
[Pages from the uncorrected proof of Step Zero. To purchase the limited illustrated hardbound edition of this novel go to The Stu Store at Squareup.com. To purchase the non-illustrated ebook, go to those places where ebooks are sold. To start from the beginning, simply search this website for other installments. Thanks, y'all.]
Peter Saum, Jr.
Monday, March 9th, 2076: 10:05 p.m.
On The Sunset Limited
East of The Salton Sea, California
Found an empty seat just a few rows back from Artie, Georgia, Michael, and Mags. They donât know Iâm here. Hell, they never know Iâm here. But I need to be here tonight.
I donât know whatâs going to happen but I just had this funny feeling while cruising around the Solar System today. Like that time Artie almost got killed three years ago. So Iâm here. I canât do much, except shine Light and send Love, but that ainât no spiritual chicken feed.
Pretty girl in front of me. Hair blowing in the wind from the desert air coming in through the train car window. Windowâs only down an inch or so, but itâs moving her auburn hair like a dance of red strings. Quite beautiful. Pretty night, too.
Then I see the first bullet enter the car. Comes through the girlâs window, right in front of face. Glass shards soon behind. Like in slow motion. I can see in slow motion when I want to, or when things go down. Things are going down.
Red-headed girl looks all right. Face looks OK. Sheâs on the floor. Got a pistol in her hand.
Then I float to over where my family is.
Georgia âGâ Swann
Monday, March 9th, 2076: 10:07 p.m.
On The Sunset Limited
East of The Salton Sea, California
As soon as I hear glass shatter, I have my .357 out of my bag. I look over at Artie. Heâs still grabbing for his gun. Magsâ already gone to at the other side of the car, yelling orders.
âKill the lights,â she screams. Someone flicks a switch. Most but not all of the lights go out.
âEveryone without weapons, hug the floor on the right side of the train,â she yells. âEveryone with, over here on the left.â
Quick motions in the dark of the unarmed crawling right and the armed heading left. Iâm behind Mags. She turns to speak to me.
âYou any good with that?â asks Mags.
âPope shit in the woods?â I say.
âYes, he does,â say Mags with a smile.
âWhat do you see?â I ask.
âNothing. Nothing at all. Might have just been some assholes fucking with us. Might be robbers though. Weâll know in a few minutes.â
âWeâll know?â I ask.
âIf the train comes to a halt,â Mags says. âMeans they got through the locomotive door or put something on the tracks. Have to be something big to stop this train though. These new locomotives have hellish counter measures to combat robbers. Top secret stuff. You donât want to know.â
I squat beside her in the dark and wait for the train to stop. One minute. Two minutes. Still moving. I feel Artieâs hand on my waist, just letting me know heâs there. Still nothing. Trainâs still flying along. I hardly breath.
Then, silhouetted against the light desert sand, I see horses and then men on horses and then more horses and more men. Couple dozen at least.
âYou see them?â says Mags.
âI do,â I say. âWhat do you think?â
âNothing. I donât think they mean to rob the train. Just trying to put the fear of God into us. Showing us whoâs boss, and itâs not you, assholes,â say Mags, more to herself as anyone else.
âGlad youâre here,â I say.
She turns to me and smiles.
âIâm glad you all are safe,â she says, looking at Artie and I.
âNo gun?â she yells across the isle to Michael.
Michael shakes his head in the dim light.
âWant one?â say Mags.
âThanks. Not right now,â says Michael.
âIf I need you, you in?â Mags asks Michael.
Michael nods
âHeâs in,â say Artie. âJust not until itâs time. Itâs not time yet.â
âOh,â say Mags. âYouâre right. Itâs not time. Pray it doesnât become time.â
âGGATI, help us,â I say.
And for the first time, in days, I think about my family in Cheyenne.
Peter Saum, Jr.
Monday, March 9th, 2076: 10:30 p.m.
On The Sunset Limited
East of The Salton Sea, California
Artieâs OK. Everybody else too, but one.
âWhat happened?â asks Melissa.
âYou got shot,â I say. âYouâre dead now.â⨠âReally?â she says, brushing the white hair out of her face, or rather her white angel ghost hair. Sheâs new to this.
âDamn, I was going to visit my grandkids in San Bernardino,â she says.
âYou still can,â I say. âThey just wonât be able to see you. You can still send Love to them. The Love Of The Ancestors. Still watch over them too, or you can come back as a human right away or go to the Great Big Sea. You have lots of choices.â
âAm I an angel?â asks Melissa.
âAn angel and a ghost. An angel ghost. Itâs hard to explain,â I say.
âIs there a God? A Goddess?â she asks.
âClose your eyes, Melissa.â
She does. Then she glows. Literally glows with the Light. Her first angel ghost time with the Light of God Goddess All There Is.
I hold her hands and wait for her to decide.
I love this part.
Arthur âArtieâ Saum
Tuesday, March 10th, 2076: 6:45 a.m.
On The Sunset Limited
Just south of San Bernardino, California
âWho was she?â I say through a yawn.
âMelissa Bartlett. 63 years old. From El Paso. On her way to visit family in San Bernerdino, judging from her papers and such,â says Mags.
âFamily know sheâs dead?â asks Georgia.
âDonât know their number.â say Mags. âWe checked her phone, but there are no last names with the caller IDs. My guess is someone will be at the station to pick her up, and weâll tell them then.â
âJesus,â says Michael.
âYeah,â says Mags.
The train starts to slow. Dawn breaks over the mountains to the east.
âDid I sleep through Palm Springs?â I ask Georgia.
âLike a baby,â she says.
âI miss anything?â
âWe stopped for fifteen minutes, picked up a half dozen passengers, and we were on our way,â say G. âThe conductor whispered âPalm Springsâ over the intercom. Sweet of him to not want to wake everyone up, even though most of us were up, due to the shooting. Except you.â
Sheâs not mad. Just teasing.
I give a crooked grin. I was tired, plus with Mags with us, I figured we were fine.
âIâm up now,â I say.
Georgia kisses me. Not a big kiss, but not a little one either. Damn good regular kiss.
âCheck that out,â say Michael, pointing out the window.
âWow,â I say.
For miles, all I see are concrete pads for houses. No wood, no pipes, no roofs, no homes. Just a sea of rectangular pads of concrete, with some rusted old gasoline cars mixed in. Iâve seen this before, out at Continental Ranch, a suburb of homes outside of Tucson, but not like this. I donât get too sentimental about pre-War days. From what I can gather from old-timers, and some books and newspapers, Americans were a selfish, spoiled people, afraid of their own shadows and with little resilience to endure the ups and downs of living. But seeing all these pads, Iâm reminded that families lived here, thousands of people loved and worked here, and did the best they could. Families and friends. And my family and friends are the most important thing to me, next to my sobriety. Be honest with yourself, Artie. I know if I ever lose my sobriety, Iâll lose my family and friends, or rather theyâll lose me.
âSomething, eh?â Michael say.
I nod.
Mags sees what we are seeing.
âWorse as you get to closer to Los Angeles. Much worse,â she says.
âWe have to change trains in San Bernardino,â says Georgia, but we all know this. âYou staying on the train, Mags and heading into L.A.?â she asks the Marshal.
âNope. Maybe on the way back Iâll come through Los Angeles, but Iâm getting on the Southwest Chief for a few hours, then Iâll transfer to the San Joaquin Train in Barstow, and head straight to Oakland.â
Georgia gets up from her seat, crosses the isle and hugs Mags tight.
âAh, Iâm guessing you folks are taking that route as well,â says Mags.
G smiles and nods and hugs Mags again.
Arthur âArtieâ Saum
Tuesday, March 10th, 2076: 8:40 a.m.
Santa Fe Depot
San Bernardino, California
âWe have a two hour layover here,â Georgia says to me, looking at her schedule. âLetâs get something to eat.â
We exit the car to the platform. Iâm traveling light with only my backpack, and a smaller bag that carries my ukelele and my gun. G has a small backpack and a mandolin case. Michaelâs the one who decided to bring his Martin, but heâs not over-loaded. Most people carry instruments when they travel. At least everyone under the age of 50. Like the old priests who carry Bibles, we carry guitars, fiddles, mandolins, ukeleles, flutes, and skin drums. If it sings, we bring.
At the far end of the platform, I see Mags talking with a family. Mom, Dad, and a teenage girl. The father starts to cry. Mother and daughter hug the man. Ms. Bartlett must have been his mother.
This depotâs huge. Kind of Spanish Revival meets Moorish something. Beautiful. Four round tile domes top the lobby building with red roofs extending a hundred yards on either side. Wonderful to see the old architecture preserved. Amazing it escaped the scavengers. And thereâs our next train on the far side of the tracks. Now that metal crosswalk that arches over the tracks isnât Spanish Revivial. That Post-War Federalist Steel architecture. Not that pretty but it works.
There sure are a lot of people at this depot. Must be a few hundred. Families of three and four. Couples arm in arm. Dusty old men and women. Marshals and government workers. Blacks, Whites, Asians, Hispanics, Natives. And if my eyes donât fail me, some men from El Grupo who are trying to look respectable. They arenât wearing any colors but I know the smell.
Shit. Robbie Rod is here.
âWhat?â says Georgia, sensing my change of mood.
âA guy I used to run with in El Grupo is over there,â I say.
âWhere?â she asks.
I point with my eyes.
âTall drink of water. Black hair. Blue jean jacket.â
Michael walks up.
âLetâs get something to eat. Iâm starved,â he says.
âIn a minute,â I say.
I look over to Michael, than back at Robbie. He knows.
âGuy from back in the day?â asks Michael
âYeah.â
âWant to say hello?â he asks
âWhat do you think?â⨠âFuck âem,â says Michael. âLetâs eat.â
We head toward the lobby, Gâs hand in my arm. Michael walks behind us. He glances over his shoulder at Robbie. Glad Michael came.
âThis is the best burrito Iâve ever eaten,â says Georgia with a mouth full of food.
âYou always say that when youâre hungry,â I say.
âBut it is,â say G. âTortilla is fresh, salsaâs divine and the beans are amazingâ she says.
âIt is pretty good,â says Michael. âHave a bite of mine.â
âNo, Thanks. Iâm not that hungry. Cup of coffee is just fine.â
Iâm looking down at my hands. I then raise my eyes and look at my two best friends. They both give me this âwhat the fuckâ look, like two pissed off cats.
âSorry,â I say over the table. âIâm just spooked by Robbie Rod.â
âNothing will happen here,â says Georgia. âToo many Feds, and shit, honey, that was three years ago.â
âI doubt Bunnyâs forgotten,â I say.
They both nod and then go back to eating their breakfast.
âIâll buy you a burrito for the train,â says Georgia âI know youâre not hungry now but you will be and you get even moodier when youâre hungry.â
She winks at me. I reach across the table and squeeze her hand.
âIâm going to go over to that bench and have a quick clove smoke, and pray a quick prayer. Yâall watch my gear?â
âSure,â say Michael.
Near the end of the outside dining area grows a young tree. Donât know what it is. Donât know my California trees. Could be a eucalyptus. I light a clove cigarette. I close my eyes. I speak a quiet prayer, so only I can hear.
âGod of the Sky, Goddess of the Earth. Hear my prayers,â I quietly speak. âI need you both to guide me through these scary lands. I need you both to help me stay sober, stay sane, stay on the right path. I need you both to help me love and protect my friends. I need you both to shine light on me and mine. I am small. You both are big. But I have some of both you God and you Goddess in me and some of All There Is. May my GGATI harmonize with you GGATI. Without you all, I am lost. With you all, I am whole.â
âHey, Artie,â say a voice behind me. I turn.
âHey, Robbie,â I say, âHow are you?â I am scared but not that scared. The prayer has helped and I donât sense any danger.
âIâm OK,â says Robbie. âDid I interrupt anything?â
âYou kind of did,â I say. Now I sense something. OK, Robbie, please donât fuck with me now.
âYou got a minute?â he asks.
âSure. But just a minute,â I look over toward Georgia and Michael. They both see Robbie. Michael gets up from his seat. I raise my hand to him to stay. Michael sits back down.
âI have to catch the train to Barstow,â I say.
âIâm getting on that train too. Been in Los Angeles for about a year. Staying close to my family there. Heading to Wyoming now to look for work.â
âGood luck with that,â I say.
âYeah,â he says, looking away from my eyes. âAnyway, Itâs been around what? Three years since I saw you in Santa Rosa?â
âSomething like that.â
âWell,â Robbie continues, âI may be an idiot and my sponsor will probably think Iâve lost my mind, but I need to make amends to you, Artie. When you got shot up in Sells, when we were transporting that Brigham to Tucson. Well, I told a lie about you to Bunny. I told him that you were working with the Feds, that you couldnât be trusted. I was pissed off that you were sleeping with that girl. I wanted her too but she wanted you, not me, so I figured if I told Bunny you were a Fed, heâd kill you and she would be with me.â
âI didnât know it was you,â I say, âBut I figured somebody thought I was a snitch. Or maybe Bunny just needed to shoot at someone. So it was you?â
âYeah, it was me,â says Robbie, âI was smoking more Tea than even you back then,â he laughs and then stops the laugh.
âAnyway,â Robbie says, âIâve been going to Mormon Tea Anonymous in Los Angeles. Itâs a 12-Step program for those of us trying to not use Brigham, to be and stay clean and sober. Going to A.A. too. And I wouldnât blame you for shooting me right now, but I was the one who tried to get you killed, and Iâm sorry about that, and if I could go back and change it, I would but I canât. But I can commit to you that Iâll do my best not to lie for my own selfish gains again, and definitely not lie so someone gets shot or killed. Iâm really sorry, Artie. Really, I am.â
I just stare at him for a second and donât say anything. Is he playing me? I look hard into his eyes. I donât think so.
âSo if I get this straight, you just happened to be in San Bernardino at this train station on your way to Wyoming, and you see me, a guy you tried to get killed, and you figured that since our paths crossed, youâd come up to me and apologize?â
âTry and make amends. Make things right. Not apologize,â he says
âRight. Make amends,â I say.
He is for real.
âWell, Robbie Rod, Iâve got some news for you,â I say, trying to look mean but I canât pull it off. A big smile breaks across my face.
âRobbie, My name is Artie and Iâm an addict and an alcoholic. Iâve got two years clean and sober last month.â
Robbieâs mouth drops open.
Peter Saum, Jr.
Tuesday, March 10th, 2076: High Noon
On The Southwest Chief
North of San Bernardino, California
Back on the train. I loved trains when I was alive. Didnât ride them much at all back then. We had planes and gasoline cars and all of that, but my studio was just a couple blocks away from a crossing and I would hear whistles blow as I recorded in my studio. Two long whistles, a short and a long. Dad taught me that. Sometimes, Iâd leave the whistle in on the intro of a piece of space music. Gave it extra atmosphere. Wish I had ridden the train more. I donât exactly ride anywhere now.
Really enjoyed that little miracle on the platform. A Ninth Step amends completely out of the blue. Seems Artie accepted it well, but I can tell my grandson doesnât fully trust Robbie. If I overheard right, Robbieâs got six months clean and sober. A good amount of time but not really. Depends on the man or woman in recovery. Some people have a psychic change right away, others it takes years. I guess weâll find out more as it is revealed, as they say in A.A. and in M.T.A. But Artie and Michael are smiling and Robbie looks relieved. The three of them are thick as thieves. Hmmm. Not my best analogy.
Georgia and Mags do look worried. They have good reason I guess. Iâm hoping they have no reason to distrust Robbie. But I donât know. I canât read minds. I can read the faces of my descendants like Artie pretty well, but thatâs only because heâs blood. Iâm just as mystified as I ever was regarding human behavior.
One very big advantage to being on my side of things is I can travel anywhere, anytime, in an instant. And I have traveled quite a bit over the past 40 plus years and seen much.
A folksinger once sang, âYouâve never seen everything.â Iâve come close to seeing everything and much of what Iâve seen is ugly. But now, I just go where my people are, and a few of their friends. I no longer need to explore horrors.
I have seen Barstow, California, our next stop on this train. Stopped there just last year on my way to the ancient Bristlecones Pines in the White Mountains.
Barstowâs not a pretty place.
Iâll stay close.
Deputy U.S. Marshal Magdalena âMagsâ Gutierrez
Tuesday, March 10th, 2076: 5:05 p.m.
New West Train Station
Barstow, California
âHijo de perra,â I say.
âWhat the matter, Mags?â asks Georgia.
I mouth âjust a minuteâ to Georgia.
âThe Bakersfield Princess is late,â I say to my boss, Kirk Bledsoe, on my Sat-phone. âSeems there was a freight derailment near Boron.â
âWhatâs that, Chief?â I ask. âThe Princess isnât going to be here in Barstow until tomorrow morning at the earliest? Fuck. Sorry, Chief. Sir, have you ever been to Barstow?â
âNo, I havenât,â says Chief Bledsoe on the phone.
âWell, civilization has barely made it back here,â I say. âThere are no craftspeople, if you know what I mean. I am a little worried. I need a room for the night. Can I put in on the Fed card?
âNo problem, Mags,â says Kirk.
âGreat. Iâll need two rooms.â
âWhy?â he asks.
âIâll tell you later. Trust me. Itâs OK.â
âJust donât break the governmentâs piggie bank, all right?â says Chief Bledsoe.
âI wonât,â I say, âIâll call you when the train leaves for Bakersfield tomorrow. I canât thank you enough.â
âJust tell me whatâs going on tomorrow,â he says.
âI will,â I say. âHasta.â
I close my Sat-phone.
âWhat did he say?â ask Georgia.
âTwo rooms. One for you and me, the other for the boys.â
âGreat,â say Georgia, and give me a hug.
Georgia may be the huggiest person Iâve ever met. I donât mind.
Artie, Michael and Robbie stand under an awning outside the rundown station. Georgia and I walk up.
âSo?â says Artie.
âTrain to Bakerfieldâs not going to be here until tomorrow,â I say. âBut no worries. Iâll get rooms for all of us at the Jasper Hotel. Letâs go get checked in, and then we can find something to eat.â
âSounds like a plan,â say Michael. Robbie is quiet.
We all pile into a taxi, not a Flex-car but an old electric jalopy, and head up the hill toward Hotel Alley.
âThe Jasper, please,â I say to the driver.
âYou got a hundred dollars?â asks the cabbie.
âA hundred for just up the hill?â I ask.
âMags, we canât spend that kind of money,â says Georgia.
âItâs OK,â I say to Georgia. âI got it.â
GGATI save us.
And off we go.
Seems like washing isnât something they do much here in Barstow. Then again, water is expensive here. Everything expensive here. And it smells, a mix of body odor, rotting plants and something else. I shouldnât be so judgmental. Itâs just a railroad switching town. What do I expect? A craft fair, with organic gardens?
After a couple minutes, we arrive at the Jasper.
âHereâs a hundred. Keep the change.â
âThere is no change,â says the cabbie.
âMy point exactly,â I say.
âBitch,â says the cabbie.
âWhat did you call her?â says Artie to the cabbie.
âItâs OK, Artie. Let it go.â
We grab our bags and the boys get the instrument cases out of the trunk. We walk over to the lobby. Oh Goddess.
The Jasper is whatâs left of an old motel lodge from fifty years ago, when people used to drive on The Interstate. Doesnât seem like the maintenance man has been around much. All the wooden doors to the rooms are gone, replaced by chain-link grates across each doorway. No wood at all that I can see. Lots of wood got burned during the 41 nights. Some glass windows are intact but not many. Welded bars over most of the windows.
âIâll go in and get our rooms,â I say.
They all look a little scared. Iâm scared too. Artie, Michael and Georgia are tough cookies, not scared of much, but this has them on full alert.
I walk up to the hotel desk. A short bearded man with snot coming out his nose greets me.
âEvening. What can I do you, maâam?â he says.
âI need two rooms for the night.â
âHow many people?â he asks.
âFive. Three men, two women, all adults. Do you take The Federal Plastic?â
âOnly plastic I take. You a railroader?â
âMarshal,â I say pulling my badge from my front pocket. I donât wear the badge, nor any kind of uniform. Some people like to shoot cops for fun, you know.
âWell, Marshal Gutierrez, welcome to the Jasper Hotel. Staying one night?â
âJust one.â
He grabs my Fed card and punches the numbers into a Sat-phone, then takes a pic of me with his phone. This is going to cost.
âCardâs good. So are you. Canât be too careful. You could be impersonating an officer of the law.â he says, still punching in numbers. âTotal for two rooms for one night will be $1200 even.â
âEven,â I say. âThatâs nice,â shaking my head.
âIâll need your thumbprint, Marshal.â
I push my thumb on the face of his phone.
âThank you. Need to tell you a few rules and things,â says the clerk. âFirst, sorry about the lack of solid doors but those grates keep out everyone from rats to drunks. I try and keep a quiet place here and most people go to bed pretty early, donât you know. You can bring alcohol into your room but no drugs, no Brigham, but I donât guess thatâll be a problem for you, Maâam.â
He smiles. Two teeth is all he has for a smile. One for meat. One for soup.
âAlso, there is a pretty good restaurant, just up the hill. Johnnyâs Cafe,â he continues. âNot bad. Not great. And I can call a taxi for you anytime, to take you back to the train station. Oh, over on that little hill, there are a few chairs in a circle, around a small fire pit. We have wood if you want to a fire. $100 a bunch. Some travelers go over there to play music, otherâs have prayer meetings, otherâs just hang out. Got a nice little view of the town and itâs away from the hotel so the music doesnât bother the other guests. So help yourself to that.â
âYou expect to be full tonight?â I ask.
âI do. I suppose you were trying to get to Bakersfield too?â
I nod.
âYeppers, itâs going to be hopping here tonight,â he says, licking his lips. He hands me two metal keys for grates to our rooms.
âAnd donât forget to bring back your keys in the morning. If you forget, itâs an extra $300 on your card. And check out is at 11 sharp.â
âThanks, and have a good night,â I say. Might as well be nice, even in this hell hole.
âYou too, Marshal,â says the clerk and then he looks at my tits. Great.
The five of us go check out the rooms. Beds seems OK. Scratchy sheets but at least theyâre clean. I donât want to think about what those stains are on the floor. None of us leave anything in the room. This is just a bed.
âYâall hungry? Iâm buying.â I say.
âYou donât have to, Marshal,â says Robbie.
âI know, but I want to,â I say. âThereâs a cafe just up the hill. Hope they serve strong coffee. Iâm getting a caffeine headache.â
Michael Dollaride
Tuesday, March 10th, 2076: 7:30 p.m.
Jasper Hotel
Barstow, California
âThat wasnât terrible food,â I say.
âTell that to my stomach,â says Artie.
âThe coffee was OK,â says G.
âAnd I liked the oatmeal cookies,â says Robbie.
âThe cookies were good,â says Mags.
âYeah, the cookies were pretty tasty,â I say to Artie.
âBrother,â Artie says, shaking his head. âThat was my worst meal in years. You know Iâm not picky but I just hate Synth Meat.â
Changing the subject, I ask, âSo you want to look for a meeting or just stay close to home tonight? I vote for staying here. Iâd like to maybe just play some tunes and hit the hay.â
âThe desk clerk says there is a circle of chairs on that little rise behind the hotel,â Mag says. âSays people use it for playing all the time. Fire pit too, but you have to buy the wood.â
âCool, but Iâll pass on the wood.â I say.
âIâm just going to stay here with Mags,â say Georgia. âWhy donât you boys just go over there and play. Weâll watch our gear.â
âGreat,â I say. âWell, grab your uke, Artie. Robbie, you play?â
Robbie pulls from his bag what looks like a penny whistle.
âFantastic,â I say. âYou know any Celtic jigs?â
Robbie smiles.
âMy name might be Rodriguez but my grandmother was Scottish. Rest her soul.â
I put my arm around Robbieâs shoulder.
âBrother, youâve just made my night,â I say.
Georgia âGâ Swann
Wednesday, March 11th, 2076: 2:11 a.m..
Jasper Hotel
Barstow, California
Artie sleeps next to me. Mags is in the other bed. Michael and Robbie sleep next door.
It was quiet until just a minute ago. Now I hear crying. I rise from the bed, pull on my jeans, put on my blouse and slip on my boots. I walk to the metal grate door, unlock it and tippy toe outside. Iâm curious.
Itâs coming from the second floor across from what used to be the parking lot. Itâs a womanâs voice, and a manâs.
âI donât want to go to Bakersfield. I hate it there. I hate those people,â the womanâs voice says through tears.
âI know honey, but I have a job there,â says a masculine voice. âI have to go. There was nothing for us in San Bernardino.â
âMy mother was there,â she says. âMomma was there.â
âMary, your motherâs grave is there, but sheâs not there anymore.â
I hear no more talking. Just crying.
I got back to my room and back to bed. I cuddle next to Artie. I pull him into my body.
âGoddess, protect us as we travel.â I whisper. âI know in my prayers and meditations to you the answer has always been âGo with Artie to see his grandmother.â but Iâm frightened now. We are far away from home. And I donât expect you, GGATI, to come down and save us from all harm. I know my job is to align the Goddess in me with the Goddess you are, but Iâm still scared. Please help me be in the moment so I can be of use to you and to all people. And to Artie and his friends. Goddess, I donât spook easy, but Iâm spooked now.
I kiss Artieâs shoulder. Iâm so sleepy.
Then I hear three shots ring out. Bang, bang, pause, then bang again. They sound close.
Arthur âArtieâ Saum
Wednesday, March 11th, 2076: 1:44 p.m..
On The Bakersfield Princess
West of Boron, California
âDamn, I wish Mags was here,â I say.
âMe too,â Georgia says.
Michael and Robbie nod in agreement.
âSo thereâs no Marshal in Barstow?â asks Robbie.
âThere is but heâs up here somewhere near the derailment. Mags is detaining the woman until he gets back,â I say.
âPoor bastard,â says Michael. âSo you heard them talking before she killed him.â
âI did,â says Georgia. âShe was crying about having to go live in Bakersfield. Guess she didnât want to live there.â
Robbie laughs. None of the rest of us do. Robbie cuts off his chuckle. Itâs really not that funny. Maybe a little.
âWould you look at that?â I say, looking out the window as we pass. âNever seen train cars on fire before.â
Most of the freight cars have burned down to the metal but these three still blaze with blue, green and orange flames. Must be some chemicals or something.
âWeâll be slowing our rate of speed for a few miles, folks,â says the conductor. âJust have to get past this derailment.â
I donât think this was just a derailment, but what do I know.
Soon weâre past and picking up steam.
Hours later, I can see the Sierra Nevadas in the distance. Still some snow on their peaks. Starting to get a bit nippy in the car. I take my fleece jacket out of my backpack and put it on.
Georgia sleepily gazes out the train window. None of us got much sleep last night.
âHope we see Mags soon,â says G. âBut who knows,â
âShe has your Sat-phone number, G,â I whisper. âI told her weâd call her once we get to the Bay Area, if not sooner.â
âGood.â she says. âI miss her.â
âMe too,â I say. âWe should be in Bakersfield around sunset, Fresno by midnight.â
âIâll get us rooms in Fresno,â says my sweetie. âIâll pay this time.â
I squeeze her hand. Having a Richie Rich as a girlfriend does have its advantages, though I rarely take advantage of her. And we work at keeping it a secret, given the obvious consequences.
We hold hands and continue to look at the snow capped mountains in the distance.
Soon, weâre climbing toward Tehachapi. Beautiful country. Foothills of the Sierras to the north, rolling hills like out of an old movie to the south, and windmills for as far as you can see. Thousands of them, white and shiny, a hundred or more feet tall, fins turning in the breeze. Makes me happy to see.
We stop in Tehachapi to load up on some coal, or so the conductor says. Wonder if I have reception on Georgiaâs Sat-phone. Two bars. Hot damn.
âMichael,â I say, nudging him awake. âWeâre in Tehachapi. G and Robbie went to get some ice tea. You want anything?â
âIâm good,â he says.
âAnd Iâm going to call Craig, Bill and Pete on Gâs Sat,â I say to him. âWant to talk with Craig when I get him?â
âNo,â says Michael. âJust give him my love. Plus it costs a fortune to talk on Sats.â
âI know,â I say, âbut Gâs OK with sharing her coin.â
âThanks, but Iâm fine,â he says.
âAll right,â I say.
I open the Sat-phone and dial.
âPete, itâs Artie.â
âArtie, little brother, where are you now?â asks my boss.
âTehachapi, just a little east of Bakersfield.â
âAh, youâre coming up on The Loop?â
âWhatâs that?â I ask.
âThe Loop. The Tehachapi Loop. Where the tracks go in a complete circle to make it up the grade,â says Pete. âor in your case down the grade.â
âI didnât know you rode the train out here?â I ask Pete.
âHavenât,â says Pete. âMy grandmother told me about it. She says itâs quite a thing. Stay awake for it.â
âOK. Anyway, Georgia and I are fine. We picked up a couple road dogs on the way. Marshal Mags Gutierrez from Tucson was with us a while, and I meet an old friend in San Bernardino.â
âGood old friend or bad old friend?â he asks.
âBad then, good now.â I say. âAnd guess who decided to come with us.â
âMichael Dollaride did,â Pete says.
âHow in the hell did you know?â
âI know Michaelâs boss at the pottery shop. Seems Michael burned a month of vacation to come with you all.â
âI figured that,â I said. âItâs so great to have him with us.â
âCraig came in to buy some strings, yesterday,â says Pete. âAsked if I had heard from you.â
âWould you call him for me and give him the update on us?â I ask.
âYou bet,â he says.
âAnd Iâm sorry Pete for leaving you for so long,â I say. âI know thereâs a lot of repairs at the shop.â
âI donât care about that. Well, I care a little about that,â Pete says. Long pause. âArtie. Listen to me. Going to see your grandmother before she dies is a wonderful thing.â⨠âWe donât know that sheâs dying,â I say.
âArtie, I love you, but you know if sheâs not dying, sheâs damn close.
I say nothing.
âIâll call Craig,â he says, âDonât worry about the shop.â
âYou are a saint, Pete,â I say.
âNo, Iâm not,â says through a laugh. âIâm just a bad man trying to be good.â
Static.
âPhoneâs breaking up. Pete, I love you.â
âI love you too, little brother. Give my love to Georgia and to M...â
The phone dies.
I close Gâs Sat. I hate fucking phones.
Pedro âPigâ Ortiz
Wednesday, March 11th, 2076: 5:30 p.m..
At The Tehachapi Loop
California
âWe could blow up the tracks,â Big Jim says, âLike they did in Boron.â
I pull out my revolver and stick it in Big Jimâs face.
âOr not,â he says.
âNow listen to me good,â I say still holding my gun in his face, âIf you are thinking about thinking about anything, stop and think âI need to talk with Pig firstâ, before you do any fucking thing, like think. Got it?â
âSure, Pig. I just thought....â
I click back the hammer of the Smith and Wesson with my thumb.
âIf you blow up the tracks,â I say to him, âNo other trains come through, and then a bunch of railroaders and Feds come up here to fix the tracks. Now, what might that mean, Jim?â
His face knots up in thought.
âThat we have to leave?â he asks.
âYes,â I say, âAnd what else?â
âThen we canât sneak on trains and do our business,â Big Jims says. âAnd we have to go someplace else where the train runs slow, so we can rob and steal and kill and such.â
âYes,â I say, âAnd such.â
I lower my pistol and hoister it.
âJesus, Pig, I didnât mean anything.â
I glare at him and he stops talking.
My Sat-phone rings. I open the phone and look at the screen. My brother Bunny.
âPig, here,â I say.
âGoddamn hope so,â says Bunny.
âWhatâs up, Bro?â I ask.
âI need you to kill someone for me.â says Bunny. âTheyâre on the Bakersfield train heading west. Should be there soon. Iâm sending you a pic now.â
I see the picture on my screen.
âFast or slow,â I say.
âI donât give a shit,â says Bunny. âJust dead. Then send me a pic of their dead face.â
âIâm on it.â I say. âIâll do it myself. Sounds like fun.â
âThanks, brother,â says Bunny.
âHasta,â I say.
Peter Saum, Jr.
Wednesday, March 11th, 2076: 5:40 p.m.
At The Tehachapi Loop
California
I didnât see the picture on Pigâs phone. Could be someone else, other than my people. Not that it matters that much, since I canât stop anything. But Iâm going to send a shit-load of Light and Love, and hope for the best.
Sunâs just dropped below that ridge. May be dark before the train comes through. I donât know.
Fuck.
I canât do anything!
Georgia âGâ Swann
Wednesday, March 11th, 2076: 6:15 p.m.
On The Bakersfield Princess
At The Tehachapi Loop
California
Even in the fading light, this valley is beautiful. And I love all of these rail tunnels. Then, I see the tracks in front of us curve hard to the left and go behind a hill with a Jesus Cross on top of it. The track reappears below us and then we head through another tunnel that goes under the tracks. We are hardly moving at all, the train traveling at a manâs walking pace. The wheels squeal loudly, sounding almost like birds. The train curves left and left and more left, leaning hard to one side. Wow. This must me the loop Artie told me about.
I touch Artieâs shoulder as I lean forward to get a better view out the window. He has the window seat. I smile at Michael in the row behinds us. He smiles back. First time Iâve seen him smile in days, in weeks. Robbieâs mouth hangs open in wonder as he looks over Michaelâs body to see out the window. This is pretty cool.
Then I see something out of the corner of my eye. Motion. Metal. A hand. Michael sees the look in my eyes and turn toward where Iâm looking. He sees the man too, the gun, the hand.
Robbieâs mouth closes. He jumps into the aisle, running toward the man with the gun. I grab for the LadySmith inside my small bag. My hand wraps around its grip. I start to pull my gun out of my bag when I hear a loud pop, then another. My ears ring from the shots. Then another bang, and then screams. Then I have this burning in my leg. I look down. I donât see anything but, Goddess, it hurts.
I turn toward the man with the gun but I donât see him. Donât see Robbie either. Donât see Michael.
Then I get tunnel vision. I look at Artie. I see his face, looking toward the back of the train. Then the circle of his face gets real small. Then smaller. Then black.