O’Connor, leaned in close so that Plimpton could feel his breath on his ear, his spittle on his neck, and continued, “I’m not going to arrest you.”
Plimpton, unaccustomed to having his private space so thoroughly invaded, scrunched his nose at the proximity of the man; onions with his eggs for breakfast perhaps. He attempted to back slightly away. O’Connor stayed with him, a boney but strong hand gripping his forearm, pulling him in tight. “You are indeed going on this so called mission of yours, you filthy piece of shit.” Plimpton’s ego quickly analyzed the deep affront and decided to let it go. He wasn’t going to jail. He attempted to stand tall and took a step back saying, “Yes I am and you very smartly assume that arresting me would result in bad tidings for yourself.”
O’Connor shook his head with amusement and pulled the man back in tight. “You, out there, will save me the trouble. With you dead and gone, your devoted fellow citizens get to avoid a very destructive and divisive trial.”
“Who says I’m going to die out there or when I get back here? You are but a public servant, Constable. I am -”
O’Connor put a finger to the man’s lips. “Quiet you. You will not be returning to The Shore. If you do, you will die by hanging in public, as is our law, and you will thrash about and gag and turn blue as the roughest rope I can find strangles you. You will defecate all over yourself, and you will know you’re beloved people are watching as the filth runs down your legs. This I promise. Instead, you will get something you don’t deserve, but they do: a statue built to your honor by a grateful public.”
As Plimpton searched in vain for a response, the Vicar Wentworth showed up on the platform with two deacons in tow and a cart full of baggage. O’Connor let his lips nearly touch the other man’s ear again, light bits of spittle passing from his mouth as he spoke. “You have a different wrinkle to attend to. Looks like it’s The Shore’s lucky day. Two pieces of shit gone for the price of ten thousand gallons of diesel. A bargain, says I.” He leaned back and picked a bit of lint off of Plimpton’s topcoat. “I’ll let you to it.”
As O’Connor turned, flicking the lint away, Plimpton suddenly noticed how heavy his legs felt. It was as if every drop of spare blood had gone to his feet in anticipation of flight. He had felt his face grow white with his confirmed guilt and whiter still as the description of his hanging was offered. He still felt slightly faint. It was only Wentworth’s irritatingly high-pitched nasal voice that got his heart to reverse the flow and focus his fear into anger. What in God’s name was the man doing here? He wiped O’Connor’s spit off his ear, forced his shoulders back and lifted his chin to its usual angle; a view of his flared nostrils. He tested and found his voice and marched toward the arriving clergy. “Vicar? May I ask by what intention you arrive here with a mule train worth of baggage?”
Wentworth smiled with genuine mirth, patting the baggage. “Bibles, my son. Precious Bibles, and of course my own meager luggage and that of Deacons Jones and Hoeg here. The intention should be obvious.”
“Well I’m afraid it is not. The manifest clearly states the names of those going. On the manifest you are not.”
“An oversight I’m sure. I don’t take it personally. All involved would naturally assume that any deep expedition, and certainly one that looks to make contact with Northerners, would include those who live vicariously through the Lord. I’m sure you have also considered the importance of any opportunity to save whatever souls we may find out there.”
“Yes, but Vicar. This is a mission that is exploratory in nature. Proselytizing can be saved for a time when information is more at hand. May I suggest -”
“Not to mention, sir, that we will be in the Devil’s playground. Wrong it would be, to simply let this mission, with a person of your consequence as its head, go without the protection of The Church.” The deacons stood behind their pastor with stoic faces.
“Vicar Wentworth, let me be blunt. There is insufficient supply and or room on board for you and your entourage.”“My conversation with Major Thompson assures me otherwise.” Wentworth then put his hands on his substantial hips and looked candidly at Plimpton. “You are not refusing the spiritual guidance and protection offered by myself and my volunteers, are you Councilman?”
Plimpton caught the major’s eye as he directed things at the far end of the platform. Thompson spread his fingers out on both hands to indicate that they would be ready in ten minutes and followed with a thumbs up. Plimpton returned his gaze to Wentworth and decided that the argument was pointless. An alternative point of view came to mind. Any prayer that he might have for future redemption amongst his countrymen most likely lay with the large man before him. “Forgive me. You and your deacon’s selflessness is deeply appreciated, Vicar. We shall be all the better for having you aboard.” He stepped toward his personal car. “Please see the Major about where you will be bunking.”
“Already done,” said Wentworth with a genuine smile. “We shall be riding in your car of course. The Sentinel crews are in the second.”
Plimpton offered a forced toothy smile. “Indeed they are.” He stepped to the side of his door, gesturing the men into his car. “Please. After you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Tracks
Desolation. I have fought in three wars. Have seen villages left for dead, whole cities in ruin. I thought I understood desolation. We passed through Charlotte without incident. The city had been raised to the ground during Omega. Fires that had started in a thousand different ways had spread unchecked, leaving little untouched. Was it desolate? Sure. It was dead. Truly dead. Despite a decade of harsh weather, human remains were in evidence everywhere. We spent several hours clearing debris off the tracks and stopping at switching posts to manually shift the rails to the direction we wanted to go. Often, that debris was human. Dead cities are always barren, except for Birmingham. Birmingham was perfectly intact. It had been an orderly evacuation for that city. Every piece of rolling stock had left with it. Despite the decade of harsh climate, the place still felt recently abandoned; as though everyone simply stopped what he or she had been doing and left. Toys in the yard, lawnmowers standing still, trash cans full, pallets of crated goods waiting forever to be moved to the next destination, furniture all in its place, all without use. A clock waiting to be wound. Vacant. Desolate.
The only advantage to a decade of winter is food preservation. In Birmingham we were able to scrounge plenty of canned and foil packaged food from a Sam’s Club. There was fresh water to fill the tender and the canteen. We also had a choice: we could either head south toward New Orleans or north to Memphis and from there to Little Rock, Texarkana, Dallas and then the long slog to El Paso and beyond. It was pointed out to us by Captain Dean, that New Orleans was likely to be underwater, as the levies surrounding that city required constant maintenance and electricity to pump the water out. So North it was and more desolation.
Whereas the Southeast had experienced the bulk of the trauma that had been the Exodus, the further west we traveled the more orderly the evacuations had occurred. As far as life: we’ve seen almost nothing but the occasional small bird or rodent. If it was bigger than a rat, it didn’t seem able to survive the long, long winter. We are all surprised at how incident-free this trip has been. However, it hasn’t been without peril. Twice, our Geiger counter has sounded serious alarm bells. It’s hard to say just how much exposure to radiation we have received. The best we could do is stay inside and speed up. Toxic waste in general is a serious concern. I’ve lost count of the number of times the horns have blared on the chemical sensors. We grow weary of having to suit up. Already, we are running low on replacement respiratory filters.
With Fort Worth well behind us, and six days after leaving Richmond, we are passing through the town of Big Spring and, for the first time in a long time we are seeing broad swaths of green. Plant life is definitely returning to the Southwe–
“Colonel,” interrupted Sergeant Green. “Sir, one of the puc
ks has spotted something.”
Hansel had taken to standing at the rear door of the observation car where he summoned hapless birds to eat. Eliza had decided it was harmless enough. It kept him out of mischief, which, given the boredom that had settled in for all of them, was prone to come on without some type of distraction. When MacAfee and Green arrived at the back of the car, Dean was already there staring at the sky with his helmet and standing somewhat inside the train door, his body in shadow. Hansel stood at the rail with the grisly remnants of a bird still at the edge of his lips. He finished working a bone with his tongue and spit it onto the receding tracks. Dean said, “Stay back in the shadow. We don’t want them to know that we’ve seen it.”
“What am I looking for?” asked MacAfee.
Dean pointed at a forty-five degree angle toward the distant sky. “An observation drone. Hansel says it has been there for a while.”
“I thought it first a bird,” said the puck. “It would not come to be eaten.”
MacAfee focused in the direction that Dean pointed and scanned around until he saw it past the stream of white smoke that trailed from their engine out front and partially obscured the view. Sure enough, it was a small propeller driven drone of the type that field troops could launch by hand. “Hmm. Short flying duration. Could only be someone nearby.”
“Or following us.” Dean pointed at the rails as they passed behind. “A polished line of breadcrumbs.”
“Or following us,” MacAfee agreed.
They watched the drone fly for another twenty minutes when it abruptly made a u-turn and flew back over the horizon. Gretel joined them on the crowded platform and said, “My brother tells me we are being watched.” It continued to astonish the Homo Sapiens that these two Homo Telepathus could communicate through the train without any indication that a conversation was being had. Dean eyed the soft downy hair on Gretel’s young ears as they independently scanned about for confirmation of her statement. Her brother responded aloud, “It is gone.”
Eliza stepped toward the group. “We’re being followed? Hansel, you need to wipe your mouth.”
The puck licked the last of the blood and feathers off his teeth and smiled.
Dean said, “A drone flying behind us. Could only be launched from nearby.”
MacAfee said, “Nothing to do but keep watch. He looked at Hansel. “Young… man. Along with listening for other pucks, I would be grateful if you would keep a sharp lookout behind us.”
“I’ve got better eyes,” said Gretel.
Hansel turned his back on MacAfee. “I’m already doing the job.” Then to Gretel, “You do not have better eyes.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
Eliza cracked a smile. “You can take turns keeping lookout.” She said to MacAfee, “If it’s survivors, shouldn’t we investigate?”
MacAfee said, “Our priority is those turbines. Midland next, Captain?”
“Midland. Track change at Sierra Blanca with a good chance of water. At this pace we should be able to end our day down there.”
MacAfee left. The children watched the rails pass behind, leaving Stewart and Eliza a quiet moment to amble back toward the observation deck stairs. The lower part of the train had been turned into the bedroom area and was therefore mostly empty. Dean wanted to say something to her so he finally blurted out, “It occurs to me that we haven’t been alone since our little talk on the Ginger Girl.” He cursed himself for his fumbling. What the hell was he trying to say to this woman? Why bring up that unpleasantness? Why did he become so…so dumb around her? They’d catch each other looking at one another from across different spaces and immediately avert their eyes.
“No we haven’t.”
Answered like a bad interview guest, he thought. He was dumb struck. He didn’t know how to follow up. He could see her casting her eyes about, looking to make an exit. But he was in the way of either direction she could take. She finally said, “I disagree. If there are survivors, we should know about it.”
“I don’t call those shots,” said Dean lamely.
She’d made her point and decided to let it go. “I have to prep. I’m administering the final dose to you and the crew tonight.”
Dean said, “Amazing. I’ve been living as Dr. Jekyll for ten years waiting for Mister Hyde. I’m still in the habit of reaching for my pills in the morning.” He made room for her to pass toward the forward car. “All of us. My crew I mean. Thank you.”
She smiled with genuine warmth. “You’re welcome. I haven’t forgotten the agony and stress of being infected. You all are basically done. This shot is just insurance. In fact, I’ll tell the healthy that they are safe to work without masks.”
“I’m sure they will be grateful. Uh, see you at lunch?” What the hell is wrong with me?
She had begun to walk past and turned slightly. “Uh, sure. See you at lunch.”
“Okay, good.” He found his gaze following her tight athletic buttocks moving rhythmically as she walked away. He felt a shift in his pants and he found himself averting his gaze to put out the small fire that was building in him. He grumbled lightly under his breath and admonished himself further. He needed to get a handle on things. Distractions were not good in his business. He walked up the stairs telling himself to pull it together.
At the back of the train Hansel and Gretel offered mental smiles to each other. Gretel started the conversation. It is funny that he doesn’t know that she likes him.
Funny and disgusting.
Very disgusting.
Yet you stare at their private parts when they are not looking. Elizaandra’s private parts all the time.
Yes, that is true. But I don’t like it.
You can’t lie to me. You like it. You like staring at her. You tried to see her naked last night.
I don’t like it. It’s like being hungry and not being able to eat.
You’re right, but worse. It is like when one of them gets drunk. I hate the feeling when they are drunk.
Yes, that is horrible. Hansel paused and his stomach grumbled. I am weary of wanting. I hate the wanting. These birds are not satisfying. Satisfying would be eating Dean alive while Elizaandra watched and making her taste Dean as we chewed.
That’s funny.
They laughed together and their mouths experienced brief pain as so much saliva filled the spaces between their teeth.
Hungry.
Very hungry.
MacAfee stepped through the coal tender and listened with appreciation to the corkscrew workings of the coal stoker as it carried fuel forward to the engine and the waiting firebox. As he stepped up to the engineering platform he could feel the heat from the firebox full on. Despite the cool air that passed through from the outside, Wen and Abner were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “How goes it up here?”
Wen put a hand to his ear and the Colonel asked, “Seen anything unusual?”
“Nope. Nothing but cold desert,” yelled Wen over the racket.
“We spotted a small air drone behind us. Short distance one.” The two men stopped their work and turned to look out the back. “It’s gone now. Maybe the same folks who attacked us on the water.”
“You think?” asked Abner incredulously.
“Lots of those drones used down this way by Border Patrol back in the day,” offered Wen.
“We’re still pretty far from the border,” said MacAfee.
“Still.”
“Who says where the border is anymore?” asked Maggie, stepping in to start her shift.
“She’s right,” said Wen. “The Mexicans didn’t have Cain’s like the way we did. Maybe they’ve done okay. This used to be part of Mexico, right? I mean before Texas.”
MacAfee thought about this and finally said, “We’ve just started trading with North Africa. I think we would have heard from the Mexicans.”
“I don’t know. Thousands and thousands of Americans being gunned down trying to
head south. You think they would reach out to us after that.”
“Point taken. We don’t know who it is. Just keep an eye out front.”
“We do that anyway,” said Abner with a scowl. He pointed up. “You got one of your soldiers freezing their ass off twenty-four/seven.”
“I’m talking to them next. And both of you take a break. Get Kitta or Murphy or Wall up here to help Maggie.” MacAfee stepped out of the cab and climbed to the roof of the train where the passing breeze was indeed cold. Hernandez was on watch and she sat comfortably enough in an outdoor lounge chair that they had strapped onto the roof in front of a steam relief valve. From there the smoke billowing from the stack in front managed to pass overhead without causing her to gag. She was wearing her helmet, which proved the best possible way to keep an eye out in all directions. Yet, she had missed the drone behind them, which was both frustrating and unnerving. MacAfee filled her in and left.
Frankly, Dez hadn’t considered keeping a look out in the sky. None of them had. But if she was honest with herself, her game was way off. She was deeply depressed over the loss of Gomez and it was affecting her performance. It took all she had not to crawl into a ball and just sleep. Only the fact that others were counting on her made her stay focused at all. She was volunteering for long watch assignments. Long watches made for listlessness. She’d have to change things up.
They had yet another uneventful night in a dusty town called Sierra Blanca. The much hoped for water was not available. Texas was desperately dry. It wasn’t just that the train that was getting low on water, their own clean supplies were getting thin. MacAfee began rationing. As soon as there was enough light to see more than two hundred yards, they made way.
Several long hours later they were passing through the suburbs of El Paso. Sergeant Green stepped up to swap places with Hernandez and they found themselves warily scanning their surroundings, agreeing that Hernandez should remain up top until they got to the massive rail yard that was in the center of the city. Wen reduced speed as the city closed in around the tracks. At moments, the Mexican border was little more than two thousand feet away and occasionally they could see the massive fence itself. The barrier seemed to have taken on an almost organic shape. The city itself was just another abandoned place; scoured, like a sandblaster had been taken to every surface, sand dunes piled against buildings, whole sections of streets covered. Only the raised nature of the train tracks left them free enough for the train to pass.
Children Of Fiends - Part 2 A Nation By Another Name: An Of Sudden Origin Novella Page 5
