James wound his way up the stairs—his torso moving like a turret, rotating the pistol which led him toward the wooden deck where the body lay. Once he hit the landing, the muzzle remained in the lead, but his walk seemed casual, travelling dangerously close to careless. Lessons don’t last long with him.
James traipsed around to the front side of the deck and stopped even with the fractured pine slat that felt the initial force of Thomas’s shot. James took an awkward step across what Thomas could only assume was the body and squatted down. Glimpses of James’s head appeared and disappeared as he shifted about.
“Is he dead or what?” Thomas called over to him.
“Oh, yeah. He’s gone for sure.” The dead man’s head filled the gap in the broken slats as James leaned him against the railing.
“What are you doing?”
James’s face popped over the top board. “I’m checking him for anything useful.” His tone made the answer seem so obvious.
“We don’t have time for that now. Just throw him over. We still have to deal with the lady.”
James did as he was told—the head, shoulders, and arms were first, then the torso, and finally the legs spilled over the edge, allowing the body to plummet three stories to the ground below. A dull, murderous thud caused Thomas to cringe. “That’ll teach him!” James seemed to cheer as he spiraled his way back down the stairs, smiling the entire way. “No one messes with the S.A.!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Thomas withdrew from behind the cupola. “Have some damn dignity!”
“What?” James threw his hands up in protest. “He asked for this.”
“Whatever. Just…” The idea of others infiltrating their operation changed his mind from arguing with James. He took his binoculars across the yard once more. All appeared as before, but as they found out earlier, that didn’t count for much. He didn’t have a choice but to be satisfied for now. “I got you covered. Find out how to get that lady out of there.”
James begged the woman to stop crying and to focus, but her weeping had taken her past the point of control. He tried the door, but it was no use. He came to the side closest to Thomas and tried yanking the padlock from that one too. It wouldn’t budge. “Where’s the key, lady? Come on!”
“He keeps— He keeps it on him. It’s…” Her voice trailed off, once again succumbing to her bawling.
James didn’t wait for her to compose herself. He took off, running to the body and rolled it over. He plopped one knee onto the ground and began patting down the cargo pants. His hands invaded the dead man’s pockets—only air from each. “Come on lady, where is it?” James spoke forcefully.
“A necklace. It’s on his necklace,” she shouted.
This is taking too damn long. Thomas stood and slung his rifle back onto his shoulder, but from the corner of his eye, several shadows slipped between a group of boxcars in the distance. “James, find cover!”
He hid back behind the cupola and steadied his rifle across it. Adrenaline surged through his body. All he could imagine was that the rest of the dead man’s party had caught up with them—drawn to them by the gunfire. But how many?
He tried to calm his breaths, his rifle rose and fell with each one. Damn it, focus! “You see anything?”
No response from James. It was strangely silent. Even the woman had found a way to smother her cries.
A minute passed and nothing. Crawling back from cover, Thomas retreated, sliding down the backside of the caboose and onto its platform. The butt of his rifle knocked out the small window above the door handle. He reached inside, twisted the lock, and entered.
Halfway through the cab, he crawled into the lower portion of a set of bunk beds, his eyes barely cleared the lower portion of a side window as he tried to assess the situation. He took a deep breath, calming himself, trying to refocus. Gonna need a clear shot. He punched the muzzle through a window then slunk down into the bare mattress for a moment. A few breaths—the smell of spoiled food and unwashed clothing taken in.
He popped the barrel of his rifle even with the broken window and toward where he suspected the threat would be advancing, but the open area between the trains remained clear. Still no sign of James. Where is he? With his eyes floating overtop the rifle’s sights, glancing from left to right, he caught glimpse of another figure rushing across the yard. Is that a…? “Oak!” He shouted, as if he had hoped to freeze the figure in time.
“Hickory!” The correct response to his challenge word.
Cautiously, he looked on as three men in Second Alliance Guard uniforms appeared, two from between some rail cars and another just opposite them.
A great sense of relief swept over Thomas. They had been fortunate. The fact James hadn’t been gunned down was a huge stroke of luck, and the negligence he exhibited to his own well-being would have to be addressed at a later time. But for now, they would focus on the woman and appreciate the reinforcements.
“False alarm, James!” Thomas shouted upon exiting the caboose. James shuffled out from where he was set up, and the five men exchanged handshakes in the open yard.
“Damn, Eric. Almost gave me a heart attack,” Thomas said.
“I could say—“
“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” James said it without hesitation. His tone was uncalled for, embarrassing. “They should’ve told us a crew was coming through here.”
Same team. “Relax, man.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Eric winked at Thomas. “We were escorting a group of scavengers back and had to reroute through here. What’d you guys get into, Ricard?”
“Nothing major,” James once again spoke out of turn. “A little fire fight. Took some guy down. About to—”
“Get me outta here!” The woman started in again—the small talk probably signaled to her that it was safe to be known. She pounded on the walls of the train, trying like hell not to be ignored.
“What the—” One of the other Guards seemed startled by the commotion.
“That’s what kicked this whole thing off.” Thomas dragged a hand down the side of his face, knowing, dreading the fact that she still needed to be dealt with. “Dead guy”—he pointed in the direction of the body, although it couldn’t be seen—“has her locked up in there for— who knows why.”
“You going to need any help with her?” Eric asked.
“We’re going to pop it open, so if you have the time to set up a quick perimeter while we deal with her, it wouldn’t hurt. Just have to find the key, right James?”
“Yeah, we got it.” He gave everyone a half-hearted salute and made his way back over to the body.
“And when she gets out?”
“Shit.” Thomas huffed. “Don’t really know. Just seemed like the right thing to do. I guess we’ll let her gather what little she might have and direct her to L.P.H. Fortress. If she goes, good, if not… I don’t know. That’ll be on her.”
“Well, go ahead and get her out of there. She can come with us if she wants.” Eric directed his crew to their positions. “We got you covered,” he said, as he peeled off in the opposite direction of his men to complete the perimeter.
Thomas made his way to the other side of the red boxcar where James already had his hands inside the deceased man’s shirt. James turned to Thomas as he approached, revealing the dog tag chain within his hand, pulling it taut from around the neck. He appeared unforgiving, his grasp continuing to tug, ensuring that each steel ball dimpled the skin before it eventually gave in and snapped loose. “Here,” James said, tossing the chain over to him. Thomas swiped it from the air, confirmed a key was attached, and scurried over to the boxcar.