by Tim Marquitz
Rachel drew up on the other side of Father Mathias, a pair of empty whiskey bottles in her hands. She looked at Nina with a firm, adult expression, and clinked the glass bottoms against the rail, while Pa clapped a counter beat against the train car’s door frame. Nina looked at her father and, in spite of Hell all around, she saw a smile spread across his face. They felt the power of the Land and its People welling about them, and through her.
Bom-bom-tata-bom, bom-bom-tata-bom...
Nina grinned back at Pa, unable to help herself. The slack, undisciplined ensemble began to tighten up, a rhythmic groove driven louder, flooding her with the same positive energy she'd felt in her dream. Nina's hips swayed, moving to the simple rhythm, giving in to it.
Bom-bom-tata-bom, bom-bom-tata-bom...
The demon train snorted, more ash than cinder now, wounded, cowed against this united front of primal plinks and clanks. Somehow, without having a damned clue, they'd hurt it!
Nina raised a brow at Father Mathias.
“The Almighty Creator is with you, sister.”
Her once-questionable faith felt firmly rooted now, grounded by Red Thunder's words about converging beliefs and his faith in Father Mathias. So be it. If her native brother could believe such, she would be a fool to do otherwise. “It’s time,” she said.
They released the piece of coal. The black rock hovered, spinning, motes of crystal luminance flying away like water spray. Then it fell to the tracks, bouncing once before the iron beast gulped it down, moving too quick to avoid it.
The train began to choke, engine sputtering. It drew back, lantern eyes winking, as if in pain. It suddenly seemed like a normal train. The swollen sides collapsed. Its whine became a twisting iron sound, its whistle trailing off.
Sunlight broke through the clouds on the horizon as the demon train shuddered and cringed. Cool air rushed past, washing away the scent of sulfur and replacing it with the fresh smells of leaf, dirt, and hill. They pulled away from the dying locomotive as it gasped, black smoke sputtering to gray. A quarter mile. A mile. The land sped by, foothills of rough grass and scree.
Nina took a deep breath, enjoying the clean, crisp air in her lungs after the rancid heat of the beast. The spirits faded with the monstrosity, shadows drifting back to oblivion, to some distant place Nina had brushed too closely with.
She shivered. She was Nina Weaver again. Not Ninataku. Not Fire Eater. Not a warrior. Nothing but a girl with a gun now, still possessed of a living heart that thundered in her chest.
Father Mathias beamed at her, his dark eyes filled with joyous mirth. He put an arm around Rachel, brought her into the circle, and squeezed the girl. “Praise God.”
Before Nina could reply, she found herself caught up in Jasmine's rough embrace. The woman gave her a half spin, laughing and whooping, her curlicue locks whipping about. “Whatever you did, it was amazing. It was like back home—like with my folks at worship. That feelin' you get when...” Jasmine trailed off, her smile fading slightly, as if remembering something she'd locked away with her youth and all the innocence lost along with it.
Pa clasped hands with Red Thunder, then looked at Nina with a look she’d never seen before in his eyes. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it made her feel good. “We shoulda been burnt to cinders, Nina. You saved us.”
“Not me.” The praise made her awkward, and she hugged Jasmine again to release the nervous tension. “It was all of us. Father Mathias's blessing. Red Thunder's war dance. Your horrible racket.” She smiled at her father. “I'd been lost without all of you.”
Pa chuckled. The moment was genuine and her heart swelled. It was the first time she felt something like real hope blossom deep inside since…well, since a long, long time ago.
Rachel stood nearby, arms crossed. Jasmine put her arm out and said, “Come here, girl,” and Rachel stepped in, hugging Jasmine and Nina both. Nina embraced the teenager firmly, feeling a sense of kinship, and then a shadow from inside the armored car caught her attention.
James Manning filled the doorway, resting a hand on Pa's shoulder. He was covered in coal dust, sweating as she figured he would be. A sight for sore eyes.
Looks like they'd have a little more time together after all.
But then she noticed others moving around inside the car, as well. Strobridge's face peeked over Manning's shoulder. His voice was strained. “You got rid of the devil’s engine.”
“We—” Mathias started to say before Strobridge cut him off.
“Ain't got time for another one of your stories, Thomas, much as I know you love tellin’ ‘em. Y'all best get inside.” The railroad boss disappeared without another word.
Pa looked into the car, then at Manning, his smile gone. “If all of you are back here, who’s running the train?”
“That's just it,” Manning said, his voice hoarse. “We’re coming down the mountain too fast and there’s some mighty steep curves ahead. The boiler’s leaking steam and there's nothing can be done about it. The brakes just aren’t getting the pressure we need.”
“So what does that mean?” Jasmine asked.
Manning looked at her, then his gaze cut to Nina and stayed. “It means best we all get inside, batten down, and hold on for our lives. Maggie’s going off the rails.”
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN NINA THOUGHT OF JAMES MANNING back in bed with his arms around her, this wasn’t what she had in mind. It had been her pa’s idea, using the cotton-stuffed mattresses from the bunks for padding. Now he was on one side of her and Manning on the other, all of ‘em hunkered down with their hands and feet locked into the rungs of the turret ladder and the bedding pulled around their shoulders. Jasmine and Father Mathias were across from them, Rachel tucked between them.
Morning light seeped in through the gun holes and turret frame, and the Magpie shuddered and whined while her engine panted like a mad dog. The gritty scent of coal dust and unwashed bodies pressed too close assaulted Nina's nostrils. She looked at Pa and he gave her hand a squeeze and held it there. After everything they’d endured, she wouldn’t have thought they’d be done for in the belly of a runaway train. Wasn’t how she pictured the end, but come think of it, she hadn’t pictured it being served up as deadun chow neither.
Jasmine’s voice drew her attention. “You okay?”
Rachel answered. “Aside from y'all crushing me.”
“Just gonna keep crushin' you till this is all over, if you don't mind,” Jasmine said, her eyes reflecting fear back at Nina.
Rachel sniffed, worming her hand up to rub her soot-coated nose. “What's the point? We're about to meet my folks. Might as well pray and hope it comes quick.” Rachel's tone was an eerie reminder of Clara Buell and, once more, Nina’s heart ached for the girl with tragical affinity.
“Let’s all pr—” Mathias started to say when the car abruptly jumped beneath them, lifting Nina’s rump off the floor and depositing it back down. Ammunition boxes shifted, straining against the ropes Red Thunder had used to secure them. She couldn’t see the Indian, though.
“Goddammit,” George Daggett said from behind them.
Nina locked her foot around one of the rungs to keep from sliding. To her right Pa had his forehead pressed against the steel turret. His hand squeezed hers hard, then Manning, on her other side, wriggled his arm beneath hers and hitched them tight to one another.
The car settled for a second, then hopped again even harder this time before they had a chance to catch their breaths. It leaned, and the groan of iron reverberated through the car. The floor quaked beneath them and Rachel screamed as the small cannon in the turret rattled. Loose shells rained down over them with metallic pings. Then the angle increased and they slid toward the wall.
Nina cussed as she tried to keep her foot locked. Manning reached out to grab a closer rung.
“Hold on!” Pa hollered.
Rachel and Jasmine were both screaming, and another voice yelled, “Here we go!”
Nina swore she heard Buck Pa
tterson yell yee-haw just before a sharp snap cut through the steel-wheel drone. The car lurched and slammed back down. The connection to the luxury car must’ve broke, likely sending it tumbling off the rails.
But what about the tender car and engine? Crashing sounds reached her ears, the screech of iron and steel, a series of loud thumps, an explosion, then a liver-ripping impact. Every joint in Nina’s body tried to separate, and her head struck the ladder rung. Cinders and debris blasted through the turret frame. The front of their car bounced, jumped, tilted over.
And then they were airborne, Pa’s hand torn away from her grasp, Manning gone, too. Nina’s stomach lurched with the sudden weightlessness as the side of the car became the roof. She wanted to scream but nothing escaped her lungs, her breath just wouldn’t come. Something smacked her back, her head, her legs, then she went numb. She plunged feet over shoulders as the opposite side of the car jumped up to meet her. Someone slammed into her, and it was peculiar that her first thought was she hoped it was her pa and maybe she’d broken his fall a little bit. A grunt tore from her as she rolled head over heels…
Various moans came first. Nina opened her eyes. She must have blacked out. She came to among a mess of crushed crates and other scraps of unidentifiable wreckage. She didn't dare move for a couple minutes. When she did, it was to check her foot, then the other, now a leg and hand, making sure everything worked. She pushed herself to her knees and looked around, her brain still bouncing inside her battered skull.
Everything was slantwise. She saw Strobridge tangled in some pull-down bed frames on the side of the car—which was now the floor—working himself loose, coughing and cursing. She blinked, trying to clear her head as she looked for Pa and James, instead saw Father Mathias and Red Thunder near the mid-section, the Indian helping the priest to his feet. She started seeing two of each of ‘em so she blinked again, then sighted Rachel hanging from the crosswise turret ladder, her hair hanging inches from the floor. Nina prayed she wasn’t dead, but the girl didn’t look to be moving. She kept scanning the car but couldn’t make out anyone else.
“Nina. Nina...” A moaning voice, nearby.
“Pa?”
She searched around in the dusty light creeping in through the turret hole. She knee-walked through the clutter and found her father beneath a smashed box of rifles. “Pa! I'm here.” She pulled the bottom part of the crate, and the entire cluster of well-oiled rifles clacked as they spilled free.
“Nina.” He smiled, his face a bloody mess. “You all right?”
“Don’t move,” she said, checking him for open wounds and broken bones, wincing at the weakness in her limbs and her shifting vision.
Manning crawled out of the darkness from behind more debris. He struggled to his feet and moved his right arm around, grimacing, then rubbed at his jaw.
“You all right?” she asked, her mouth dry.
He nodded, or at least she thought he did. She was too dazed to know for certain.
She starting clearing more rifles off her pa and Manning stumbled over. They helped him sit up, and more blood coursed down the side of his face. He rubbed at it with his sleeve, smearing a dark stain across his cheek and into his beard.
“You got a bleeder on your scalp, Pa.”
“I figured that.”
“How’s your foot?”
“I think the rest of me’s caught up with it.” He cleared his throat and began looking around. “How is everybody?” he called out.
Nobody answered right away, except for Strobridge, who was doing his damndest to hack up his lungs. She rather hoped he’d broke a few ribs—or better yet, his pecker.
“Sound off, everyone,” Pa said in a gruff tone.
“Let’s just get you outside, Lincoln,” Manning said. “Then we can take a head count.”
Nina nodded, but then heard Jasmine yell, “Rachel!”
She looked over to see Jasmine, her lower half shrouded in darkness, pulling at Rachel’s limp body. “Help me,” she said, and Red Thunder hurried over, grabbed the girl, and freed her body from the ladder.
“Is she alive?” Jasmine asked.
“Let’s get her out and have a look,” Father Mathias said, motioning for them to follow. “Let’s go, everyone.” He climbed over the ladder and through the open turret hole, turning and extending his arms for the Indian to hand Rachel over.
Nina took a quick assessment of the train car. The top part of the frame had been ripped completely free, leaving plenty of room to crawl through. That’s when she saw Buck, hanging from the ceiling by one leg. She pointed him out and Manning went over.
“He’s alive,” James said.
Then Mason Daggett popped up from nowhere, dripping wet and reeking like a still. “Where’s George?”
Manning turned, about to speak, when a weak voice floated up. “I think…you’re standing on me…” it said.
Mason and James looked down and started clearing debris. They extracted George from beneath the mess, covered in blood, oil, and feathers from a split mattress. They checked him over, then worked at getting Buck down, who came to during the process ready to fight. He took a few swings, still hanging upside-down, while Manning yelled, “Buck! It’s us!” and Mason hollered, “Calm the hell down!” He did, but not before belting the dazed George in the side of his noggin and making the man’s knees buckle.
“Christ!” George yelled after he regained his footing. He glared at Buck as Manning and Mason finally wedged him out.
Buck was wild-eyed, his shock of hair sticking out every which way, and he glared at them for a moment, breathing heavily. Manning put a hand on the roughrider’s shoulder, saying, “You all right, Buck?”
The man gave a glassy stare, then grunted and nodded.
“That’s everyone,” Pa said, leaning on Nina and wiping more blood from his forehead and away from his eyes. “Come on. Let’s just get out of here and take stock.”
They had to help Buck, George, and her pa through the hole, laying an intact mattress over the jagged metal. Once they were outside, Nina took a look around. The engine and tender car had flipped on the track, which accounted for the impact that derailed the armored car. The engine lay inside the curve, tilted in a bed of soft sand, leaking plumes of dark steam and tongues of flame from a crack along its side. The tender car lay nearby, outside the curve, also flipped over, coal and water spilling out onto the ground.
The luxury car with all their supplies had been thrown completely clear, rolling several times, it seemed, before smashing through thickets of chaparro and a bunch of now-broken Joshua trees. The front deck was mired in a shallow creek that ran beneath a trestle bridge.
She looked back at the gun car. After colliding with the engine and jumping the tracks, they had dropped fifteen or twenty feet before the car cut a furrow through a bank of soft dirt and skidded to a halt. Lucky. Maybe the one damn lucky thing so far…aside from everyone being alive, of course.
She peered to where Father Mathias and Jasmine had Rachel awake and sitting up. Nina breathed easier. She hadn’t expected any of them to survive. Now it looked as if they all had.
Thank you, boha gande.
The thought that surprised her even more was that she was thankful for everyone being alive. The day before they were at one another’s throats, letting lead fly, ready to do murder. She had wanted to end Strobridge more than once, but at the moment she was just thankful and that was that. Plenty of time to hate the sonofabitch later.
Something howled WOOO, causing her to start and her hand to go to her holster. The demon train came out between stands of tall pines along the track. It puttered down the rise, hauling its cargo of deaduns. Nina bared her teeth. There went all her happy thoughts, scattered like dry leaves in a bleak wind.
Liao's diseased minions were spreading across the land, and seeing them chugging along amidst the wreckage of the Magpie rekindled her anger. Nina’s face hardened, as did everyone’s, and they all paused to watch the devil and his servants
go by. Jasmine had her hand on Rachel’s shoulder, her other hand to her chest. Mason launched some spit. George watched in a daze, blinking. Nina looked at Father Mathias, who stood hands-on-hips, observing Liao’s train cross the bridge and chug out of sight.
“Well,” Manning said from next to her, “I suppose that is that.”
“That is what?”
He shrugged.
“Where you reckon he’s taking them, Jaz?” Rachel asked.
Jasmine shook her head. “Lord knows.”
No one knew the answer. They could only speculate.
“Away is all I give a good goddamn about,” Strobridge said, then cleared his throat and started making small coughing noises again. He covered his beard with his sleeve.
Nina ran a hand through her ragged hair. “We can’t worry ourselves over it now. We got other things to take care of.”
“She’s right,” Manning said. “Let’s get whatever supplies together we can. Look for anything we can use to clean and dress wounds, then food and blankets or whatever we can find to keep warm come night.” He set off for the gun car.
“Hold on,” Strobridge walked toward Manning and fell in step with him, jawing and hawking phlegm as they walked. Whatever he was spitting out seemed a might dark to Nina’s eyes.
Mason started tearing strips of cloth for bandages. “We could use some water. Whiskey, too,” he called after Manning and Strobridge, then went to one knee beside his brother. George’s face was covered in blood, much like Pa’s, but where her father was making sense, the Daggett mumbled mostly nonsense—more so than usual—plus she figured Buck’s fist probably hadn’t helped matters none.
