Mr. Shivers

“Yes,” said Pike. “So if it’s happened before then things are different this time. Oh, yes. But I doubt the whole thing. I doubt it very much.” He snorted and spat. “This is child’s foolishness. We have business to do. Come back to the camp and rest.”

Pike walked back toward the little sea of fires. Connelly watched him, then looked up at the moon. After a few minutes he left.

They awoke on the morning of their departure and traded for scraps among the other freight rats. They held stilted conversations over bogwater ditches and flaming oil cans and as the sun reached the top of the sky they moved out to where the train would pass through. They hid in the brush and readied their grips and watched for the numbers on the engines. Theirs was the second. They bolted out, sprinting through the grit and smoke, and managed to climb up onto one of the last few cars. They walked down its edge like tightrope walkers, jimmied open an empty grain car, then stowed themselves away in the musty dark.

They stayed as quiet as they could. Roonie said softly, “I once heard of a few ’bos that got caught in an empty grain car. The railroad man found out about it and filled it with grain anyways, laughing. They drowned in it.”

“I heard the same damn thing, only it was a cattle car,” said Hammond. “They loaded the cattle in and the hobos were crushed. It’s crap. No one does that. Not really.”

“No?” said Roonie.

“No. If they want anything they want your money. Not your blood.”

“The train is still a dangerous mistress,” said Pike.

Roosevelt grinned. “All mistresses is dangerous. ’Specially when they find out they’re just mistresses and not the main event.”

Pike shook his head, bemoaning the state of the world.

Monk took out a pack of cards. They took turns playing gin rummy and five-card draw for corn kernels they found. Connelly watched and began to nod in sleep in his corner, lulled by the throb of the wheels. As he drifted off he heard a distant thump and snapped awake.

He held a hand up for silence. Roonie began to speak, but Lottie grabbed him. Connelly pointed up above them, then cupped his ear. They listened carefully.

Footfalls. Someone was walking over the car before them. Several people, from the sound of it.

Then they heard voices, just barely audible over the sound of the wheels and the wind.

“… not seen anything yet,” said one voice.

“We will.”

“We been over most of this train careful as fuck all. How are you so sure?”

“He said they’d be here. I believe him.”

“And how is he so sure?”

“What? Are you doubting him? Is that it?”

“N-No,” said the voice, frightened. “I’m just wonderin’…”

“Well, wonderin’ is a bad idea with him.”

“-I-I know. But still…”

“Listen, if they’re following him there’s only one engine they’d take, that’s why, and it’s this engine,” said the other voice. “So shut up and do your job. Come on. Help me over this gap.”

Scuffling sounds from the corner of the roof. The boards above shuddered and seemed to bend, sending spirals of dust down among them. There were grunts, and then the weight increased.

“Here, is this one empty or full?” said the voice.

“Don’t know. Probably empty. Check it to be sure.”

They looked at one another. Pike leapt to his feet as silently as he could and grabbed the handle of the trapdoor in the roof and held on. There were more footfalls from above, and then grunts as someone pulled.

“It’s locked.”

“How do you know?”

“ ’Cause it ain’t coming up. Must be full, then.”

“That don’t mean… Wait.”

“What?”

“Shh!” said the other voice.

Drops of sweat ran down Pike’s face as he hung from the ceiling. Connelly moved to look through the cracks in the ceiling and he saw something iron black and shining, something in a man’s hand.

He waved frantically at Pike. Pike looked at him, confused, and Connelly made the motion of cocking a gun and waved again.

Pike’s eyes shot wide and he dove away, crashing into the corner.

“Bastards!” shouted one of the voices. “They’re in there!”

For a moment there was nothing. Then the boom of a shotgun crashed through the car and a shaft of sunlight ripped into the dark, a gaping hole right where Pike had been hanging. Splinters of wood flew like chaff and Connelly saw Monk roll away, his head dotted with blood. Roosevelt dove for cover as well, his pack falling to the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” shouted Monk.

Connelly staggered to the door and began trying to undo the wire they had used to shut it. Harsh pistol snaps rang out and more holes began appearing in the ceiling. Something cracked by Connelly’s head. Roonie cried out, clutching his forearm.

“Out of the way!” Pike roared. “Out of the fucking way!”

“Shoot!” Connelly heard himself say. “For God’s sake, someone shoot back!”

The shotgun roared again, this time clearly aimed at Connelly’s voice. He felt splinters fly and a rush of air behind his back as slugs and buckshot bit through wood. It was like a hot tidal wave had passed him by.

“The gun!” shouted Hammond. “Rosie, your gun!”

Roosevelt came to life, crawling forward on the floor and grabbing his satchel, trembling hands digging through it. Someone laughed harshly above. There was a click as some deadly piece of machinery slid home, then a new wave of gunfire. Everyone sought cover again as the shots rent holes in the boxcar and the air. Roosevelt tumbled to the corner again and the gun slipped out and spun across the floor.

Connelly looked back up and saw the pistol beside Lottie. She gaped at it in terror, uncomprehending.

“Lottie!” he screamed. “For God’s sake, Lottie, do something!”

She looked at him, then again at the pistol. She fumbled forward and grabbed it. Connelly’s fingers sought the tangle of wire again.

“Motherfuckers,” muttered one of the men above. There were so many holes in the roof Connelly could see them clearly now. Pistol round casings rained through the ceiling, twinkling and golden. Lottie stared at the pistol in her hands, then looked up uncertainly.

“Fuck’s sake, Lottie, shoot! Shoot!” shouted Hammond.

She shuddered, then lifted the pistol and began firing through the roof, careful, measured shots in spite of her fear, one, two, three. Someone bellowed in pain up above and there was a crash as the men tried to move out of the way and still stay on top.

The last bit of wire came undone and the car door slid open. Connelly recoiled from the sting of the smoke, then braced himself and vaulted up and out, looking over the top of the car.

Two men were lying on the roof of the car, one injured and holding the inside of his leg, near the crotch. The injured one held a .38 in his free hand, the other clamped over the spreading stain on his leg. The other man had a shotgun and was trying to load another two shells. He looked up and saw Connelly and tried to snap the shotgun shut and butt him in the face. Connelly reacted faster, reaching forward and grabbing the man’s ankle to throw him from the train. He pulled and felt the man slide forward, the man’s face changing from snarling rage to shock. Connelly’s shoulder strained to the point of popping and he felt Hammond grab his waist to brace him against the door. The corner of the boxcar dug into his belly as he dangled on the side of the car and someone somewhere screamed.

Connelly gritted his teeth and pulled again, harder. The gunman slid forward more and he shouted, “No! No!”