The Directives (34 page)

“It doesn’t go very fast, ma’am,” Butter replied patiently. “I promise to be careful.”

Reluctantly, Betty strapped Hunter in the secured car seat, the baby cooing when she shook the device to insure it was safely attached. She rattled it again, more to entertain Hunter than to test the connections.

Slim set a large duffle bag on the buggy’s floorboard. “Miss Terri, you, the baby, and I will ride back here. Butter wants to peddle. He claims it will be a great workout, and quite frankly I think he needs the exercise,” the cowhand winked.

“He does seem a little out of shape,” Terri went along. “What’s in the bag?”

“Kit for the baby, water and snacks for us, and a little helper for me… just in case.”

Terri, grunting at Slim’s use of the word “kit” for Hunter’s diaper supplies, raised her eyebrows. “A helper?”

Slim reached inside the duffle, withdrawing a tactical 12-gauge shotgun. “Just in case, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m ready when you are. I want to see this marketplace everyone keeps bragging about.”

“Me, too,” Betty chimed in, “But I’ll walk, thank you very much.”

“I’ve assigned one of the men to escort Miss Betty,” Slim reported. “He’s also been warned that she’s widely known as a big spender, so he’s prepared to haul assorted parcels and bags back to the coach.”

Everybody laughed, including Betty, who seemed proud of her reputation. “I’m just a gal who recognizes a bargain when she sees one,” she responded.

After hugging the older woman goodbye, Terri and Slim climbed in the back with Hunter. Butter, ever the cowboy, mounted the cycle’s helm as if it were his trusty steed, and began peddling. It took the big man a few moments to get used to the strange machine, but soon enough, they were flying down the streets of Galveston.

“It’s like a magic carpet,” Terri grinned, loving the sensation.

The Strand was less than 10 blocks away, the mile passing quickly with Butter’s legs pumping relentlessly at the controls. As they progressed, the Alliance team began to
notice more and more people strolling along the sidewalks.

Some carried small bundles of a variety
of items, a few more industrious types maneuvering small carts or wagons filled with goods. Terri noticed clothing in one such hauler; another appeared to be transporting bags of salt.

The fragrance wafting on the island breeze drew her attention next. The distinct aroma of smoldering hickory as it smoked meat, coupled with the
unique scent of fish filled the air. She realized they had to be close to the exchange.

With the islanders now thickening into
a crowd along the street, Butter steered to a heavy utility pole and announced, “This looks like a good place to chain our limo.”

After unloading, Terri hefted a wide-eyed Hunter into her arms and said, “Don’t tell daddy, sweetheart, but momma’s going shopping.”

A few blocks later, Terri could indeed see what all the fuss was about. Just like Meraton, tables, booths, stalls, and even a few blanket-stores were everywhere. As they began touring the ever-more crowded streets, she spied the anticipated assortment of goods, as well as a few items that were unique to the seaside community.

What stood out most to the chairwoman was the variety of seafood. Oysters, packed in salt rather than ice, were common here. Fish of all varieties, shapes, colors, and sizes were also plentiful. Many appeared to have been already smoked for preservation.

Terri practically squealed with delight when she happened across the first shrimp. Turning to Butter, she announced, “I love shrimp cocktail, but I forgot to bring along anything to barter with.”

Slim nodded knowingly, reaching inside the duffle and producing a small bag of ammunition. “I’m sure they’ll accept these.”

Terri proceeded to haggle with the old man working the booth, the homemade cocktail sauce actually costing her as much as the six shrimp. “I grow tomatoes and spices in my little garden,” the vendor explained. “But to really give it flavor, you need peppers, and those are rare these days.”

Moving to the side, Terri p
eeled her first bite, dipping it in the small plastic tub of red sauce. “Down the hatch,” she said to her escorts, and then plopped the delicacy into her mouth. After chewing for a moment, she grinned, smiled, and then frowned.

Waving her hand to blow air into her mouth, she croaked “Water… hurry… water,” to Slim who immediately unzipped the duffle and produced a small bottle of clear liquid.

Terri gulped several mouthfuls, and then wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” a concerned Slim asked.

“I’ve never been better,” she replied, plopping a second crustacean into her mouth. “It’s just been a while since I’ve tasted anything spicy. These are wonderful. You have got to try a bite,” she offered.

An hour later, they finished touring the expansive area, Terri absolutely inspired by what she saw. “We need more of this,” she noted to Slim. “Every Alliance town should have a market. We can start hooking them together once we get electricity and fuel. People can take what’s plentiful in one area and trade it in another.”

A strong breeze blew down the street, the gust prompting Slim to glance toward the sky. “Starting to cloud up a bit, ma’am. You mentioned something about showing Hunter the ocean. If we’re finished here, it might be a good time to head that way.”

On the return trip to the bicycle-taxi, Terri stopped and held Hunter in front of a small display of children’s toys
. “What draws your eye, sweetie?” she cooed to the child. “Help mommy pick something so you can have a souvenir from our trip.”

Hunter reached for a small, stuffed bear, c
omplete with a t-shirt that read, “I love Galveston.” It cost Terri two cartridges to acquire the memento, but she didn’t care.

The wind had grown
blustery by the time they arrived at their transportation. “I’m glad you’re the one peddling into this headwind,” Slim teased his friend.

Butter shrugged, producing the key and unlocking the contraption. “Next stop, East Beach,” he replied happily. “It’s a few miles from here, so sit back and relax. Enjoy the scenery.”

Bishop was back on top of the railcar as they pulled away from their third stop. Just like the previous two stations, there had been a brief exchange of passengers and freight. About the only thing interesting at this junction was the addition of a 14
th
car, the choreographed switching and coupling from a side-rail holding the Texan’s attention.
I always wondered how they did that
, he thought.

Noting the new flatbed was piled full of split timber, he asked the passing Gomez, “Is that wood to fuel the train?”

“No, that’s our primary export to Galveston. They have plenty of fish and oysters, lots of water and salt, but there’s hardly a tree on the entire island. According the stories I’ve heard, they smashed and burned every spare piece of furniture for firewood before we started running the train.”

After Lady Star was topped off with water from a hand-powered pump, they were again on their way.

From his elevated position, the Texan could identify a bend ahead. As they had progressed south, the woods on both sides of the track had been thinning, each passing mile allowing him to relax just a bit more. He knew that if he were going to rob the train, he’d prefer the cover of dense foliage.

The combination of the new, heavy freight car full of fi
rewood, the water, and the curvature of the tracks combined to keep their speed low. It all came together for Bishop just as he recognized the first outline of a man near the rails.

“Grim, heads up. I don’t like this. East side… near that big bush.”

Before his partner could look, the engineers slammed on the brakes. A quick glance ahead confirmed the Texan’s suspicions; a barricade of heavy logs blocked the tracks in front of them. “Shit,” Bishop hissed, throwing the safety off his rifle and going prone on the rooftop.

They came out of the forest, at least six shooters running bent at the waist. The first shot zipped over Bishop’s head as the locomotive came to a halt. The Texan centered the front post on the closest man’s chest and fired.

Grim’s weapon barked next, his first shot causing one of the bandits to double over and fall.

The trackside
raiders didn’t charge the train, however. Taking cover behind a small mound of earth or the closest tree, they seemed content to simply snipe at Bishop and Grim. Given the accuracy displayed so far, Bishop wasn’t very concerned.

“This is it?” Bishop shouted at Grim over the din of gunfire. “This is all they’ve got?”

The Texan glanced at the other side of the tracks, thinking he would find the primary attack coming from that direction. There was nothing but scattered pines and scrub.
This doesn’t make sense,
he thought.

After the exchange of a few more shots, Bishop looked forward at the cowering engineers. “Back up the train!” he yelled. “Put her in reverse
, and back out of this ambush. Go at least a quarter of a mile.”

“It will take a minute,” one of them shouted back.

Bishop nodded his understanding just as a bullet tore into the metal roof of the car, the round impacting no more than two inches from his head.
I need to get down from here
, he determined.
They’re finding the range, and I’m too exposed.

He went for the small hand-ladder, thinking of climbing down and then moving off to flank the shooters from the north. He glanced back along the length of the iron horse, wondering where Gomez and the rest of the red bandanas were. Movement caught his eye at the last, recently added car, a chunk of wood flying off the load.
What the hell?

That first projectile was soon joined by another, and then another. Bishop stopped his de
scent, completely puzzled why the logs were jumping out of the car like popcorn flying out of a pan. He then saw an arm appear, followed by a tarp being pulled back. He inhaled sharply when their faces appeared, covered in handkerchief masks. At least 10 men came boiling out of what had moments ago been a simple load of timber.

“Grim! That last car we just took on is a Trojan horse! It’s full of shooters!” Bishop shouted to his friend.

Before Grim could digest the words, Gomez and the other guards began running toward the engine from their station at the middle of the train. Bishop tried to wave and warn them, but it was too late.

Enough of the hidden bandits had exited their hide to engage the security detail from behind. The first volley of shots took down two of Gomez’s reinforcements.

Shocked by the surprise attack from the rear, Gomez and his remaining man scurried for any cover they could find. The man dove under the train, his choice a life-ending mistake as the engineers finally got Star rolling backwards. His screams were heard over the gunfire.

Bishop, still on the ladder, reversed his direction as well, deciding the high ground was the better tactical position. He re
ached the roof, and then dashed toward the back of the train, bounding to the next car as their backward speed increased.

He wasn’t the only one who realized the high ground was the superior option.

Two bullets tore through the air as he landed from his hurdle. There was no cover, no place to hide, so the Texan took a knee, aimed, and began firing at the three men moving toward him from the Trojan car.

The movement, vibration, and distance didn’t bode well for accurate aim, the front post of Bishop’s iron sights difficult to hold on target. He started spraying and praying.

One of the attackers went down on his second shot, the other two scrambling to lie prone.

Bishop started to do the same thing, thinking going low would allow whoever was the best shot to win the shootout, but the appearance of more heads
mounting the ladder changed his mind.

Despite the train now rolling in reverse at a considerable speed, Bishop rose up and charged toward the attackers, randomly firing a round every few steps in a weak attempt to keep their heads down. He advanced three more cars before going flat and exchanging several shots with the ever-increasing number of foe at the back of the train.