Fistful of Reefer: A Pulpy Action Series from Schism 8

The Deadman

Chancho blinked furiously from the combination of bright sun and whipping wind. Ah Puch held him by his bandoliers while the others stood clear of the swinging pipe. “We only get one chance at this,” Ah Puch cautioned.

“Yes, yes. Miss it and the tail-end of the train will be kissing ours goodbye.” Chancho shook tears from his eyes and watched the tunnel entrance rush toward them faster than he liked. “I’m more concerned with the possibility that we may not stop at all,” he cringed, “or we’ll wish we hadn’t.”

“You mean we’ll be sitting ducks when the rest of the train returns with all of its angry soldiers?”

“If we aren’t crushed by the deadman.” Chancho wiped away tears with his shoulder.

“This just keeps getting better.” Ah Puch shifted his grip on Chancho’s bandoliers. In the process, one of them snapped. Chancho dipped forward unevenly, dangling too far over the railing.

“Hold me steady! We’re almost to the switch!” The throw bar, topped with a red octagonal sign, swept into view as the front of the armored car passed it. The whole of the car had already passed the switch itself, but it was the trailing three cars that concerned the revolutionaries at the moment. “I don’t want to throw it with my face!”

Ah Puch swore and clutched at Chancho’s clothing in attempt to yank him backwards.

“Ah Puch!” Chancho held the heavy bar in front of his face in the hopes of deflecting the brunt of the collision. At the last second Ah Puch lunged further forward and gripped Chancho under his armpits. Digging his feet against the bottom of the railing, he reeled Chancho in. With a final bunt-like swing, Chancho whacked the flat portion of the throw bar as the two of them tumbled backwards onto the platform.

“Did you get it?” Ah Puch asked.

“I don’t know. I think so. I hit it anyway.”

“We’ll know soon enough.” For a moment they watched the freight car, the flatbed with their horses, and the caboose clack along the rails several hundred meters behind them. Emilio cleared his throat from the doorway of the armored car.

“The deadman!” Chancho jumped to his feet.

“That’s what we’re about to be,” Emilio shrugged.

Ah Puch continued his pessimism. “We’re going too fast to throw the—”

“Give me a boost,” Chancho cut him off.

“What?”

“Quickly. We’re entering the tunnel. I can trigger the mechanism. Just give me a boost, now!” The sky disappeared as the armored car shot into the tunnel, clipping at over 15 kilometers per hour.

Ah Puch obeyed instantly. Taking a wide stance on the metal grate of the landing, he laced his fingers together and clasped the back of Chancho’s boot at the missing heel. Chancho rested his other boot on the top of the railing and poised himself for the jump.

“How can you even see it? It’s too dark.”

“I know where I put it! Get ready! Three, two, now!”

Ah Puch launched Chancho into the oily darkness of the tunnel, confident he’d just thrust his friend face-first into solid rock.

While shooting outward, Chancho held his defective bandolier in his hand and searched the glimmering darkness for a whisper of light reflecting off the metal lever he had placed in the wall. Responding reflexively to a glint no more than a meter from his face, he used the bandolier like a lasso. A pulse of lightning tore through his shoulder sockets as the bandolier caught and flipped the lever into its recessed position. Chancho ripped free and smashed hard into the wall of the tunnel before crumpling to the ground.