Runner Boy | Book 2 | Rider Kid

by Mackey, Jay

  Jerry’s laugh is a high-pitched little hee-hee, surprising for a man as big as he is. He talks about having to shoot a couple of the militia. They came out of the back door of the lodge shooting, hitting the young black woman, Keisha or something like that, so Jerry felt he had to shoot them to stop them from killing any of us. Keisha was the only casualty we suffered that night, and her wound wasn’t serious, just a graze on her arm. That is, if you don’t count as casualties those of us with mental injuries and the fact that lots of us are now fugitives in hiding.

  The conversation eventually turns. Flip says he wants to do another attack, something to upset Pounds’ government and to keep the momentum going. “We’ve got their attention. Now we’ve got to keep up the pressure. Most of the people are on our side. They want a real government, not this dictator like we have now with his ideas that are so right wing, so severe they wouldn’t even be discussed in the old USA.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asks Jerry.

  “I don’t know. What would hurt them most?”

  “We could do another of his gay camps,” says Jerry.

  “No. We’ve done that. They’ll be looking for more attacks like that one. Sorry, Rob. I know you’d probably like to free more of the gay oppressed.”

  “No. I understand,” says Rob. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in a long time. I thought maybe he’d gone to bed.

  Jerry says, “If we can’t do more of these camps, what else do these right-wingers have that we could disrupt?”

  “Women’s rights is a thing,” says Rob. “Abortion, equality, all that kind of thing. Talk to my sister, she’ll tell you.”

  “Sure, sure,” says Flip. “But how can we do anything about that? It’s not like we can close an anti-abortion clinic. And hell, nobody can vote. Not women, not men, nobody. There are no elections. That’s Shanna’s big thing.”

  There’s a pause. I can hear glasses clinking. Somebody laughing. They probably are refilling their vodkas.

  “What else?” says Jerry. “What hurts Pounds?’

  “Things that hurt any government,” says Rob. “Transportation, security, finances.”

  “Well,” says Flip. “Transportation. Let’s see. It sucks, basically, so it would be hard to make it worse.”

  “Although we have seen a few trains recently,” says Rob. “So there’s some improvement. I’ve heard that there are a lot of trains running in the Great States.”

  “Yeah, but they’ve got the Russians helping them,” says Jerry. “They have a lot of things we don’t.”

  “I can’t see how stopping a train hurts Pounds anyway,” says Rob.

  “How about his security?” says Jerry. “We could attack his militia. Destroy weapons. That kind of thing.”

  “Shit no,” says Flip.

  “Yeah,” agrees Rob. “I’m not going to war with the fucking militia. That’s a non-starter.”

  “So, how about the lawmakers, then,” says Jerry. “Knock off some of the figureheads. Hell, we could assassinate somebody. Pounds?”

  “You mean, we could get Brady to assassinate someone,” says Flip. He chuckles. “Fucking kid can shoot. I’ll give him that. Not that he’d do it, though.”

  “Look how pissed he is at having to shoot that guard in the foot. No way is Brady going to assassinate somebody,” says Rob. “Not that we should. I’m against anything like that. Period.”

  “Got it,” says Flip. “Me too.”

  “I’m not saying we should,” says Jerry. “Just looking for ideas.”

  I’ve been drowsing, only half listening, until I hear my name. My eyes are open now. Jesus, what the fuck? At least Rob is on my side. I don’t know if he understands, but he let them know I’m not doing anything like that.

  “What about finances?” says Flip. “Didn’t you say finances?”

  Rob says, “I forget. Did I say that?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody said it. How do we hurt their pocketbook?” Flip is slurring his words now. Rob isn’t sounding too sober either.

  “We could blow up Pounds’ fancy buses. The ones he travels around in,” says Jerry.

  Flip laughs again. “Shit, yeah. That’d attack transportation, money, and could include assassination too. Kill three birds with one stone, so to speak. Woo ha.”

  I’m not sleeping, and I especially don’t want to have them decide to have me shoot up the fucking buses or some shit. I get off the couch and go into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I mumble as I try to see them. They’re sitting around a little round table, and have one small candle burning on the kitchen counter behind the table. The bottle of vodka is in the middle of the table, and there are three glasses of various sizes and shapes on the table. The three look at me and smile.

  “Well, let’s hear it then,” says Flip. “We need some new fucking ideas.”

  “Fuck yeah,” says Jerry.

  I rub my eyes and find a chair.

  “Have some vodka,” says Jerry, producing a glass from somewhere and filling it halfway with vodka.

  I take a drink. It’s as bad as I remember. “You were talking about finances. My dad works in finances, at a bank.” They stare at me like I’d just spoken in some foreign language. I tell them about the currency issues that Dad’s been working on with Pounds’ people, about the problems he’s having. I don’t know whether they’ve all had too much vodka or if I’m really speaking a foreign language, but they don’t react at all.

  “Pounds is going to be sending a shitload of currency, money, dollars, to Lafayette. We could steal it,” I say, trying to get to a level that would get them to wake up.

  “Like, we rob a bank?” asks Flip.

  “No,” I say. “We intercept the shipment.”

  The lightbulb goes on for Flip. “We rob the stagecoach! Woo ha!”

  “Or the train,” I say.

  “Or the buses,” says Jerry, getting it too.

  “When does the shipment happen?” asks Rob.

  “I don’t know. I can ask my dad.”

  33

  32 days until the Pulse Anniversary

  So I’m sitting in the dark, waiting for a train to make a stop on the route from Indianapolis to Lafayette. We’re in a train yard in the middle of Crawfordsville, Indiana. There are a couple little sidetracks for trains and some warehouse-looking buildings, kind of an industrial area from what I can see on a very dark night.

  Flip’s got a big crew out here tonight. Most of the people from the camp raid are here, except Maggie, who skipped town, the black student girl, who was wounded, and Jake, who isn’t here but I don’t know why. There are eight or ten new people, mostly looking like they’re Purdue students or were very recently. Plus there’s me, Rachel, Wilson and Rob. Wilson’s here despite the fact that he’s still a bit beat up from his time in the camp, but he says he’s not missing a chance to fuck with Pounds.

  I’m just hoping the train shows, because it’s my intel that got us here tonight. I had a couple very awkward conversations with my dad over the last week. It was a bit tough to hide my intent when I snuck into the farm after dark, sweaty from running the six miles or so from Jerry’s place, and said, “So, Dad, how’s that currency situation going?” That’s not exactly what I said, but it was pretty close. His response was, “What do you want to know, and why do you want to know it?” Or words to that effect.

  The bottom line is that I learned that the currency is to be shipped via an overnight train from Indianapolis to Lafayette tonight. Given that there are only a few trains running, we can be pretty sure that any train coming through here tonight is the right one. Flip somehow found the route that trains take to get to Lafayette.

  Of course, Dad has a pretty good idea what we’re doing. I didn’t say directly, and he didn’t ask, but I did say at one point something like, “What would happen if the currency never makes it to Lafayette?”

  His response was, “Nothing to us. It’s not ours until we take possession of
it. But it would sure piss President Pounds off, wouldn’t it?”

  To me, that says he knows, and he supports it. That’s good enough for me.

  Rather than pile into a few vehicles to travel the thirty miles or so from Lafayette to Crawfordville, we provided our own transportation. Rachel and I rode bikes—she borrowed Claire’s—and came down today. We spent last night in Lafayette with her mother. Nobody has shown up to look for either Wilson or Rob since the raid on the camp, which seems curious, but it was nice to see Rachel’s mother. And, of course, my mother, who is still living there. She was awfully glad to see us. Well, me mostly. I hadn’t seen her since the raid on the camp, and she said she’s been worried since. I told her that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore, but I knew that was stupid as soon as I said it. She’s my mom.

  Rob and Wilson also came down on bikes, but separately from Rachel and me so we wouldn’t attract attention.

  I don’t have any marksman duties tonight. In fact, I told Flip I wouldn’t come if he wanted me to sit back and shoot at people. I had enough of that at the camp.

  Flip’s reaction was, “Jesus, kid, what are you, about eighteen?”

  I didn’t respond. I wasn’t going to tell him I wasn’t eighteen yet.

  “Fucking teenager wants to take over for me, plan the thing, tell everyone what to do? Fuck that. You’ll do what I tell you to do.”

  I felt my back stiffen. I don’t do well when people give me orders.

  He started to walk away, and then turned back and said, “As it happens, I don’t need any shooters for this. You’ll be with Rick and his crew at the front of the train. Talk to him. He knows what to do.”

  So tonight I don’t even have my rifle. Rick’s crew is to jump on the engine when it slows, get into the cab and make the engineer stop the train. Then the rest of the guys will open the cars to search for the currency, and either steal it or destroy it, depending on how difficult it is to carry it away.

  Rick’s crew is him and another guy who’s a friend of his, plus me and Rachel. We’re all in pretty good shape, I think because we may have to run to catch the train and we need to be able to run. I can run, and Rachel is pretty damn fast.

  After what happened, or almost happened, at the camp, with Flip losing it and almost shooting the guards, I’m worried about tonight. I think that might be why Jake’s not on this mission. He wasn’t too keen on having people shot, either. I saw him briefly last night, and he told me that, during the camp raid, Jerry was about to let loose with his automatic rifle at the guards, but Jake screamed, “CEASE FIRE,” and got the guards to drop their weapons. It could have been a real bloodbath, but fortunately Jerry didn’t end up killing anybody.

  I’m also nervous because I have no idea what to expect. Will this diesel locomotive be sleek and modern, with no obvious way to get on board as it’s moving? Or will it have handholds and railings we can grab? Will it come flying though here at fifty miles an hour, meaning there’ll be no way to jump aboard? Will the cab be locked, or guarded? I wish I had more confidence in Flip to come up with a good, foolproof plan.

  Rachel and I have been hanging out in the shadows of a big warehouse since late afternoon. Fortunately, she’s begun to talk to me again. I noticed it last night when we were eating dinner with our mothers. I said something and she shoved me and said, “God, you are so stupid!” That was a clear sign.

  As we wait for a train to show, she says to me, “So, what’s the end game here?”

  I almost say something that I’d regret, like, “What end game?” but fortunately I catch myself in time. She’s crucified me for not thinking ahead before. So I consider the question, and say, “We’ll piss Pounds and his people off with this little stunt and the raid on the camp. This may not be enough, but at some point he’s going to have to realize that he’s got to deal with us.”

  “And then what?”

  “We negotiate for elections.”

  “Isn’t that what your friend Shanna wants? That’s what the petitions were for, right?”

  “Yeah, but petitions alone isn’t enough. I’m not sure what Flip’s got us doing is right, but we need more than petitions.”

  Rachel, who can sit or squat in one place for hours, it seems, now stands and starts pacing, which is what I’m doing. “Is that what your buddy Jake told you?”

  “No. I haven’t talked to him about this.”

  She smiles at me, and hits me in the arm. “What? So this is an original thought? I figured you had lost the ability to think for yourself.”

  I push her away and say, “No, this is a new skill I’ve just developed. I’m test driving the concept of using my head instead of my feet. What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve still got some work to do.”

  I’m tempted to grab her and kiss her right there, but we hear a noise. The train is coming.

  I look across the tracks to where Rick and his buddy are standing near a pile of dirt left from some long-abandoned construction project. Off to my right, up the tracks, are the rest of the crew, but they’re not visible to me.

  The diesel locomotive comes into view from around a bend, the rest of the train hidden by a series of buildings along the track. Two things are going right so far. The train is moving very slowly, and the locomotive has handrails and a little exterior walkway, so getting on board shouldn’t be a problem. From there, though, who knows.

  “Ready?” I ask.

  “As ever,” Rachel replies, reaching around her back to check the security of the handgun she’s got tucked into her jeans.

  I do the same, checking my ankle holster. I want my hands free while I try to jump on the train, but I want my Glock available quickly when I get on board.

  I pull up my bandana, the same red one that I used for the camp raid, and Rachel pulls hers on too. We wait in the shadows until the locomotive is just past our position, and then dart out to intercept the train.

  Even with the train moving slowly, I have to run surprisingly fast to catch it. I’m able to grab the railing with my right hand and pull myself up to get my foot onto a high step. It’s easy then to grab the railing on the other side and clamber up to the walkway. I reach back for Rachel, who’s right behind me. She gets the railing, and reaches up to grab my extended hand. I pull her up, and now we’re both on the train. Rick and his buddy are just getting on from the other side of the train. I pull my gun from its holster.

  The plan is for them to enter the cab and make the engineer stop the train, but there’s only one door, and it’s on my side, the left side, so I grab the door handle and turn it, relieved that it’s not locked, and enter what turns out to be a tiny cab lined with dials and levers, with one very surprised man.

  He’s small, with dark skin, a bushy beard that’s going gray, wearing a white uniform shirt, black pants and black work boots, sitting on a high chair with levers in front of him and at his right side. He reaches up as if to grab something, and I point my gun at him and say, “Do not blow any whistles, send any signals, or do anything stupid.”

  He pulls his hand back down.

  I nod at him and say, “Now, bring the train to a stop slowly. No sudden jerks or stops. All right?”

  He stares at me, probably sizing me up, thinking about his alternatives.

  I stare back, trying to convey that I’m serious, and that I’ll shoot if I have to. I wave my gun at him. “Do it.”

  He doesn’t speak, but reaches for a lever with his left hand and pushes it. Then he turns two red levers in front of him, and I can feel the train slowing.

  “Full stop,” I say.

  He keeps his hands on the red levers, pushing them. I’m guessing they are the brakes. There’s a sound, a psssh, that I think of as a release of pressure from somewhere, and the train slowly grinds to a halt. As it stops, there’s another psssh sound.

  “Good,” I say, keeping my gun pointed at him.

  “Why?” he says.

  “Why do you think?” I say. “You
’ve got something on board that we want.”

  He shrugs.

  Rachel pops her head in the door and says, “There’s a lot more cars than I expected.”

  I look at the engineer. “How many cars on this train?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  Damn. I figured there’s be only one or two, that the money would be the only cargo. “Where is the money?” I ask. “Which car?”

  He shrugs. “No idea. The conductor keeps the manifest.”

  I don’t know if he’s telling the truth, or if there’s even a conductor on the train. Rachel closes the door again. I say to the engineer, “Just sit there, quietly, and don’t do anything. I really don’t want to have to shoot you.”

  “Okay. I really don’t want you to.”

  Jeez. Sounds like the guy has a sense of humor. He’s got a bit of an accent, I notice. Not sure where he’s from. Maybe India or somewhere in Asia. I just hope he’s not the hero type. He doesn’t look like it as he sits in his chair, very meekly, hands in his lap.

  I yell out to Rachel, “How’s it going?”

  “Good,” she says. “They’re checking the cars. Haven’t found anything yet.”

  I look out the window in the door. I can see some people scrambling around, but not what they’re doing or who they are. I turn back to the engineer. He’s my responsibility; I just have to make sure he doesn’t warn anybody about what’s going on, or start the train again, or get the jump on me.

  We wait. There’s a lot of cars out there. As long as nobody comes along and sees a gang wearing red bandanas opening up all the freight cars on this train, I suppose we’ll be okay. We’re stopped near the middle of the town, but it’s way past dark in an industrial area, so it’s not likely there’d be a lot of people wandering around out here.