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“They’re from a group called Wormwood. You’re going to love them.”
He looks past us at the train, then back into Tartarus.
“Well, lovely seeing you.”
“Good-bye, Mason. Enjoy eternity.”
“Eternity is a long time, James. Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet again.”
“Nope.”
We shove the metal back into position and I weld it in place with the Gladius.
The conductor runs back to me and Bill.
“I can do it,” he says. “The controls are a little different, but I can handle them.”
“Then get moving. Those hellbeasts are going to be finished eating soon.”
He looks at the river.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Good-bye,” he says. “By the way, who are you people?”
“That’s Wild Bill Hickok,” I say, hooking a thumb at Bill.
He points at me.
“That’s Sandman Slim right there.”
Casey Jones looks at me.
“Funny name,” he says.
“Tell me about it. Now get going.”
He runs back to the engine. The air horn howls twice and the train starts moving.
I stand there watching them go. I know I did the right thing, but I’m still not entirely happy.
I wish there was time to tell them about Hesediel and how she sacrificed herself for them. But none of these people will have heard of black milk or probably the new war in Heaven. Hesediel’s death would just be an abstraction to them. A Sunday school homily you tolerate because you know there’s juice and graham crackers later. Hesediel deserves more than that.
Sometime down the road, when the rebels are gone and Heaven’s gates finally open, someone will tell them about her. They’ll get it then. And someone better build a statue and have a holiday where the banks close and some asshole does a movie about her and it plays all day like It’s a Wonderful Life at Christmas. If they don’t, I promise to make my one and only trip to Heaven and put my boot severely up someone’s ass.
As the train disappears Bill says, “We should get going. I think some of them behemoths are still hungry.”
He’s right. A few of the hellbeasts are wandering back in our direction.
“You sure you don’t want to hop on that train, Bill? I think I can still catch it.”
“Don’t ask fool questions. Take me home.”
We get back in the Corvair and speed back to the city.
The bugbite doesn’t itch anymore. Now my whole right arm is numb. But I don’t tell Bill that.
