The Boundless (11 page)

Before he can stop himself, Will glances at the peg jutting from Mr. Chan's floppy pant leg. Then he looks away, but not before Mackie has caught him out.

“Nah, he didn't fall off,” says Mackie. “He was blasting in the mountains with the nitro. Got his leg blown clean off. Least he survived. Gets to work inside now. Not like us. You know there's five brakemen killed every day cross this continent?”

“The boy doesn't need your sob stories,” Sticks says sharply. “And neither do I. For every mile of track we laid through the mountains, four of my countrymen died.”

Sticks hands a sullen Mackie an envelope marked with the Boundless insignia. “Get going and take that forward.”

“I'll see if anyone's heard about this funeral guard,” says Mackie. He pulls his jacket and cap from the pegs, takes a lantern, and leaves through the forward door.

“Don't mind him,” Sticks tells Will. “He has indigestion of the soul. If he were my son, I'd have let wolves raise him.”

Will smiles. He feels a lot better knowing his father will be getting a note about him, and the guard—and that Sam Steele will know too. He looks around the caboose, and up through the cupola windows, where he can see the full moon. The idea of spending a day in a caboose doesn't seem so terrible—in fact, he likes it. He could do without Mackie. But how many people get to cross the country in a caboose? It's almost as good as riding in the locomotive.

He isn't even aware that his eyes keep closing, until he hears Sticks say, “Why don't you get some rest?”

Will nods. He feels unaccountably heavy.

“You can have my cot,” says Sticks. “But if you don't mind, have a wash first. That sasquatch urine is potent.”

“Sorry,” says Will, walking unsteadily toward the front of the car. Behind a small door he finds a tiny washbasin and a hard bar of soap. He scrubs at his face, especially behind his ears, until his skin is chafed.

“There you go,” says Sticks, nodding at the cot. Will is touched that he's folded down the sheets for him.

Will takes off his shredded jacket and vest, then sits down and removes his only shoe. It feels strange settling into someone else's bed. His head sinks into the pillow; he pulls the blanket around his neck. Against his face gentle heat pulses from the stove. The sound of wind chimes wafts in from outside. The mattress is a bit saggy—nothing like the firm comfort of his bed in first class. But then the motion of the train, like some rough lullaby, works on him, and in moments he is asleep.

AN UNSCHEDULED STOP

When Will opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to understand where he is. He hears the musical trill of wind chimes. Beyond the caboose windows it's still dark. He sees Mackie in his cap and jacket, lantern in hand, talking quietly with Sticks at the desk.

“Why've we stopped?” Will asks, sitting up.

Sticks and Mackie both turn.

“There's a slow freight ahead of us,” Sticks says. “We're waiting for it to be shunted so we can pass.”

“Did my father get the message?”

“It'll be working its way up,” Mackie says.

Hopeful, Will asks, “Is there enough time for me to make it up front?”

“Could be. We were just going to wake you,” Sticks says. “Mackie's going to walk you up to the next guard, and they'll take you from there. You might make it all the way; worst case, you bunk in a guard cabin. I'd take you myself ”—he taps his wooden peg—“but I'm a bit slow.”

“Get your shoe on,” Mackie says to Will. “Be quick about it.”

Hurriedly Will ties the laces of his single shoe. Without the blankets he feels the cold again and shivers as he pulls on his vest and jacket. He's vaguely disappointed to be leaving the caboose. It's cozy, and he likes Sticks. He was looking forward to the stories the old guard might tell. He tries to brush off the dried mud his trousers have left on the bedsheets.

“Never mind that, lad,” Sticks tells him.

“Thank you very much for your kindness,” Will says.

The caboose guard claps him on the shoulder. “You're quite welcome, lad. Quick now, and with a bit of luck you'll finish off the night in your own bed.”

Mackie is already leaving by the forward door, and Will hurries after him, out onto the platform and down the steps to the gravel.

Despite the moon and stars, the night is startlingly dark. It takes him some minutes for his eyes to grow accustomed. His feet crunch in the gravel as he walks past one dark boxcar after another. Far in the distance he thinks he hears an impatient hiss of steam from the Boundless's engine—or it might just be the sound of the wind in the trees. He has no idea where they've stopped, or even what time it is; he forgot to check the clock before he left. He hurries to keep up with the sullen Mackie.

From the glowering wall of forest beside him emanates an oppressive silence, broken occasionally by a fierce scuffle of leaves. He thinks he catches the flash of eyes low to the ground. Mackie seems not at all concerned, and just keeps walking.

“Do you think there's bears in the woods?”

“Worse, probably.” Mackie doesn't even glance at him. “Saw a Wendigo around here once.”

Will's skin crawls. “Really?”

“Luckily, we was moving at the time. Threw itself at a cattle car. Nearly ripped the door right off.”

Will walks faster. The train stretches ahead in a long, slow curve. At regular intervals red lanterns hang from its side. Will remembers from his father that the brakemen hang red lanterns when the train's been ordered to stop, to send a signal all the way down the cars. When the train gets under way again, the lantern lights are green.

After a few more minutes Will sees a bright white light up ahead. This one swings.

“There he is,” says Mackie. “He'll take you on.”

Will can't say he's disappointed exactly, but he feels a bit apprehensive about meeting a string of strangers in the darkness. The two of them pass a few more freight cars. Will can see the other brakeman's tall silhouette.

Will still isn't used to his lopsided one-shoed gait, and when he stumbles on the rail ties, Mackie takes his arm to steady him.

“This the young gent?” says the other brakeman, walking to meet them.

“The very one,” Mackie replies.

In a sudden splash of lantern light, Will catches sight of a shadowed face with a nose that looks like it's been broken one too many times.

Will's throat clenches. “But—” He looks at Mackie in terror. He backs up, ready to run, but Mackie's grip tightens on his arm. “That's him!” Will cries.

Swiftly Brogan strides toward him. Something clenched in his hand flashes darkly. Will tries to wrench his arm free. Why won't Mackie let him go? And then some desperate instinct springs inside him, and he throws his full weight against Mackie. The brakeman staggers, nearly dragging Will down with him, but Will twists free. Half-blind, he runs back toward the rear of the train. He has no breath to shout for help. Brogan's boots crunch in the gravel behind him.

With his one shoe Will is clumsy, and he can barely see his feet.

“Key's all I want!” gasps Brogan. “Gimme that key, boy, I let you live!”

Will knows he's lying. He casts a wild look at the woods, five yards to his left, and doubts he'll make it in time before Brogan catches him. On his other side the train is an unbroken wall but for the gap beneath cars. The quick puffs of Brogan's breath are getting louder.

Will gives himself no more time to think, just throws himself under the train. The steel rails punch the breath from his belly as he lands atop them. Head against the gravel, he scrabbles furiously, the smell of creosote sharp in his nostrils. He's halfway through when a hand seizes his ankle and drags him back. He digs his fingers into the gravel, then grabs the rail and holds tight, kicking. His second shoe flies off, and he hears a curse as his foot connects with Brogan's face. Twisting, he kicks out again.

But Brogan grips his ankle and hauls him backward. Will plunges a hand into his jacket pocket and grabs the vial of sasquatch urine. With his thumb he forces out the cork. Half the contents slop onto his hand as Brogan gives another violent jerk, but Will splashes the rest of the liquid into Brogan's eyes. The brakeman curses and lets go to swipe at his face. Obscenities fly from his mouth. Will is free and hauling himself out onto the other side of the train.

He figures he has only a matter of seconds before Brogan comes after him or Mackie vaults over the couplings between cars. But for these few seconds Will knows he can't be seen.

He sucks in a breath, and in his stockinged feet runs full tilt away from the tracks. He hurtles through the wild grass and scrub and is among the trees. He crouches low.

Peeking out from behind a trunk, he sees a misty beam of lantern light stab the darkness. The beam sweeps up along the train, then down, and then Will hears a muffled curse. A second lantern joins the first. Mackie and Brogan murmur together.

Mackie, the scoundrel, knew all along! He and Brogan are in this together. And Sticks? How could he
not
have heard of Brogan? Unless Brogan changed his name. . . . Will holds his breath, praying they won't come looking. Mackie runs toward the back of the train, Brogan forward, both jabbing their lights like spears between and underneath cars, searching for him.

As swiftly as he dares, Will pads through the undergrowth, in the direction of the faraway locomotive, letting Brogan stay well ahead of him. Will wants to keep moving. Who knows how long the Boundless will stay here? If he can make it as far as the passenger cars, he can dash on board. Once he's among other people, he'll be safe.

Without his shoes he feels lighter, glad at least to be moving in the right direction. He's never known darkness could have so many shades: the sky, the train, the woods, the ground underfoot. He keeps an eye on Brogan's lantern up ahead and then throws himself to the earth as the beam swings suddenly toward him.

Will can't believe how far the lantern light reaches—and so powerfully. Like a living thing it seeps over the forest, and Will scuttles backward and presses himself against a thick tree. The swath of light edges closer, illuminating a rotted log, leaves, a crone-shaped bush that crooks a finger at him. The light is briefly eclipsed by the trunk Will hides behind, and continues on the other side before hesitating. Will holds his breath. The light seems to be getting more intense, joggling slightly, and then he hears the footfalls. Brogan is coming. Will doesn't dare make a run for it. All he can do is stay here and stay still.

Twigs crackle. A lantern handle creaks. Will thinks he can hear Brogan breathing; he imagines his lantern in one hand and the knife in the other. Abruptly the light goes out, and Will almost gasps. For a few agonizing moments he is completely blind, completely helpless. Silence. He needs to breathe but waits for retreating footsteps that don't come. He knows Brogan is just standing there in the darkness, waiting and listening.

Will must breathe. Through his mouth he inhales a small draught of air; to him it sounds like a wheeze. He bottles his breath, and listens harder, trying to divine the location of Brogan. His temples throb.

A single footstep, then a second. Will's pupils dilate. He can't tell if the footsteps are getting louder or softer, for everything in the night forest is amplified. Will sits forward, ready to bolt, already plotting with his panicked animal eyes a path deeper into the woods.

Farther away—the footsteps are getting farther away! He sinks back, tugging air into his lungs. He risks a peek around the tree, sees the killer's silhouette in the swinging light as he makes his way back toward the train.

Hunched low, Will hurries forward. He knows there are other brakemen posted along the train. There's a bunk cabin every forty cars or so. He could run to them, call for help. But how does he know he can trust any of them?

Another sickening thought breaks across his mind. The message to his father—Mackie wouldn't have passed it on.

There will be no help coming.

He keeps going, wanting to get as far as he can. In the distance come two short blasts. He knows the signal well: train leaving the station. He breaks into a run. He can't be left behind in the middle of nowhere! But what if he jumps aboard and meets another murderous brakeman?

Up ahead he sees a red lantern turn green. Then, one after another down the length of the train, all the lanterns go green. Couplings creak as the cars give a forward tug.

From within the forest something moves. Will looks over his shoulder and sees nothing. Undergrowth crackles. He remembers what Mackie said about the Wendigo, and runs.

In the moonlight the boxcars glide past, picking up speed. They have no platforms, no steps, only a set of rungs on the side, near the rear. Will locks his eyes on the closest set of rungs. With a burst of speed he grabs for the lowest one. The thin cold metal bites into his palms. Kicking off, he reaches higher and slams his feet onto the lower rungs.