The yard appeared deserted, nothing worth noting within his normal sight. He pressed the binoculars to his eyes and glassed along the viaduct and the hills that surrounded them. Thickets of trees crept up the hillsides from the western side of the rail yard. Several pitched roofs and apartment buildings peeked through the canopy. There would always be more hiding spots than time to discover them all. Maybe James is right. While Thomas was paranoid, examining every inch of the world around them, James leaned against the train taking every breath as if he would never run out.
“You seeing anything up there?”
“Nothing.”
“Didn’t think so. You keep worrying about every what-if there is, you’re going to go crazy.”
“Still, I don’t like walking blindly. Let’s stay up top if you’re so convinced there’s no one out here.”
“If you say so.” James hesitated before climbing up the rungs.
Thomas figured from this vantage point, they’d be able to identify and react more appropriately to threats. Others engaging them in the yard seemed the more logical risk now—someone keeping constant watch over the rail yard seemed farfetched. Honestly, who has time to sit there and watch this place all day? Thomas’s shoulder slumped. Me apparently… but how many groups are organized like us. I’m doing a job when I’m in the guard post.
They moved across the tops of the train—their steps surprisingly quiet as long as they minded their footing. The steel they walked upon was silent. It was only as they hopped from one to the other that a thud would be driven down into the chamber of each car, but that never carried far enough to matter.
“What’s that?” James threw his fist into the air, signaling a full stop. The two of them dropped into prone, shooting positions facing opposite ways. “What is that?”
“I don’t hear anything.” Thomas held his breath while concentrating on finding what had captured James’s attention. There it is. He couldn’t pinpoint the position, but a low, moaning sob—faint and impossible to gauge its distance—carried through the wind.
“You don’t hear that crying?” James asked.
“Yeah, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.” Thomas listened intently. A woman sobbing could be heard—her cries broken up by sharp gasps for air, but still no telling from where it came. “Someone’s definitely out here,” Thomas said while scanning the area over the sights of his rifle. “Anything on your side?”
“Nope”
“Let’s get down.”
Thomas maintained watch over the yard as James slid down from the top. Thomas pulled the rifle’s strap over his head and joined him on the ground. Strange. The sound of sobbing disappeared. “I’m heading to the other side.” He raised his boot up and over the coupling between the cars, his pant leg momentarily catching on a pin. Damn! He stumbled forward but caught himself before falling.
“You alright?”
“Cover me for a sec.” Thomas untied the laces to his boot and fixed the blousing of his pant leg, pulling, stretching the fabric and stuffing it into the mouth of the boot. “Go ahead and stay on that side just in case, but don’t move beyond the next car until we’re both there.”
“Sounds good, man.” James gave him a thumbs up and transitioned to his pistol. “Ready?”
Thomas brought his rifle to his shoulder, snapping it into place—muzzle leveled and straight ahead. Good to go. Scanned to his right—nothing—he continued to the next car, listening in between each step. He could hear James moving forward, the small stones skittering across the tops of the others as he walked. Thomas peered between the next gap—James’s pistol first, then his head peeked around the corner. They both confirmed each other’s presence and set out again—coach by coach.
The knot of train cars began to unravel itself, leaving large breaks in the maze similar to a meadow in an expanse of crowded forest. Now I’m hearing music! A sharp, tinkly sound played. The notes cascaded in broken sequence from what sounded like an old music box. He swung between the next pair of boxcars, his back against the smooth steel, waiting for James to join him.
“You hear that music?” James whispered as he shifted into the gap. He looked to Thomas while keeping his pistol pointed toward the ground. “Any ideas?”
“No idea where it’s coming from.” Again, Thomas scanned the yard. No signs beyond what little they could hear. “Get on this side. We’ll stick together and start clearing these cars.”
James stepped over the coupling and the two set out—Thomas at point and James as cover. They kept their steps upon the railway ties, secretly searching though this game of hot and cold. His ears remained open so that they might lead him closer as the music grew stronger. “There!”
A boxcar by itself, red with vented sides. The flickering of yellows and orange from a fire barely visible from the space beneath the boxcar signaled to Thomas—a slight trail of smoke which dissipated to nothing as it hit the wide open air. Got her now! The two of them retreated behind the caboose of an adjacent train where they remained out of view from their target.
“The red one.” Thomas thumbed over his right shoulder.
“I see it,” James said, his eyes beginning to climb with the faint trickle of smoke. “How many you thinking?”
“Sounds like a woman, but I can’t imagine more than one or two. Any more than that and they’d be louder than this.” Thomas glanced over his shoulder. “It has a door on this side, maybe one on the other, not sure, but we should move into positions on both sides.”
James confirmed with a simple dip of his chin.
Now he’s in the zone. “I’ll take position on top of this one here. You work your way around and climb on one of those over there.”
Another dip of James’s chin.
“When I’m ready I’ll give you a signal. Fist up means hold. Waving my hand forward means it’s time. If there’s a door on your side give me a thumbs up.”
James doubled back and left Thomas’s sight as he disappeared around a rail car forty yards behind him. Thomas bent down and scooped a handful of rocks into his cargo pocket. We’ll see how they respond to these once he gets over there. He climbed onto the train and low crawled into position behind the cupola of the caboose, bracing the rifle along the top for support. He eyed the scope while adjusting the distance. The fire still gave their target’s position away.
Thomas watched James slither his way along the scattered trains—in and out of view. James occasionally searched for Thomas when he could. I got you covered. Keep going. Thomas’s attention floated between the target and watching James. He kept him in the corner of his eye as the thoughts of what they were about to do expanded.
Friend or enemy? God, I hope this is simple. I don’t want to deal with some woman and her kid. Someone just trying to make it in the world. Give us something simple. Maniac with a gun. Make your intentions known. Let us react, and we’ll end it and move on.
James slunk in behind the control box of a chemical tanker on the other side of the red boxcar. His angle seemed perfect as he held his pistol steadily toward the target. With his left hand, James raised a thumb into the air. Door on his side, and he’s ready to go. Thomas took another cautious look across the yard to ensure another situation hadn’t crept up on them. Still—only the wind moved through the valley.
Thomas waved his hand forward and observed James prop both elbows across the control box. Why the hell isn’t he using his rifle? Damn it! Whatever… He scraped some rocks from his pocket, rose quickly, and tossed them, striking the red boxcar—several clinks as the rocks pittered against its side. A sporadic series of thumps within the freight car then silence. Yep, at least someone is in there.