Perla drew near the window and fired at the closest ones to her, saying, “Shoo!”
The bathroom door slammed open and a woman in her late thirties named Georgette shuffled out. She wore chain mail down to her knees. It looked to be an authentic hauberk relic, looted along with her club purported to be William Wallace’s.
“Whoa, Gimli!” Poe said in awe, still on the floor and collecting her bearings.
Georgette walked over Poe’s legs and slammed open a window to let herself out. The woman can fly!
“That’s Georgette. She’s from up north,”
explained Perla.
“Everyone down!” Morales yelled. Perla shoved a slow-to-react cattle down forcefully.
Two elderly cattle suffered from cardiac arrest.
Their hearts could no longer take the stop-and-go stress. Morales went to the next train car with Poe and Megan close behind to check on other passengers.
The compartments were poorly lit. Poe kept her goggles in hand. The train chugged away from the station into the violet and pink-streaked evening sky, and Poe’s good leg almost buckled over in relief. She made her way to the next compartment to check for casualties but was beset by an earsplitting noise.
“Jeez! What now?” complained Megan.
“That would be six really evil airborne vampires mocking us from the window outside,” Morales answered, harassed. Two enemy vamps held on to the window ledge while running along the train like Clark Kent in the comics. One of them punched the glass and tried to snatch a passenger within.
“Get down!” Maple calmly ordered two shaking passengers. “Watch out for hot shells and glass.” She 337
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fired out the window, hitting a fanged one, and watched him tumble out of sight.
Poe followed Maple’s example and fired at the other audacious vampires. Despite the bad gun recoil, she was able to shoot down two peskies. The dead that got away gave Poe the finger and punched and kicked in more windows before flying away to the next car.
The cattle sitting by the cracked windows scrambled on all fours down the aisle, a little slow on the take, blocking Poe’s way.
“Shit! They’re on the roof!” said Morales in panic. The one-two gallop of feet landing could be heard.
Get on the roof! The voice in her head returned.
Poe fired skyward with her Calico, showering hot shells on those closest to her. “Sorry!”
She was almost positive that she had shot someone. Pandemonium kicked into high gear among the beleaguered cattle who rushed to the aisle for safety. Before she could fire again, Poe pitched forward as the train braked to a scratchy deceleration.
Slammed against the connecting door, her shoulder suffered agonizingly on impact. It was the drugs. They made her clumsy and hear things. A dark figure punched the window closest to her open and swung in feet first, barely missing the seated cattle who yelped in alarm. For the second time that day, a large pair of hands picked her up and dumped her on an empty seat.
“Are you okay?” asked Sainvire.
“Uh huh,” Poe answered, looking away. “If you try to pick me up again, I’ll shoot you.”
“You’ve done that plenty.” He took a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the brown glop seeping from a thigh wound. “Do me a favor. Try not to shoot at the roof for the next five 338
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minutes,” Sainvire advised. “Some of us might want to keep our members intact.”
“Maybe I can go up there–”
“Don’t be daft. You can barely walk as it is.”
Poe belligerently assented. She knew the roof would equal a swift death – hers. Before she could vilify herself about shooting the master vampire, however, Sainvire frowned at Morales and said, “Get a better gun, Morales.” With that, he dove out the window.
“Whoa, Poe. You shot the master vampire again,”
said Morales glibly. “Don’t you know he’s on our side?”
“Put your Magnum away, Morales,” Poe said testily. She imagined the man blowing up cattle or her at close range. “And get yourself a decent gun.”
“You two follow me,” said Megan. “The train’s stopping.”
The three tensely made their way into the engine room. The conductor was an ex-cattle by the telling bite marks on his neck. Unlike the other ex-cats she’d seen fighting around the station that made it a point to hide the marks of former servitude with bandanas, the dark man with pronounced Pacific Islander features displayed them proudly. Perhaps they were reminders himself of the importance of his job.
“Evenin’.” He tipped his colorful fedora. He was busy slowing down the noisy locomotive to a stop.