The night sky rushed by in a wild breeze. From inside the train car the horizon was framed like motion picture in slow motion, and the gentle knocking of the wheels on the track created a somnolent feeling that covered the wooden car like a blanket. Christian sat against the wall of the car, his eyes half-closed as they stared out into the heavy darkness.
Across from him sat two men, chins tucked to their chests, hats pulled down over their eyes. They flanked the open door of the rail car.
They are a wrong turn away from a bad day – Christian thought to himself.
His head lolled to one side lazily and he looked to his old rucksack. A last reminder of the time spent in the trenches of hell. He breathed deep. Sighed. Reached into his pack and rummaged around. He wasn’t sure what it was he was looking for. Hell. Probably nothing. He looked at the semi-automatic pistol that sat in his pack – unloaded, but with 2 full magazines stowed nearby. Field rations he’d rummaged from an old depot he’d come across. Clean socks and a couple changes of shirts.
Keep those fuckin’ feet dry – he thought to himself again. The mantra of the infantry.
The car was dark. He was tired. He needed to sleep, but remembered he couldn’t. Then he remembered why he was going into his pack in the first place. He pulled out a small greenish tin. Most of the color worn from spending so much time in the ruck. He opened the tin and the strong smell of instant coffee smacked him in the face. He grabbed his old canteen that lay by his side and shook it.
Fuuuuuck – He thought to himself as he realized there wasn’t enough water.
Another deep breath. Another long sigh. He glanced up at the two men opposite him, still laying with their heads down in slumber. He swore he saw one twitch or move recently, but he wasn’t sure. He was on 20 hours without sleep, and sometimes he didn’t know what he was seeing.
He reached his fingers into the tin, pinched a clump of the instant coffee and jammed it in-between his lip and gums. He used his tongue to pat it into a packed ball and within seconds he could feel the coffee kicking him in the face. He knew his mouth would taste like shit for the next day. But he had to stay awake.
With the coffee in his mouth he looked through his pack again, his eyes glancing at the men as he cautiously pulled the heavy pistol from the pack. He snuck it behind his back and tucked it between his belt and back. Thumbing at the loaded magazines he picked one up. A sliver of moonlight glinted off the chrome-colored slugs as he pulled it out. He reached behind his back and snuck it into the magazine well. He felt it click into place quietly and he pulled his hands out.
Christian shoved his pack to the side again, pulled his hat down over his head, and shut his eyes. He let his head slide down to his chest.
Stay awake. You have to stay awake – he thought.
He took some deep breaths, the coffee in his mouth tasted stale and burned, but it was doing everything he needed it to. Within a few moments he heard shuffling. He didn’t move. Quiet movements almost inaudible over the gentle thumping of the railway scratched into his ears. Christian kept his eyes shut and listened. Whispers. He couldn’t hear the words being spoken, but he could hear the voices. Slow footsteps gently walked over to him. He couldn’t see the two men, but they were close enough that he could feel their presence. A foot nudged him.
One of them spoke. Christian didn’t understand the language.
Cathonian – He thought.
The other responded, and he heard the sounds of pushing and slapping. Then quiet.
Fucking business time.
The whispers grew louder and soon he could feel hot breath in his face. It was a fetid stench that carried the rancid odors of rot and decay. The smell slapped him in the face and he instantly opened his eyes and looked straight at the man squatting in front of him.
The man was shocked to see Christian’s eyes open, and he leaned back in reaction. It was in that split second that Christian’s Devlet-issued combat boot landed squarely in the man’s chest, sending him sprawling back. The man was dangerously close to rolling out of the car. The other man reacted with lightning reflexes. Christian couldn’t really see them well. They were black silhouettes dancing in the night. The other man darted towards Christian, and he was able to get a good look at him when he pulled the firearm from his pants and the muzzle flash lit up the train car.
A young man, old enough to shave, but young enough that he really didn’t need to, was sent sprawling to the floor, two bullets in his head. The other kid scrambled to his feet at the sounds of the gunshots and he started yelling.
“Non intelligo…” Christian said. He was so tired of hearing Cathonian.
The man across from him stopped talking when he heard this.
“Non intelligo?” He asked.
“Yeah. Non intelligo. What’s so fucking hard about that?”
The man laughed. He seemed confident. He stood up straighter, stretched his arms and rolled his head around stretching his neck.
“Fucking externus,” he said to Christian, then continued laughing.
“You cannot hurt me! Your guns cannot hurt me!” he yelled defiantly into the night sky.
Christian watched as he seemed to twist into a nightmarish figure.
They don’t shapeshift… Do they? Fuck. I need sleep. – He blinked his eyes tight a few times.
“Your friend seems pretty fucking hurt.”
The man stopped laughing and looked sharply at Christian, “A minor setback. He shall rise again!”
His body didn’t change, but instead seemed to writhe instead of move naturally.
There was a brief period of silence. Christian stared at the man. The man stared at his dead comrade. More silence.
“What?! What did you do?!” The man yelled as he twisted his hands unnervingly, clutching at the air in desperation.
“I know what the fuck you are.” Christian said. He held the service pistol down at his side, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.
“You know nothing! We are eternal! We are the night! WE ARE…”
Two more muzzle flashes and the man’s head burst. His lifeless body slumped down and rolled out of the car and into the night air. Christian unloaded the chamber, pulled the magazine, and placed the pistol back in his ruck. Slowly he shuffled to the corpse that sprawled on the floor of the train car, heaved it up and shoved it out. He watched as it bounced in the moonlight. Christian looked down. They were traveling along a cliff. He would need to check his map, see where they were. But he knew he had at least a few hours before dawn. Before the next stop. He twisted the dial that set the alarm on his watch, listened for the ticking of the second hand, then shuffled back to his place by his ruck. He thought he should take the coffee out of his mouth. How it was going to make his mouth disgusting when he woke up. He thought about staying awake. Then he thought Fuck it. And just passed out.