• Gotta get back, gotta get back…. The wide modified door in the side of the boxcar swung wide to allow a wooden ramp to unfold. Two young men stood at either side of it, holding automatic weapons steady. The sun had gone down, and the last shafts of light had taken the guarantee of safety with them beneath the treeline. The beasts could in no wise catch the heavily adapted Volkswagen, but I still feared that one might cross my path back to the boxcar. I was right to fear.
    One of the fast ones heard the high-pitched roar of the engine, and moved to intercept. I watched it lunge for me, and I knew I was exposed behind the rails that made up the buggy. I reached for my firearm, but the smell of decaying flesh let me know the thing was too close, and it was already too late. At the instant of my resignation, the report of the two weapons sounded and the ensuing swarm of lead disabled the creature. With a redundant death rattle, it slid to the ground and died for the second time.
    Before any more showed up, I floored it and maneuvered the VW buggy onto the ramp and into the car. The tires squeaked quietly as I slammed it in park and jumped out. Drawing my pistol, I fired into the darkness, hoping to hit at least one. The two beside me fired briefly before closing up the ramp and the heavily barricaded door. I emptied my clip before the door closed.
    “Well, that was fun. Wanna see the goodies I brought you?” I asked of my two friends.
    “Looks like some Oreos and a few boxes of 10-gauge shells to me,” Ryan put in.
    “Okay, it’s not like I don’t like Oreos, but I was hoping you’d bring us something…else. Getting kind of sick of junkfood,” Cody said, racking the gun by the door.
    “Let’s get to the others and decide who gets to sleep,” I said as we made our way to the rec car.
    * * *
    “Those things’ll kill you, you know,” Mitch declared wisely over the mouth of his beer bottle.
    “Not me. I don’t inhale the smoke,” I answered after blowing thick, gray plumes from between my teeth. “Besides, I needed a Black&Mild after today.” I finished the cigar and tossed the plastic tip.
    “I’ll drive tonight,” Mitchell volunteered.
    “The hell you will,” Mitch said drunkenly yet sternly. “I didn’t drink this case by myself.
    “I ain’t drunk. I can drive.”
    “Look, I’ll drive. You two need a cold shower.” It was Ryan that spoke.
    “Well, I might just like that,” Mitchell said between intoxicated giggles.
    “No, you stay where you’re at until Mitch is fully dressed. And gimme that beer bottle.” I snatched it away and tossed it into the barrel that housed my cigar tips. “Ryan’s driving tonight. Go clean yourselves up, and we’ll turn in for the night.” The day had been mostly uneventful. I only came across two or three of them, not including the one near the boxcar. I lit my second Black&Mild on the grate of my little space heater. Taking a long draw on it, I kicked back in the ratty recliner bolted to the floor. I examined my pistol. As I had many nights before this one, I asked myself if it was worth the struggle. Should I continue searching for help that may not exist? Should I continue to travel across the wasted country I used to call my home? Or should I end my journey here, on the train? I moved to place the pistol in my mouth. As the cold barrel drew close to my lips, I was vaguely aware of the taste of gunsmoke. Would I finally do it this time? I sat in darkness and silence, tasting the metal for the space of several minutes. The cigar had nearly burnt up. I removed the gun from my mouth, slowly. I then watched the cherry of the cigar go out, and tossed it with its brethren into my big metal drum. I sighed, and drew up the thin, ragged blanket to my chin.
    "Not tonight," I said aloud as I let the rhythmic, metallic music of the train lull me to uneasy sleep.