Dennis Yates - Red Mountain

“Come on,” Robert said, putting his arm around him. “We need to get to the platform.”

They started to take a step forward. But Steven had lost all sense of balance and swayed back and forth before Robert could steady him again.

“There’s no way this is going to work, Robert. Just leave me here with the gun. I can try and hold them off for awhile.”

“Bullshit. You’re going with me. Now try hopping on your good leg the best you can and I’ll support you from the side.”

The train roared into the tunnel. Robert looked back and saw its light rim the silhouettes of the two men with a sickening glow.

He hugged Steven to his side, and together they managed to get a few more yards before the next bullet ripped into the Steven’s back and threw him forward, taking Robert with him. Robert struck his head against the rail and tasted blood in his mouth and saw white-hot sparks behind his eyes. When his vision finally cleared, he saw that the tracks had swallowed Steven’s legs up to his hips.

He raised the pistol and fired at the two figures behind them. This time he saw one of the men collapse onto the tracks while the shadow of the other dove next to the bank…

He slid over to Steven on his stomach and touched his shoulder.

“Steven. I need to get you out of here.”

Steven’s eyes were mere slits. His skin was pale and waxy. There was blood trickling from his ears.

“Can’t move…”

Robert edged up behind him and tried to pull him up, but Steven’s body was slack and heavy. He moved around in front of him, bent over and pulled up from Steven’s hips, but he was legs were caught and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then another bullet struck Steven in the throat, almost tearing off his head.

Covered in blood and bits of Steven’s flesh, Robert rolled away, screaming. Behind him, a man squealed with laughter.

Robert got up and wiped his face with his sleeve. He headed for the platform on shaky legs.

CHAPTER 29

An orange fireball rose behind them as they ran across the farm as fast as they could. The juniper and sage clung to their legs as if conspiring to slow them down. Fortunately the woman and child were able to keep up. Peggy hadn’t been able to come up with an alternative plan if they were in no shape to do so. They would have had no choice but to leave them at the camp while they tried to find help.

Two nights ago, Peggy and Connor had both observed glimmering lights far to the west. They decided it had to be the reflections of headlights on some highway, and it was in this direction they were now headed.

Another explosion lit up the sky behind them. Could it have been the other trailer’s gas tank? For a moment Peggy lost it. She spun around and jabbed her fist in the air and screamed like a banshee, until she noticed the frightened eyes of the others staring at her, reminding her that she needed to stay focused...

She wanted to believe Marsh was blown into a thousand pieces—the son of a bitch deserved much worse, but she’d take what she could get. And yet she knew better than to believe he was dead, for belief without proof was not a very reliable survival method.

Peggy had to assume that Walker Marsh was still coming after them. The worst thing she could do now would be to let down her guard.

She hoped the fire would draw someone’s attention from a distance. Maybe someone would call 911 and report it. As they moved further down the hill, she glanced back again at the flames. She noticed the guard’s tent had also caught on fire…

CHAPTER 30

Robert jumped onto the wooden platform and immediately flattened himself against it. Despite the threat of the train close by, the man was walking across the trestle with his rifle, firing wild shots.

Splinters of wood flew around Robert’s head. Two posts eventually exploded and the dry-rotted railing toppled over the edge and crashed far below.

Completely exposed now, he gripped the metal anchors that remained fastened to some of the planks and slid over to the far end of the platform to avoid being hit. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a steel cable spanning down from the trestle. It angled across the tops of trees before disappearing into the dark.

The shooter turned to see the train coming and cursed. He shot desperately at Robert’s hands and missed. Then he turned and walked off the trestle and stood near the side to watch it pass.

I’m going to die…

When the train rolled onto the trestle, Robert saw something he couldn’t believe. A dark figure had sailed down from the bank and landed on top of the shooter. Like a spider pouncing on a bug.

The trestle shook violently. Robert felt his hands slipping on the steel anchors. He could no longer hold on. As he fell backward he reached for the cable but it was much further away than he’d judged.

So far away that it seemed like miles…

He fell through darkness, unable to do anything more about it, thinking to himself that maybe this was the way things were meant to end…

CHAPTER 31

When Marsh peeled himself up from the ground he noticed his cowboy hat lying next to him, smoldering.

His hands were red and blistered, and when he moved his eyes up his arms, he saw that all his hair had been singed off. The heat damaged wristwatch he wore said it was after midnight, suggesting he’d been out cold for at least twenty minutes.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and stared around at what was left of the trailer. An awful stench of burning tires and plastic assaulted his nose. Something weird caught his eye and he took a few steps closer before bending over to look.

It was Stick’s skinny arm, torn away from the elbow, the socket a polished ivory. Flesh bubbled on the surface of the limb like the split crust of an apple pie when it’s been in the oven too long. Marsh dug his toe beneath the limb and kicked it into the cauldron of fire still raging within the collapsed trailer.

“You’re fucking dead cunt!” he screamed at the darkness mocking him outside the glow of spitting flames.

He went inside the house and looked for his car keys, realizing how badly his skin was burned. In the bathroom he stared at his face in the mirror. His flesh looked like a crab does after you boil it—so livid red it almost glowed. Marsh bent down and rinsed his face in cool water, but it did little to help the raw hurt. The first aid kit was inside the van that had gone to Portland, so there was nothing he could put on it to give himself some relief.

He went and checked to see if he had any phone messages.

There were none.

Strange, he thought. Perhaps Crain’s final contest was dragging out longer than they had figured it would. Or maybe there’d been some complications. Bad luck always came in threes. No matter. All bets were off. Marsh was going to have to clean up this mess now and make sure the women and children disappeared before they found help.

He wasn’t too worried about them getting far. In fact, he was already enjoying the idea of hunting them down himself. The cool night was still very young. If anyone heard gunshots they’d assume he was just shooting coyotes and wish him well.

It was high time the Crain bitch got what she had coming, even if Stick was only worthless highway trash. There was nothing he hated more than a tricky woman. Oh yes, he was going to save her for last. Introduce her to a world of pain she’d never forget.

Most importantly, Marsh felt he now deserved the fortune of gold he was promised. He was getting tired of waiting, of living in the old run down house and not having any money. If he didn’t pay off his debts soon, nosy bill collectors would be showing up at the front door, creating even more problems he didn’t need.