David Healey - Rebel Train

“Partners? You’re a whore! Hell, you’d take me on as your partner and then sell me out to the first bunch of Yankees we came across. Just give me what I want and you can come with us — maybe we’ll even let you have some of the money.”

She relaxed, and Fletcher interpreted that as compliance. He threw one arm across her chest to keep her pinned down, put the money down, and fumbled at the hem of her long dress with his free hand.

Nellie began to struggle. Her movements seemed weak and awkward. Fletcher laughed.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel as she slipped a long and gleaming stiletto from her sleeve. The blade looked wickedly sharp. The train whistled three times, and then they were swept into total blackness as the train raced into Indigo Tunnel.

He tried to move but his arm was tangled in the folds of her dress. Fletcher felt the tip of the knife probe between his ribs and then plunge deep, burning, slicing, seeking his heart.

He screamed.

Then Fletcher collapsed among the boxes and baggage, a dying man.

Sunlight again . They were out of the tunnel. Nellie stood and straightened her clothes. Some of Fletcher’s blood had splashed onto her dress, but that couldn’t be helped. She reached down, pulled the knife from the captain’s twitching body, and wiped the blade on his coat before slipping it back into her sleeve.

The train had not stopped. Nellie wondered what was taking Hazlett so long. The mutiny had come as a surprise. She had hoped that when Hazlett stopped the train, she might at least be able to escape with some of the money while the raiders fought among themselves.

She knew that to leap from a speeding train in this rugged country would be suicide. Still, she might not have a choice. There was no way she could trust Hazlett if his mutiny succeeded — he wouldn’t share any of the money with her. After all, Sergeant Hazlett might not be happy that Fletcher was dead, and even Nellie had to admit she was afraid of Hazlett.

But if the train did not stop, it meant Hazlett had failed. Somehow, Colonel Percy, Flynn, and that boy, Benjamin, had beaten the mutineers. Well, if it came to it, she would much rather deal with Flynn. The Irishman was cunning, but she felt she could trust him. He had a certain sense of honor. The thought made Nellie smile to herself. Honor among thieves? She didn’t know about that, but at least she and Flynn understood each other.

Nellie hid the sack of money in a corner, stepped around Captain Fletcher’s body, and moved toward the door leading back to the passenger car, wondering what she would find.

The truth was that she didn’t care about the war, the Union, or the Confederacy. She just wanted to be rich, and now she would have to wait a little longer.

Flynn returned to the passenger car and found Colonel Percy busy tying up John Cook, who lay with his battered face to the floor. He could see it hadn’t been an easy fight. One of Percy’s eyes had a bad gash at the corner and a split lip dripped blood into his sandy beard. Johnny Benjamin stood nearby, his Colt trained on Cook and a murderous look in his eye.

“I had some help,” Percy explained, nodding at the boy. “It’s all I could do to keep him from shooting Cook.”

“I don’t know why you stopped him,” Flynn said. He grinned down at Cook’s bruised face. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Go to hell, Flynn,” Cook mumbled.

“Why, those were Sergeant Hazlett’s very last words to me.”

“What about Hazlett?” Percy asked.

“You might say he lost his head.”

Before Percy could ask for any details, Nellie emerged from the back door of the car. Flynn spotted the blood on her bodice and rushed toward her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously.

Nellie shook her head and slumped into one of the bench seats. Flynn knelt beside her. “It’s not my blood,” she said.

Flynn glanced at Percy, who shrugged. Benjamin spoke up: “I saw Captain Fletcher follow her into the next car.”

Nellie nodded. “I ran out to get away. There was shooting, everyone was fighting. I went into the baggage car to hide. Captain Fletcher followed me. He wanted to — well, it was awful. I had to defend myself.”

If Flynn had not known better, he would have believed her. Nellie obviously had taken advantage of the commotion by trying to make off with the payroll cash. He guessed Fletcher was dead because he had tried to stop her. Flynn remembered the touch of Nellie’s knife against his throat and almost felt sorry for Fletcher.

“You killed him?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It couldn’t have happened to a better man,” Flynn said. “You done good, Miss Jones, and I’m glad your honor remains intact.”

“Flynn, those are hardly words of comfort,” Percy said, looking annoyed. The colonel was no fool. He had long since guessed that Nellie was not an innocent Baltimore belle, but that made him more disposed to be kind to her. Percy had a weakness for whores.

“You’re right.” He patted Nellie on the shoulder. “There, there, girl. You’ve been through a lot.”

The look in Nellie’s green eyes could have frozen water. Those eyes were probably the last thing Fletcher had seen in this life, Flynn thought.

“Now what, sir?” Benjamin asked the colonel. “I was wondering about the money.”

“Damn the money!” Percy exploded, losing his temper. “We’re not bandits, son. We’re soldiers and we’re going to follow orders. We do our duty. That’s what soldiers do. There are still eight of us, and that’s plenty enough to get the job done. Our orders are to get President Lincoln to Richmond, and that’s just what we’re going to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Benjamin stammered.

Percy shot a quick glance at Flynn. “There. Will that make your goddamn Colonel Norris happy?”

“It will, Colonel. It will at that.”

Duty. To Flynn, it was a word for drawing rooms and politicians, newspaper editorials and fools. Percy, he knew, was just enough of a Southern aristocrat to believe in the concept of duty. He looked again at Nellie, who had a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. There was a world of difference between himself and Percy. On the other hand, he and Nellie knew that words like duty had no place in the real business of life.

A train whistle startled them, the sound cutting the air like the screech of a hunting hawk. They rushed to the windows.

“The Yankees are right behind us!” Benjamin cried.

“They can’t be that fast,” Percy said in disbelief. “That train was barely in sight just a short time ago.”

Flynn gauged for a moment the passing trees and scenery, and did not like what he saw. “We’re slowing down, Colonel,” he said. “That’s why they’ve caught up to us.”

“Damn,” Percy said, noticing it himself. “I believe you’re right, Flynn. I’ll head up to the engine to see what’s wrong. I want you and Benjamin to work your way back to that boxcar we picked up back at the depot in Kearneysville. You know those railroad ties in there? Drop them on the tracks behind us. See if you can get them to jam under that other engine. Wreck the sons of bitches.” Percy turned to Nellie and gave her a courtly bow “Pardon my language, ma’am.”

Flynn doubted that Percy’s plan would work. “I don’t know, Colonel. It’s like throwing sticks at a bear.”

“All we need is time, Flynn. Just some goddamn time! If we can hold out a little longer, we’ll be closer to the rendezvous. Then it will be the Yankees who are on the run. Throw the ties at them. We’ve got to try something.”

“Yes, sir.” They started to move. Flynn stopped. “What about Cook here? You want me to throw him off the train? He might jam up that other locomotive about as good as a railroad tie.”