A huge group of helots, mostly women, elderly, and children, was being loaded onto one of the cars. The elderly men were covered in blood, cuts, and bruises and looked as pitiful as I did. The guards stood way back while the dogs rounded up stragglers, like border collies with a flock of sheep. My heart sank even more as I studied the scene.
Once the cars at the front of the train were full, the guards slammed the doors shut. From inside came the muffled groans of a crowd squeezed into a small space, desperate for air. Faces peered anxiously out the tiny windows as they took turns breathing the fresh air. I was terrified to see that the rest of the cars were like huge coffins on wheels, without even the meager luxury of windows. This trip was going to be a nightmare.
“Let’s go, pal.” The guard gave me a shove. “You’re with this group.”
I looked around, disoriented. An Aryan took my cuffs off and quickly herded me to a group of crying, frightened people crowded together in front of one of the cars.
“Wait!” a familiar voice boomed out. “Bring that prisoner over here.”
The guards reluctantly separated me from the group. They wanted to get their job over with, and any delay pissed them off. Flanked by two guards with assault rifles, I obediently left the group and came face to face with First Officer Strangärd.
The clean-cut sailor looked totally out of place in that parking lot with the sun beating down. His navy blue uniform was impeccable and his stony face didn’t betray the slightest emotion. I barely remembered the smiling officer who’d rescued us in the middle of the ocean. That seemed like a million years ago.
“As executive officer of the Gulfport Christian Militia, I am required by law to provide this man with a copy of his expulsion papers.” Strangärd stiffly handed me a few sheets of pages stapled together.
“You shouldn’t have gone to the trouble,” I said sarcastically. I’d never expected to see him again.
“The reverend himself gave me this task. As I was the one who brought you into our community, he decided I should be the one to send you away.”
“I respectfully invite you and the reverend to stick that document up your pious, lily-white asses.”
“I insist.” Strangärd’s voice was a bit on edge as he thrust the papers at me again. For a moment, I detected a light in his eyes. He was trying to tell me something. I grabbed the documents, my eyes glued to his, but he was stone-faced.
“I have something else to give you.” An aide handed him a wicker basket with a lid. Something inside the basket stirred and let out a weak meow. Lucullus!
I practically tore the basket out of Strangärd’s hands. I opened the lid and sighed with relief. At the bottom of the basket, curled up on a dirty blanket, was my little friend, the stump of his tail wrapped in some gauze. My cat looked weak and his lustrous coat was bloodstained. But when he saw me, his eyes brightened.
“I found him at the police station. I felt it was my duty to bring him to you.” The Swede stiffened as if he’d said too much. He clicked his heels, saluted, and said good-bye.
The guards shoved me through the crowd toward another boxcar that, mercifully, had a couple of small windows on each side. At least we wouldn’t asphyxiate. Not all of us anyway. Fifty people were already standing in the car. The guards tripled that number.
“We aren’t going to fit in here!” someone in the group shouted.
The guards paid no attention and kept pushing till they got everyone in. I was the last to climb in; they slammed the door behind me and bolted it shut.
At first I couldn’t see anything. I heard coughs, moans, and whispered conversations all around me. Gradually my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light. I was shocked at what I saw. There must’ve been a hundred and fifty people squeezed into that small space with no room to sit down. We stood shoulder to shoulder, like a crowd at a concert. Shorter people, especially children, had trouble breathing. The temperature in the car rose steadily from the heat rising off our bodies.
That was the least of our problems. Where I was standing, half a dozen people were sweating profusely, scratching, or shaking. An old man leaning against a wall was shivering violently. Ugly, burst veins spread across his nose.
Horrified, I realized that all or nearly all the people in that car—in all the cars—were infected with TSJ. In a few hours, our car would be a rolling hell—a small space crowded with all those people turning into Undead. What would happen when the first transformations were complete? We had nowhere to run. It was a death trap and no one would get out alive.
With a jolt that would have thrown us to the ground if we weren’t wedged in so tight, the car began to move as the engines dragged their load, heading who-knew-where. The destination really didn’t matter. By the time we got there, we’d all be mindless monsters.
In every face, I read the same fear. Everyone saw a monster in the person standing next to him, parents and children alike. The good-natured Jamaican guy with dreadlocks, the pretty young mother cradling her newborn, singing a lullaby… In a few hours they’d be something far worse than the Green Guards who’d forced us in there.
A number of people pulled out containers filled with Cladoxpan. The fortunate ones had large bottles; others had a tiny amount or, worse, none at all, depending on what they’d been able to grab when they were arrested. If we’d been smart, we would’ve gathered up all that precious liquid and rationed it equally, but that wasn’t going to happen. Everyone clutched their bottle like a sullen dog with a bone. Shouts and threats came from the back of the car. Before the end of that trip, I was sure there’d be more than one murder.
I only had half of what Grapes gave me the night before. Distraught, I took out the bottle and shook it with the stupid hope that it would’ve magically filled up. My heart sank when I saw that I had only about five ounces left. I could hold out for three or four hours, no more. I was fucked.
Lucullus shifted in his basket, uncomfortable and sore. I had no room to set the basket on the floor, so I hung it over one arm and took him out of his prison. His wound didn’t look too bad, since someone had gone to the trouble of disinfecting it, but he’d lost a lot of blood. He must’ve been dying of thirst.
When I put him back in the basket, I realized it weighed too much for a basket with just an old blanket in it. Making sure no one saw me, I set Lucullus back in the basket as I rummaged around at the bottom. My hand found something round and cool. Pushing the blanket aside, I spotted a gallon-sized thermos. I cautiously unscrewed the cap and sniffed the contents. The familiar sweet, acid smell of Cladoxpan hit my nose.
I pawed deeper in the basket and found a compass, a combat knife like Prit’s, and best of all, a loaded 9mm Beretta. It wasn’t enough to hold off a boxcar filled with Undead, but it would give me a shot at survival if I made it to the train’s destination alive.
Who’d put all that in there and why? It must’ve been Strangärd, but why would the Swede risk his neck for me? Then I remembered the documents he’d insisted I take.
I elbowed my way to one of the little windows, where there was enough light to read. On one side of the page was a lot of legal mumbo jumbo accusing me of the murder of Mrs. Compton and sentencing me to expulsion. The interesting part was on the back.
The first sheet contained a very detailed map of the train route, pinpointing train stations, towns, distances, and main roads. The second had a short message; when I read it, my heart leapt for joy.
“We’re both fine. Survive and come back to us. I love you. L”
I looked up and smiled for the first time. The next few days were going to be hell. I’d have to find a way to survive, but at least I had a chance. And a goaclass="underline" return to Gulfport and my friends. But one thought burned bright as a flame: Kill Grapes and Reverend Greene.