David Healey - Rebel Train

Flynn had to crouch to keep from toppling off. Branches from trees overhanging the tracks lashed at him, trying to sweep him off the roof. Cinders and hot ash from the Chesapeake’s smokestack stung his face and eyes.

“Sure, and you picked a fine place to make a last stand, Hazlett,” he shouted over the wind.

“Go to hell, Irish.”

“Ain’t I there already? What do you call this place?”

Hazlett fired again. The bullet sang into the mountain air.

“Listen to me, Hazlett. You would never get far with that money. The Yankees are right behind us. Take a look.”

Hazlett glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the pursuing train had come into sight. The Yankee locomotive moved like lightning. The Chesapeake was running slower than before, although Flynn wasn’t sure why. Although the enemy’s train was still in the distance, Flynn could see it would gain steadily on them. It was only a matter of time before the Chesapeake was overtaken.

“How long do you think we’ll last once the Yankees catch up?” Hazlett shouted in reply. “We ain’t got a goddamn prayer if that happens. They’ll hang every last one of us that don’t get killed in the fight.”

“You won’t have to worry about it, Hazlett, you bastard. I plan to kill you first myself.” Flynn raised the Le Mat, but couldn’t hold his arm steady enough to get off a shot. Hazlett raised his own pistol and fired two shots. The bullets cracked past Flynn’s head, sounding like the flick of a bullwhip.

The hammer of Hazlett’s gun fell on an empty chamber. He tossed the useless pistol away and rushed at Flynn with a snarl. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet. Flynn was busy shoving his revolver back in his belt, trying to get his hands free, when Hazlett butted him in the belly.

The two men fell and rolled. Flynn feared they would go right off the edge of the roof, but he managed to spread his feet, and that braked them. Hazlett tried to bite his ear, but Flynn snapped his own head up and caught Hazlett in the nose. Blood streamed out and flecked them both.

Hazlett hit him so hard on the chin that Flynn’s vision swam black and red. He shoved, elbowed, got free of Hazlett.

Both men got to their feet, struggling to keep their balance. Hazlett had the advantage because his back was to the wind, while Flynn faced the front of the train. The rush of air and hot bite of cinders and smoke made his eyes blur. He had to turn his head sideways just to catch a breath.

The train rounded a bend, and the car leaned sickeningly beneath them. Hazlett’s position gave him an easier time of it, and he cackled as he watched Flynn scramble to keep his feet. Hazlett’s face was streaked with blood from his damaged nose, making him look like a crazed man. He launched himself at Flynn, who hit him with a perfectly timed punch that sent Hazlett reeling.

As the train came out of the bend, Flynn spotted the tunnel ahead. Dark as midnight inside, with a keyhole of daylight just visible at the other end. On the map Flynn remembered it was marked as Indigo Tunnel. Hazlett, his back to the tunnel, didn’t see it.

“Let’s make a deal, Hazlett,” Flynn shouted above the wind, trying to keep Hazlett right where he was. “You and me can split the money.”

Hazlett spat away a mouthful of blood. “Not on your life, Irish. I’d as soon burn it as give half to you.”

“You need help now,” Flynn said. “Fletcher and Cook don’t stand a chance against Percy.”

“Percy ain’t so tough,” Hazlett said. “Looked like he was about beat when I left.”

The tunnel loomed closer. The Chesapeake sounded three short warning blasts, but Hazlett paid no attention.

Just a few more seconds . “Think of it, Hazlett. You and me — we’re the only ones who can take that money and get back home alive.”

“Go to hell, Irish!”

“You’ll beat me there, you bastard!”

Flynn threw himself flat on the roof.

Puzzled, Hazlett stared down at Flynn. Then he turned around.

Too late.

The black mouth of the tunnel was just ahead, with the stone arch four feet above the top of the train. Hazlett had just started to scream when the archway slammed into him and cut his cry short.

Above the noise of wind and train, Flynn heard a sickening thunk . Then the train plunged into darkness.

Flynn took a deep breath. He could see nothing but the sparks shooting from the smokestack. The smoke, trapped in the narrow confines of the tunnel, nearly choked him. He held his breath so he wouldn’t suffocate. The noise was deafening and his eardrums felt ready to burst. He couldn’t see the arch of the tunnel, but sensed it was just overhead, so he kept his face pressed tightly against the roof of the car.

Just as suddenly as the train had rushed into darkness, it burst from the tunnel. Flynn shifted his weight carefully and began making his way back toward the end of the car and the ladder he would climb down to the platform. He took his time, hardly able to believe that he had been standing on the bucking rooftop just minutes ago. Tree branches swept dangerously close to the roof, trying to pluck him off. He had survived this long on top of the train. He didn’t plan to be killed in the last few moments on this dangerous perch.

Flynn worked his feet over the rooftop and onto the ladder. He managed to get a look behind the Chesapeake , and was startled to see the enemy’s train shoot from the tunnel, wreathed in smoke and steam. He cursed, and then he muttered a quick Hail Mary. A prayer now and then never hurt.

Nellie was in the baggage car filling a sack with bundles of Yankee greenbacks when Captain Fletcher came in. There was only a dusky light in the car, but it was enough for him to spot her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fletcher asked. He appeared surprised to see Nellie taking the money.

“I’m making myself rich,” she said. Nellie turned to him and smiled, although her voice sounded a little desperate even to her own ears. “I could use a partner. How about you? Let’s take this money and get off the train.”

Fletcher hesitated. He was tempted. All the men on board knew her for what she was, and who could say what besides the money a whore might share with him? Just as quickly, an image of Hazlett’s evil, sneering face filled his mind. He shuddered at the thought of what the sergeant might do to him if he tried to cheat Hazlett out of the money.

“No partners,” Fletcher said. He moved until he was almost touching her. She wore some kind of perfume that reminded him of lilacs. Fletcher knew it was just a whore’s cheap scent, but it was maddening.

“Help me,” she said, her voice pleading.

The money was not for her, he thought. But she didn’t have to know that — not yet. Hazlett would soon be stopping the train, but there would be time enough. After casting his lot with Hazlett and helping to oppose Percy, Fletcher felt wonderfully alive, invincible, and he reached out and snatched Nellie’s sack of money away. Life, he thought, was about taking what you wanted.

“There’s plenty of money here for all of us,” Nellie said.

Too late, she recognized the expression on his face. She had seen that same leer a hundred times in various squalid rooms along the Baltimore waterfront, and on tougher faces than Fletcher’s. She hated that expression, and Nellie knew that if she managed to take the money from the train, she would never have to see that look of lust again.

He moved toward her.

She tried to dart around him, but Fletcher grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against a pile of luggage.

“Damn you!” She spat at him.

Fletcher was too intoxicated by the day’s excitement even to notice. They had outrun the Yankees and kidnapped Abraham Lincoln. He had seen men die. He had lived, and now he would take whatever he wanted, whether it was the money or this whore. He held her down with one hand and dangled the sack of money aloft in the other, laughing.