The Directives Read online

  Another rider squeezed himself into the small cargo area behind the rear seat, leaving two volunteers to ride on the back bumper. Each man had lashed himself to the vehicle in his own way, knowing not only the risk, but also the punishment he could expect to endure from the cold water, biting rain, and blistering wind.

  The water had risen another foot by the time they’d reached a decision. Twice Slim had to pause before pulling into the deepest part of the street, once due to what appeared to be a lifeguard stand rushing past, the other to avoid hitting a dead body bobbing down the street-river.

  Terri inhaled deeply as the water churned over the hood. When the cold liquid started running in from under and around the door, she almost screamed.

  “It’s designed to take on water,” the man beside her stated, trying to keep everyone calm. “The water will weigh it down so it doesn’t float away.”

  Slim drove slowly, keeping his eye out for debris and doing his best to avoid any submerged objects.

  When the cold water reached Betty’s butt, she yelped as if she’d been bitten, trying to rise above the chilling sensation. Finally giving up, she sat back down, a look of disgust and fear spreading across her face.

  Terri’s arms were getting tired, trying to hold Hunter high and dry. The man next to her… Garcia was his name… offered to hold the car seat while she rested her limbs.

  He was going to lash himself to a tree so I could live, Terri thought. Where does Nick find these guys?

  Despite the windshield wipers running full blast, Slim still had trouble seeing. The combination of the outside rain and too many humans inside resulted in fogged windows and low visibility. The anxious occupants shivered from the water now up to their waists, the hot air from the defrosters doing little to offset the chill as the cold seawater filled the cab.

  “I have to pee,” Betty said, her terrified voice making it through the storm’s din.

  Before Terri could respond, the front of the Humvee dipped down, the vehicle tilting badly toward the front. They jerked to a halt. Terri couldn’t see what, or why… it was as if they’d hit a wall.

  Over the roaring wind and slashing rain, she heard Slim yell, “Fuck!”

  She could see the concerned look on Butter’s face in the passenger seat, and then the water was above her window. She grabbed Hunter’s seat.

  In it came, raw, frigid seawater rising above her stomach, then her breasts and finally her throat. She somehow managed to open her seatbelt, push down with her feet, and raise her head to the roof to gasp for air. Every muscle in her body strained to hold Hunter’s seat against the roof, a bare few inches of cool, precious air left in the gap. She couldn’t tell if her son’s head was above the water or not.

  But soon it didn’t matter.

  With her lips pinned to the metal roof, pulling in the last thin layer of air, she felt the water roll into her mouth. It was a natural reaction to seal her only source of breath.

  She held that last lungful, still holding Hunter as high as she could, moving him over her head to where something in her brain reasoned an air pocket might be. It was eerily quiet under the water, the first time in hours she hadn’t heard the storm.

  Her chest began hurting, every cell in her being screaming for oxygen, her lungs on fire. It was a dark, quiet place; the only sound she recognized was the ever-faster beating of her own heart.

  I’m so sorry, Bishop, she thought. I love you. Hunter and I will see you in heaven.

  A calm came over her, the empty, harsh feeling in her lungs seeming to dissipate. She felt her jaw beginning to unlock, knew that her mouth would open by involuntary reaction as soon as her brain ceased to function. She felt a warm, floating sensation. It was a welcome replacement over the cold, bone chilling numbing of the water.

  Terri saw what she thought were the wings of an angel spreading to lift her away. There was a glow and the sound of rumbling drums. She felt a weightlessness as she was lifted upward toward the skies.

  The celestial being was massive, much larger than she’d ever imagined, the illumination of brilliant white light surrounding her in a sensation of warmth and safety. She was in God’s hands.

  He’d seen the Humvee rolling through the water, curious where the driver thought he was going, interested in how deep the military vehicle could dive.

  The two men strapped to the back bumper made the spectacle even more appealing.

  He’d shouted from #1’s cab, a worthless use of lungs and energy given the constant, thunderous volume of the storm. Still, he tried, screaming to warn the driver that he was about to run into a ditch. The hood went under, then the cab. He watched as the two guys tied to the back tried to free themselves, frustrated when their heads disappeared under the surface.

  He set the empty dumpster down, his makeshift flood-bus having just delivered its third load of people to the locomotive. It was his best guess where the Humvee was, only a small ripple of water showing on the surface over the submerged transport.

  Down went the forks, diving into the depths of brownish water until he felt them hit the pavement below. He inched forward, estimating where the vehicle went under. His guess was good, the hydraulic rams lifting the biggest fish he’d ever caught. That’s a keeper, he mused, the gallows humor having become necessary to retain his sanity. A moment later, the wheels of the Humvee cleared the surface.

  Like every other load of victims, he couldn’t think of any other destination but the train.

  Three blocks later, he was setting the still-draining Humvee down beside the tracks. Opening his window, he got the attention of a man helping people climb out of a flat bottom boat that had just arrived at high ground. “I’m not sure they’re alive,” he shouted, pointing at his delivery. “I watched them go completely under.”

  Saluting, the guy wading through the water below yelled back, “I’ll check them out.”

  “I can’t do any more. I’m about out of fuel, and the water’s too deep for this rig in places. I’m heading back. Good luck!”

  Bishop slogged through the water, rushing to the Humvee as fast as his waterlogged legs could pump. He opened the driver’s door first, the water gushing out telling him the interior had been completely inundated. The driver was there behind the wheel… pale, grey skin and closed eyes.

  Bishop reached to slap the man’s cheeks, the effort causing the victim’s head to roll. The Texan recognized Slim immediately. “Terri!” he shouted, thrusting his head inside the cab to search.

  There were bodies everywhere. In the low light, he couldn’t discern any faces, but the sight of a child’s car seat handle made his gut turn to ice.

  He flung open the rear door, turning to yell to Grim. “These are our people! It’s Terri and Hunter! Get help! Now!”

  He pulled Hunter’s car seat out first, the image of his son’s closed eyes and soaked blankets sending bolts of agony through his skull. He unfastened the restraints, pulling the tiny body free and moving to the hood. He tilted his own child’s head back, ready to pinch the tiny nose… remembering his CPR training and how to only blow the smallest “puff” into the babe’s mouth.

  He sensed more than saw Grim pull Terri out of the back seat. Other men and women were flying by, racing to get access to the victims. He bent to place his mouth over his son’s, when Hunter’s arms jerked… then a cough. A weak, raspy sound… and then another cough. Ten seconds later, Hunter vomited and began crying. His father did, too.

  Handing off the infant to a nearby man, Bishop rushed to find Grim’s ear right above Terri’s mouth. “She’s breathing!” he shouted over the storm, “I can feel her breathing!”

  Evacuees, many of them just rescued themselves, were bustling all around the injured Humvee. Bishop saw Butter stand on his own, still projecting the dazed look of a badly confused man. It took a helper under each arm to move the huge fellow toward the train.

  The storm raged all around Bishop, but he didn’t notice. Carrying a ragdoll-limp Terri like a baby laid
across his arms, he barreled through the deepening water to the nearest boxcar. Bishop pulled his blowout bag from his vest, tossing the contents onto the floor until he found the emergency blanket.

  A miracle of modern science, the small package unfolded into a twin-sized sheet that resembled common kitchen tin foil. After Hunter’s wet clothes had been removed, Bishop wrapped his son and wife in the metal-like material that was supposed to reflect over 90% of their body heat. They were both breathing, as warm as he could make them. Mental exhaustion consumed him, and he couldn’t fathom any other emergency care for his loved ones.

  Working as quickly as he could, Bishop turned to see more of the Humvee’s victims being laid out on the floor of the boxcar. Grim, carrying Betty, gave the Texan a sad look and shook his head. She hadn’t made it. There were other casualties as well, their bodies laid out at the other end of the car.

  And then the door was pushed shut to keep out the wind and rain.

  It was completely dark inside. He was so tired, it took a supreme effort to raise his arm and pull the flashlight off his chest-rig. He somehow managed, illuminating the interior with a faint glow.

  He looked down to see Terri’s eyes staring up at him. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t understand a word. Bending closer, he heard her ask, “Am I dead? Is this heaven?”

  “No, you’re not dead,” he said, brushing back her hair and rubbing her cheek.

  “Hunter?” she asked, fear filling her eyes at the potential for bad news as the memories came flooding back.

  Bishop lifted their son, turning him enough so that Terri could see his eyes were open and clearly full of life. She tried to reach for her baby, but the blanket and her own weakness defeated the movement. Bishop unfolded Terri’s cover, placing Hunter in his mother’s embrace, helping her hold him in the nook of her arm.

  “Betty?” Terri’s voice cracked with the dreaded question.

  “I’m not sure, babe,” Bishop managed over the storm’s wail, not having the heart to tell her the truth.

  “And the others? Slim? Butter?”

  Bishop shook his head, putting his finger to her lips. “Shhhhh. Rest. Keep Hunter warm. That’s all you can do right now.”

  Terri seemed to accept that, closing her eyes and pulling the now sleepy-warm Hunter even closer.

  Bishop leaned back, his ears immune to the wailing storm outside of the metal walls of their sanctuary. He closed his eyes, exhausted from fighting with water, wind, and men for the last 16 hours.

  The storm continued to pound the iron horse, the gale so strong the entire car swayed back and forth. To the exhausted, waterlogged, and shivering people inside, the motion was like the rocking of a baby’s cradle.

  Bishop fell asleep.

  The sliding freight door flung open, brilliant sunlight flooding the interior of the car. Bishop blinked, lifting his hand to block the obnoxious intrusion.

  “What the fuck…”

  Grim’s head appeared, peering inside. “There you are. I thought you’d fallen to Neptune’s trident.”

  “What?” the still confused Bishop asked.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got a decision to make.”

  Shaking his head, Bishop managed to stand, limping to the opening on shaky legs. The scene outside the boxcar was undoubtedly one of the most unusual he’d ever seen.

  The sky was cloudless, a shade of blue unlike any the Texan had ever witnessed. The sheer beauty overhead was in stark contrast to the horizon where a line of midnight dark, swirling clouds was visible in all directions.

  “Has the hurricane passed?” Bishop asked, jumping down into the knee-deep water lapping at the iron wheels.

  “No,” Grim stated, sweeping a circle with his hand, “we’re in the eye.”

  “No shit?” Bishop observed, spinning all around to verify Grim’s claim. “So what’s the decision?”

  “The engineer says the back side of the hurricane will reverse the winds. He says when the far wall slams into us, the flooding will be worse. He wants us to get the people out of the cars and take them some place safer.”

  Again, Bishop scanned the area. “Where? Everything is flooded. There is no place safer.”

  Grim held up both hands, “I’m just the messenger.”

  “Come on, let’s go talk to this guy,” Bishop said, pissed, tired and angry.

  They found the engineer adjusting Lady Star’s valves and reading her gauges. “When the back side of that storm hits, the wind is going to come from the southwest. The cars almost blew over before; no way will they stay upright with gusts coming from the other direction. That, and I expect the flood waters to rise even more on this side of the island.”

  “Then move the train. Get us on the mainland while you can still cross the causeway,” Bishop instructed, the solution sounding logical enough. “There’s no place here to move all these people.”

  “We can’t do that,” the man objected. “We don’t know the condition of the tracks on the other side.”

  Bishop wasn’t in the mood for a debate or discussion. “It can’t be any worse over there than it is over here – can it? Move the damn train. The further inland we get, the less we have to worry about flooding. From what you have said, we face certain death if we stay put. What choice do we have anyway?”

  A discussion ensued between one of the firemen and the engineer, the new participant agreeing with Bishop. The Texan watched and listened for two minutes, his mood growing foul with the inaction. Finally, he flung his rifle around to his chest, chambered a round and demanded, “I am a captain in the Texas Rangers. Move the fucking train. Right now.”

  The two stunned railroaders froze, their faces painted in disbelief. Bishop reached inside a pouch on his kit and produced the badge he’d been issued just a few weeks before. “Now move the damn train before we lose this weather.”

  Nodding, the engineer began to issue orders, his crew hustling to ready Lady Star.

  Bishop turned to check on his family, Grim hustling to catch up. “Sure do hope you’re right about the mainland,” he whispered. “If the track is blocked, or the causeway is impassable, this is going to suck.”

  “Thanks for the support, deputy. I appreciate your confidence,” Bishop replied, not in the mood to engage in banter now.

  After returning to let a still-sleepy Terri know what was going on, Bishop climbed aboard the first passenger car, intent on monitoring the crew’s progress.

  Five minutes later, they began rolling through the floodwater covering the tracks, the white concrete of the distant causeway clearly visible against the coal black sky beyond.

  “We have to go slow through standing water,” one of the firemen informed Bishop. “Even a locomotive as heavy as the Lady Star can hydroplane off the tracks.”

  To the Texan’s eye, it was a surreal ride, a wake of water passing away from the train just like a boat crossing a glass-smooth lake.

  The closer they drew to the causeway, the higher the track’s elevation. Soon, they were climbing up and out of the flood, the entire crew showing relief.

  The next potential obstacle in their path, a blocked or washed-out causeway, never materialized. At the apex of the bridge, Bishop looked back over his shoulder, inhaling sharply at how fast the solid black wall of the storm’s eye was catching up with them. “Pour the coal to her, boys,” he whispered. “Let’s see Lady Star kick some ass.”

  It was an uphill grade coming off the island, but that was all right with every man aboard. Each mile gave them precious elevation above sea level… reduced the chances of being caught in the flood.

  Both sides of the line showed standing water, downed trees and toppled utility poles. As they passed over a small stream, Bishop held his breath. The water was already over the bridge supporting the tracks, and there was no way to know if the supports had been weakened by the flow.

  Like a bloodthirsty leviathan, the back wall of the storm chased them across the landscape. Taller and taller the dark, chu
rning wall of clouds grew, eating away at the escapees’ head start with every passing minute.

  Turning to look at their pursuer, Bishop yelled at Grim, “Now I know what an insect sees right before a tire squishes his ass.”

  They rolled north by northeast, every mile giving them a better chance of riding out the other half of the hurricane. Just when Bishop was starting to feel confident with his decision, the iron horse began to slow, and then the engineer hit the brakes hard.

  Craning his neck to see what the problem was, Bishop finally spied a pile of rubble across the tracks. Trying to figure out the source of the debris proved frustrating. There wasn’t anything around that could have collapsed or fallen over. “Where did that come from?” he turned and asked Grim.

  Wood erupted from a wall behind the ex-contractor, three bullets tearing into the surface. Automatically ducking, Bishop spun to see men with rifles scrambling alongside the barrier blocking their path.

  More bullets whacked and thwacked all around the two Alliance men, both of them going low, trying to bring their weapons into the fight.

  “We’re being robbed again?” Bishop yelled at Grim. “What is the problem around here with trains?”

  “Who the hell stages a hold-up in the middle of a hurricane?” Grim shouted back, his burst of return fire sending two attackers scrambling for cover.

  Bishop knew the answer as he centered on his first target. The man in his sights wore a red bandana around his hat. Major Misery and the boys had evidently decided to retrieve Hoss’s body… and eliminate any witnesses.

  “It’s Misery’s security men!” Grim shouted, arriving at the same conclusion. “They want your hide nailed on a barn door for killing Hoss. Probably want to keep us from snitching on them to the baron, too.”

  Bishop evaluated the situation quickly, taking little time in reaching the determination that there were too many of them for just Grim and him to handle.

  “Back the train out of here!” Bishop yelled to the cowering engineer. “Get us out of here!”