A Longer Fall (Gunnie Rose #2)(5)

“They ain’t. Shoot ’em.” Jake’s voice was slurred, but he sounded sure. He was holding his gun, but it wasn’t pointed at anything. A quick sideways glance told me Rogelio was stirring. I was relieved he wasn’t dead, but I wished he’d rally faster.

After the screeching metal sound of the cutting tool quit, a big pry tool took over. More and more light poured into the car, and the people—the ones who had not fallen silent forever—were once again convinced help had arrived. They got excited. As if a group of men had known the train would derail and had gathered their tools and waited to assist stricken passengers.

Of course it wasn’t rescue. Someone fired in at us. The screaming resumed. Shit.

Maddy fired back. And Jake, too, so he was at least capable of that. I don’t know how close he came to his target. I had other problems. The glass window on the door at my end of the carriage smashed. I saw a crowbar inserted through the hole to pry open the door.

Hard to understand why they were doing that, since they’d have to crouch down to crawl through. It would be like shooting ducks at a fair arcade. I’d kill ’em as soon as I saw ’em.

But I couldn’t. See ’em. I only spied a hand in the opening, tossing in something. This was real bad. I fired at the spot where the hand was, hoping to wound someone, and a yell told me I’d done that.

The cabin started to get hazy. The “something” was a smoke bomb.

I’d heard of them but I’d never seen one. Kids sometimes built them to use for pranks. The people I’d talked to—people who knew arms and weapons—told me smoke bombs were dangerous because the chemicals could ignite.

I don’t know diddly-squat about chemicals. But everyone who’d spoken against the smoke bombs were right. The damn thing did ignite. There was a pop and flame in the middle of all that smoke.

And then there was more screaming and moaning. And the smoke grew thicker.

Maddy began coughing. “I can’t breathe,” she said between hacks. Something about this smoke was getting to her lungs particularly bad. I wasn’t coughing as hard, though my eyes were streaming. I forced myself to keep looking in the direction of the door, though I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut.

A face came out of the smoke, and I shot it.

“Can you see enough to shoot, Maddy?” I said.

“Just barely.” I could just hear her breath sawing in and out.

“It’s going away,” I said. Some wind was coming through now that the east end of the carriage was open. Most of the windows had been down when the wreck occurred. Thank God. I could see better. Maddy would be able to breathe.

But under cover of the smoke, other gunnies slipped into the car.

We began shooting in earnest. I killed a woman with bristly hair, then wounded a white-haired man. The white hair almost made me hold back, but he had a gun. I got him in the right shoulder.

It was great that we could make out who was coming in… but they could see us just as well, and we couldn’t move because of the damn crate.

I could feel Maddy trembling against my back. Maybe she could feel me, too. This was long, for a gunfight. They’re over quick as a rule.

Rogelio had risen to his knees, and one of the incoming gunnies tripped over him. Rogelio had a knife in hand and he cut the guy, who collapsed right beside him. But then Rogelio passed out again, before one of the others could shoot him in retaliation. I didn’t know if our crewmate was really out or if he was faking it, but either way, he’d finally done some good.

One came from either end, and they were both shooting as they entered. I felt Maddy get hit. I heard the noise she made. She was down. I was alone.

Rifle wasn’t good in these close quarters, but soon it would be the weapon I had to use. I was out of bullets in one Colt, had six left in the other. I am good with my left hand, almost as good as I am with my right. I got creased, between my shoulder and elbow. It burned. Pain leaped up my arm. I could feel the blood soaking my shirt. A big man loomed up out of the wisps of smoke, and he aimed to hit me with the stock of his rifle, but I shot him instead. Got a bit of blood spatter.

It got real hard to stay upright.

You can tell yourself your wound is just a graze and you won’t die. But getting shot hurts. Don’t let anyone tell you there’s an easy gunshot wound. My arm was on fire. I spared a glance for Maddy. She was now stretched full length over a couple of other bodies, gunnies or just passengers, I didn’t know. Jake was barely upright in his seat on the floor. He fired at the next attacker, missed, tried again and got him. But he had gotten hit in the exchange.

I was gonna die here, I figured, and I was so focused on the next person wriggling through the sideways door that I didn’t see anyone coming up behind me, across Maddy, until I felt a blow to the back of my head.

I knew I was done, but I twisted to fall across the crate.

I’d tried my hardest. I couldn’t do any more. I was out.





CHAPTER THREE


I was lying on the ground and Harriet Ritter was sitting on a tree stump a few inches away. She was talking to Sarah Byrne, the gunnie with the scabby wound on her cheek.

“…so it seems,” Ritter was saying, “that there’s an opening on the Lucky Crew, which should maybe be called the not-so-lucky crew.” If she was smiling, I was going to kill her. I opened my eyes a little wider. Ritter was not smiling.