“Give me the gun if it’s not yours,” she stretched out her hand.
She was surprised when he lifted the leather thong over his shoulder and gently placed the gun in her open hand. “I ain’t no thief,” he repeated. “There’s work to be done back home. Ain’t no Yanks goin’ to take our property. I’ll see to it…”
“Shut up,” she asserted herself. It felt right. It felt…natural. “Where’s this train headed? I forgot.”
He shrugged. “Ma’am, I don’t rightly know. This locomotive is a hospital train, only it wasn’t fully loaded when it took off. There’s a supply car in the back, and a kitchen. Some wounded Yanks in the hospital car ahead. Course, I ain’t ’bout to give my own life for General Pemberton and his crew. I got to get back home.”
“Who else is with us? How many?”
“Well, we got the doctor sleepin’ a few seats yonder, and we got wounded Yanks up front, the conductor…but I ain’t rightly knowin’ how many are on this here train, ma’am. It took off before they finished loading it.”
“You’re a Confederate deserter,” she looking him up and down.
“Not exactly. See, I was lookin’ for a way out. I mean, I ain’t no coward or nothin’. No Yank is goin’ to call me no coward, ma’am. I done my own share of fighting on the hill ’fore they got my brother…see he got it right ’tween the eyes and…”
She shook her head and gripped the gun tightly. The weapon felt as if it belonged in her hand; it was comfortable between her fingers, but she felt incomplete. “Is there anything else? Powder and ball? Pre-loaded cylinders?”
He batted his eyelids for a moment before reaching down to his waist and unbuckling a belt from around his gray, dusty Confederate trousers. The belt hung heavily from his hand; the empty holster and a row of pre-loaded cylinders adorned the length of leather along with pouches full of powder and ball. She took it from him and buckled it around her own waist. He produced a second belt, this one complete with another Remington revolver in its holster and more loaded cylinders.
Why would she have two guns? Was she the woman he mentioned—the outlaw? Was she on the run from the law?
“What were you doing with my guns?” she leaned toward him. It was easy to assume power over him. He seemed to shrink further into his seat.
He brushed his hand through his blond hair and sat up. After clearing his throat ceremoniously, he said, “Well, uh… ma’am…”
A familiar, acrid smell rankled her nostrils. Flies buzzed aimlessly around the car. She looked over the seats at the sleeping figure, whose head bounced between shoulders while the train ambled on.
“That’s one of the doctors, I reckon,” the youth said. “He’s been asleep since we got on, same as you.”
Through her clenched jaw, she demanded, “How’d we get on this train?”
The tan youth cleared his throat. “The Yanks at the train depot weren’t lookin’ while I was sneaking around. This train was being loaded up, and I just figured on stowin’ aboard so I could hitch a ride back home. A man come to me and he helped me on the train. Said I had to keep my eye on you ’cause you’re special to him. I asted him if you was his daughter, but he just laughed, and he had this laugh that was like a pickaxe being scraped across a rock. I woulda done anything to stop him from laughing. He said I just had to wait for you to wake up, ma’am.”
“Who was he? What’d he look like?”
He shrugged. “Got these big spectacles. It might’ve been the light, but I could see this… there were metal pieces on his teeth. I don’t even know how the man could talk. He was taller ’n me, wasn’t much older, though. Couldn’t see much of him ’sides the metal on his teeth. The sun was in my eyes. Ain’t more’n a couple hours ago.”
“And what about him?” she waved the gun toward the other passenger. “How long has he been sleeping?”
“The whole time. Forgive my manners, ma’am, I got so much on my mind. From here to Vicksburg, all the fields and towns are burning, and there’s blood in the dirt. Making new flowers grow, I reckon. You can smell spring and musket powder when you’re out in those fields. Sometimes, when the cannon fire is far away, you can hear men screaming on the wind.” He shook his head as if shaking himself awake from a recurring dream. “My name’s Bill Carter. I’m from Georgia, born and raised.”
She understood that she was supposed to reply with her own name. Common courtesy was denied her, however. The man with the metal teeth was somehow connected to her. She could envision that metal-clad jaw moving up and down, the glare of light upon a wide pair of spectacles hiding a pair of maniacal eyes.
The train screeched along, and for a moment, she thought she could hear the lamentations of the wounded from the car ahead of them.
“What’d you say that woman’s name was?” she asked. “The outlaw.”
“Why, uh, Neasa Bannan. I say agin, you look like her, only I ain’t swearin’ to it. You seem pretty handy with that hand-cannon you got there. My brother used to be good with one of those. I remember he killed a nigger once in the swamp right behind…”
She quickly placed the barrel of the gun beneath Carter’s chin. “Say it again, I dare you.”
His eyes darted back and forth over his sun-browned cheeks. “Ma’am?”
That word infuriated her. She didn’t know why; she was just as surprised as he was by her smooth, fast movements. The word nigger was common enough, but its mention seemed to stoke an indignant flame to life within her belly. Why did she care so much?
The train shivered momentarily, while the sleeper in front of them swayed. A fly alighted on the back of his neck.
“What else do you know about this train?” she asked and pressed the gun against the bottom of his chin.
“Uh…”
“It’s cold, isn’t it? Death is just as cold.” Bravado seemed to come easily to her.
Men in the hospital car shouted and clamored. She couldn’t prevent her eyebrows from furrowing as a thick, green mist floated through the cracks along the door.
She removed the gun from Carter’s chin. They both rose to their feet as the mist speedily fogged their car. The shouts from the car in front of them grew louder and more desperate. Something thumped against the floor; a wild, tenacious animal seemed to be scratching against the door.
“Please! Let us out!” she could hear the muffled scream as the green mist rose through her own car.
Flies rapidly dropped out of the air; the tiny insects writhed on the floor with spasmodic wings until they finally died. The sunlight filtering in through the windows was afflicted with a sickly green glow.
The other passenger stood, his figure darkened by the swirling mist. He doubled-over and weakly slipped against the seats. A pair of eyeglasses slipped from his face as a coughing fit forced his hands around his throat. He clawed blindly at the protruding veins until he spat thick gobs of blood against the floor.
Carter glanced over his shoulder. “Supply car behind us. We should…”
“What?” she hissed. “Jump off? Hide? Go ahead and jump off a moving train. I’d like to watch an idiot like you break his damn neck.”
The passenger ripped at the flesh along his throat until gashes opened and fresh blood leaked out of the wounds. As the mist curled around the seats, the woman could taste the man’s death upon her lips. His struggle stained the air with a warm, metallic taint. She realized that it wasn’t the first time she’d tasted blood.
She licked her lips as the mist enveloped her.
Taking a deep breath, she waited as Carter’s entire body began to shake. A wet, dark stain appeared around the crotch of his pants.