Animal (Chapter 5 - Part 2)

Prince sprints through the sand. Far off, he can hear the trumpeting call of The Tall Man’s locomotive. He doubles his pace. His prey must not be allowed to reach his master.
As Prince runs through the scorched land a vulture circles above. Its cry pierces the stillness. Prince stares up at the bird, seeing only blackness but smelling its stench, the smells of a thousand putrid corpses that emanate from the creature’s skin.
“I shall not die by your ways. I shall die by the hand of man, not the fate of God. You think a lowly beast will hinder me? You’re even weaker than I thought.”
Prince laughs and starts again, his black hair fluttering behind as he races against his own fate, destined to change that of another.

* * *

John stands behind a broken shed and watches as the Black Rail rolls into view. The shining black locomotive screeches to a slow stop, its heavy gears grinding with strain. Plumes of gray smoke spew from the stacks atop the engine car. Men holding rifles guard both ends. No number dots its side. The vehicle, like the Rider it carries, remains anonymous, and yet any who dare glance upon its form know who commands passage. It shines in the desert light, a hulking beast of infinite power.
A lone figure approaches the front passenger car donning robes and a collar of white. Blazing red hair compliments his pale skin. He carries a black leather case in his right hand and clutches a book bearing the sign of the cross in the left. John watches as the man hands his ticket to the guard. He punches the paper and steps aside, allowing passage.
The young beggar child approaches from down the road. He wears new clothes, face clean, the dirt and grime washed from his skin. He holds a bible with both hands.
“Where are you going?” John asks.
“To church. And you?”
“I’m catching this train.”
The boy’s sight drifts across the massive machine. “This is the train he rides,” he says.
John nods. The boy looks up at him.
“I will pray for you.”
“Thank you.”
The child turns and makes his way down the road. John watches him until he enters the church then heads to the train, a few compartments behind the priest. John pulls his Stetson down over his eyes, keeping face hidden from the armed men that stand guard on either end of the platform. Another ticket checker waits stationed outside the car. He thrusts his hand out, palm waiting to be filled.
“Ticket, sir?”
John hands him the blank stub. The man draws a pair of silver scissors from his pocket and cuts the sheet in half.
“Have a nice ride.”
The ticket salesman stands beside his booth and watches the foolish boy board the train. He crosses his heart. The whistle sounds again. The guards step back on the locomotive and close the car doors behind him. With a lurch, the Black Rail begins to move.

* * *

Though still miles off from the town of Fairfield, Prince can sense the Black Rail’s departure. The earth rumbles beneath his feet. His nostrils suck in the rough scent of burning coal as the Black Rail spews a sea of smoke into the air that even Prince knows is visible from his distance. The smog marks the train’s passage, leaving The Tall Man’s right hand in its wake.
Sweat stings Prince’s eyes and he finally slows his pace. Thick lines of salt make their way in a loop around the midpoint of his shirt. He kicks the earth and curses his sloth. He knows now the time for rush has past. The chase may be stalled, but the hunt continues.

* * *

John sits in the passenger car for some time willing himself to rise. He turns Paul’s pistol over in his hands feeling the weight of the weapon. A squeal of laughter comes from across the cab. John holsters the gun.
An infant lies bundled in its mother’s arms, chubby face bright as he laughs at the faces she makes. He grasps his mother’s flowing hair in his tiny fists. The woman looks up and catches John’s gaze.
“Sorry if we bothered you,” she says.
John waves his hand. “Don’t be. I was just surprised there’s someone else here. I thought—”
“People don’t ride this train?”
“Exactly.”
“I thought the same, but the priest who spoke in my church today assured me otherwise. Such a kind man.”
John nods. “Your child’s quite precious.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are you heading?”
“We’re going to meet my husband in the next town. We had to stay behind until he called on us. He’s working a steady job now.”
“Looks like things are going well for you.”
She stares at John with bright green eyes that scan his form. The child coos and claps its hands together, jealous of the divided attention.
“Do you have children?”
John taps his fingers together, lost in thought.
“I would have, but the woman I loved passed on.”
“I’m so sorry. How did she—”
“Childbirth,” John lies.
The mother nods. She glances down at her child and strokes its thin hair. She stands and moves to the seat beside John, taking his hand in hers.
“You will persevere.”
John looks down at the hand in his, so much like Rose’s. He rises from his seat. Now is his time.
“I have business with someone in the next compartment.”
“Very well.”
John turns to leave but the woman grabs his arm.
“I want you to have this.”
The woman sets her baby in the next seat and reaches into her purse. From it she pulls a silver chain with an elegant cross attached at the end. She places the necklace in John’s hands. John loops it around his neck and tucks it under his shirt, cross resting against his skin.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Don’t let the bad memories haunt you.”
John answers as he slides open the door to the next car. “I’ll try.”

* * *

John makes his way through the second passenger car. Empty. He draws his revolver and opens the door. A thin walkway crosses over the clasps that hold the two compartments together. Furious wind threatens to tear him from the train. The metal beneath his feet rumbles as he steadies himself. He clasps the door handle and flies forward as a gust slams him into the side rail. His hat flies loose, only to vanish under the chugging wheels of the Black Rail. He lets out a groan and forces the door open.
A veil of black cloth separates the back entrance from the rest of the car. Beyond it John can hear The Tall Man’s voice. He pushes the curtain back but an inch and peeks in. The priest sits across from The Tall Man, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. A Rider stands guard at the other end.
“What is it you need, Varlyn?” the priest asks.
The Tall Man grimaces.
“You know I hate that name.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I’m curious as to what you’re doing in Fairfield, Peter, is your flock not in Garrison?”
“My flock is composed of all who believe. I was giving a sermon at the church.”
“Spreading the faith, I see.”
“Yes sir,” the priest replies, “and where is Prince?”
“I’d hoped he’d be present but he’s currently dealing with another matter.”
The Tall Man reaches into his pocket and retrieves a crumpled envelope. He turns it over in his hands, listening to the contents shift inside.
“There is a man,” he says, “a runaway, coming into your town.”
“A runaway?”
“A fight broke out between him and his commanding officer when he refused to execute the prisoners their band had taken. The officer was killed.”
“And the prisoners?”
The Tall Man chuckles. “He couldn’t save them.”
“And now he’s hiding.”
“Yes.”
“And what does my current profession have to do with this?”
“You’re still a Rider, Peter. Your other jobs are meaningless. Always remember that,” The Tall Man says. His eyes shine dark.
The priest nods. He twirls the crucifix that hangs from his neck between two fingers. The Tall Man continues.
“He is a believer and he and his son have been blessed in every town they pass through.”
“Blessed how?”
“Baptism.”
“So he’s worried about his soul,” the priest says.
“He believes he can be saved,” The Tall Man remarks, “Foolish.”
John cocks the hammers on his pistols. The Tall Man turns towards the curtain. John bursts through the shades, weapons drawn. He trains one revolver on the Rider’s head, the other he keeps steady on the priest. The guard raises his weapon, unsure how to react.
“John, my boy, what a surprise, I don’t believe you and Peter have had the honor,” The Tall Man says. He waves to both men.
“Shut up," John growls.
“You’ve grown.”
“Shut up.”
“Did Paul train you well?”
“I said shut up!”
John strikes him across the face. The Tall Man laughs again and clutches his bruised cheek. Blood pours from his lips. He continues, voice rising with each word.
“I like this side of you. The hunter side, not the prisoner you once were.”
“I’ve come to kill you,” John spits.
The priest reaches for his bag. John fires above his head.
“Keep your hands up!”
“Drop the weapon!” the guard shouts.
“That’s good, son, keep your gun on him,” The Tall Man says, “He has as many guts as the bastard father who raised him.”
John fires into The Tall Man’s arm. The Rider grasps his shoulder and shrieks with laughter.
“Good, John! Good. Oh, I love your anger. Tell me, how’s your Rose?”
“You shut up.”
“Is she still lying dead in the fields, rotting while the birds and bugs pick at her, just like in Barrow’s picture?”
“Barrow’s dead.”
“Pity.”
“You’re an animal.”
The Rider licks his lips and smiles. Blood pools underneath his fingers.
“That I am, John, that I am.”
“Do you have any last words?”
The Tall Man chuckles, raising his hand to cover his mouth.
“Last words? How honorable of you. I have a few, but first let me ask, what car did you enter from?”
“Enough of this,” John says. His finger tightens around the trigger.
“Because I’m sure you met the young mother in the middle compartment.”
John stops. The Tall Man continues, lifting his hand and waving it through the air. Blood spills freely down his arm.
“Oh yes, I know about her. She’s starting a new life. A believer in God as well, isn’t that right, Peter?”
“She was at my sermon.”
“Good. Now I’m sure you came here expecting to kill me and go down in a blaze of glory. It would be a good death, that is true, but if you kill me my man back there will kill you. And it won’t stop there. Peter and him will go back and murder that woman and her child, won’t you?”
The guard nods. The skin on his clammy hands sticks to the metal of the revolver. He grips his weapon tight, focused on the man who threatens his master.
“Yes sir.”
The Tall Man turns back to John. He speaks casually as he raises his hand up to his wound and digs his fingers into the open flesh, gritting his teeth yet speaking no differently than if he were addressing a guest.
“And it won’t be quick. They will cut her. They will rape her. Then they will make her watch while they use her infant as a practice bottle. Oh, she will cry, how she will cry when she sees what they do to her child. And after they cut her throat they will find her husband in the next town. If you kill me you will destroy another family.”
From the hole The Tall Man pulls the bent bullet, stained red with blood, and drops it to the floor. It rolls across the surface of the train, unending in its movements, guided by the vibrations of the metal beast. John glances back. The entrance door stands a few feet away. The plains rush by outside.
“This isn’t over,” he says.
“Indeed it isn’t.”
“I’ll come back for you when you have no one left to hide behind.”
“It’s a long walk to the next town,” The Tall Man remarks, the corners of his mouth forming a thin grin.
John fires up into the ceiling, causing the guard to shield his face in fear, and turns towards the exit. He presses his weight against the door and forces it open. The guard lets off a single shot as John leaps from the train, blast blowing away a chunk of the doorframe. Splinters fly.
John lands hard in the desert sand and screams as pain races down his shoulder and up the old wound that marks his abdomen. He rolls onto his back and sits up, revolver trained upon the train. The Tall Man stands in the open doorway with his own pistol drawn. The two stare each other down, their fingers resting on their triggers. The Rider holsters his weapon. John does the same.
The Tall Man watches John’s silhouette grow smaller and smaller until it’s gone. He takes his seat, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes. Blood drips from his fingertips as he removes his shirt and prepares to dress his wound.
“Sir?” the guard asks.
“What is it?”
“Do you still want the woman dead?”
The Tall Man smiles.
“Don't be ridiculous—”
He draws his revolver and shoots the guard twice in the gut. The man drops to his knees, his eyes rolling back as blood paints his form. The Tall Man places his hand on the man’s shoulder to steady him. He raises his gun and shoots him again through the forehead, splattering the floor with the remains of his skull. The guard twitches once and lies still.
“After all, I’m not a monster.”
Together The Tall Man and the priest share a cruel laugh as the puddle grows beneath the corpse. Beyond the compartment window the barren earth rushes by, harkening to their voices.