The Directives (35 page)

Grim appeared at Bishop’s side, the big guy bellowing “Coming in!” as he landed onto Bishop’s car and rolled into position. In a few moments, two rifles were pumping rounds towards car thirteen.

“Nice day, ain’t it?” Grim said as he popped a full magazine into his weapon
.

“Little humid for me,” Bishop repl
ied, letting lose with a quick three-round burst. “We need a good downpour to cool things off.”

Grim centered on a man rising to his knees and fired, the impact sending sparks and metal splinters flying, inviting the target to rethink his aggressive advance. “I didn’t see the forecast for the rest of the week. Are we expecting rain?”

Three bullets thwacked into the roof between the two Alliance men, both of them scooting backwards a few feet to mess with somebody’s aim. “Yeah, I think we’re in for light showers tomorrow. Then it’s supposed to get hot again,” Bishop replied between shots.

Grim sensed the
raiders were gathering for a rush. Switching his weapon’s selector switch to full automatic, he sent a punishing burst into the group. After watching one of the bandits fall screaming from the roof, he matter-of-factly replied, “Well, that’s good. My lawn could use a good dowsing. Is it supposed to come early or late? I was thinking about a round of golf.”

Again, the
attackers tried to rise as a group and advance, but Bishop was ready. His carbine barked repeatedly, sending withering, hot lead at the cluster and knocking down the man closest to him. “Damn,” Bishop snapped when his bolt locked back empty. “Terri’s been on me to clean the BBQ grill, or I’d go play a round with ya.” Bishop rolled to his side, pulling out a fresh box of pills and jamming them home. “But we both know an unhappy wife leads to an unhappy home.”

Grim kept up a steady rate of fire, but it wasn’t enough to keep the attackers from advancing to the next car forward. “I co
uld still make a tee time if you can get away. Does a body good to spend an afternoon on the links now and then.”

“They’re
getting closer,” Bishop observed, “We’ve got to think of something else.”

“No shit. You’re the captain around here. Any brilliant ideas?”

Before Bishop could answer, Gomez stuck his head up between the cars behind them. Bishop, seeing the movement, almost killed his boss. “Where the fuck have you been?” Bishop yelled. “Finally decide to join the party? We could use a little help up here.”

“I managed to jump on the train,” the crew chief screamed back, “But I dropped my rifle in the process.”

Bishop shook his head, wondering how in the hell some people managed to tie their boots in the morning. Right at that moment, the engineers began braking again.

“We need to abandon the locomotive, or they’ll kill us,” Gomez declared. “I’ve been robbed before. They’ll take the freight and anything valuable the passengers have, but nobody will die.”

“People have already died, you dipshit,” Bishop screamed back over the noise of Grim’s rifle. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

“Who gives a shit about a little cargo? I think we should jump off and let them have the train. There are too many of them.”

Disgusted, Bishop half-turned between shots and sassed, “Why don’t you go
find
a weapon? Maybe some of the passengers have managed to
not
throw down their rifles yet. Maybe one of them will loan a weapon to you so you can do your damn job.”

“Who the
fuck are you, giving me orders?” came the sure reply.

Grim, hearing the exchange, was clearly at his limit. Pulling the pistol from
his hip, he spun around and pressed the muzzle against Gomez’s forehead. “Go do as he says, you stupid fuck, or I’ll kill you myself. Now get out of our way!”

“Okay! Okay!”
the now-frightened foreman said. “No need to get pissy.”

After watching Gomez duck down, Grim returned to trying to hold off the advancing bandits. Before he could reengage, they charged forward, advancing yet another car closer.

The shortened distance translated into more accurate fire. More and more bullets were impacting closer to the two Alliance defenders. “This ain’t good,” Bishop declared. “We’re going to get overrun here in a bit. That… or run out of ammo.”

Grim had to think about Bishop’s comment for a minute, sending another string of bullets at their foe. Before he could respond, one of the attackers jerked as if he were being electrocuted, and then the report of a new, distant rifle rolled across the landscape.

“I think the kids have arrived,” Bishop smiled.

The bandits were confused, looking at each other and all
around, trying to figure where the bullet had originated. A cloud of red and grey mist appeared as another man’s head virtually exploded.

“Looks like Kevin has his rifle zeroed in pretty well. About damn time they showed up,” Grim commented, his own weapon adding to the mayhem erupting
on car nine.

Bishop added another few rounds himself, and then a thought occurred to him. “How do we know they are all on top with us? What if some of them are making their way forward through the cars?”

A troubled look crossed Grim’s face as he continued to pull the trigger. “Shit! That wouldn’t be good.”

“Looks like you guys have this under control,” Bishop said. “I’ll go clear the cars below.”

Bishop climbed down the ladder, dropping onto the platform, entering the passenger car a few moments later. He could hear Grim’s rifle finding steady work, but the rhythm wasn’t panicked.

The Texan passed through a cowering group of frightened passengers, most of the wide-eyed riders huddled on the floor. Keeping his rifle at ready as he made his way through the throng, he shouted for
everyone to keep down and as far away from the windows as possible. He exited out the back and was in the next car, again rushing toward the rear of the locomotive.

By the time he cleared the fourth car back, the shooting overhead was beginning to slack off. He found himself on a flatbed, climbing over the cartons of freight roped to the surface. Number six was another passenger unit.

He found the sixth unit void of bandits, and passengers. Reaching to open the door at the rear, Bishop was momentarily distracted by one of the windows exploding in a shower of glass. He crouched, scanned the area outside, and quickly determined it was nothing more than a random, misplaced shot. He opened the exit door and came face-to-face with a masked man. Before he could bring up his weapon, the guy threw a haymaker of a punch, landing the blow just above the Texan’s eye.

Bishop, stunned, didn’t even feel the impact as his back slammed against the floor.

Dazed, lying in the aisle, Bishop barely managed to bring up his legs as the robber dove through the air.

Catching the flying attacker’s weight on the soles of his boots, Bishop managed to use the guy’s forward
momentum, propelling his enemy over him, landing on top of a seat.

Trying desperately to reach his feet, while at the same time bringing his weapon to bear proved to be a mistake. Just as the carbine was coming up, the recovered foe kicked at the barrel so viciously that it broke the sling, sending the carbine rattling across the floor.
 

Again, a sledgehammer blow landed on Bishop’s jaw, the Texan staggering backwards with ringing ears and blurry vision.

Backing away while trying to recover, he was able to focus on the bandit’s face. Covered from the bridge of his nose down to his neck, Bishop noticed something odd about the man’s eyes. They were black and purple… almost as if he was staring at a raccoon with a mask. The thought would’ve have been funny if the guy wasn’t kicking his ass.

Stopping his retreat, Bishop weighed in on his foe, a series of rabbit punches landing on the mask. The counter-attack did nothing but piss
off his opponent further, a two-handed shove throwing the Texan against the railcar’s wall with enough force to numb his spine.

Despite the pain, Bishop was recovering from the surprise and shock of the attack. He was also getting mad.

Again, he attacked the oncoming thief, throwing punches that would disable most men, kicking with every ounce of strength left in his legs. He managed to back his foe up a few steps, the opponent instinctively retreating from the flurry of fists and boots headed his way.

Bishop landed his share of blows, but they did little to slow down the
aggressor. Much to his surprise, the bandit kept pressing Bishop back, one blow to the head causing his vision to go dark around the edges.

Knowing he wasn’t going to last long, Bishop finally reached for the fighting knife strapped across his chest-rig.

The man facing the Texan paused when he saw the drawn blade, reaching up to adjust his mask. Bishop inhaled sharply when he recognized his attacker - it was Hoss.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bishop panted. “Why are you robbing the….”

It all came together - a flash of realization racing through the Alliance lawman’s confused brain. Major Misery was skimming off the top by robbing the occasional load of freight. The insiders on the security team were playing both ends against the middle.

“I’m going to crush your throat and enjoy watching the eyes pop out of your head, you son of a bitch,” the big man promised. “You ain’t such hot sh
it if you don’t have room to squirm away.”

Bishop slashed at the charging bull, cutting deeply across Hoss’s shoulder and arm, but it didn’t slow the assault one bit. With his back against the wall, Bishop lunged through the air once and then again, trying to keep the huge man off him. Both attempts missed, contacting nothing but air.

On the third jab, Hoss deflected the strike, his block so powerful it knocked the blade from Bishop’s hand. The Texan’s last defense tumbled beyond his reach.

Hoss knew he had his prey now, stepping in close and swinging hard for Bishop’s gut.

Despite the body armor, vest, and pouches across his mid-section, lightning bolts of pain shot through Bishop’s torso. He swung back weakly, trying to stall death’s advance, but it didn’t do any good.

The Texan sensed his foe’s hands
closing on his throat, his mind screaming for him to punch and kick, but he was out of juice. There just wasn’t anything left.

The vise on his neck began to tighten, Bishop pulling hard against the two steel-like arms crushing his windpipe.

Hoss sensed it was over, leaning in close and whispering, “And now you die.”

But then the Goliath’s eyes grew wide, a mixture of surprise, puzzlement, and fear crossing the hulk’s face. Bishop felt the grip on his throat weakening, and then Hoss slowly slid to his knees. A moment later, he fell over, landing with his face on the Texan’s boots.

Trying to clear the fog of pain and regain his composure, Bishop stared down to see his knife buried in the dead man’s back. Gomez was standing in the aisle, his chest rising and falling as he worked to catch his wind.

“You okay?” the crew boss managed after a few dee
p breaths, “thought you might need a little help clearing the cars.”

“Yeah… thanks,” Bishop managed to croak, his throat dry and sore.

Bishop reached down and retrieved his knife. “You’re not going to believe who this is,” he declared to Gomez. “Help me turn him over.”

The foreman’s face filled with shock after they managed to roll Hoss onto his back. “Well, I’ll be damned,” was his only comment.

The sound of distant gunfire reminded the two men that they weren’t out of danger just yet. Rushing to the closest window, Bishop spied a small group of masked men running for the woods. Grim, Cory and Kevin were in pursuit, chasing the failed thieves into the foliage.

“Grim has them on the run,” Bishop responded, finding his rifle. “But we’ve still got the blockade and those other guys ahead of us. Nobody’s watching the front of the train.”

Leaving his boss to the task of settling down the passengers, Bishop managed a slow pace back toward the engine. Every muscle in his body ached, and he wondered if his jaw was broken. Moving from car to car, his strength gradually returned by the time he reached the fuel car.

Glancing back along the track to see how Grim was doing, he spotted the rest of his team returning from
the route. From their casual body language, Bishop assumed all was well.

Judging the
distance from their current location to the obstruction, Bishop hustled forward, passing by the wood gas equipment and flagging down the engineer. “Let’s return to the barricade, but stop a little further back this time. Maybe 100 to 200 yards short of the blockage. We may need some room to maneuver.”

The men controlling Lady Star did as t
hey were told, braking the iron horse almost two football fields shy of the location where the bandits had originally bushwhacked them.

Grim finally appeared, Cory and Kevin in tow. “We chased them into the woods, but they had trucks parked nearby. I didn’t feel like wasting any more ammo,” he reported calmly. “Now, all we have to do is take care of these clowns manning the blockade, and then we can be on our way.”

Bishop quickly explained his encounter with Hoss in the passenger car, the ex-contractor recognizing the scam right away. “Nice work, Major Misery,” he chuckled. “Hell of a gig if you can pull it off.”