she had had close contact with a human in an adversarial way, and she couldn’t say why quite yet, but Hollister was different.
She thought most humans, especially males, were ugly. Hollister was not. His face was full of lines and angles, sharply cut, and his eyes were dark. Had she been so inclined, Shaniah would have said they were mysterious, yet that was not exactly right. There were a host of things at play there, not just mystery, but intelligence, integrity, and maybe mischief.
Although she was certain the man-witch with Hollister knew what she was, Hollister had shown no fear of her. Chee had wanted to kill her without hesitation; she could read it on his face. But Hollister had resisted. He had spoken to her. Tried to draw her in.
She remembered him on the plains four years ago. He had fought so desperately to save his men.
Now as she pursued the train, she wondered what Hollister had discovered and what course he was taking. She knew he was going to find Malachi. Of that, she was sure.
Chapter Thirty-two
Hollister stood outside the rear door of the sleeping car, watching the landscape rush by. He was thinking about the woman. There was something in their encounter that had altered things, but damned if he could put words to it. She had upset everything. Chee was jangled up so tight he might gun her down the next time he saw her and that might just be the right thing to do.
What had happened when she looked at him was something he’d never experienced before. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. At the Point, he’d spent a great deal of time in New York City and he’d seen his share of gorgeous women.
Right after the war ended, he’d been invited to a party in Washington. It had been a grand affair at the White House and General Sheridan had gotten him an invitation. He’d been allowed to shake the hand of President Lincoln just three days before the son of a bitch Booth gunned him down in cold blood.
It had been the fanciest affair Hollister had ever attended. After four long years of war, people had been ready to celebrate, and the music, the food, the liquor, and beautiful women had been there in abundance. Some of the prettiest ladies he’d ever seen, in elegant gowns, with their eyes sparkling and their skin so clean and white it was like they’d been dipped in clouds. After months of nothing but the dirt, mud, blood, and gore of battle, the cleanliness of it had made his eyes hurt.
He spent a great deal of time dancing with the daughter of an Ohio senator. She had night-dark hair piled high on her head and ice-blue eyes. He’d even asked her father if he could call on her, but then Lincoln had been shot, and he and his regiment were sent South to finish up with Johnston and he never got back to Washington. Many times, as he’d lain awake on his bunk in Leavenworth, he’d thought of her and of that night and how much he wanted to see her again.
Tonight as the train whistled and picked up speed chugging out of Denver, he could not even remember the girl’s name. And as pretty as she had been, she wasn’t even in the same county as Shaniah. For the life of him, Hollister could not understand why this mysterious woman had affected him this way.
Part of him wondered if Chee had been right. If she was a Deathwalker, it was certainly possible she could exert some kind of control over him. Mix him up so he wasn’t thinking straight. Perhaps this was how these creatures captured their human prey, through some kind of control over their thoughts. He remembered how he’d felt back in Wyoming, with that tall freak advancing on him. He’d felt paralyzed and unable to fight back. Maybe that was what happened.
It made as much sense as anything, for he could not get the woman out of his mind. Closing his eyes and feeling the speed and power of the train move from his feet up through the rest of his body, he tried to clear his head. It was no use. Shaniah’s face floated in his consciousness.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, opening his eyes and watching the night rush past. “What the hell am I doing?”
Chee was right. The woman was trouble.
Clear of the city now, the train whistle sounded again and Hollister heard the steam shoot into the baffles on the engine. He was almost shocked at how fast it accelerated. He smiled. The woman might be trouble, he thought.
But my train kicks ass.
Chapter Thirty-three
They ran north through the day, running parallel to the Front Range. Hollister had no idea how fast they were going, but after about two hours they switched again and traveled due west, the elevation starting to rise. Hollister expected they’d be in Absolution by early evening.
The countryside grew more wooded, with pine and aspen trees coming nearly down to the tracks. They slowed as they traveled through a few towns and villages but before long, most of civilization was left behind. Hollister found Chee in the armory car, the hatch in the roof open, seated behind the Gatling. He looked up at the young man.
“Anything to shoot out there, Chee?” he asked.
“No, Major,” Chee said.
“Jonas or Hollister, Chee, don’t forget,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Chee mumbled.
“What are you looking for, Chee?” Hollister asked.
“The woman, sir,” he answered.
“The woman? Shaniah?”
“Yes. She’s coming.”
“Really? How do you figure? That horse she was riding looked fast, but I don’t think he could keep up with this train for very long.” Hollister pulled one of the Henrys from a rack and started loading it with wooden bullets.
Chee merely shrugged and Monkey Pete, entering the car, interrupted them.
“We’re fifteen minutes out of Absolution, Major,” he said.
“Monkey Pete, if you’re here with us, who exactly is driving the train?” Hollister asked.
“It’s got an automatic control system. Steers itself.”
“Really? And does it stop itself if there’s a missing rail or a cow in the way?”
“Yes,” Monkey Pete said, the expression on his face a mix of disgust and irritation as if he’d just been asked the most obvious question in the world. “Fifteen minutes, Major. We’ll be stopping at the platform in the town.” He left, returning the way he had come.
Hollister looked in surprise at Chee, who just shrugged. “I have no reason to doubt Monkey Pete, it is quite an amazing train,” Chee said.
“I’ll say,” Hollister muttered, returning to loading the modified Winchester. “Chee, I never did ask Winchester this, but I’m wondering about these wooden and silver bullets.”
“Sir?”
“Well, suppose we need to shoot something that isn’t a Deathwalker. What if we need good old-fashioned lead? Suppose I need to shoot Slater or one of his gun thugs, and these wood bullets don’t slow ’em down enough?”
Chee racked a round into the chamber of his Winchester. “Whether it’s wood or silver, I suspect it’s going to hurt, sir.”
A few minutes later, the train slowed, then stopped, as Monkey Pete had promised. It stood next to the platform, which appeared to be on the outskirts of town. The sun was moving behind the mountains to the west.
