Michael Spradlin - Blood Riders

“I suppose not, sir,” he said.

“Why is that?”

Chee shrugged. “Maybe it is just how I was raised,” he said. “I grew up in New Orleans. I am… my grandparents were… from many cultures. My grandmother Annabel was a former slave, born in Haiti. Her husband, my grandfather Lu Chi-it was misspelled on the deed of the first property he was allowed to buy-was from China; my mother’s father was half Cajun and half Mexican, and my other grandmother was a full-blooded Creek Indian.”

“So you’re saying…” Hollister said.

“I’ve learned from many cultures. What may seem strange to someone is not so strange to me,” he said. “Some believe when we die we are gone. Others say there are ways for the dead to return, as spirits, and through voodoo, which is a type of witchcraft my grandmother Annabel often spoke of. My grandfather Lu Chi believed death was a doorway. It could be opened and closed and walked through both ways. There are many ways of understanding and examining the other worlds we call heaven, hell, the afterlife. Some are different, some are the same, but it all depends on the culture and your point of view. But if the question you are asking me is if I believe in these things, my answer is yes. And hasn’t what we’ve seen given proof to it?”

Hollister smiled. Chee had talked to him about something personal for almost an entire minute. It might have been the longest conversation he had had with his sergeant. He looked at him with a rueful grin.

“Well, did all those grandparents teach you anything about understanding women?” Hollister said.

“No, sir, I don’t think any culture has an answer for that question, sir,” Chee said.

Hollister thought he might be joking, but the expression on Chee’s face was always the same so it was hard for Jonas to tell.

“Shaniah has told me some things, about other creatures, like these Archaics, witches, and what she called wolf people and-”

“Werewolves,” Chee interrupted.

“Yeah, werewolves. Bad enough I’ve got super-strong, nearly indestructible Archaics on my ass, now I got to go to sleep at night worrying if Monkey Pete or somebody else I know is going to turn into a wolf at the next full moon and come after me like I’m a walking pork chop.”

“I don’t believe Monkey Pete is a werewolf, sir.”

Hollister gave a derisive snort. “How can we be sure of anything?”

“Well for one, Dog would know, sir. And he likes Monkey Pete.”

“Dog would… of course. Dog would know. Damn dog is probably the smartest one of us on this damn train,” Hollister muttered. “Anyway, it’s past sunrise, I should have relieved you. I’m sorry about that, Chee.”

“No worries, Major. I don’t sleep much anyway,” Chee said, almost cheerfully. “Besides, I think Monkey Pete is ready to show us something.”

Hollister started toward the door of the car, but Chee stopped him.

“Major, since we are on the subject of witches and wolf people and whatnot, I feel there is something I must tell you,” Chee said.

“What is it?” Hollister asked, slightly surprised. This was the first time Hollister could remember Chee offering an opinion or a statement without being asked.

“The woman, Shaniah, you are with her now…” Chee hesitated. Hollister said nothing, realizing there was no sense in denying it. Shaniah had been right. Chee knew.

“Go on,” Hollister said hesitantly.

“She is different. Not just because she is an Archaic, but even among them, she… has power,” he said.

“What kind of power?” Hollister asked.

“I’m not sure I can explain it, sir. She could kill us easily if she wanted to, but she has not. In fact, she has gone out of her way to help us. At great personal risk. Yet she is holding something back. I do not yet determine what it is. She is dangerous. I wish I could tell you why this is, but I can’t. I simply know it. She is not like the Archaics in some important way. It may be the very reason she is here.”

“I’m sure she is holding something back, I don’t doubt it. But she doesn’t seem dangerous to me. I… she… when…” Hollister stumbled over the words.

Chee held up his hand. “Do not worry, and do not try to explain, I understand your confusion. But, Major… I will be watching her,” Chee said.

“I guess that’s probably not a bad idea,” he said.

“And, Major, if I see she is… if she looks to be ready to betray us, to turn on one of us for any reason or to threaten you in any way, I will kill her.”

Hollister looked at his young sergeant, knowing the man had just told him something that had been hard for him to say. Hollister would not belittle him by arguing the point.

“I understand. Now, let’s go see what Monkey Pete has to show us.”

Monkey Pete was proud of what he’d pieced together. As Chee had seen earlier, he had taken two of the spare flywheels for the gear assembly on the engine and created an axle out of a spare piece of pipe. The cart was about four feet wide, and he’d apparently stripped some planks of wood from inside the car and made a platform about six feet long.

The metal wheels were thin and weren’t likely to travel well in the soil, so Pete wrapped them in several layers of rope to thicken them so they would roll more easily over whatever surface they needed to travel.

He had bolted one of the Gatlings to the cart. The surface of the platform stood about three feet off the ground so the gun could swivel with a 360-degree field of fire.

A Fire Shooter was also strapped to the cart, along with several boxes of ammo, silver, and wooden and holy-water bullets. The cart itself looked lethal just sitting there, and for a second Hollister let himself feel encouraged. They were going in against an enemy more powerful than anything he’d ever faced. But they could be killed, and he might just have the firepower to do it. But then he pushed the thought from his head. No use getting cocky. It would only get them killed.

Jonas checked his pocket watch.

The information he had on the Clady mine was sketchy. Mostly some railroad documents and a one-page report Pinkerton had been able to scrounge up and telegraph to him.

It wouldn’t be like Absolution. The mine here had been closed for years. There were a few decrepit buildings left and then the mine shaft. The majority of the Archaics would probably be in the mine, until the sun went down. If he were Malachi, he would come at them again, once it was dark. But it would be a different approach. He would try something to draw them away from the train, maybe setting it on fire. Two problems with that approach: first, everything outside of the train was steel or iron and wouldn’t burn, and second, he wouldn’t know Hollister and his band would be in Clady already waiting for them.

Shaniah stepped out of the train and looked over Monkey Pete’s newest contraption. Hollister could tell she was still angry with him, ignoring him completely at first, and instead turning her attention to the cart. After studying his creation for a minute she shook her head in amazement, but smiled. “It pains me to say it, but I think what you have done here, Mr. Pete, is found a way to kill many Archaics.”

“Well, ma’am, no offense, but I hope so,” Monkey Pete said. “Major, I had these in the armory, and I thought they might come in handy.” He pointed to two wooden cases sitting on the cart. Stenciled on the side of each case was the word DYNAMITE.

Hollister smiled. “I think we might find a use for it.”

Hollister looked at his watch again. It was now after 10 A.M. According to the map it was just over twelve miles to Clady. It was also mostly uphill. Hollister wanted to be in position well before late afternoon, when the sun went down behind the mountains, in case some Archaics might move about in the hours before the actual sunset.