The Directives (33 page)

“I see,” Bishop replied. “Have you tried to leave this station and then load up in secret further down the line?”

The major was growing annoyed by the questions, answering with an exhalation. “Yes, we’ve tried that a few times and even had limited success the first time. The crooks caught on though. Now, we think they have spies at each stop, watching the passengers carefully.”

“Why don’t you load up every trip with your men?” Grim asked.

“Because there wouldn’t be room for the paying customers if we did. This entire operation runs on a shoestring. If we take up too many seats, then the trip costs more than it brings in.”

Bishop rubbed his chin, not understanding the system and wondering about his specific job. “How much does it cost to ride the Texas Star?”

“Ten percent of any freight being hauled each way. For commuters, passage rates are bartered. Most people purchase their tickets with food of some sort. Ammo is also a common trade item.”

Grim spoke again, “So if I want to take three chickens to Galveston for trade at the market, how much would my ticket be?”

“If you can carry it onto the
locomotive and you don’t take up more than one seat, then it’s not freight, but luggage. The conductors, the guys who do the bartering, have exchange lists. I think a chicken buys two round-trip tickets right now, but that could change anytime. Last week, I know a one-way ticket was three 5.56 cartridges, or two .308 Winchester.”

“So what’s our job?” Bishop asked.

“You’ll start off riding shotgun on the train. It will be leaving in an hour or so. My crew chief for today’s run is Gomez. He’s in charge. Do as he says, and you’ll get paid tomorrow evening after the return trip.”

“When was the last time the bandits hit the train?” Grim asked.

“We’re due,” the major replied. “As a matter of fact, we’re overdue. Anything else?”

The Texan couldn’t help himself, “How’s Hoss’s nose?”

Bishop expected a reaction of either anger or concern from the major. What he saw was fear flash behind the man’s eyes. It was subtle… barely detectable, but the Texan was sure. “He’ll be fine. And as I told you yesterday, I wouldn’t turn my back on him for a while. He tends to hold a grudge.”

Bishop and Grim, sensing their orientation was over, turned to leave, but the major wasn’t finished.

“One more thing,” he called. “They call me Major Misery for a reason. If you fuck up, I will avalanche an ass-load of misery on your head. Is that clear?”

After leaving the HQ tent, Bishop looked around to make sure Grim and he were alone. “Hang on a second,” he said, digging in his pack. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

Grim grunted at the use of the term, automatically moving to block Bishop from any passersby. “Going to call the kids and let them know we’ll be late for supper?”

Pulling out his radio, Bishop huddled over the small device and grinned. “Something like that.”

After making the call, the two Alliance men found Gomez exactly where he was supposed to be, leaning against one of the rail cars and talking to a group of the red bandanas.

“Ah. The two new guys,” he greeted.

“That’s us,” Grim replied.

“How much ammo do you have for those carbines?”

“We were told it would be supplied,” Bishop countered, not liking his new foreman from the start.

“Well, shit,” replied Gomez, peering at the other men with a sly grin. “There goes my bonus for today.”

Reaching into the nearby boxcar, the crew chief pulled out a cardboard container of old GI magazines. “This is all military grade, green tip. Take six mags each. Bring them back full unless we’re hit. Don’t get caught with any in your pockets. I have to account for those.”

After Bishop and Grim had filled their vest-pouches with mags, Gomez continued, “Since you’re the new guys, you get to ride up front. I want one of you over the hitch on the platform, the other on the roof of the third car. If someone shoots at you, shoot back. If you see anything suspicious, fire.”

“Why the third car?” Grim asked. “Why not all the way at the front on the engine?”

“There’s an unwritten rule with the
thieves. They don’t shoot up the engine or the fuel car. If they did, there wouldn’t be any more trains to rob. We, on the other hand, don’t put men up there to act as targets.”

Their new boss continued on, issuing a few other instructions, hints, and procedures. He also gave both men a
pair of red kerchiefs. “There will be six of us on this run. That’s a light crew, and our robber friends will most likely know our number.”

After another few minutes of questions and answers, Bishop and Grim started to head for the front of the locomotive, but Gomez wasn’t quite done yet.

“Just so you know, there’s another reason why I want you up front. The guys up there are always killed first. Keep your eyes open.”

Twenty minutes later, the Texas Star sounded her whistle twice. With a bump and a clack, a jerk and a pull, the old steamer began he
r journey south. Bishop, perched on the roof of the third car, loved the sensation. The morning air felt wonderful blowing across his face.

“This is just the shit!” he shouted down at Grim below him. “I’d do this for free.”

The ex-contractor was beaming ear to ear as well, “No shit, Captain. Why didn’t we get this assignment before now?”

Pulling a string of 13 cars, Lady Star could only reach 30 miles per hour, but to Bishop it seemed like he was racing on the wind. There was just something about a train.

It felt like little time had passed before the engineers controlling Lady Star began slowing her down. Steam blew and hissed from the wheels, a jet stream of grey and white as they were applying the brakes. A few moments later, Bishop spied people edging both sides of the tracks up ahead. They were making their first stop. Lady Star announced her arrival with two blows of her whistle.

Bishop didn’t know the town’s
name and wondered if it were big enough to claim a spot on the map of the Lone Star State. Gomez had told them that their job was to keep people away from the engine and fuel car during the stops. Bishop climbed down from the roof, quickly joining Grim on the ground and watching for anyone who might be a highwayman, or who seemed intent on wandering close to the locomotive.

There were at least 30 people waiting to board, while only a handful got off at the stop. Bishop
observed everything from rabbits to candles being carried aboard, most of the passengers a little giddy over their trip to the market. It was a system that seemed to work – a system that appeared to facilitate trade nicely.

Fifteen minutes later, Star’s shrill whistle again echoed in the Texas dawn, Bishop and Grim scrambling
to their positions as the iron horse again hesitated and bumped until making speed.

This time, Grim wanted to ride on top. “Only for an ounce of your paycheck,” Bishop teased.

Terri sat in the front seat next to Slim, the vantage offering her a chance to sightsee as their caravan traveled south out of H-town.

They rolled down Interstate 45, passing fields of rusting, abandoned cars. Terri, after 20 minutes of the depressing scenery, was beginning to wonder if she’d made a bad decision. The entire south side of Houston had been devastated by fire, the charred remains of churches, boutiques, fast food restaurants, and master planned communities visible to the horizon.

Mother Nature had started reclaiming the territory; grass, weeds, and vines sprouting patches of green through the mangled timbers and piles of black
ened brick and block. It was an empty, desolate scene.

The military had cleared a single path through the worst of the traffic snarl, most of the old cars and trucks having run out of fuel. Some had been pushed aside, others gathered in empty fields just off the roadway.

After a time, they began to see signs announcing NASA and the Johnson Space Center. This area hadn’t burned, but suffered from abandonment just the same. “Guess those plans to colonize Mars are off the table for now,” Terri mused.

After Clear Lake and League City
, civilization thinned out, fewer empty businesses lining the road, the number of relic vehicles decreasing.

Slim guided the bulky
motorcoach through the mess, a single escort Humvee in front, with two pickups surrounding Terri’s temporary home.

As they continued south, Terri began to notice a change in the roadside foliage. Fewer trees, an abundance of grasses, and more than an occasional palm passed by the window. It was a welcome vista after the miles of horrific destruction.

The Galveston Causeway came into view, its span over the intercostal waterway and Galveston Bay visible from a few miles away. Soon, the motorhome’s engine strained as the heavy vehicle began the ascent to the apex of the bridge.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Terri was inspired by the view.

Royal blue water stretched into the distance on both sides, the island directly ahead. In the early morning sun, the counterbalance of sky and water was inspiring. She considered waking Hunter so he could see, but then realized he probably wouldn’t appreciate what mom was fussing over.

They drove down the causeway, descending onto the island, and soon were passing by normal-looking city streets. Like most of Texas, all of the businesses were closed, several boarded up with hurricane shutters or sheets of plywood.

But there were a few people on the sidewalks, including the first bicycle she’d seen in a long time.
Hunter is going to need a bike one of these days
, she thought.
All kids do
.

As a result of the previous night’s scouting mission, Slim had discovered what he thought was a decent hiding place for the motorhome. After traveling several blocks into Galveston proper, he turned and headed down a side street.

The warehouse came into view a short time later, one of the pickups already dispatching a man who rolled back a huge double-door into an empty interior. The cab became dark as Slim pulled inside.

“The coach will be safe in here, ma’am. I’ll station two men to keep an eye on it.”

Butter appeared at their side, adorned in beach shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and flip-flops. Terri swore she smelled suntan lotion. “Well, look at you,” she teased, “our very own surfer dude.”

Smiling, he pulled on a floppy, straw hat. “Your taxi awaits, ma’am.”

“Taxi?”

Slim pointed toward a 3-wheel bicycle arranged like the traditional Asian rickshaw, complete with padded bench seat and a small luggage rack in the back. “Yesterday, we saw a guy giving people rides in that contraption. We rented it for the day. Only cost us four MREs.”

Terri walked over and inspected her chariot, a broad smile crossing her face. “You guys are so sweet! This is going to be a great trip… I just know it.”

A few minutes later, Butter was strapping in Hunter’s car seat from the coach while Betty inspected his work, skeptical of the transportation
meeting her safety requirements.

“What if a car hits that thing while my Terri and Hunter are in there?” the frowning woman questioned.

“I haven’t seen any cars hereabouts, ma’am,” came the response.

“What if you have an accident… or hit a tree or something?”