The Directives

by Joe Nobody

  Bishop, stunned, didn’t even feel the impact as his back slammed against the floor.

  Dazed, lying in the aisle, Bishop barely managed to bring up his legs as the robber dove through the air.

  Catching the flying attacker’s weight on the soles of his boots, Bishop managed to use the guy’s forward momentum, propelling his enemy over him, landing on top of a seat.

  Trying desperately to reach his feet, while at the same time bringing his weapon to bear proved to be a mistake. Just as the carbine was coming up, the recovered foe kicked at the barrel so viciously that it broke the sling, sending the carbine rattling across the floor.

  Again, a sledgehammer blow landed on Bishop’s jaw, the Texan staggering backwards with ringing ears and blurry vision.

  Backing away while trying to recover, he was able to focus on the bandit’s face. Covered from the bridge of his nose down to his neck, Bishop noticed something odd about the man’s eyes. They were black and purple… almost as if he was staring at a raccoon with a mask. The thought would’ve have been funny if the guy wasn’t kicking his ass.

  Stopping his retreat, Bishop weighed in on his foe, a series of rabbit punches landing on the mask. The counter-attack did nothing but piss off his opponent further, a two-handed shove throwing the Texan against the railcar’s wall with enough force to numb his spine.

  Despite the pain, Bishop was recovering from the surprise and shock of the attack. He was also getting mad.

  Again, he attacked the oncoming thief, throwing punches that would disable most men, kicking with every ounce of strength left in his legs. He managed to back his foe up a few steps, the opponent instinctively retreating from the flurry of fists and boots headed his way.

  Bishop landed his share of blows, but they did little to slow down the aggressor. Much to his surprise, the bandit kept pressing Bishop back, one blow to the head causing his vision to go dark around the edges.

  Knowing he wasn’t going to last long, Bishop finally reached for the fighting knife strapped across his chest-rig.

  The man facing the Texan paused when he saw the drawn blade, reaching up to adjust his mask. Bishop inhaled sharply when he recognized his attacker - it was Hoss.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Bishop panted. “Why are you robbing the….”

  It all came together - a flash of realization racing through the Alliance lawman’s confused brain. Major Misery was skimming off the top by robbing the occasional load of freight. The insiders on the security team were playing both ends against the middle.

  “I’m going to crush your throat and enjoy watching the eyes pop out of your head, you son of a bitch,” the big man promised. “You ain’t such hot shit if you don’t have room to squirm away.”

  Bishop slashed at the charging bull, cutting deeply across Hoss’s shoulder and arm, but it didn’t slow the assault one bit. With his back against the wall, Bishop lunged through the air once and then again, trying to keep the huge man off him. Both attempts missed, contacting nothing but air.

  On the third jab, Hoss deflected the strike, his block so powerful it knocked the blade from Bishop’s hand. The Texan’s last defense tumbled beyond his reach.

  Hoss knew he had his prey now, stepping in close and swinging hard for Bishop’s gut.

  Despite the body armor, vest, and pouches across his mid-section, lightning bolts of pain shot through Bishop’s torso. He swung back weakly, trying to stall death’s advance, but it didn’t do any good.

  The Texan sensed his foe’s hands closing on his throat, his mind screaming for him to punch and kick, but he was out of juice. There just wasn’t anything left.

  The vise on his neck began to tighten, Bishop pulling hard against the two steel-like arms crushing his windpipe.

  Hoss sensed it was over, leaning in close and whispering, “And now you die.”

  But then the Goliath’s eyes grew wide, a mixture of surprise, puzzlement, and fear crossing the hulk’s face. Bishop felt the grip on his throat weakening, and then Hoss slowly slid to his knees. A moment later, he fell over, landing with his face on the Texan’s boots.

  Trying to clear the fog of pain and regain his composure, Bishop stared down to see his knife buried in the dead man’s back. Gomez was standing in the aisle, his chest rising and falling as he worked to catch his wind.

  “You okay?” the crew boss managed after a few deep breaths, “thought you might need a little help clearing the cars.”

  “Yeah… thanks,” Bishop managed to croak, his throat dry and sore.

  Bishop reached down and retrieved his knife. “You’re not going to believe who this is,” he declared to Gomez. “Help me turn him over.”

  The foreman’s face filled with shock after they managed to roll Hoss onto his back. “Well, I’ll be damned,” was his only comment.

  The sound of distant gunfire reminded the two men that they weren’t out of danger just yet. Rushing to the closest window, Bishop spied a small group of masked men running for the woods. Grim, Cory and Kevin were in pursuit, chasing the failed thieves into the foliage.

  “Grim has them on the run,” Bishop responded, finding his rifle. “But we’ve still got the blockade and those other guys ahead of us. Nobody’s watching the front of the train.”

  Leaving his boss to the task of settling down the passengers, Bishop managed a slow pace back toward the engine. Every muscle in his body ached, and he wondered if his jaw was broken. Moving from car to car, his strength gradually returned by the time he reached the fuel car.

  Glancing back along the track to see how Grim was doing, he spotted the rest of his team returning from the route. From their casual body language, Bishop assumed all was well.

  Judging the distance from their current location to the obstruction, Bishop hustled forward, passing by the wood gas equipment and flagging down the engineer. “Let’s return to the barricade, but stop a little further back this time. Maybe 100 to 200 yards short of the blockage. We may need some room to maneuver.”

  The men controlling Lady Star did as they were told, braking the iron horse almost two football fields shy of the location where the bandits had originally bushwhacked them.

  Grim finally appeared, Cory and Kevin in tow. “We chased them into the woods, but they had trucks parked nearby. I didn’t feel like wasting any more ammo,” he reported calmly. “Now, all we have to do is take care of these clowns manning the blockade, and then we can be on our way.”

  Bishop quickly explained his encounter with Hoss in the passenger car, the ex-contractor recognizing the scam right away. “Nice work, Major Misery,” he chuckled. “Hell of a gig if you can pull it off.”

  With Lady Star idling, Bishop, Grim, and Cory hopped off, moving away from the tracks and into the woods. “We’ll give them a little surprise from the flank,” Grim commented. “Let’s see how badly they want to rob our train now.”

  But the thieves had abandoned their position at the wooden obstruction.

  The Alliance team checked all around the area, no sign of the men who’d been shooting at them just a few minutes before. “Evidently, they bugged out,” Bishop said. “They did their part and then hit the road.”

  “Or they saw me kick those other guys’ asses and decided I was too bad a man to mess with,” Grim replied with a grin.

  They returned to the iron giant, informing the engineer and firemen that it was safe for them to clear the log pile. Several passengers disembarked to help.

  While the clean-up was in progress, Bishop thanked Cory and Kevin for helping. “I want you guys to continue on south. Make sure there are no more surprises in store for us.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied, and hustled off to retrieve the stashed pickup.

  Gomez found his rifle, the weapon unharmed despite being dropped. Bishop still had his doubts about the man, but kept them to himself. After all, he had saved the Texan’s life.

  “The Baron is going to go frigging nuts when he hears his own man was behind all the tra
in robberies. We’ll probably have a proper hanging when we get back,” Gomez observed.

  “If Misery is still there,” Bishop replied. “He’ll get word that we foiled this attempt before we get back. I bet he heads for greener pastures.”

  With a fair share of grunting and sweat, the track was cleared in 20 minutes. Lady Star again sounded her whistle, letting all aboard know she was bound and determined to make it to Galveston.

  Butter’s legs held out, delivering Terri and her protectors to the East Beach. Along the way, the skies had grown increasingly dark and overcast, blasts of wind rolling in from the gulf.

  “Ma’am, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to stay long. It looks like the weather is going to get nasty here in a bit,” Slim commented, studying the sky.

  “That’s okay,” Terri smiled. “I just wanted Hunter to see the ocean… and to tell the truth, I kind of wanted to see it again as well.”

  With her escorts in tow, Terri braved the blustery air and descended the seawall’s stairs. She kicked off her shoes and began heading toward the distant water, half walking and half sinking in the shifting sand, carrying Hunter and pointing toward the Gulf of Mexico. Slim and Butter struggled to keep up.

  By the time they reached the shoreline, the waves were rolling in dark and angry. “Definitely not a good day for a swim,” she informed the infant. “One of these days though, we’ll come back, and you’ll love it… I promise.”

  Out of pure stubbornness, Terri insisted on sticking at least her toe in the water. Handing the baby to Butter, she dashed forward in the white foamy waves, managing to get ankle deep before retreating to higher ground, chased by an incoming roller – laughing all the way.

  “Okay, guys. Sorry to drag you out here for just that little bit of sightseeing. Maybe the weather will be better tomorrow.”

  It started raining on the way back, the boiling clouds finally producing moisture. Terri did her best to keep Hunter from getting wet, the rest of the party quickly getting soaked.

  Their reverse course was easier, the wind at Butter’s back. Five blocks away from the beach, the big man slowed his pace, one very worried word coming from his lips, “Slim.”

  There were six of them, all holding shoulder-fired long guns and spread across the road. Behind each man was a saddled horse. Their target was clear, all eyes staring at Butter’s taxi.

  “Get us out of here! Now!” Slim responded, reaching for the duffle bag and its shotgun. Terri’s 9mm was already drawn, her body bending to shield Hunter.

  Butter cut hard left, accelerating the heavy cycle-taxi with pumping legs. Slim’s attention was over his shoulder, watching to observe the reaction of the riders.

  After two blocks, it became clear that the horses were faster than the best Butter could milk out of the taxi. “Faster!” yelled Slim, seeing the pursuers gaining.

  “It won’t go any faster,” replied the already breathless peddler.

  Slim was on the radio, calling for support. After listening to the reply, he shouted back into the microphone, “This will be over in 3 minutes. Move your asses now!”

  Disgusted and cursing himself, Slim turned to Terri and said, “They have to move the big coach out of the way so one of the trucks can get out. I should have thought about that.”

  Not waiting on a response, Slim again checked behind and grimaced. “Butter, cut down this alley ahead. We can’t outrun them; let’s buy some time via maneuvering.”

  The big man made the turn, and for a second Terri thought they were going to flip over. She swore the carriage took the corner on two wheels.

  Down a narrow alley they shot, the pavement much rougher, causing the thin wheels to bounce and thump the passengers in the seats.

  Terri could hear the sound of horses’ hooves behind them. She turned to see the nearest rider less than 100 feet away and gaining quickly. She raised her pistol, thinking to slow them down, but Slim grabbed her arm and shook his head no. “Nobody’s fired just yet, ma’am. They may want to take us alive or just rob us. It’s not a good idea to shoot first unless you have the most guns.”

  Nodding, Terri agreed. “As rough as this ride is, I couldn’t hit anything anyway.”

  Butter came to another cross street, but had to abandon the alleyway. Two junk cars blocked the entrance, forcing another hair-raising turn onto the crossing surface street.

  Slim spied one of those self-storage businesses just ahead, row after row of low buildings covering the grounds. “Pull in that place. Maybe we can lose them for a bit and buy some time.”

  Braking just enough to negotiate the turn, they flew down the driveway toward the maze of mini warehouses. Evidently, their pursuers didn’t approve of the idea, a single shot ringing out, quickly followed by a shouted “Stop! Stop or we’ll shoot.”

  But Butter didn’t stop.

  “It was only a warning shot,” Slim tried to reassure Terri. “It was way high.”

  They sped past three rows of the buildings, some of the garage doors open, other closed and padlocked. “Cut right here,” Slim instructed. “Stop as soon as you’re around the corner.”

  Butter did as he was told, Slim hopping out of the back before the wheels had stopped rolling. He ran to the corner, peeking around to see the horsemen following, now less than 50 feet behind. Shouldering the 12-gauge, he jumped out in front of the charging pursuers and let loose with a blast, intentionally aiming high.

  He watched long enough to see the lead horse rear up, a terrified shrill coming from the animal’s throat. Before the front hooves had returned to earth, Slim was running back to the bicycle.

  “That should slow them down,” he was saying as he jumped back into the seat. “Go! Go! Go!”

  In a few seconds, they were again flying past the garage door-fronted bins. “Turn here, then turn again as fast as you can,” Slim instructed from the back seat, never taking his eyes off their tail.

  After the second zigzag, Slim barked for Butter to stop. “Ma’am, I want you to take the baby and go hide in that unit right there,” Slim said, pointing at an opening that showed furniture, boxes and a rack of clothing scattered inside. “Stay out of sight until our men arrive. I’ll come back and get you. Now please, hurry!”

  Terri got it, the idea of shielding Hunter from a gunfight overriding her desire to help confront the bandits. In a few seconds, she was out of the carriage, running with her pistol in one hand, Hunter’s car seat in the other.

  Having another thought, Slim pulled his radio from his vest, tossing the unit to Terri. “Guide in our cavalry. It’s already on the right frequency.”

  Once he was sure she was out of sight, Slim yelled, “Go!”

  It wasn’t much of a maze. In fact, the buildings were laid out in a relatively simple set of rows that failed to offer many hiding places. Finally, reaching the back fence of the complex, Slim pointed toward a corner. “Pull in over there. We’ll see if we can keep them busy until the guys get here.”

  Butter turned the handlebars, pushing Terri’s security team down the last short line of openings.

  A man flew out of one of the empty bins, his diving tackle knocking Butter off his seat, sending the two men tumbling across the pavement.

  The now-pilotless cycle flipped on its side, spilling Slim out the back. He landed badly, pinned under the heavy carriage.

  The man ambushing Butter was soon joined by a second fellow. In less than 10 seconds, both bushwhackers wished they had two or three more friends in the fight.

  Grasping the man who’d knocked him free of the bike, Butter tossed the hapless attacker over his hip, driving his foe to the ground with bone crushing force. The second tried to grab the big guy’s arm, and that was a mistake he’d never forget.

  Instead of twisting the limb to Butter’s back, he found himself holding an unmovable length of iron. Grinning at the surprised look on his attacker’s face, Butter effortlessly twisted free of the grip, slamming his palm into the man’s solar plexus with rib-breaking
velocity.

  Both of his opponents out of the fight, Butter turned to assist his partner and froze. Slim was lying on the ground, two men looming over him with their rifles pointing at his head.

  “That’ll be enough,” said one of the gunmen. “Knock it off, or I’ll aerate your buddy’s skull.”

  Seeing that they finally had the upper hand, the spokesman’s partner patted down Butter, checking to see if their prisoner was armed. After determining that Butter was weaponless, he then bent to lend aid to the two stunned men still lying on the ground.

  “Where’s the woman?” the man in charge asked.

  Butter and Slim, now on their knees with their hands behind their heads, just stared back - neither of them feeling talkative at the moment.

  Shaking his head as if tired of the whole affair, the lead bandit pulled back the hammer of his lever-action rifle and said, “I don’t have time for this shit. I’m going to ask one more time. If your jaws don’t start flapping, I’m going to put a bullet in the big guy’s knee. He’ll never walk without a limp again. So… where’s the woman?”

  When no answer came, the man raised his rifle and aimed, but a new voice cut him off. “No need for that, Murph,” said an older man, appearing from around the corner.

  He stepped forward, two more armed escorts bookending the new arrival, making it clear who was in charge. “Help them up, and make sure they’re okay,” he said to his bodyguards, pointing to the two men Butter had disabled.

  “Look, fellas, we only want to talk to the lady. What’s her name? Terri? We know who and what she is,” the boss began. “My name is Corky, and I’m kind of the city manager around here.”

  Again, the two captives remained silent, their stubbornness causing Corky to frown.

  “I know you’ve got help on the way. I left ten men at this establishment’s gate to stop them. Besides, this facility is not so big that we won’t find her in a few minutes anyway, and the weather is turning bad fast. So let’s avoid anyone else getting hurt. No one wants to have a big gun battle. Please tell me where the lady is hiding. I only want to talk to her.”