CHAPTER EIGHT
It was dark. The sun was now long gone, and little by little the moon rose in the sky, like a ticking clock, swiftly approaching the lone squad’s final hour. It was only a matter of time before the pack was upon them. Charlie stood at the doorway of the cabin, his arms crossed, keeping a vigilant eye on the horizon. Luckily for them all, Specks had found himself an impressive haul of dynamite, electrical cable and blasting caps. He busied himself with the project a short distance away, running to and fro frantically, skidding about the place, his hands nervously fiddling with the sticks of dynamite laid out strategically across the ground. The rest of the squad concentrated on the passenger carriage - and needless to say, the inside of the thing had been gutted out, the windows were boarded up as best they could, and small shooting holes had been gouged out along the length of the carriage. The place had become a rather flimsy fortress.
Meanwhile, in the darkness of the cabin, lit up in a dim and stingy amber candlelight, Billy laboured his way through the mess of metal - it was tricky to tell how his progress was going.
‘You finished yet?’ asked Charlie. But as expected, Billy didn’t respond. ‘The moon is high in the sky. Time is of the essence,’ he continued. But once again - nothing. The young man merely continued with his tasks, moving with skill and savvy. ‘I need to get my men out of here. Failure is not an option.’
‘Would you just shut up?’ snapped Billy, ultimately breaking his silence.
The outburst pulled Charlie from his guard, and he turned to see Billy’s sooty face glaring up at him. The pair were strangers, forced into a tight situation together, and it was all too obvious neither of them particularly liked the other. After a period of time Charlie nodded his head, instructing the young man to carry on, as if he were one of his own men. Billy got back to his task, in spite of the nod.
‘What was that vessel you crashed in?’ asked Charlie, turning his attention back outside. ‘Talk about an entrance! I mean… Boom. You just appeared out of thin air. From the heavens, like…’
‘Like an angel?’ suggested Billy, comically.
Charlie laughed at the preposterous claim. ‘Let’s not forget where I found you. Down in the depths of the earth… like a demon!’ he said. ‘I can’t work it out. I can’t work you out. None of it makes any sense to me. Where the heck did you come from? Who are you?’
SLAM. Billy smashed down a piece of iron in rage, the clang echoing sorely around the cabin and temporarily finishing the interrogation.
‘I. Don’t. Know,’ he said, accenting every syllable, downright vexed.
‘But yet you know how to fix this thing,’ said Charlie, leisurely strolling around the cabin. ‘Looks like it’s second nature to you! And boy… you can fight. I was impressed. And that is not easily done. You’ve had training. And a lot of it.’
‘I could kick your arse,’ muttered Billy, under his breath.
‘So how on earth do you expect me to believe you when you tell me you don’t know who you are?’ he asked, his voice elevated.
‘You want me to tell you that I remember nothing before waking up in that godforsaken pit barely a day ago?’ shouted Billy, losing his temper. ‘You want me to tell you that I can’t even recall who I am, where I came from or my own name? Because that’s what’s happening. I’ve got nothing. No happy memories. No fuzzy little feelings. And no idea what the heck I’m doing here. All I have is instinct. Other than that… it’s all a blank!’
Charlie didn’t reply. He didn’t know how to. Instead he observed as Billy jumped to his feet and rushed about the cabin. He booted the coal chamber shut, slammed a lever down hard, and aggressively yanked on a cord, sounding the train whistle.
‘It’s done,’ he spat, releasing the cord. ‘She’s good to go. Just needs some time to get up to temperature.’
Charlie mutely nodded, before yelling ‘Specks,’ and leaning outside. ‘Finish up what you’re doing and get inside the carriage. We’re getting out of here as soon as we can.’
‘Erm… Captain,’ stuttered the geek, squinting across the way at Charlie and the train. ‘The whistle… a sound of that decibel… on this kind of landscape… in this kind of climate… Sir… ’
‘I know, Specks. They heard it,’ Charlie threw Billy a dirty look. ‘Don’t worry. They were coming for us either way. Just get yourself inside.’
Charlie delicately took a photo out of his pocket. He lifted it up to a better light and looked at it with great love. It was torn at the edges, very worn, and still damp from his episode in the river earlier, but he stroked an adoring hand across the surface of it, being ever so cautious not to damage the picture further. He studied the photo thoroughly, every fine detail, every blissful memory.
‘What’s that?’ asked Billy, rather bluntly.
Charlie immediately snapped out of his daydream and quickly placed the photo back in his pocket, deciding to ignore the question.
‘So, who is she?’ asked Charlie.
‘She who?’
‘When I had you tied up back at my tent, you asked… ‘Where is she?’’
The words struck a chord. Suddenly a young woman’s face flashed across Billy’s mind, too fast for him to make out any real detail. An excruciating pain immediately followed, hitting the young man hard. He went dizzy and placed a hand to his forehead. He rubbed at his eyes, and staggered around the cabin in puzzlement, blinking rapidly. Charlie cautiously approached him, intrigued by the flare-up. He decided to continue.
‘And you said… ‘he looks just like you.’ Who Billy? Who looks just like me?’
All of a sudden another face appeared. Small, young, a boy. But as quickly as it arrived, it was gone. Billy winced, the pain increased tenfold. He took a few faltering steps backwards, tripping over himself. Charlie watched on, almost pitying the boy.
‘My oh my,’ said Charlie softly. ‘You are a complex young fellow aren’t you.’
Outside, Specks, finally finished with what he was doing, frantically scurrying back to the passenger carriage, unravelling the electrical cable as he went. Yankee slammed the door behind him. The squad were quiet as the grave, and the mood was dour. Everyone was as kitted out as they could be, especially the brothers. Yankee had his trademark sub-machine gun around his back, two pistols holstered round his waist, and a rifle with bayonet blade gripped firmly in his hands - something he and his brother seldom used. Doodle was much the same, his only considerable difference being his own trademark shotgun round his back and his pistols being comparatively larger than everyone else’s. No one had anything good to say, so no one said anything. And in a heavy silence they positioned themselves along the inside of the carriage, each at a shooting hole, their rifles slotting through and aiming out. They were as ready as they ever could be. Specks sat himself down on the last remaining bench, next to a lone crate of hand grenades. He was breathing fast, sweaty and nervous, and clinging onto the blasting cap, which was attached to the electrical cable that led outside - it would appear that if he had done his job correctly, he had a nice little surprise in store for the Nazi-wolves.
Back in the cabin, Billy had backed himself into a corner. He was a wreck, poorly hiding his cowering and confusion with trembling hands. He looked on the verge of completely losing control.
‘I don’t know who you are. I don’t even know what you are, or where you came from,’ said Charlie, speaking with tenderness and taking a few cautious steps closer. ‘But I can promise you this.’ His voice was gentle yet resolved. ‘I don’t know the reasons you can’t remember anything before the crash. But, and listen to these words very carefully boy… if I find out that you are one of ‘His’ projects, even if you don’t know it for yourself, eventually… I will have to kill you.’
Billy looked up at Charlie, his eyes tearful. He wanted to reply, he really did, but before he could open his mouth to speak the unmistakable spine-tingling howl of the Nazi-pack echoed throughout the land. Far off in the distance, well beyond the sight of the isolated s
quad, the pack of Nazi-wolves emerged from the darkness, drooling and slobbering at the thought of the attack. Time was up.
The Shoebox Pursuit - Part 1 - Monsters and Machines Page 8
