1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Express

by Ryohgo Narita

  “Yes, you look well. I’m so glad!”

  At Isaac and Miria’s voices, the party felt relieved, but they did get in an apt verbal jab:

  “What’s with those clothes?”

  “Heh-heh, right now, I’m a western gunman! Call me the Belle Starr of the East!”

  “But you just said you were western…”

  “Wasn’t Belle Starr a broad?”

  Ignoring Firo and Berga’s comebacks, Miria also introduced herself with a random outlaw’s name:

  “Okay, then I’m—! I’m the Edgar Watson of the North!”

  “Uh, that’s the guy who shot and killed Myra Maybelle Shirley…aka, Belle Starr.”

  “Whaaaaaat?! I’m going to kill Isaac?! Oh no, I couldn’t stand that!”

  “Nah, it’s all right, Miria! I can die for you!”

  Seeing that the pair hadn’t changed a bit, Firo and Ennis smiled, as if relieved.

  “Gah-ha-ha! You guys are as dumb as ever.”

  At Berga’s jeer, the two flung their arms into the air and protested. The way they waved their arms around made them look like wind-up toys.

  “What?! Make fun of me if you want, but I won’t let you make fun of Miria!”

  “You can make fun of me, but don’t you dare badmouth Isaac!”

  “In other words, we’ve got enough anger for two here!”

  “And two people times two is four people!”

  “In a majority vote, we’d win!”

  “Yes, it’s one against four!”

  “Huh? Hold it, wait a sec…”

  In response to their absurd, rapid-fire logic, Berga began folding fingers down, muttering under his breath.

  “That’s embarrassing, Berga. Stop.”

  While this was going on, Isaac cried out as if he’d remembered something:

  “Oh, that’s right! We’ve got a present for you, Ennis!”

  “A really good one!”

  “What, you do?! Thank you very much!”

  Ennis thanked them happily. Isaac and Miria turned their backs on her and, for some reason, boarded the train again. Before long, as the group watched, mystified, Isaac came back, accompanied by the “present.”

  At his right hand stood a boy who’d changed clothes.

  As Firo and the others looked on, wide-eyed, Isaac and Miria introduced him. They seemed truly delighted. Apparently, they’d been concerned about that letter this whole time. The one they’d gotten from Ennis in California.

  “This boy is Czes!”

  “Take him as your little brother, Ennis! That’ll be perfect!”

  EPILOGUE

  ALCHEMIST

  Ah, there’s Maiza, right in front of me. The man who summoned the demon, the one who knows everything about immortality. That’s right: I came to this city to eat this guy. What a fool. I bet he thinks I’m still who I used to be. That’ll be his undoing.

  All right, Maiza’s close enough now. This is it: Scream “You fool!” at him and put out your right hand.

  “Maiza…”

  Uh… Huh? That’s strange. No, that wasn’t what I was going to do; why did I call his name?

  Stop it, Maiza. Don’t pat my head. I’m over two hundred years old already. Dammit, Maiza, I know you’re right-handed. Why are you using your left hand? Don’t be considerate when nobody asked you to, blast it.

  Squeeze those words out: Scream “You fool!” and thrust your right hand out at Maiza!

  “I missed you.”

  No, it’s “You fool”! Dammit, pull yourself together! Just how many times do you think you’ve fooled people who looked like adults, and been fooled yourself?! Trust no one! You know Maiza’s probably planning to eat you, too; he’ll start gnawing away at you, just like that guy did! Dammit! Dammit! It’s their fault! That red monster and this weird gunman couple drove me insane! But, no Say “You fool!” He’s different I missed him Stop it I was always alone I was always lonely No, I wanted to be alone. Say “You fool!” I wanted to see him. Somebody from the past No— Put your right hand—

  I wanted to see somebody, anybody; I just wanted to see someone who knew who I was back then. To meet someone who knew me then. I just wanted to dream, to dream about that time, back on the ship, before I knew anything.

  “Maiza. I missed you, Maiza!”

  Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll wake from this dream, and I’ll go back to being my spiteful, cunning self. However, I’ll probably never think about eating Maiza again. I know if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to see anything but nightmares anymore. Right now, I only want to stay in this dream, just a little longer. I want to cry, clinging to someone who knows who I used to be, just a little longer, just a little longer.

  Just a little more, a little longer…

  On the station platform, a young-looking immortal huddled into the chest of his old friend and cried, and cried, and cried.

  On and on.

  EPILOGUE

  THE RAIL TRACER

  “Excuse me, sir. Are you Mr. Gandor?”

  “I am. What is it?”

  A station employee approached Luck and handed him a single envelope. After they read its contents, Keith and his two younger brothers left the station.

  When they did, on his way out, Berga apologized to Firo:

  “Sorry, Firo. It sounds like Claire’s waiting outside. We’ll be back.”

  The man was waiting in the corner of an alley.

  “Claire, you’re the conductor. What’re you doin’ out here?”

  “I’m not Claire anymore.”

  Ignoring Berga’s question, he just spoke about himself, briefly.

  “All right, let’s go. Who should I kill first? I only managed to get a little light exercise last night, and I’m feeling rusty. I want to do a job where I can go all-out for once.”

  Saying this, Claire—who’d changed clothes—took the lead and started walking. Keith and the others were mildly appalled, but they followed him and set off down the alley.

  “Let’s get this finished up fast. I’ve got somebody to look for after this. It’s somebody who might marry me.”

  At Claire’s words, the three brothers looked at one another.

  “Wha—? Did you ask some total stranger to marry you again?!”

  “Close.”

  “Don’t gimme ‘close,’ you moron! Just how many dolls do you think you’ve gotten to give you the brush-off that way, huh?!”

  Berga sounded disgusted, but Claire answered him without seeming the least bit flustered.

  “Now, hang on. I don’t treat it like a pickup, and I’m not joking. I’m being serious, so there’s no problem. And I’m positive I’ve gotten dumped up till now because there’s an even better girl in my future. After all, this world is—”

  “—‘designed to work in my favor,’ was it?”

  Luck had probably heard those words several hundred times before. He’d responded with a simple question.

  “That’s right,” Claire continued. “Anyway, I might get a good answer this time. Besides, if that one doesn’t work out, I found another peach. If I get dumped this time, I think I’ll try my luck with her next.”

  “You’re as faithless as ever, too.”

  “Applesauce! I’ve never two-timed anyone, not even once. I’ve never gone out with a girl in the first place. I tell her I’m in love then and there, and if she says no, I move right on to the next one. If I get a yes, I’ll be true to that girl the whole way. There’s no problem with that.”

  In response to Claire—who’d delivered what was, in a way, a sound argument—Luck sighed, half in resignation.

  “…I wish Firo would take a page from your book with regard to energy.”

  At the unexpected mention of his friend’s name, Claire smiled nostalgically.

  “Firo, huh? I’d like to see him. What about him?”

  “He’s been living with a girl he fancies for more than a year, but he hasn’t told her he loves her or even kissed her yet.”

  �
��That’s nuts… Is he actually human?”

  Despite Claire’s astonishment, his pace didn’t slow at all.

  “In any case, Claire. You really shouldn’t trust the sort of woman who accepts an offer of marriage out of the blue.”

  Claire’s response was to argue about the part of it that didn’t matter:

  “Claire’s dead. Or he will be on paper, anyway, as far as the government’s concerned.”

  He thought he’d come off sounding cool, but Luck jabbed him with a practiced comeback:

  “If you’re officially dead, you won’t be able to marry that woman, you know.”

  At that, Claire stopped in his tracks, then turned around.

  “Crap. What do I do? How much does it cost to buy an identity?”

  “You aren’t making any sense, Claire. In that case, what should we call you from now on?”

  As Claire started walking again, he spoke casually:

  “Well, maybe Vino… Or, you could call me the Rail Tracer.”

  “Lame.”

  In one of New York’s back alleys, Berga and Claire began a violent brawl. Even as Keith watched them, his thoughts were with the struggle that was bound to grow fiercer from here on out.

  This brawl was probably the last peaceful sight they’d see for a while. Still silent, Keith continued to gaze at the fight.

  EPILOGUE

  HOMICIDAL MANIACS

  Edward the federal agent was receiving a report from a local police officer.

  “I hear there were survivors.”

  “Yes, a man and a woman… We think they’re probably members of the gang of robbers.”

  Information on the survivors was beginning to trickle in.

  “And? How are they?”

  “The woman’s neck is hurt, but her life isn’t in danger. The man is seriously injured; Bill is interviewing him at the hospital.”

  Next to the place where the survivors had been discovered, several police officers were standing around a certain object.

  “So why is this pole broken?”

  “I’d guess the survivors slammed into it.”

  “…Look, don’t you think he punched it? I bet he did.”

  “I’m telling you, that’s not even possible!”

  “Yeah, but… You saw the man’s arm, didn’t you?”

  “I saw it, so I can’t completely rule it out. Is that guy a monster?”

  “Either way, you know the only thing they’ll be able to do for that arm is amputate it.”

  Remembering the horrible sight of the man’s left arm, a few of the men felt sick again.

  From the elbow down, all that remained of the surviving white suit’s left arm was bone. The bones alone had stayed neatly behind, while the flesh had been blown clean off. His condition had been incredible to begin with, but there was something even more incredible than that:

  The man was currently responding to an interview as though nothing had happened.

  In a hospital a short distance away, Bill Sullivan was interviewing Ladd.

  “Nn… Then you admit your crime?”

  “Yeah, sure. Oh, just so’s you know, all the guys I killed were in self-defense. I’ll cop to everything about the attempted kidnapping, but make sure you get that bit down.”

  “Uh… Well, talk that over with the prosecutor and your lawyer.”

  As Bill was about to leave, Ladd tossed a question at his back:

  “Do you know Huey Laforet?”

  “Eh…… Mm. He is famous, after all.”

  “What pen are they putting him in?”

  “Nn… That hasn’t been settled yet, but I’d imagine it’s going to be the Alcatraz military prison.”

  “Is that so? Thanks, pal.”

  “Ah… Take care of yourself. I’ll introduce you to a prosthetic arm craftsman before the trial.”

  With that, Bill left the room.

  Alcatraz, huh? That’s a pretty decent opponent. I wonder how I can get ’em to put me in there, too. Keh-heh.

  Imagining the pleasure he’d feel when he killed an immortal, Ladd fell asleep, an expression of ecstasy on his face.

  EPILOGUE

  TERRORIST GROUP

  The new assistant to Fred, the doctor in gray, muttered quietly:

  “Ahh, Ladd and Lua never did come back. I mean, it’s those two, so they’re probably alive, but…”

  He’d been one of the white suits, but when the police had boarded the train, he’d asked Fred to make him his assistant and had escaped the long arm of the law that way. The delinquents beside them had glared at him, but they were criminals, too, so they didn’t turn him over to the cops.

  Afterward, he’d contacted the friend who’d been negotiating with the railway company on the outside, only to hear that the company had flatly vetoed their demands. Apparently, the black suits had been threatening the government, and some sort of pressure had been exerted on the railway company from that direction. He hadn’t expected the strategy to succeed in the first place, but the idea that the black suits had been the cause of their failure made it particularly frustrating. Of course, not only was he still alive, he hadn’t even been arrested. One would have had to admit that he’d been the luckiest member of the white suits.

  He’d had nowhere to go, and in the end, it had been decided that he’d do odd jobs at Fred’s hospital.

  Having heard the former white suit’s mutter, Fred answered, smiling quietly.

  “Never mind. If they’re alive, you’ll see them again someday. As long as you all stay alive, someday, without fail… Come to think of it, that man was looking for someone, too.”

  “That man?”

  “Yes, I ended up having to take a later train because I was treating him… Thanks to that, I wound up paying a lot for tickets. The treatment took quite some time, you see, and then the police put in an appearance as well.”

  “The cops?”

  “Mm. When I was on my way to Chicago by car, I saw a tremendous explosion in the wasteland, off in the distance—”

  Goose was alive.

  Even enveloped in that hellfire, he’d miraculously escaped with his life.

  I refuse to die in a place like this. I’ll survive, and the secret of Huey’s body will be mine—

  Clinging to what little vindictiveness he had left, he crawled along the path by the tracks.

  I should have comrades on this side. The ten who negotiated with the government, who weren’t aboard the train. I saw the signal rocket go up when we reached the river. In other words, the government accepted our negotiations. Dammit, I was so close! Still, I’m not finished yet. With ten men, I’ll be more than able to regain my balance—

  Just then, over his head, a figure blocked his way.

  “We’ve been looking for you, Goose.”

  I’m saved. Have my comrades found me?

  When, thinking this, Goose raised his head, the spit that the figure had hocked up struck him in the face.

  “Wha…?”

  Goose was stunned. Standing there was a man with a huge burn on his face. It wasn’t the only one. Large burn scars were visible on his neck and remaining hand as well, and on top of that, one of his hands had been cut off. It was an individual Goose knew all too well.

  “…Nader…!”

  It was the man who’d attempted to betray Goose before the operation, the man he thought he’d disposed of instead. A man who’d been caught up in the flames of the blast and who should have been burned to cinders by now.

  “Yeah, I used the others’ corpses to shield myself and managed to avoid dying instantly, but if a doctor hadn’t been passing by just then, things could have gotten ugly… Although, even now, it’s all I can do to stay on my feet.”

  Nader had handcuffs on his one wrist. A closer look revealed the figures of several police officers in the area. The officers didn’t seem to have noticed Goose yet; they were searching the brush at random.

  “It’s a field inspection, Goose. I cut a little deal wit
h the cops, see. In exchange for telling them about the plan and the negotiators’ location, I get off with a suspended sentence. They can’t make that public, of course. It sounds like they won’t be making much about this incident public, period.”

  “Why…you…”

  “Y’know, I hear those ten negotiators you were counting on just got arrested. My sincere condolences.”

  The burned man crouched down on the spot, putting his face close to Goose, whose expression was a mask of despair.

  “You should’ve just killed me right there. You really weren’t cut out for the military.”

  Those words were loaded with all of Nader’s hatred and pity.

  “You’re completely pathetic, you failure.”

  Nader looked down on him, coldly. In response, Goose silently lowered his head. And then—

  “Don’t wander around on your own, Nader! We’ll treat it as an escape attempt! …Hmm? Is that a survivor?!”

  Hastily, a police officer came running over. Nader sighed and answered him:

  “Looks like he’s dead. It just happened.”

  Goose’s body had fallen facedown. A mixture of lots of blood and small fragments of flesh was flowing from his mouth.

  Turning his back on the unmoving black suit, Nader walked away as if he’d lost interest.

  “Ah, dammit, I’ve had it. I can’t follow a guy who rushes to his own death like that. It looks like I’m really not cut out for this sort of thing. Maybe I’ll go back to the country and help my dad with his cornfields…”

  The young terrorist couldn’t even visualize Goose’s face anymore.

  In the end, apparently, that was all Goose had been.

  Exposed to the freezing winter wind, the pitiful man’s corpse was rapidly growing cold.

  EPILOGUE

  DELINQUENTS

  The investigation had settled down, and the Flying Pussyfoot had been put in storage for a while.

  Several figures stood quietly in the cars, from which the police had temporarily withdrawn.