Odd Billy Todd

by N. C. Reed

  All they could do was wait. And hold on for dear life.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY

  Billy took a greater hold on the ‘oh-shit’ bar, and placed his feet firmly against the floor, bracing them against the transmission hump.

  “Billy, what, are, you, doing,” Pete hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Got me an idea,” Billy grunted. “We got to fish or cut bait, here, or we gonna get hit by that train.” His window was open.

  Billy slowly and carefully pulled himself up toward the window, using his feet only when he had to. He reached through the window and grasped the edge of the window, roof side, and continued to pull. His body was half out of the window when the Hummer started to lean back to his side.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Dillon repeated over and over, his calm desperately damaged by their predicament. “Billy be careful, we’re rockin’!”

  “I know,” Billy grunted, and leaned further out of the Hummer. Suddenly, the vehicle groaned slightly, and with a heavy thud, landed on all four tires. Pete had barely had time to let out a sigh of relief when the bank gave way again, and the truck started sliding down the embankment.

  “Hold on!” he called out. “I can’t stop us!” Billy was still scrambling back inside when the Hummer reached the bottom.

  Dillon looked forward and saw a tree branch sticking well into the right of way. If Billy didn’t get back. . .He reached forward, grabbed Billy’s belt, and then threw himself back, Billy coming with him, minus most of the skin on his left ear.

  “Ow!” Billy grunted. “That hurt!”

  “Sorry, man,” Dillon told him, wide eyed. “That branch. . . .” he pointed. Billy looked and saw the branch, now broken, sitting right outside his window.

  “Good night,” he breathed, rubbing his ear. “Reckon I’ll trade an ear for the rest. Thanks Dillon.”

  “Don’t mention it. Really. Now can we make with the ‘git the hell outta here’ part of the plan?”

  “Hell yes,” Pete murmured, and hit the gas. They followed the right of way until a break appeared. Pete never slowed, hitting the opening but leaving some paint behind. No one cared. Pete fought the steering wheel as they bumped through the thicket, trying to get back to the road. They were nearly out when Dillon, still glued to the back window, spoke.

  “There it is!” Pete instantly moved to hit the breaks, then stopped. The brake lights on this thing weren’t disabled. If he hit the pedal, someone would see.

  “Get us on the road,” Billy ordered. “Even if they see us, they ain’t got time to stop, and nowhere to unload. Let’s go!” Pete nodded, and kept going. The Hummer clawed it’s way up onto the levee the road was built on, throwing mud in every imaginable direction.

  Now it was a race. They needed to get back to the bridge in time for Billy to take a shot at the engines pulling the train. Pete worked to get every ounce of speed the Hummer had left to give, while Billy and Dillon held on for dear life.

  Suddenly the bridge was there, and Pete threw on the brakes. The Hummer fishtailed slightly, but slid to a halt at the edge of the bridge. Billy was out and running for the back while the truck was still in gear. Dillon got up in the turret, and manned the fifty.

  Pete grabbed the binoculars, and took a position at the hood, leaving room for Billy’s rifle. Billy hustled to the front, dropping the bi-pod on the hood, already deployed as he slammed the magazine home.

  “Range?” Billy asked. Pete hit the laser on the binoculars.

  “Three hundred fifty-three yards,” Pete replied. Billy turned the dials on his scope, already looking into the reticle.

  “Wind is. . . .” Pete started, but Billy cut him off.

  “Ain’t got the time,” he said. “Train’s on the bridge.” Pete nodded. He could see it too.

  Billy set the rifle up, and got comfortable. He had staggered the rounds, planning to use the first three on the lead engine, and the last two on the second. If there was a third. . .he tried not to focus on that.

  “Who’s got the detonator?” he asked. When Pete didn’t answer, Billy turned to see Pete frantically patting his pockets.

  “Are you shittin’ me?” Billy growled. He could hear Dillon scrambling around in the Hummer.

  “I got it! I got it!” Dillon called frantically, trying to get out. Pete ran to the window and grabbed the switch, racing back to stand by Billy. Dillon climbed back into the turret, too short of breath to speak.

  Billy watched the train move slowly across the trestle. It occurred to him that their luck had held. The train had been slowing for this crossing, or it would have caught them on the tracks.

  “Gettin’ close,” he murmured, and took a site. He led the engine only slightly, getting the motion in his head. When the lead engine was about thirty feet from where he thought the hooks were, he squeezed the trigger.

  Pete watched the round impact. The round’s explosive charge went through the side of the massive engine as if it were clay. He could see the charge go off, and pieces and parts fly away. The engine immediately started making a terrible screeching sound.

  “Don’t know what you hit, but that sounds bad,” Dillon said gleefully.

  “Now,” Billy said softly, sending the SLAP round into the cabin. Pete raised the detonator, and squeezed. Billy moved his rifle, and sent the next Raufoss round into the trailing engine. This round didn’t create quite as much ruckus, but it was immediately obvious that something vital had been struck, when the engine flamed.

  The charges went off just as the lead engine hit the treble hooks, and pulled the first fuse. The quart jars on the far side of the train flamed to life, showering the train cars with burning jelly.

  Underneath, the charges had done their work. True to Dillon’s prediction, they didn’t take out the supports, but they did weaken them. And the engine was grinding to a halt, pulling fuses even as it died.

  Three of the fuses failed to fire. The rest engulfed a good portion of the train in flames that would not be easily put out. Now immobile, and on fire, the people on the train were bailing out to see what was happening. They emerged only to be showered in the flaming goo, which stuck to everything it touched on both sides of the train.

  Screaming carried across the water as those first off caught the worst of the fire. Those following hesitated, then tried to help their comrades. As the three friends watched, others tried to fight the fires, while still more tried to get forward to check on the engine, and find out why they weren’t moving.

  When it happened, it was in slow motion. The left side support from where they were viewing began to crumble under a weight it was never meant to bear so directly for so long. As it began to give way, the right side support went with it in a screeching of torn metal and thunk of broken concrete.

  As they watched, the cars above the supports began to fall, pulling others with them. A chain reaction started, as the remaining supports began to buckle, unable to hold against the weight and the pull of the falling bridge. First in pieces, and then in whole stretches, the bridge crumbled into the river, and the flooded plain around it. Succeeding cars were simply dragged along into the water or the mire, until only three remained on the tracks, left behind when their coupling had broken.

  No one spoke for the first minute, too awestruck by the damage they had caused. Billy was the first one to offer a comment.

  “Guess it worked.”

  *****

  They watched for nearly two hours. So far, they had seen only seven people emerge from the water, or the mud. Those seven were in no condition to lend assistance to the others. If there were any others.

  “Should shoot’em,” Dillon said softly.

  “Should, I reckon,” Billy nodded.

  “Be the smart thing to do,” Pete agreed. Yet no one made a move to do so. Finally, in silent agreement, they loaded into the Hummer, and started for home. It was a quiet trip, as each man was alone with his own thoughts.

  The Train was finished.

  ****
*

  Billy and Rhonda were married a week later. Danny and Trey served as his groomsmen, with Mary and Shelly standing with Rhonda. It was a much quieter affair than the double wedding earlier in the year, with everyone standing in attendance. Because the weather was getting worse, with a snow threatening, the couple had managed to forgo a big celebration, settling for dishes being brought to the house for them to eat over the next few days.

  Emma had corralled both Danny and Trey, taking them home with her, while Mary had gone to stay with Amanda. Billy and Rhonda would have three precious days of privacy, something they hadn’t enjoyed in a long time.

  Once everyone was off, the two departed together, walking the short distance home arm in arm.

  “Well, do you feel married?” Billy asked, smiling.

  “I do,” Rhonda said solemnly, then broke into a giggle. “How ‘bout you.”

  “I feel like I’m the luckiest man in the world,” Billy answered honestly.

  “I love you Billy Todd.”

  “I love you too, Rhonda Todd.”

  “Looks like winter’s early again,” Rhonda sighed, as snow began to fall as they reached the steps to the front porch.

  “Looks like it’s right on time to me,” was all Billy said, as he scooped her up into his arms, and carried her into the house.

  Outside, across the little valley that so many now called home, snow fell, blanketing the surrounding area with the silence of peace.

  THE END

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