The image of the car behind us yielded to an enormous block of fire, growing further and further away. It had apparently separated. Uniformed Cisco agents shouted and ran up and down the car. Two of them practically fell over themselves to get to our table.

"General, we need to get you to somewhere more secure."

"All right," Wes said. He motioned for us to move to the back. I glanced down to grab the jacket they'd given me, then looked up to the sound of shattering glass. The back of Wes' head exploded in a mess of red, and his body flopped forward on the table.

I started to shake. It wasn't happening.

I looked out the broken window. A truck was driving alongside. Another shot flew through; this time missing everyone. The soldier hooked his arms over Wes' shoulders and began to carry him out into the aisle. "Go. GO!" he yelled.

Perkins and I willed ourselves to get out of harm's immediate path, and were hastily ushered forward to the conductor's quarters. Gunfire whacked against the train's husk. More uniformed men climbed ladders to the top of the car. The soldier who had warned us lay hunched over Wes' body, hands covered in blood.

The shouts I can pick out from my memory include "who's on the turrets", "who can drive this thing", and "how is the General".

The soldier caring for Wes rose to his feet and quickly glanced around at nothing in particular. He looked at me. "I don't know. I have to get to a turret. Make sure he's okay." With that, he turned and ran to climb a ladder.

Perkins and I huddled around Wes. He lay on the ground, face up, motionless, eyes open. He was dead.

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To be continued
-Jon
jonbois@gmail.com