Cam - 03 - The Moonpool (51 page)

“Any more trains behind you?” the major asked, shifting his reins to his left hand as the horse danced around.

The engineer shook his head. “We heard ole Jeff Davis took one south two nights ago, but ain’t nothin’ comin’ down thisaway that I know of. Jig’s ’bout up in Richmond.”

“All right, then,” the major said, and raised the big Colt Dragoon he’d been holding down beside his saddle horn, pointed it at the engineer’s belly, and fired.

The engineer sat down hard on the steel grate of the engine cab, the wind knocked clean out of him, and this awful, ripping feeling in his guts. He grasped his midsection with both hands and felt the blood streaming. He was dimly aware of more shooting now, as that arc of cavalrymen also opened fire, shooting down the stunned soldiers as they sat in the grass or leaned against trees, all their weapons still back on the train. He bent over to look down at his middle, lost his balance, tumbled off the engine steps onto the cinder bed, and then rolled into the grass. His knees stung where he’d hit the track bed, but then that pain faded, and he relaxed into the sweet feel of that long, cool grass against his cheek. His middle was going cold now, and his legs were buzzing with pins and needles.

He looked back up at the train, his vision shrinking into a red-hazed tunnel. He saw a single white face at the nearest window in the front car, a young face, no more than a kid, maybe fifteen, sixteen. One of the guards? He tasted salt in the back of his throat, and it was becoming really hard to get a breath of air.

Why hadn’t that kid gotten off the train? What was he doing in there among all those boxes, while his comrades outside were being slaughtered like beeves?

One of the horsemen saw the kid’s face and surged his horse forward, his black cap and ball pistol pointing at the window. The engineer heard the major’s voice call out, No. Not him. Leave that one be.

The horseman reined up. “
That’s
your spy? That
boy
?”

“Train was right here when it was supposed to be, weren’t it?”

“Yeah, but you said now. No goddamned witnesses.”

“There won’t be,” the major said, getting down off his horse. “But I need to know one more thing.”

Then the engineer heard the other horseman swear. He realized he’d been spotted, eavesdropping on their conversation. He tried to crawl up the bank, trying to get under the locomotive, but his limbs had turned to rubber. He thought he heard the Major say, Oh, goddammit, and then a bolt of lightning exploded in his head and he was gone to see the Baby Jesus.