Rebel Train: A Civil War Novel

Chapter 28

"What the hell is going on?" Percy repeated eyes steely with anger. "Have you boys turned into Yankees on me?"

"It ain't like that, Percy," Hazlett said, not bothering to call him "Colonel" or "sir." "We just want to be rich."

"This is about that payroll money isn't it? Damn it all! I knew I should have thrown that money off the train when I had the chance."

"I reckon it's a good thing for us you didn't," Hazlett said. "Besides, the boys and I know this raid will end in some hangings, and we don't want to swing. So, Percy, what you're goin' to do is order the train to stop. We're goin' to take that payroll money, and then me, Fletcher and Cook are gettin' off this wreck."

"You'll do no such thing."

Hazlett thumbed back the hammer on the Colt. "We ain't askin'. We're tellin'. You ain't got no choice, Percy."

"I'm disappointed in you, Hazlett. Truly I am."

Hazlett smirked. "I'm real sorry to hear that. Now stop the goddamn train. I ain't goin' to ask nice again."

"Hazlett, I won't lie to you," Percy went on as if he had not heard Hazlett's demands and the sergeant was not waving a gun in his face. "I always thought you were no-account back home. You and Cook both. At first I put you in my regiment and made you a sergeant because you're married to my cousin. Thing is, you turned out to be a pretty good soldier. You're good in a fight and the men listen to you." Percy jerked his chin at Captain Fletcher. "Now Fletcher here, I can see him doing this cowardly thing — this mutiny. He's not one of us. But I can't understand why you're doing this. Don't turn yellow on me. Not after all we've been through so far. Not now."

Hazlett snorted. "You can save your damned pretty speeches, Percy. You always did think you was better than me. Better than anyone else, to tell the truth. You ain't got all the answers. You're about to get us all killed, for one thing."

"Well, Hazlett, at least I have not forgotten my duty." Up until that point, Percy had been speaking calmly. Now his eyes sparked with anger, and he spoke with stinging truthfulness. "You're a coward. White trash. That's all you are, and that's all you'll ever be."

Hazlett's face twisted in rage, making it even uglier than usual. He raised the revolver until it was pointed at Percy's head. "Damn you to hell, Percy!"

Flynn took a step toward Hazlett, but stopped when Cook leveled a revolver at him. Flynn started to say, "Now, Hazlett, maybe we can work this out about the money— "

"Shut up, Irish," Hazlett snapped, without taking his eyes off Percy. "I want to enjoy watching the high and mighty lord of the manor get hisself shot without listening to you flap your jaw. If Irish here opens his mouth again, Cook, shoot him."

"All right," Cook said. He looked uneasy. It was one thing to shoot a man in battle, but it was altogether different to kill him in cold blood, face to face.

Hazlett's whole arm shook with fury. His finger began to tighten on the trigger. Percy stood calmly, waiting to take the bullet in the chest.

Nearby, Nellie gasped. "My God, he's going to shoot him."

On the floor at Hazlett's feet, Silas Cater lay quietly, forgotten. He raised himself on one elbow and kicked Hazlett just under the knee. It was a feeble kick, but the boot struck with enough force to knock Hazlett off balance.

The gun fired, missing Percy's head by inches. Hazlett swore, swung the revolver down, and shot Cater in the chest. He turned the gun toward Percy as the colonel rushed him. Percy managed to catch Hazlett's wrist and slam his hand into a corner of a bench. The gun slid away under the seats. Percy was just reaching for his own revolver when Cook tackled him.

Flynn drew the Le Mat revolver, but before he could get off a shot he had to dive for the cover offered by the benches as Fletcher snapped off two shots at him. The bullets scattered bits of horsehair stuffing from the seats.

"Damn you, Fletcher!" Flynn shouted. In reply, another shot tore through the seats.

"Shoot him and be done with it," Hazlett snarled at Fletcher. He was trying to help Cook wrestle Percy to the floor.

"I can't see him!"

"Not the Paddy, you jackass! Shoot the colonel!" Hazlett let go of Percy and stepped away.

But Fletcher did not have a chance because Percy and Cook were still wrestling with each other, gouging and punching. He couldn’t shoot one without hitting the other.

Hazlett swore. "Take care of him, Fletcher. I'm going to stop the train. We ain't got much time." He dashed out the doorway in the direction of the locomotive.

Flynn popped up and fired at Captain Fletcher, but a sudden jolt of the train sent his shot wide. Before he could get off another shot, Fletcher yelped and ran out the back doorway, toward the baggage car.

Flynn knew he had to catch Hazlett. Although Hazlett had lost his gun, he might still be able to stop the locomotive, in which case the Yankees would soon overtake them. If that happened, the raiders would all be hanged or shot.

Flynn flung open the door and crossed the platform, rushing into the next passenger car, revolver at the ready.

The car was empty.

Where the hell was Hazlett? He could not have reached the locomotive that quickly. Flynn dashed to the opposite door, threw it open, and ran out. Above the roaring wind, he heard a metallic click.

Flynn ducked.

A searing flash came from the roof of the car and a bullet slashed past his ear, so close he could feel the heat of the lead. He twisted, fired upwards, but there was only empty sky above him.

Hazlett was on the roof of the car. That explained how he had disappeared so quickly. He must have been carrying another pistol besides the one he had lost in the scuffle. Knowing Hazlett, it had been stuffed in his boot. He knew someone would chase him and had planned an ambush. Only the constant lurching of the train had spoiled Hazlett's aim and saved Flynn's life.

"Bastard," Flynn growled, then started up the short ladder that led to the roof.

Carefully, Flynn raised his head above the edge of the roof, expecting another shot at any moment. However, he could see that Hazlett was halfway down the car, moving away from him.

"Hazlett!" he shouted, and pulled himself onto the roof.

Hazlett turned and fired. Flynn snapped off a shot in reply, but it was nearly impossible to hit anything more than a few feet away on the swaying, wind-whipped roof. The train was moving at sixty miles per hour and wind howled in Flynn's ears. It was like being on the deck of a ship during a storm, with the motion threatening to pitch both men off at any moment.

Flynn had to crouch to keep from toppling off. Branches from trees overhanging the tracks lashed at him, trying to sweep him off the roof. Cinders and hot ash from the Chesapeake's smokestack stung his face and eyes.

"Sure, and you picked a fine place to make a last stand, Hazlett," he shouted over the wind.

"Go to hell, Irish."

"Ain't I there already? What do you call this place?"

Hazlett fired again. The bullet sang into the mountain air.

"Listen to me, Hazlett. You would never get far with that money. The Yankees are right behind us. Take a look."

Hazlett glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the pursuing train had come into sight. The Yankee locomotive moved like lightning. The Chesapeake was running slower than before, although Flynn wasn't sure why. Although the enemy's train was still in the distance, Flynn could see it would gain steadily on them. It was only a matter of time before the Chesapeake was overtaken.

"How long do you think we'll last once the Yankees catch up?" Hazlett shouted in reply. "We ain't got a goddamn prayer if that happens. They'll hang every last one of us that don't get killed in the fight."

"You won't have to worry about it, Hazlett, you bastard. I plan to kill you first myself." Flynn raised the Le Mat, but couldn't hold his arm steady enough to get off a shot. Hazlett raised his own pistol and fired two shots. The bullets cracked past Flynn's head, sounding like the flick of a bullwhip.

The hammer of Hazlett's gun fell on an empty chamber. He tossed the useless pistol away and rushed at Flynn with a snarl. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet. Flynn was busy shoving his revolver back in his belt, trying to get his hands free, when Hazlett butted him in the belly.

The two men fell and rolled. Flynn feared they would go right off the edge of the roof, but he managed to spread his feet, and that braked them. Hazlett tried to bite his ear, but Flynn snapped his own head up and caught Hazlett in the nose. Blood streamed out and flecked them both.

Hazlett hit him so hard on the chin that Flynn's vision swam black and red. He shoved, elbowed, got free of Hazlett.

Both men got to their feet, struggling to keep their balance. Hazlett had the advantage because his back was to the wind, while Flynn faced the front of the train. The rush of air and hot bite of cinders and smoke made his eyes blur. He had to turn his head sideways just to catch a breath.

The train rounded a bend, and the car leaned sickeningly beneath them. Hazlett's position gave him an easier time of it, and he cackled as he watched Flynn scramble to keep his feet. Hazlett's face was streaked with blood from his damaged nose, making him look like a crazed man. He launched himself at Flynn, who hit him with a perfectly timed punch that sent Hazlett reeling.

As the train came out of the bend, Flynn spotted the tunnel ahead. Dark as midnight inside, with a keyhole of daylight just visible at the other end. On the map Flynn remembered it was marked as Indigo Tunnel. Hazlett, his back to the tunnel, didn't see it.

"Let's make a deal, Hazlett," Flynn shouted above the wind, trying to keep Hazlett right where he was. "You and me can split the money."

Hazlett spat away a mouthful of blood. "Not on your life, Irish. I'd as soon burn it as give half to you."

"You need help now," Flynn said. "Fletcher and Cook don't stand a chance against Percy."

"Percy ain't so tough," Hazlett said. "Looked like he was about beat when I left."

The tunnel loomed closer. The Chesapeake sounded three short warning blasts, but Hazlett paid no attention.

Just a few more seconds. "Think of it, Hazlett. You and me — we're the only ones who can take that money and get back home alive."

"Go to hell, Irish!"

"You'll beat me there, you bastard!"

Flynn threw himself flat on the roof.

Puzzled, Hazlett stared down at Flynn. Then he turned around.

Too late.

The black mouth of the tunnel was just ahead, with the stone arch four feet above the top of the train. Hazlett had just started to scream when the archway slammed into him and cut his cry short.

Above the noise of wind and train, Flynn heard a sickening thunk. Then the train plunged into darkness.

Flynn took a deep breath. He could see nothing but the sparks shooting from the smokestack. The smoke, trapped in the narrow confines of the tunnel, nearly choked him. He held his breath so he wouldn't suffocate. The noise was deafening and his eardrums felt ready to burst. He couldn't see the arch of the tunnel, but sensed it was just overhead, so he kept his face pressed tightly against the roof of the car.

Just as suddenly as the train had rushed into darkness, it burst from the tunnel. Flynn shifted his weight carefully and began making his way back toward the end of the car and the ladder he would climb down to the platform. He took his time, hardly able to believe that he had been standing on the bucking rooftop just minutes ago. Tree branches swept dangerously close to the roof, trying to pluck him off. He had survived this long on top of the train. He didn't plan to be killed in the last few moments on this dangerous perch.

Flynn worked his feet over the rooftop and onto the ladder. He managed to get a look behind the Chesapeake, and was startled to see the enemy's train shoot from the tunnel, wreathed in smoke and steam. He cursed, and then he muttered a quick Hail Mary. A prayer now and then never hurt.

Nellie was in the baggage car filling a sack with bundles of Yankee greenbacks when Captain Fletcher came in. There was only a dusky light in the car, but it was enough for him to spot her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Fletcher asked. He appeared surprised to see Nellie taking the money.

"I'm making myself rich," she said. Nellie turned to him and smiled, although her voice sounded a little desperate even to her own ears. "I could use a partner. How about you? Let's take this money and get off the train."

Fletcher hesitated. He was tempted. All the men on board knew her for what she was, and who could say what besides the money a whore might share with him? Just as quickly, an image of Hazlett's evil, sneering face filled his mind. He shuddered at the thought of what the sergeant might do to him if he tried to cheat Hazlett out of the money.

"No partners," Fletcher said. He moved until he was almost touching her. She wore some kind of perfume that reminded him of lilacs. Fletcher knew it was just a whore's cheap scent, but it was maddening.

"Help me," she said, her voice pleading.

The money was not for her, he thought. But she didn't have to know that — not yet. Hazlett would soon be stopping the train, but there would be time enough. After casting his lot with Hazlett and helping to oppose Percy, Fletcher felt wonderfully alive, invincible, and he reached out and snatched Nellie's sack of money away. Life, he thought, was about taking what you wanted.

"There's plenty of money here for all of us," Nellie said.

Too late, she recognized the expression on his face. She had seen that same leer a hundred times in various squalid rooms along the Baltimore waterfront, and on tougher faces than Fletcher's. She hated that expression, and Nellie knew that if she managed to take the money from the train, she would never have to see that look of lust again.

He moved toward her.

She tried to dart around him, but Fletcher grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against a pile of luggage.

"Damn you!" She spat at him.

Fletcher was too intoxicated by the day's excitement even to notice. They had outrun the Yankees and kidnapped Abraham Lincoln. He had seen men die. He had lived, and now he would take whatever he wanted, whether it was the money or this whore. He held her down with one hand and dangled the sack of money aloft in the other, laughing.

"Partners? You're a whore! Hell, you'd take me on as your partner and then sell me out to the first bunch of Yankees we came across. Just give me what I want and you can come with us — maybe we'll even let you have some of the money."

She relaxed, and Fletcher interpreted that as compliance. He threw one arm across her chest to keep her pinned down, put the money down, and fumbled at the hem of her long dress with his free hand.

Nellie began to struggle. Her movements seemed weak and awkward. Fletcher laughed.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of steel as she slipped a long and gleaming stiletto from her sleeve. The blade looked wickedly sharp. The train whistled three times, and then they were swept into total blackness as the train raced into Indigo Tunnel.

He tried to move but his arm was tangled in the folds of her dress. Fletcher felt the tip of the knife probe between his ribs and then plunge deep, burning, slicing, seeking his heart.

He screamed.

Then Fletcher collapsed among the boxes and baggage, a dying man.

Sunlight again. They were out of the tunnel. Nellie stood and straightened her clothes. Some of Fletcher's blood had splashed onto her dress, but that couldn't be helped. She reached down, pulled the knife from the captain's twitching body, and wiped the blade on his coat before slipping it back into her sleeve.

The train had not stopped. Nellie wondered what was taking Hazlett so long. The mutiny had come as a surprise. She had hoped that when Hazlett stopped the train, she might at least be able to escape with some of the money while the raiders fought among themselves.

She knew that to leap from a speeding train in this rugged country would be suicide. Still, she might not have a choice. There was no way she could trust Hazlett if his mutiny succeeded — he wouldn't share any of the money with her. After all, Sergeant Hazlett might not be happy that Fletcher was dead, and even Nellie had to admit she was afraid of Hazlett.

But if the train did not stop, it meant Hazlett had failed. Somehow, Colonel Percy, Flynn, and that boy, Benjamin, had beaten the mutineers. Well, if it came to it, she would much rather deal with Flynn. The Irishman was cunning, but she felt she could trust him. He had a certain sense of honor. The thought made Nellie smile to herself. Honor among thieves? She didn't know about that, but at least she and Flynn understood each other.

Nellie hid the sack of money in a corner, stepped around Captain Fletcher's body, and moved toward the door leading back to the passenger car, wondering what she would find.

The truth was that she didn't care about the war, the Union, or the Confederacy. She just wanted to be rich, and now she would have to wait a little longer.