by Rory Nelson
In midair, Seven feels the scalding heat of the blast at his back. His skin singes with metal shrapnel. Hurtling wood pieces lodge inside his flesh, ripping through the skin and penetrating his organs. Seven lands with a dull thud as the flames lick his skin, causing the burnt skin to bubble up. He cries out in anguish, feeling the shrapnel lodge deep inside him. The pulsing pain floods his body with every small movement. His fate is uncertain.
With their cringe-worthy, demonic war cry, the ptero-hawks’ high-pitched screeching sound pierces the airwaves. There is no other sound like it. Perhaps it’s akin to a war cry heard when entering the gates of hell.
As if the thick clouds were giving birth, two large ptero-hawks fly out of the thick, black clouds. They dive toward the train. Shots pepper the train cars and shatter windows. Random bullets hit soldiers while the shots tear apart the cars with indiscriminate ruthlessness. Men drop in heaps from shattered pelvises and severed arteries. In seconds, soldiers’ corpses lay across the decks.
For the hawk rider, his assault does not go unpunished. Two sniper shots hit the rider through his torso and exit his hawk. As it does, the hawk caws in a high-pitched, excruciating wail that pierces the eardrums painfully.
The other shot finds its mark in the hawk’s neck. Before the hawk swings away avoiding a collision, it dies mid-flight and crashes on a car’s top.
A second ptero-hawk dives toward the train. The rider drops a grenado into the car where his comrade and the recent expired lay dead. Another explosion rips through the car, blowing a cavernous hole in the backside, expelling shattered glass in a plume of smoke. The deadly shrapnel jets through the air in an orange fireball incinerating everything in its path.
Wails of dying men ring out once the fireball extinguishes itself. Severed body parts pepper the car. Some dying few remain trapped underneath upended seats, partitions, metallic columns and broken glass. Their agonizing voices fade to a mutter as life drains.
Preoccupied with his aim on the hawk, a wire wraps around the Gatling gunman’s neck. He flails. His arms cannot shake off the man strangling him from behind. Unable to grasp air, he turns blue, spasms, and no longer breaths. Lex looks on as Wyker replaces the deceased operator at the middle Gatling gun.
“Take out the last Gatling gun. It’s our only chance,” orders Lex.
Wyker nods. “Ai, no other choice.”
Chapter 15: More Tom Fuckery
Lady Gwyneth rides Crixus hard as his engorged cock penetrates her. She rubs his head and kisses him as he bucks up in rhythm. She cries out in ecstasy. Crixus can no longer hold it in. Ashamed and feeling violated, he empties his seed and moans in pleasure as she takes every drip from him.
“Thank you for indulging me,” she says. “It was just as I imagined it would be.”
“Seems I didn’t have much of a choice,” he says.
“You didn’t.”
As she hitches up her skirt, the first of many explosions rocks the car from side to side. She looks at him in an accusing manner.
“Don’t look at me. I don’t know nothing about this.”
“My kids,” she says.
In response, the outside guard pounds the door. “Now Mais. You need to get out of there at tempest halt!”
As soon as she steps out of the car, she cries out, “My children? Where are they?”
“Come with me, Mais,” states Stanton, a guard. Stanton unlocks the inner sanctum. As he does, someone seizes his hand in a vise grip lock of death. He feels himself being pulled and pushed off the train. He hits the ground face first, opening up a small laceration on his chin. It causes a painful bump on his head. Stanton looks back at the train with a look of consternation. “What the fuck?” He moans.
(2)
Before the train comes around the bend and reaches its rendezvous point, explosions rock the line. Black smoke erupts from the middle cars. Men wail, cry out and order each other in a frantic state. Everyone looks to Daliance for confirmation.
Looking just as bewildered as the rest of them, he leads them on. “We go men. We have no other choice. But for God’s sake, be quick about it.” They nod in somber resignation.
They position themselves and rappel further to the precarious arch sitting above the trainline. As the first car passes, Gellen and Penryn rappel and pay for their oversight. When they near the car’s roof, the Gatling gun fires into the other Gatling gun at the front. Though the bullets penetrate the first rider of the Gatling gun, the shots are not so strategic. Many stray from their intended target. Those bullets hit Gellen and Penryn’s torso and legs multiple times. Blood splatters and bullets rip through their bodies, puncturing organs and severing arteries. They fall from the train in blood-soaked heaps, presumably dead. Ghange–Rhu signals with an upturned fist. “Wait.” As if they needed it.
The remaining party waits underneath the arch until Daliance directs them down. He points down with an index finger. They drop and prepare themselves to fire on the Gatling gun man. But, upon seeing him, their hearts sink. It is Wyker, their man.
They have little time to bemoan their predicament. As sniper fire erupts throughout the cars, they duck down and look towards Daliance. Indirectly, he is the one in charge, though he never asserted himself in the position. “We wait.”
After several seconds, they hear the unmistakable loud metallic grinding of the Gatling gun being maneuvered around. Seconds later, the gun blasts through several of the cars. They cover themselves to avoid the onslaught of falling glass and splintered wood.
The sniper shots stop, and they emerge from their hiding places. “Now!” yells Daliance.
The men drop on a car that took gunfire. They land in a heap of broken seats, twisted metal and bodies riddled with bullets. The men are dead or dying.
(3)
Triberian, the Sandonista riding the ptero-hawk, escapes a round of sniper fire. He takes his hawk down beneath the behemoth Sunter Bridge. This bridge sits nine hundred feet above Lake Pontrachain and catty corner to the great Suddux River. Triberian dodges several shots by swinging his ptero-hawk in a crazy zig-zag arc. Then he dives at a high speed, making a difficult target of himself.
Another rider named Vincent remains. He fires off several rounds at two snipers who try desperately to take out Triberian. One shot finds its mark in one sniper, penetrating his neck. He drops his sniper rifle and falls over the edge of the train, smashing his head. He’s dead the moment he hits the ground.
(4)
Renault and Drake enter this chaotic scene in their trolley. Most of the combatants have been taken out. Half the train line is gutted out. While the flames rage in every car, a dark, noxious cloud of smoke spews which masks their entry.
“Jesus Christ!” remarks Drake. “What the fuck happened?”
“All hell broke loose.”
Several sniper shots ring out, ricocheting off the side of their trolley. They instinctively take cover while bringing up their guns.
Seconds later, the sniper’s head implodes in on itself, spewing copious amounts of blood from his neck. As he drops to the ground, Renault and Drake follow the shot which killed the sniper. And, they see their man, Wyker. He waves to them and they return it.
“Thank God a few of us are left,” Drake says.
“Ai,” responds Renault. Drake extends the lever to its maximum position. The trolley thrusts at its top speed and to the front of the train in relative obscurity.
Chapter 16: Hidden Agenda
Lady Gwyneth, accompanied by Lieutenant Donmonger and Captain Monaco, runs to her children and Abe Abernathy. She hugs them while tears rush down her face. Several more shots ring out and they duck down to avoid them.
“Thank God!” She cries. “I thought I lost you all.”
“Where were you, Mama?” asks Katelyn-Sue, the youngest.
“Never you mind that, little one.” She assesses them all. “Is everyone alright? Anyone injured?”
They shake their heads. As she looks at Abe, she notices he
is as white as a ghost and struggles to catch his breath. He holds a bloodstained handkerchief to his side.
“Oh Abe. You’ve been hit.”
“I’ll be fine, Mais, set watch and warrant it.” He smiles but she knows he forces it. “Just need to get myself to a doctor so I do.”
Captain Monaco looks at Abe, noting the bullet’s entrance and exit hole and the amount of blood. “We’ll tend to him, Mais. Right now, we need to get into that car. These two are the last strongholds on this train. Everything else is destroyed. Now let’s move at tempest halt.”
They enter the second to last car, the one next to where Crixus is. As they walk in, Captain Monaco walks over to the two full chests. “There’s a large bench just around the corner,” replies Monaco, ensuring they are out of sight. Now, he covets them, afraid anyone but himself will steal away its contents at any moment. When they walk back to the bench behind the wooden partition, Monaco gives Lieutenant Donmonger a rueful grimace.
“That’s a fuck lot of money,” says Monaco. “Fuck a lot of trouble for it as well. You ken?”
“Ai,” answers Donmonger.
“Open it up,” commands Monaco. Donmonger uses his key and opens both trunks. They stare at it with greed. 500 pounds of rare Baluvian diamonds from the mines in Bastall, enough money to buy an entire country. In the other trunk are gold bars, more than they could spend in ten lifetimes.
“If King Magellan believes we ripped him off, there is no length he’ll go to see we are hunted down and killed in the most gruesome way. You ken?” asks Donmonger.
“That’s why we need to make sure he believes we are dead.”
Captain Monaco retrieves a threading filament wire in his pockets.
“Ai,” says Donmonger.
Monaco steps closer to him as Donmonger places his hands on the money. “That won’t be too hard in your case, son. You served me well.”
“What?” asks Donmonger with curiosity. As he looks around, Monaco pulls out his wire and wraps it around his throat. He squeezes with his considerable force. Donmonger bucks, pushes, and struggles to breathe while trying to knock Monaco off him. His arms flail wildly as the life drains from him. Monaco squeezes with tenacious persistence.
When Donmonger is still, Monaco removes the wire from around his throat, revealing deep grooved ligature marks.
“I cry pardon, Sai, but we can’t be having complications. You were one that needed to be put out. Nothing personal, set watch and warrant it.”
Monaco gets up and moves his fingers around to wring them out from cramping. He hears a rustling sound behind him. “That you, boy?” asks Monaco. “What kind of Tom Fuckery are you up to anyway?”
Though it’s hard to hear from the barrage of gun blasts, Monaco knows what he heard -- the unmistakable sound of scuttling preceded by a definite gasp.
“Come here boy,” says Monaco.
On the other side of the partition, Lady Gwyneth is oblivious to the recent murder of Donmonger. She cradles Abe’s head in her hands and cries in silence while the tears stream down her face. “I cry pardon for every childish thing I’ve ever done, Abe. You’ve protected us, so you have. My life, my children’s lives, all beholden to you, friend.”
Blood seeps out of his mouth and his eyes become rheumy. With much effort, he pulls a small pistol from his pocket and gives it to her. He cups his hand over hers and squeezes, using most of his dwindling strength.
“Don’t trust anyone lady, Mais. Do whatever needs to be done to protect yourself and the children.” His head drops to the floor as he takes his last breath.
Gwyneth sobs.
After several seconds, Sebastian brings her out of her anguish. He pulls at her trying to get her attention.
She looks up at him as if she were just slapped.
“Mama! Mama!” he implores.
“What?” she snaps at him.
“It’s Captain Monaco, Mama. He did a terrible thing. I saw it with my own eyes, so I did.”
She looks at him in disbelief and shakes him. “Now is not the time for one of your stories, boy. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me, Mama. Monaco killed the lieutenant. Saw it with my own eyes,” Sebastian pleads.
She stares at him for several seconds and his facial expression does not waver. Sebastian tells the truth. Gwyneth looks at him in desperation and scans for her other children, Katelyn-Sue and Montgomery. She finds Montgomery, her other boy, but cannot find Katelyn-Sue. Gwyneth hears a muffled scream and watches in horror as the metal partition opens up.
Monaco walks in with Katelyn-Sue in one arm and a gun in the other.
“If you have any weapons, Lady Mais, I’d suggest you hand them over now. My patience is very thin today and my trigger finger is a little bit jumpy.”
“You’re a beast!” she scolds.
“Soon to be a very rich one. Do it,” he commands while pointing the barrel of the gun against Katelyn-Sue’s head. “And do remember my jumpy trigger finger.”
Gwyneth needs no further coaxing. She throws her gun over to him.
“So, this is all about money, is it?” she asks.
“Retirement. Out of this service and this life. And King Aleksandr can suck my cock. You on the other hand are going to do a lot more than that. Call it a going away prize,” he smiles.
“Fuck you!” she cries. “I would never do that with you. You’re despicable.”
“And you’re a spoiled cunt who was never supposed to be here. You’re going to pay.”
“I’ll never do anything with you.”
Monaco puts the muzzle of the gun against Katelyn-Sue’s head, eliciting her horrified screams.
Gwyneth puts up her hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll do whatever you ask. The only thing I ask is that you don’t let my children see it.”
“You’re in no position to demand anything, cunt.” He looks at her with a salacious gleam in his eye and rubs his chin. “But Ai. I’ll grant you that, provided you do everything I ask. You ken?”
“Ai. You have my word. Please, just let my daughter go. In the name of God, please,” she implores in desperation as the tears stream down her face.
Monaco nods. “Ai. Consider it done.” He releases Katelyn-Sue, and she drops to the ground. She rises and stumbles over to her mother.
“You ok, baby?” Gwyneth asks.
Katelyn-Sue nods. “Ai. But I’m scared tripe so I am.”
“Mama will be back soon, set watch and warrant it. I want you to wait here and be a good girl. You ken?”
“Ai, Mama. I promise.” Gwyneth kisses her on the forehead. She looks at Sebastian and Montgomery. “And what of you boys? Do you also promise to do the same?”
Sebastian and Montgomery nod. “Ai, Mama,” promises Sebastian.
“Let’s get going,” states Monaco. “This cock won’t fuck itself.” He pulls her arm, forcing her back behind the metal partition.
He pushes her down on to the floor on her backside. And as he hitches her skirt up, he elicits her screams. “You brute!” she yells.
Monaco laughs. He sticks his finger up inside her and her wetness surprises him. His eyes accuse her. “Looks like somebody beat me to the punch or you just excited to see me?” he asks with giddiness.
He unbuttons his trousers and works his zipper. “Fuck!” he screams. He pulls the zipper down but it’s stuck. This time he holds the top of his pants with one hand. He forces the zipper down with the other, to no avail. “Fuck!” he shouts louder. “What the fuck?” he yells in frustration and puts down his gun. With full concentration, he cradles the zipper back and forth hoping to pry the metal loose.
Gwyneth seizes her opportunity. While on her back, she inches closer to him and pulls her knees toward her stomach. With her entire strength aided by her rage, she punches with her feet and connects sharply with his groin. Monaco falls back several feet in excruciating pain, covering his privates with both hands. He screams “Ah, you fucking cunt!”
She rolls over and grabs the gun. “But a cunt who just got the drop on you, you fucking pig!”
“No! No!” he pleads.
His pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. She fires the gun twice. The first shot ricochets off the metal partition and into the floor. Although Gwyneth noticed the near miss just inches from her thigh, her rage propels her aim. The second shot penetrates his elbow. He howls in anguish. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” he cries out.
Gwyneth takes a more deliberate aim this time and fires several shots. Two shots blow through his kneecaps. He howls louder. The next shot slices through his neck, emitting a gushing of blood, which he chokes on. She fires the last shot through his head, ending his screams for good.
“Who’s the cunt now?” she scoffs.
Chapter 17: Devastating Setbacks
Out of twelve snipers, only two remain-Chevots and Pellot. Wyker crouches behind the insubstantial retaining blocks which house the Gatling gun’s seat. Another round from Chevots breaks off another chunk from the retaining block. Wyker fires back, blasting the hell out of a pock-holed seat in one car. Shattered glass sprinkles the devastated interior. The force of the blast rips the roof from its hinges. At least it’s not on fire and provides some cover.
Chevots braces himself for another round of fire. He moves through the wreckage like a man moving through a strange dream. A bullet catches him on the side, opening up a sizable wound.
As Chevots retreats, a round of fire erupts in front of him, blowing shrapnel toward him. He dodges out of the way to no avail. Jagged pieces of metal and glass open gashes in his stomach, face, neck and torso. He screams in anguish and drops his sniper rifle.
The Gatling gun sprays its last cartridge. Wyker listens with intent and hears Chevots anguishing cries. Wyker nods, noting he at least got an indirect hit. He opens the box of grenados and pulls one out.
As Wyker pulls the pin and counts to ten, he throws it with a mighty heave. An explosion rocks through the car. Chevots’ body parts fly from the wreckage.