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  MEMENTO MORI

  #SAVANT: BOOK 2

  David J. West

  Memento Mori Copyright 2020 David J. West

  Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside

  Cover by Warren Design

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Some names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously others are historical and used for entertainments sake. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  LOST REALMS PRESS

  Track Listing

  1. Hellbound Train

  2. War Party

  3. Four Sticks

  4. South Bound Suarez

  5. Traveling Riverside Blues

  6. Communication Breakdown

  7. Fool in the Rain

  8. Hey, Hey What Can I Do

  9. Nobody’s Fault But Mine

  10. Gallows Pole

  11. Rock And Roll

  For Brother Mikoda

  A Texas cowboy lay down on a bar-room floor.

  Having drunk so much he could drink no more;

  So he fell asleep with a troubled brain

  To dream that he rode on a hell-bound train.

  The engine with murderous blood was damp

  And was brilliantly lit with a brimstone lamp;

  An imp, for fuel, was shoveling bones,

  While the furnace rang with a thousand groans.

  — The Hellbound Train: traditional folk ballad

  1. Hellbound Train

  Somewhere past Cheyenne Wyoming…

  Black smoke belched into the air and Porter got a face full as he ran across the top of the speeding train car. He had to keep moving. Bullet holes punched through the cars roof right on his heels. He felt a bullet tear through the tails of his long coat. Reaching the end of the car, he leapt over the divide to the next one. His pursuers took slightly longer getting out the door of one car and into the next, so he had a momentary respite from dodging bullets.

  Porter took a breather, hunching low from the smoke. He took the chance that so long as he remained still and no one looked over the roofline to spot him, he had as a good a chance as any to catch his breath. He wasn’t as young as he used to be and that pained him. He remembered how well he used to be able to move, all the things he used to accomplish that were right there in easy reach. But now he had pains in his joints that had no viable cause and he was winded. He hadn’t run that far yet, he told himself. Just from the front of his train that landed in Cheyenne and he raced as fast as he could to catch the tail end of the Count’s train.

  The Counts’ train that held Mr. Methuselah a prisoner.

  Porter and Elizabeth were gonna get him back and finish this, whatever that entailed. He hoped Elizabeth upheld her end of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to move until he had drawn the Knights to the front of the train and stopped the engine. Then she was to come and hit them from behind.

  Bullets slammed through the ceiling once more, this time more angled, for the distance the men below were shooting. If Porter had been standing upright, he might have been hit.

  How had they seen him?

  Then he felt the fool. The setting sun was casting a long shadow atop the train. Lucky for him the long shadows had fooled them as to where on the roof he was. But they knew which car. He had to move again.

  He leapt to the next car and lay flat, figuring that this far down on the beveled train car’s roof, it would hide his shadow.

  A few more bullets splintered the roof not more than six feet from him.

  He laid low on the car and the bullets ceased.

  “Where’d he go?” he heard a man shout.

  “Must have jumped to the next car. Let’s go!”

  Now he would be behind them, better position, Porter told himself.

  But why stop at one trouble when you can have two or three?

  A Knight of St. Germain popped his head up to look from between the cars. He looked first in the wrong direction and Porter waited a long moment to see if the man would notice him. But as the Knight turned and faced Porter, his eyes widened in fright as he saw he was looking down the blue steel gun barrel of Porter’s prize automatics.

  Before the Knight could cry out, Porter unloaded two shots and took the Knight’s cares away in red haze. Porter rolled and was running across the roof of the car again as return fire splintered the wood paneling of the train car right where he had just lain.

  ***

  Elizabeth wasn’t happy. Porter had told her to stay put until he stopped the train, but how could that help anything? It sure wouldn’t help Mister Methuselah who was likely being brutalized by the Count at this very moment. They were able to board the train in Cheyenne just as it was pulling away, but Elizabeth hadn’t used her powers to speed their train along since Salt Lake City they never would have caught up. But now that they had Porter seemed awful touchy. Who did he think he was telling her to keep her head down and wait? She needed to do something.

  She went to the front of the caboose and glanced through the window and into the next car. There wasn’t much she could see yet; it was getting dark, but she could hear the shots. She supposed that hearing a lot of them was actually a good thing, it meant Porter was still out there.

  Reaching for the power inside her, she felt for Mister Methuselah. Pure energy stretched out feeling like creeping vines and then striking a wall shriveling electrified against that shield. The Count was up to something. Her best guess was that Mister Methuselah must be in one of the center train cars. She couldn’t wait forever for Porter’s plan to work, she had to do something.

  She opened the caboose door and stepped on the platform between cars, immediately rough hands wrapped around her body tightly and a man with breath that stank of whiskey, growled into her ear. “What have we here? A little bird?”

  “Let me go,” she demanded. She strained against his grip, but he was far too strong.

  “I don’t think so. I heard about the trouble you caused Salt Lake, your friend killed my brother in arms. Now, I'm gonna make you pay.”

  “What do you want?” She asked while straining against him, but it was useless. The shock of his grabbing her had made her forget to use the Infernal Voice. She called upon the power to compel him but…

  “Oh you know what I want,” he said. He then wrapped a gag about her mouth, chokingly tight to the point where she could still breathe through her nose, but she couldn’t speak.

  She tried to jam her heel into his foot and fight back but it was no use. He held her like a professional grappler.

  He pushed her back through the caboose door then shut it behind him and locked it. He put the key into his breast pocket which he padded with this rough right hand, taunting her on the means of escape.

  Elizabeth was annoyed with herself that she had been so shocked in the moment that she’d forgotten to use her gifts to reach for the power and use her gifts. Now it seemed too late.

  The grappler was a big man with a ruddy complexion complimenting his thick red hair and sideburns taking up most of his cheeks. His suit was a dark green and he had a dented bowler on. He looked nothing like any of the other Knights of Saint Germain.
Holding her down with his own ample weight, he took hold of his silver belt buckle and pulled the slim bit of leather free of his trousers.

  Elizabeth’s eyes bulged in horror as she screamed silently into the gag.

  ***

  Porter leapt into the open fuel car and landed with a crash amidst chunks of coal. An engineer looked at him and raised his shovel as if he thought to swing it like a bat.

  Porter warily raised his gun, warning, “Don’t.”

  “I supposing you want me to stop the train?” asked the engineer.

  “Yup, but only for a moment, then throttle it up again, once a few of the more unfriendly passengers’ dismount. I’m hoping they’ll drop to the ground to run up here and we can lose a few in the process.”

  “That’ll be awful tricky. What are you playing at? What kind of robbery is this?”

  “Tain’t a robbery,” drawled Porter. “I’m trying to save some folks.”

  “You ain’t with them Germans?” asked the engineer.

  “Nope,” said Porter, turning his attentions back to the oncoming Knights. Several men were poking their heads around each side of the fuel car from behind. Porter took a few shots at each side of the car to keep them back. “Hurry up and bring us to a stop. The more violent the better as far as I’m concerned.”

  “All right then,” said the engineer. “Brace yourself.” He pulled back the brake and the train squealed as the wheels seized up on the track and sparks shot out at the tall yellow grass. Here and there a flame came to life and more black smoke was added to the darkening sky. The jerking motion made the passenger and crew fly forward with momentum and Porter saw that at least one Knight was thrown from the train.

  The skidding train came to a final halt.

  “You wait five seconds and get her going again, full throttle, you hear me?” said Porter. “If there is any luck, some of them won’t be able to get back aboard.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the engineer. “I hope that works.”

  Knights came pouring out both sides of the train, like a kicked hornets’ nest.

  Porter opened fire on each side, taking quick turns moving back and forth as he reloaded his magazines.

  ***

  As the train came to screeching halt, the big Irishman went flying from atop Elizabeth and hit the door behind.

  Elizabeth spun about and kicked him in the jewels as hard as she could.

  The Irishman cried out, and grasped himself, wheezing and drawing n breath like a bellows with a hole in it.

  Elizabeth tore the gag from her mouth and brought the Infernal Voice to her full command. “Stand!”

  The Irishman was still doubled over in pain, but he followed her direction albeit slowly and clutching himself.

  “Open the door.”

  He opened the door.

  “Get off the train.”

  The Irishman shuffled through the door and let himself down the first step on the edge of the train car.

  Somewhere far ahead toward the engine, a number of gunfire was blazing on both sides.

  Despite the Irishman’s horrible intentions, Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to allow an enchanted man to simply walk into the harms ways of flying lead while being so ensorcelled.

  “Wait,” she commanded, and the man halted on the final step. “Go in front of me and lead me to the prisoner.”

  “I don’t know who that is,” he said catatonically.

  “The box that the Count took in Salt Lake City.”

  “That is in the third car ahead. Many men are sitting there with the Count of Saint Germain.”

  “You will help me get the box. Lead on.”

  “They will stop you. No matter the cost.”

  “Let me worry about that,” she said with the power of the Infernal Voice.

  The Irishman opened to door to the next car. The regular passengers were trying to see out the windows, unaware of who or what was causing the gunfire.

  An old woman cautioned Elizabeth, “You best not go any further, dearie, those foreigners in the next car are terrible ruffians.”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  Elizabeth followed the Irishman on, when a terrible pain shot down Elizabeth’s shoulder and neck. The old woman had struck her from behind with a strange weapon.

  Elizabeth felt like her body was frozen. She couldn’t move any of her muscles and she hit to seat in front of her and fell on her back. She could still see and hear, not that that helped her fears.

  The old woman stood above her with what looked like a cane, but it had a double pronged steel head. Blue electricity arced between the two prongs.

  The old woman gave a malevolent chuckle. “Not all who serve the Count are Knights,” she said. “Some of us are witches.” The blue lightning danced between the prongs as she brought the weapon closer to Elizabeth’s face.

  ***

  Porter had his hands full, reloading his magazine and shooting as fats as he could. Already a pile of knights were lying bleeding on the ground beside the train and more were coming. The engine was riddled with bullets and the engineer had been nicked by a nasty ricochet.

  “Want me to get it running again?”

  “Do it,” said Porter as he took a bead on a Knight attempting to go over the top of the coal car. He shot the man who cried out and crashed to the ground.

  “Was you hoping that distraction would bring in the reinforcements?” asked the engineer.

  “Yup. Somethings wrong.”

  The train jerked ahead and started down the tracks with a scattering of sparks along the ground. Some dry brown grasses caught aflame like they itching to burn and choking smoke wafted up.

  Porter stuck his head up once, to see if he could see or sense Elizabeth.

  Nothing.

  A few knights running alongside the train, took wild pot shots at Porter and he returned fire almost casually. He was worried about her.

  “Keep going, I gotta find the girl,” he said to the engineer.

  The engineer shrugged. He had never understood the maneuver anyway. “Best a luck to you. Send a doc if you can.”

  “Will do,” said Porter as went up to the top of the coal car. He saw knights struggling to regain a foothold on the train upon each side. He counted more than a half dozen wounded left behind along the tracks struggling to catch the train and almost that many more who were dead left to bleach in the Wyoming sun.

  At least he had severely cut down the numbers facing him. But where was Liz?

  ***

  Elizabeth’s limbs were unresponsive. It felt like ghosts held her every muscle and nerve. Only her eyes twitched wild with fear at the approaching shock of that electrified cane.

  The old witch’s mouth was moving, she was said something with a sinister leer upon her face but Elizabeth couldn’t hear anything but a buzzing roar.

  She had no doubts that the old crone intended on zapping her again though and she couldn’t let that happen.

  The cane moved closer. Blue lightning danced between the prongs. The wrinkles on the witches face twitched with evil glee.

  “No!” Elizabeth wailed like a banshee, and her voice sent the witch flying backward and over the top of the seats behind her.

  Was it Elizabeth’s imagination or did her hearing return when she thought she heard the old woman’s spine snap like a rotten branch.

  A woman was screaming. Gunfire echoed outside. The train rattled along the tracks.

  Elizabeth could hear again.

  The black clad body of the witch was bent over unnatural across the seat and remained still. The rest of the passengers were holding their hands to their ears in shock.

  Elizabeth slowly stood and dusted herself off. Her body quivered at the effort. Her limbs felt like lead and her head still swam.

  She took stock of the situation.

  The Irishman was gone. Perhaps he had continued ahead under the command of the Infernal Voice, or more likely he had come to his senses and escaped to alert that
Count that she was coming.

  Fire were burning outside near the rails and venomous smoke billowed over the prairie. A few Knights were running alongside the tracks and she caught sight of a few more lying in the golden grass.

  A man was behind her at the door she had just come through. He leveled a gun.

  Elizabeth called upon the power and with her eldritch sign, she flung him away. She heard him gasp as the power sent him flying to the ground.

  At the opposite end of the passenger car, the doors opened. Simultaneously, the thudding sound of boot prints stomped over the roofline.

  The gunmen which had been almost ready to throw down on Elizabeth looked up at the roof and fired into the ceiling.

  Elizabeth spun the power through her hands and sent a blast at the clutch of knights, the fell away back toward the next car.

  Behind her she heard the heavy thud of a man dropping to the car. Turning, she was relieved to see it was Porter.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Plans didn’t work out so well as I hoped. They got a powerful lot of men, and I ain’t even seen the Count yet.” HE trained his pistol on the door, then scooped up Elizabeth and went back toward the caboose as the door slammed open and a spray of bullets were cranked in their general direction.

  It was the swiftest dark doorways she had only just passed through. Porter slammed it home and through the bolt back in place.

  ***

  Porter covered Elizabeth and shoved her quickly inside. He returned fire a moment, always shielding her with his own body.

  “Lock the door!” he shouted.

  Elizabeth dropped a bar across the door. One that she had only just too recently been excited to get the Irishman to open.

  Bullets stung at the door and bar and shattered the small window.

  A different kind of sound came from the rear of the car. One of the abandoned knights had managed to catch up to the escaping train and climb aboard. Porter glimpsed a fierce bearded face, and the gleam of steel in his hand.

  “Get down!” warned Porter as he pushed Elizabeth toward cover and pile of tarps and other equipment fell on her.