. He grabbed the boy under the arms and pulled him the rest of the way.
Karen saw them coming and splashed toward them, her movements weary and unsure. She helped get the child ashore, where McCall promptly collapsed on his hands and knees, hacking up globs of water and phlegm. His lungs wheezed as he drew in short, ragged breaths.
Though McCall could see Karen eyeing him, she went to work on the child. She sat him up and smacked on his back, trying to knock some of the water out of him. His skin had turned blue and felt cool to the touch. The cold water had made all of them chilly, but the boy felt a little different.
“Come on, damn it,” Karen mumbled. She gave him a few more smacks.
McCall rolled to his back and stared up at the sky. The sun had already begun to warm him up. He tried not to watch Karen work on the child, feeling in his heart that the boy was gone. If only he’d gotten to him a littl
e sooner he might have been able to save him.
Karen stopped slapping at his back and let out a string of curses. The youngest boy, McCall thought his name was Stephen, crawled toward his older brother. He touched his face and called out his name, sobbing quietly as he did. Karen sat on the ground beside them and watched in silence.
“I wasn’t sure all of you would make it.”
McCall knew the voice belonged to Jones. He turned to see the criminal’s long shadow extending toward him.
Pain exploded through his chest.
Chapter 8
Karen watched as Jones kicked McCall in the chest.
Though there weren’t any trees or structures close to them, Jones had somehow managed to sneak up on them. He moved quickly, his body suffering none of the fatigue that McCall and Karen dealt with.
“No!” She climbed to her feet and ran at him in slow, uneven steps. He easily moved to the side and punched her behind the left ear, sending her equilibrium to hell. She dropped to her knees, the world swimming before her eyes. Her legs wouldn’t support her as she tried to stand again, and she fell to her right hip.
Jones stood in front of her looking down with a sneer.
“Why?” she asked him.
“You seemed smarter than this,” Jones said, shaking his head. “I already told you our plan.”
Karen looked over at McCall, hoping he had some fight left in him. He lay on his back, clutching his chest. She couldn’t tell if he would be able to help her or not. Even if he could, she doubted he had much fight left in him.
“I thought the dead rising would have changed that,” Karen said.
“Why would it? In fact, this should give those idiots from Washington something else to worry about besides little ol’ me. I can’t think of a better way to disappear, actually.”
“And we’re the only people who know you didn’t die on the train.”
Jones shrugged.
“What about Evans? Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Jones looked around. “We fooled all of you by pretending to argue, but I expected him to come in the car before the crash. He’s probably dead now. I don’t think anyone could have survived that if they were on top of the train.”
Karen looked past him at Stephen. He still sat beside his brother, crying quietly. “What about the boy?”
Jones shrugged again.
“You bastard.”
“Enough talk – let’s get this over with.” Jones stepped forward, reaching toward Karen’s neck with his hands. “I’d make it quick, but I owe you a beating for that punch you gave me.”
“Fuck you.” She threw a handful of sand in his face.
Jones staggered back, swatting at his face. “You bitch!” He stumbled sideways, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear the sand and dirt from his eyes.
McCall sat up and dug at his waistband. He pulled a knife free and thrust it into the side of Jones’ knee. The tall outlaw fell backward, clutching at his destroyed joint, and landing on his back. Mad Dog pulled the knife free and crawled beside Jones, raising the weapon above his head.
Jones caught the wrist of the knife hand as it plunged toward his chest and they struggled over it, trying to gain leverage. McCall used his free arm to put more downward pressure on the knife, moving it over Jones’ heart. Karen dragged herself over to Jones’ other side and grabbed at one of his arms, trying to wrench it free of McCall’s.
“No, wait!” Jones squirmed against the sand, trying to move the knife away from his body.
Karen ignored his pleading and continued fighting, punching at the bend in his elbow. She connected with it twice and it buckled on the second blow. The arm fell inward and she grasped it with both hands and yanked it away from his body.
McCall put all of his weight over the knife and lunged downward, plunging it into Jones’ chest. He looked down into Jones’ eyes with a fury that Karen hadn’t expected from him. Their faces were only inches apart as they stared at each other.
“See you in Hell,” McCall said.
Fear and surprise washed over Jones. He shook his head in small movements, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Karen felt his strength ebb as he looked back and forth from her to McCall. She watched as his eyes glassed over. His arms fell lax beside him and she finally released her grip.
Mad Dog rolled away and lay on his back beside the body, panting. He looked like hell.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
“Not really,” he said, slowly sitting up. “I’ve never wanted a beer so bad in my entire life.” He pushed himself to his feet and brushed the sand away from his soaked pants and shirt.
Karen looked back at the little boy and her heart wept for him. He’d lost his mother and older brother in the last couple of minutes. She watched everyone she cared about being killed yesterday, so she could relate.
What ran through McCall’s mind, she couldn’t ascertain. She didn’t believe him to be the killer that his reputation suggested though. He saved her in Gehenna, and from drowning on the train. Trying to save the older boy nearly cost him his life, yet he never hesitated. Who was he?
“We need to move,” McCall said. He’d been watching her and seemed to know what ran through her mind.
“Where? How? I don’t think I can walk very far.”
“Evans might be around here and I don’t have the strength to fight him off.” He bent down and pulled the knife from Jones chest, wiping the blade on the dead man’s shirt. “And someone blew that dam. They were in cahoots with Jones, and that’s enough to tell me that we don’t want to meet ‘em.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.” She looked around seeing nothing but the dam, a few buildings on the other side of the river, and the thin, dark shadows of moaners in the distance. “I know Sheol is further down the tracks, but I don’t know how far.”
“Let’s hope we can get there,” McCall said. His grim expression told her that he didn’t think they’d make it either.
He had a point though – they were out of options. The last thing she wanted to see was Evans getting his sadistic hands on the boy. She stood up, feeling a thousand aches and pains as she did, and walked over to the child.
“Stephen, we need to go.”
“No!”
“Stephen, there are some bad men coming. We have to go now.”
He grabbed his brother, who was still in a slumped over, seated position, and hugged him around the neck. Karen felt a knot form in the back of her throat and she had to look away. Stephen’s innocence made her sad and hopeful at the same time. She felt that trying to save him would give her some form of motivation to continue fighting.
She placed her hand on the back of his drenched head and stroked his hair. “We need to go, sweetie.”
McCall scanned the area, his impatience evident in the way he stood. She felt the urge to snap at him, but knew that he was right. They had to go before any of Jones’ lackeys showed up.
Stephen released his brother and stood up, facing Karen. Red rings circled his eyes and mucus ran from his nose. He grabbed a hold of her leg and squeezed it, burying his face in her hip. She massaged the back of his head, trying to soothe him as best she could.
With a brief nod to McCall, she started guiding the boy forward, trying to get him walking. He went, grudgingly, and kept looking back at his older brother. She took his hand and led him up the side of the river to the railroad tracks, where they turned west and followed them.
Mad Dog walked on the opposite side of the rail, constantly scanning the desert in all directions. So far, it looked as if all of the moaners were on the far side of the river. Karen figured it would take quite a while before the current of the water slowed, and the monsters were able to cross it.
The sun beat down on them, drying their clothes and mouths before the river was out of sight. Karen knew dehydration could kill them inside of a day in this kind of heat. Combined with their overwhelming hunger and fatigue, she didn’t like their chance
s.
Stephen faltered after less than an hour. His feet dragged behind him as Karen tried to pull him along. Her endurance gave in short order and she had to stop. The boy fell to the ground, his head bobbing softly as he sat by the track, his eyes closed to all but slits.
“McCall, wait,” Karen said. Her voice came out in a croak – it felt as if she had a mouth full of sand.
McCall stopped and looked back at them. Sweat poured from his brow and the armpits of shirt looked like they’d been permanently stained. He walked back to the boy and picked him up, cradling him in his arms. He continued following the tracks without saying a word.
Karen took a couple of quick steps to catch up, wincing as her muscles threatened to cramp. She watched him as he carried the boy, trying to gauge how much longer he could hold onto Stephen. His stride looked strained, as if each footfall took a tremendous effort. Yet he soldiered on, stoic as ever.
“You never answered me back there,” Karen said.
He gave her a sideways glance, eyebrows raised, but said nothing.
“You didn’t tell me who you really are.”
“And you already know who I am – everyone does.” He shifted Stephen in his arms, holding him a little higher. The child’s eyes closed, but his breathing remained steady.
“I know your reputation, but I don’t know anything about you outside of that. In fact, most of what I’ve heard about you is so farfetched that it stretches credibility.”
“You use really big words for a hooker.”
“Don’t try and change the subject. Those notches on your gun; I heard one was for every man you killed. Is that true?”
He stared straight ahead, quiet.
“I didn’t think so. You’re no killer.”
“Jones would disagree,” McCall said.
“Jones can kiss my ass; he deserved what he got. You know what I’m saying. Everyone is scared to death of you like you’re some kind of psychopath.”
McCall continued walking. He jostled Stephen in his arms again as he repositioned him. Karen wondered how he could continue carrying him like that.