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krowfaceSquinting his eyes against the setting sun, Jake stubbed his cigarette out against the corrigated metal of the train's roof and stood up. He twisted his torso enough to cause his spine to pop, slung his bolt-action rifle over his shoulder, and keyed in on his two-way radio.
"Sun down in twenty, time to come home."
The radio crackled briefly and its operator spoke up.
"Roger that. How's Spike? Anything?"
Jake looked down at the dog laying next to him. He squatted down and lovingly scratched around the collar on its neck. Spike raised his head slightly and lazily leaned into the boy's affections.
"Negative. But I don't have a good gut about this. Come home straight, don't fuck around."
"Language kid," the radio intoned.
Jake frowned and pressed the tiny red button on the cheap and grunged up radio in his hand. "Just come home. Now." He pleaded.
He hooked the radio into his belt, brushed the sandy blonde hair out of his eye, and shouldered his rifle. Looking through the scope he had a pretty unobstructed view between the railyard and the general store at the end of the road. He swept the rifle from side to side, once quickly, and then once again slowly, looking for movement.
Startled by the loud bang of metal against metal, the young man spun around to face the hatch that was just thrown open by a tomboyish redhead.
"Fuck! Jo, what I tell you about throwing doors open," he admonished her.
"I dunno Jake, what they say about your language?" she shot back, as she pulled herself up onto the roof, and brushed down the hem of her polka-dotted sun dress. She dropped to her knee, suddenly very focused on the undoing of one of her boot laces.
Jake turned back to the direction of the setting son and looked back into the scope. "Remind me again why everyone's on my case about my cursing?" he grumbled.
"Oh, you don't remember how you almost got all of us ran out of New Orleans by the King himself for that expletive laden tirade of yours?"
Jo stood back up and adjusted the cuff of her biker jacket.
"Whatever. He was stealing from us."
She shook her head. "He was renegotiating, and we can't afford to say no. You really need to learn how to be diplomatic. When you're in charge in a few years, you're going to need to learn about this sort of thing."
He kept his face hidden and scowled. "In a few years," he mocked, "there won't even be a few more years. What am I going to be in char-"
Stepping up behind him, she gently grabbed at his elbow.
"You also need to learn not to talk like that."
The boy dropped the muzzle of his rifle and turned to face her.
"Look, I don't want to be 'in charge'. I don't want the title. I don't even want to be on this train anymore."
Jo's normally hard face softened just a bit around the edges as she spoke.
"Jake, hon, there are things you may not understand about how things are going, and I get that. I can't figure it out either. But please. The world is changing. And you need to either accept it and embrace it, or fight it and die. There's really not much of a choice here. And choice has been in *real* short supply for a long time."
"The King has spoken. You're next in line. Which... I don't get because it seems to me he doesn't even like you. However the fact of the matter remains. We need New Orleans, and whether they admit it or not, that city... those people... they need this train. They need us."
Jake reached into his breast pocket for another cigarette.
"Sorry Jo. I don't like this. I think we should go back to our first plan, and track this thing back up to Colorado befo-"
"You're not King yet Jake, don't start shaking this place up just yet. Also, we need to talk about your constant 'bad feelings' about how th-"
Jo's dialogue was suddenly cut short by Spike's sudden growl.
Jake spun around, pulled the scope back up to his eye, and focused on the store again. The guys were finishing up loading the saddle bags on their motorcycles, oblivious to the small group of shambling horrors coming their way.
His face turned dark. He cursed himself for not paying attention.
"Damnit Jo. Get back inside. Get the engines turning. We need to go."
Quickly and without sound, Jo was immediately down the hatch and out of site.
With his free hand he grabbed the radio.
"Ghouls!" he barked. "Come now!"
Racking the action of his rifle, he took aim.
"Sun down in twenty, time to come home."
The radio crackled briefly and its operator spoke up.
"Roger that. How's Spike? Anything?"
Jake looked down at the dog laying next to him. He squatted down and lovingly scratched around the collar on its neck. Spike raised his head slightly and lazily leaned into the boy's affections.
"Negative. But I don't have a good gut about this. Come home straight, don't fuck around."
"Language kid," the radio intoned.
Jake frowned and pressed the tiny red button on the cheap and grunged up radio in his hand. "Just come home. Now." He pleaded.
He hooked the radio into his belt, brushed the sandy blonde hair out of his eye, and shouldered his rifle. Looking through the scope he had a pretty unobstructed view between the railyard and the general store at the end of the road. He swept the rifle from side to side, once quickly, and then once again slowly, looking for movement.
Startled by the loud bang of metal against metal, the young man spun around to face the hatch that was just thrown open by a tomboyish redhead.
"Fuck! Jo, what I tell you about throwing doors open," he admonished her.
"I dunno Jake, what they say about your language?" she shot back, as she pulled herself up onto the roof, and brushed down the hem of her polka-dotted sun dress. She dropped to her knee, suddenly very focused on the undoing of one of her boot laces.
Jake turned back to the direction of the setting son and looked back into the scope. "Remind me again why everyone's on my case about my cursing?" he grumbled.
"Oh, you don't remember how you almost got all of us ran out of New Orleans by the King himself for that expletive laden tirade of yours?"
Jo stood back up and adjusted the cuff of her biker jacket.
"Whatever. He was stealing from us."
She shook her head. "He was renegotiating, and we can't afford to say no. You really need to learn how to be diplomatic. When you're in charge in a few years, you're going to need to learn about this sort of thing."
He kept his face hidden and scowled. "In a few years," he mocked, "there won't even be a few more years. What am I going to be in char-"
Stepping up behind him, she gently grabbed at his elbow.
"You also need to learn not to talk like that."
The boy dropped the muzzle of his rifle and turned to face her.
"Look, I don't want to be 'in charge'. I don't want the title. I don't even want to be on this train anymore."
Jo's normally hard face softened just a bit around the edges as she spoke.
"Jake, hon, there are things you may not understand about how things are going, and I get that. I can't figure it out either. But please. The world is changing. And you need to either accept it and embrace it, or fight it and die. There's really not much of a choice here. And choice has been in *real* short supply for a long time."
"The King has spoken. You're next in line. Which... I don't get because it seems to me he doesn't even like you. However the fact of the matter remains. We need New Orleans, and whether they admit it or not, that city... those people... they need this train. They need us."
Jake reached into his breast pocket for another cigarette.
"Sorry Jo. I don't like this. I think we should go back to our first plan, and track this thing back up to Colorado befo-"
"You're not King yet Jake, don't start shaking this place up just yet. Also, we need to talk about your constant 'bad feelings' about how th-"
Jo's dialogue was suddenly cut short by Spike's sudden growl.
Jake spun around, pulled the scope back up to his eye, and focused on the store again. The guys were finishing up loading the saddle bags on their motorcycles, oblivious to the small group of shambling horrors coming their way.
His face turned dark. He cursed himself for not paying attention.
"Damnit Jo. Get back inside. Get the engines turning. We need to go."
Quickly and without sound, Jo was immediately down the hatch and out of site.
With his free hand he grabbed the radio.
"Ghouls!" he barked. "Come now!"
Racking the action of his rifle, he took aim.
