Hunting Indians - Chapter 16

Chapter One can be Found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-one

Chapter 15 is at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-15

1. Chapter 16

The legend of Gordon Bishop changed over the years and today was as varied as how many people told it. A Micmac Indian in the Maritimes once told an Indian Agent during an aggressive interview that Gordon Bishop was six foot two with broad shoulders and twenty-inch biceps. The Indian didn't know he was describing Arnold Swarzenegger.
White kids in the suburbs told a different story. One about an Indian man raised by Satanists who hid in the shadows. They heard stories of how he would butcher whole platoons and his men ate the flesh to steal their souls. The truth was somewhere in between. Natives revered him and the Government feared him.
He was born on a Canadian Forces Military Base in Ontario to a Cree father and a Blackfoot mother, both of whom were in the army. His mother was with the signals Corp while his father was an Officer with the Princes Patricia's light Infantry. Growing up as the third of four brothers, Gordon learned early weapons training and electronics then spent six years inside the Army Cadet Corp until he turned seventeen.
He didn't think he would see much action as a Canadian service man so when he was old enough he followed his brothers south of the border and enrolled in University. With a degree in history and engineering, he signed up for the Officers Candidate School within the United States Marine Corp.
It wasn't long after that he earned the rank of Captain just before the second Gulf War had him deployed with his squad to the desert. He spent five years there before a bullet to the leg brought him back stateside before his Purple Heart though, he racked up several medals including the Medal of Honour. A Medal that was taken from him by the Canadian Government once the Indian wars broke out.
Gordon was there the day the first shot was fired. He came back to Canada when he heard the Canadian Government had decided to simply move entire reservations to continue oil explorations as their wells began to run dry. Gordon helped organize some demonstrations along the highway, which quickly turned into roadblocks.
The Royal Canadian Mountain Police were sent in first with their paramilitary units but the Natives wouldn't budge. The women formed a line and sat down in front of the men. When the officers moved in to take the women the Men stepped forward.
It was a cop that burned the cruisers, dowsing the inside of a locked car with gasoline and lighting it on fire. They used a darker skinned man wearing a bandana over his face for photos.
Other roadblocks began to spring up across the country, in part solidarity and in part due to a Government leak they planned to push more pipelines through Indian territories without regard for the people there. It was then the right wing Government decided that the Military should step in by being dispatched across the country in a show of force with orders to arrest.
This escalation brought out armed Natives, which made the opening of the news for a month. Gordon was interviewed several times but when it appeared that he was articulate they soon looked elsewhere for answers. This was also when Gordon showed the world why he was truly dangerous. He had the ability to write long articles and stories about what was happening to the Natives in a way people easily understood. His writings were sent out in dispatches across the Internet and soon collected a following around the world, a mixture of intelligent reporting and humour.
The Government spent days arguing that the natives were not negotiating in good faith or adhering to their agreements. In reply Gordon would write about how the Government wasn't even negotiating and the Natives were only met with calls of 'prairie nigger' by overly zealous cops looking for trophies.
World opinion shifted in the Natives favour. Gordon's name was thrown around in opinion pieces and Members of Parliament used his quotes. He was offered the Nobel Peace Prize and a position within the United Nations Human Rights organization.
In a small room in Ottawa, four small men sat around a table and decided that the only way to end this was to end it fast and decisively. The Natives stood in the way of progress, and they needed to be taught how dangerous that was. Gordon's named was mentioned several times as it became imperative that he be silenced, one or another.
The first shot was fired after the sunset, a nervous Corporal with orders to intimidate an Indian nicknamed by the Army 'Tigerlilly.' It turned into a shoving match between the two and the Corporal fired three times, killing 'Tigerlilly' and ten feet behind him a sixteen-year-old Native girl named Laura. A native fired back, then all hell broke loose.
Gordon collected anybody with military training over the next few months, and over the following two years used hit and run tactics against a far superior military. For half a year the oil patches and the Tarsands of Alberta were completely shut down because of him, skyrocketing the price of gas throughout Canada and the rest of the world. His dispatches to the Internet never faltered either, calling Natives from North and South America to action, calling on the rest of the world for help, inciting people to action.
The Military put him to the head of the most wanted list, stationing all Special Forces units to Alberta to track him down. The more they came after him the more his fame spread, the more empowered the Indians became.
Then it all came to an end.
A sniper found Gordon and his unit moving across the BC border. They waited until the right moment and sent a round through his head.
The bullet hit Gordon's temple and exited out the other side, it ripped his eyes to shreds but spared his brain.
The war ended less than a month after his reported death, and unable to function as a soldier he couldn't do anything to change that, with his small squad he went into hiding.
It wasn't all lost though. He had plans and hope for the future of his race. During the war he fathered four kids with his wife Abigail. With her he took them into hiding as well so he could raise them, and when the time came they would be ready. Joshua, Aaron, Toby and Stephanie.
Now twenty years later he was an old man in his seventies, no more than five foot ten with the aches that came from a life time of war. He didn't bother with glasses to cover his eyes, just wore two black glass balls he had made to have something for his eye-lids to blink over.
The eyes have unsettled Karen when he would look at her, even though she knew him most of her life it wasn't something she could get used to. She watched as he moved around his kitchen putting together a kettle of tea for her.
Karen found it amusing that she walked all night and most of the day to reach Gordon's house. She then told him about the horrors that occurred over the last few days and his response was "I'll make you some peppermint tea."
"I don't see how that'll make things better?" Karen said.
"But will it make things worse?" Gordon asked as he turned on the stove.
"No."
"Then I'm going to make some tea." Gordon moved to the counter and leaned against it as he looked toward Karen with those black unseeing eyes. "Where is everybody now?"
"I moved them further east. We picked somewhere random so nobody else would know." Karen picked at the table corner, "There's nobody left, just Elders, mothers and their kids. Warriors are gone, all dead and the forest is still burning."
"Hmmm." Gordon mused, lost in his thoughts.
"I don't know what to do." Karen said after a moment.
"Same thing we always do, my girl," Gordon gave a reassuring smile. "This is not the first time our people have been culled like this, for five hundred years they've come for us time and again, each time we endure. We patiently wait, and we start again."
"But they're not stopping this time."
"No. Something has them scared. It's riled them up." Gordon turned and started putting together the dishes for her.
"You know what it is?" Karen asked, but she thought it could've been an accurate statement as well.
"I do."
Gordon explained to Karen all that he's heard on the radio about an Indian that went off the reservation. One who's killed campers. He filled in the blanks of what the news didn't know based on information gathered from his small circle of friends, people he built up over the years that worked behind the scenes. This Indian also shot two Indian Agents with the campers, and there were rumours he killed two others in the city, maybe even three.
"Kevin." Karen said as she digested the information.
"He's lost his focus." Gordon agreed with her. "There was a girl."
"Rachel." Karen nodded, she knew the girl was chosen just before Peter left and Kevin disappeared. "We weren't ready, and he's brought this down on us."
"He will need to be stopped, before it's too late."
"It's already too late." Karen argued, "Isn't it?"
"No. We spent too much time thinking we live in a bubble, separated from the rest of our brothers and sisters back east. What we do here affects them. What they do out there affect us. Kevin acts, the Agents react, on all reserves, all nations. Our warriors still stand across the country though, but only because the Department isn't sharing all Kevin's done with them. But when they hear, and they will hear, it will be too much, too soon for all of us."
"I need to find him." Karen said, "I need to talk to him."
"I have contacts looking for him. There are very few places he can hide." Gordon moved the kettle from the stove and poured it into the teapot with the tea filters. He paused as it settled. "What if he doesn't want to listen?"
Karen considered it. "I don't know."
"He's a dangerous warrior on a vendetta. They aren't the easiest to convince." Gordon picked up the two cups and teapot. He moved them to the table. He sat down across from Karen. She watched him, dreading where he was going with it. "What will you do then?"
"I don't know."
"What should you do?" Gordon stared at her with dead fake eyes. "For the lives of our people, the hope we desperately cling to that someday this will all be for something. You will have to kill him."
Karen almost laughed but stopped herself short when she saw how serious Gordon was as he said something completely ridiculous. "I…no."
"I've known Kevin since he was a child," Gordon stated calmly. "I know what it means to say this has to be an option. I don't take it any lighter than you would. But he isn't that boy anymore. He's a man destroyed by pain and despair. I want you to prepare yourself for that. Know that."

Ryan parked in Mark's driveway and walked quickly to the front door where he rang the bell first and then knocked. When he didn't get an answer he tried the knob to find it unlocked and entered.
"Mark?" Ryan said as he moved into the living room, turning on lights as he passed them. He checked the kitchen, the den and moved to the bottom of the staircase. "Mark!"
Ryan put his hand on his Beretta as he moved up the stairs, then down the hallway carefully before he stopped in the doorway to the master bedroom. He eyed the messed up bed and clothes on the floor.
"I sent her away." Mark said from where he sat in the corner of the room, behind the open door. Ryan moved the door to see him. Mark leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as he held his gun. "I did all this for her, and...she's gone now."
"It's safer for her." Ryan stated and noted the two empty beer bottles next to Mark’s chair. On the table next to him was a pill container. "What are you doing, man?"
"Waiting for that Indian." Mark sat back, "I've decided I'm going to kill someone today, and I think it might as well be him. Better for everybody involved."
"Yeah, probably." Ryan picked up the pill case, antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication. He looked over at the bed, pieced together what went on and smiled. "Yeah."
"He's not here yet." Mark perked up. He took a cleansing breath.
"No, but we have a lead. Might be easier to just track him down." Ryan moved to the end of the bed. "Did what happened here what I think happened here?"
Mark looked up at his partner not wanting to talk about it, least of all acknowledge it as well. "You're driving."
"I think that's safe to assume."

Peter woke with a start as he heard little feet run around the house. There was some giggling as heavier feet charged after the first pair. He looked around himself but didn't see much from the small of light that came in from under the door. He knew there was food in here but wondered if it was worth the risk of accidentally opening one of the cleaning products.
The running around lasted another ten minutes and then the house went quiet, Peter laid his head back against the wall in the hopes of going back to sleep. Then the door opened sending in blinding light that caused him to bring his hand up to block. As his eyes adjusted he could make out the form of a five-year-old Caucasian girl.
It was also clear that she was looking right at him.
"Hello." Peter said.
The girl darted from the doorway and Peter realized he had to move quickly. He winced from his injury as he climbed to his feet and moved to the opening. He came around to the kitchen and faced the little girl hiding behind her mother and a butcher knife.
"What are you doing in our house!?" The mother yelled, her face a mixture of anger and fear. Peter put his hands forward making the motion that he wasn't a threat. She was a red head in a long flowery dress, late twenties.
"I'm sorry. I'm really, really lost."
"I want you out. You get out of here." She motioned with the knife toward the door.
"I won't hurt you. I'm not that kind of person and if you want me to go I will, but sending me out there is sending me out to get killed." Peter's voice shook.
"Get out." She stressed each word.
"Please...I'm begging you."
"Go."
"Okay." Peter backed away toward the door. He kept his eyes on her as he blindly grabbed the handle. "Thank-you for everything."
Peter moved outside and took a breath as he looked around to decide which direction he should go. He made his way through the backyards again hoping he could reach the forest.
He almost made it too.
Peter reached the trees going up into the hills and for a moment felt that all he had to do was get past that line. He would be in his element again and disappear. He stopped when he saw that he was being watched a hundred yards away by Damien.
Damien was surrounded by Sandy, Clark and several of the other hunters, where they had been waiting when they realized that Peter was still somewhere in town hiding.
Peter shared a look with Damien and bolted into the trees as the Indian Agent took off in a sprint after him. Having only one purpose in life now, Damien didn't have the patience to wait for his team.
Peter ran for his life, glad for the adrenaline as it helped to cancel out some of the pain; but he also didn't have full control over the injured muscle. He repeated over and over in his head 'Why doesn't he go away? Why doesn't he just go away?'
Mid-run Damien pulled his pistol out and came to a sudden stop to aim. He lined up his sights on the running Indian. He fired, still not learning that rapid firing caused too much kickback to hit the target. Damien ran again, his lungs burned now as he hit track and field speed.
Peter saw the embankment too late and tried to pull to a stop but Damien hit him from behind, sending the two of them spinning in the air, down six feet to smack into the ground with two thuds. Peter felt the impact through his entire body, blinding him to the world around him while Damien's head bounced off the ground. Both men moved slowly as they tried to get their bearings.
Peter saw an opportunity as Damien reached out to the tree. The Agent grabbed the bark at shin level with his claw like hand, all bent fingers. Peter moved to his feet quickly and with his good leg smashed the heel of his foot down onto Damien's gun hand. There was a satisfying crunch followed by Damien's scream.
Damien pulled his hand in to his body to protect it as Peter rolled him over and sent his fist twice into the asshole's face. Peter reared back a third time but heard the barking dogs and militiamen. He pushed off Damien and got moving again.
Damien watched him go, his lip dripped blood down his chin and he could feel that one of his front teeth was loose enough to come out. He looked up as the Militia reached the top of the embankment to look down at him.
"Go...go, get him..." Damien swung his good hand in the direction Peter raced off.
"Yeah, we got him." Clark said as he and Sandy came down the hill, passing with their dogs. The rest of the men followed behind.
Damien looked down at his hand. Three of his fingers were completely broken and shifting colours. He tensed up as he climbed to his feet. He looked around the ground for his weapon, only to find that it wasn't there.

Kevin was laid out on his cot at the Mission, his arm up so he could look at the printed-out names of Indian Agents. He wondered if he was going to have to change his tactics soon. They must've known by now or would know soon that he was targeting them through their homes. Would he be able to stake out another address at least, or was he going to have to find them another way?
He wouldn't stand a chance unless he could separate them and get them one at a time. Hard to do when they seemed to spread out.
"Hey, man." Reed said as he came up to the cot with two mops. He used them to push a wheeled mop bucket. "So the guys up front say that they don't like it when we just hang out here all day unless we're willing to do some work."
Kevin looked at the mop and sat up. He grabbed his hat and coat as he stood.
"I've got one for me too, together we can make short work of it..." He trailed off as Kevin started for the front door. "Oh, come on, man, I'm trying here."
Kevin turned back and sized the other man up. "Trying what?"
"To help you, anyway I can."
"Why? What the fuck am I to you?"
Reed started to say something but held back It was clear to Kevin that he had a secret he wasn't willing to share. It was all the same to Kevin though, he didn't particularly want to hear it. "I've made some mistakes in my life..."
Reed stopped there as he waited on Kevin to say something.
"I don't care." Kevin started to leave.
"I killed Indians."
Kevin stopped, he closed his eyes as he controlled his temper. He turned back to look at Reed.
"I served in the war. I was a sniper. When it broke out I was sent to the front. My buddy and I spent weeks at a time hunting your people." Reed swallowed his pride. "I have forty eight confirmed kills, more if you count the ones we didn't keep track of. It wasn't right what we did, it wasn't war, it was a slaughter and I've had that on my soul for twenty years."
"You want forgiveness?"
"I don't deserve forgiveness."
"Good. You won't get it from me. I'm not your redemption. You made your choice, you live with it and if you have to, you burn in hell with the rest of us." Kevin backed up and then turned around as he headed out the door.

Gordon shuffled around his dark house, cleaning up as he went along. He didn't usually entertain guests but recent events pointed to it getting busier than usual.
Karen left an hour ago with Gordon's next-door neighbour Maggie and with the information he gathered from the several sources he still had in the city. Everything from the government buildings had completely dried up over the last few days, so he was relying on a coffee shop owner across the street from Department’s offices.
It might've been a long shot, but according to the coffee guy the Agents were being sequestered in the building and not allowed to go to their homes. If Kevin was hunting Agents then that was where Karen would find him.
The danger in that was Karen would have to be close to Indian Control when the whole force was looking for brown people. She was a valuable asset to their cause and it would be an extreme set back to lose her on top of everything else.
He also made a mental note of her reaction when he told her no one had seen or heard from Beth in the last few days. His contact said she hadn't picked up coffee this morning as she's done every day for the last ten years. Gordon knew the history between Karen and Beth. He was the one all those years ago that convinced Karen to put Beth in this position. Gordon wondered if this would be too much for her, the straw that broke the camel’s back. She had to remain focused when dealing with Kevin to preserve their cause.
There was the risk that with Beth in danger Karen might deviate from that cause. Unfortunately, Gordon didn't see any alternatives.
Gordon stopped what he was doing when he heard the sound of a car pulling up, a large one that sounded very distinctly governmental. It was sooner than he expected but relative to anything else it really didn't make a difference. What was going to happen was going to happen and he was in no position to change it.
Resigned to his fate Gordon made his way down the hallway to the living room and found his lazy-boy. He settled in to wait.
The front door was kicked in. Gordon could hear the first of two men as they came inside and moved about. He wasn't surprised they didn't identify themselves, their orders were probably to shoot first and ask questions later. They must've thought Kevin was here.
The two men moved room to room. They made their way to the living room. Gordon guessed that one was larger than the other but the large one was light on his feet. The smaller of the two stomped around and moved like he owned the place.
After a moment they reached the living room and stopped.
"Gordon Bishop?" The smaller of the two said. Gordon could only assume two guns were pointed at him. He was right.
"Yes."
"Are you the only person in this house?" The smaller one asked.
"If I said yes, would you believe me? Either way, if you want to feel safe, you should probably look around. But yes, I'm the only one here." Gordon honestly said. There was a pause as the other person considered it.
"I'll check upstairs." The larger man stated, "You watch him."
"He looks blind."
"Oh I am," Gordon smirked. He listened to the sound the larger man made going upstairs. The other one waited in silence. The light feet of the man upstairs only audible to Gordon as the other moved around. One by one he cleared the rooms.
"Clear. The place is empty." Mark said as he came back down, Ryan had an arm on the fireplace as he watched Gordon. "He's the only one here."
"Yeah..." Ryan looked the living room over, it was a nice place. A place a middle-class person would live in. It was a large house with all the modern conveniences including a television, nothing less than five years old. Ryan tested the name out "Gordon…Bishop."
"Yes."
Mark moved along the wall looking at the pictures on the wall. What was a blind man doing with pictures on his wall? While most of the pictures were twenty years old or older, some of them were more recent ones of Gordon with other natives, all of them looking serious looking back at the camera. His family.
"You've been here the entire time." Ryan said as a statement.
"I have."
"How?" Ryan asked, "Twenty years and nobody checked here? Nobody wondered who you were? Twenty years...power, phones, whose name is your cable bill in?"
Ryan was slightly amused. He had some admiration toward someone that can go completely off the grid while still being on the grid.
"My name." Gordon said, "I have all the documents in place, legally I'm now Jonathan Smith. Everything except a drivers' license. I even vote if you feel like looking into that."
Mark looked over from the corner of the living room where he found some military medals on display. "How?"
"I have friends."
"You're running out of them." Ryan fiddled with an envelope on the fireplace.
"So it would seem." Gordon said. Listening as Mark moved back this way. "They won't all go away though, and what you do here today will only affirm their resolve."
"I'll find them."
"Oh Ryan, you always think that." Gordon shook his head.
"How do you know my name?"
"You think it's just Indians you're at war with? You think it's just people in your building?" Gordon tilted his head toward Mark. "The more people that hear, the more people that realize, the more that will decide to take action. You're not able to hide the truth anymore. It's coming out. You can't stop it. And when they learn, when the world learns, it'll be your turn to run and hide."
"How do you know my name?" Ryan said sternly. He straitened his gun arm for emphasis.
"Did you just threaten a blind man with a gun?" Gordon smiled. "I've known about you for a long time. I know this isn't a job for you, it's a movement. You hide in a suit and behind a tie, but underneath I can see the real you...shaved head, bleached skin and a bent X carved into your leg with a dull blade. A swastika you put there, when you were fifteen after a fight with your mother’s black boyfriend."
Ryan's face became pure hate as Mark watched, wondering what the other was thinking.
"How do you know this?" Mark asked Gordon, assuming it was true by Ryan's reaction.
"I know of you too, Mark." Gordon turned his attention. "Don't worry about your wife, she still loves you. She just doesn't think you love her back anymore."
Gordon could only assume he made his point by the silence in the room.
"I have friends. Lots of friends." Gordon picked at the armrest of the chair. "Friends that tell me you're under orders to kill me before anybody finds out I'm still alive. Is that true?"
"Yes. Happily, too." Ryan said.
"So be it. I just wanted enough time to put the fear into you and I believe I have." Gordon looked up at Ryan with his black eyes.
"No, no..." Ryan moved forward and punched Gordon. "You don't get off that easy. I want names. Names!"
"We'd be here all day, there's so many." Gordon spit out some blood.
"Names." Ryan hit him again.
"No!" Gordon yelled back, his voice cracked as it had been years since he's had to raise it. He now talked with the base that came from years of command. "I want you to wonder who they are, where they are, and how do they know about your stepfather, your skanky girl at that dank bar, because they've got a file on you...and they'll be coming when your time is due. You'll have to answer for everything, everything you've done we know about. So run now Ryan, just run. They like the chase as much as you do..."
Ryan shot Gordon twice in the chest. The elder slumped back from the impact. Gordon chuckled a bit as the life left his body and he went limp.
"Son of a bitch." Ryan swung at the air our frustration. He took a few steps back as Mark stared at the body. "Who the hell is he talking about? Who? Who's he got? Who's keeping tabs on us?"
"I don't know."
"Because this goes way beyond them just knowing where we live, this is fucking detailed personal top secret information he's spewing back about us, to us. How did he know who we were? He's blind! Our voices? He's heard our voices?" Ryan kicked the desk, hurt his foot doing that and then looked back at the body. "Who have you been talking to?"
"Check the house, you upstairs, me down here. There's going to be something." Mark said as he waited for Ryan to calm down.
"Yeah, yeah." Ryan said as he spit at Gordon and then headed up the stairs.
Mark watched him go and then looked over the living room, contemplating where someone like Gordon would get friends that could bring him all this and that could give him information as delicate as being about him and his wife. Only four people were aware of what had been going on between them. Amanda, the guy, himself and he had just told Ryan.
It had to be that guy. He made a mental note to find out who he was and have him investigated.
Interrogated.
Destroyed?
Mark shook it off as he started going through drawers and envelopes. Gordon accomplished what he set out to do and that was to get their minds working. They were going to be seeing spies and informants in every shadow and corner until this was over.

Peter wondered if there was a sensory limit of pain your body reached before your brain just shut it all off. Maybe there’s a point you just become numb to it so you could function normally. There might be a point that the brain shut itself off or worse, just explode from the sensory overload. What if that's what fainting from the pain was? He's read books and heard stories in the bush of amputations without drugs where the pain became too unbearable that the individual blacked out.
He hoped this wouldn't happen to him.
He's been moving for the last twenty minutes through the bush as fast as he could. The dogs were close enough that he could hear them panting somewhere behind him. There was a false sense of security in having Damien's pistol. He wanted to turn around and fire back but he learned earlier that it wasn't loaded and he didn't think he could bluff the dogs with it.
Despair was taking over. His body was starting to fail and right now it was pure will power keeping his legs moving as each step brought him a fresh round of agony. The souls of his feet were now torn up and bleeding.
Would it end quickly for him if he just stopped? Would they open fire and kill him fast, or would they draw it out for their amusement? Was he ready to die?
Maybe. The alternative was how he felt now and he didn't know how much further he could withstand feeling like this. His two choices were, hopeless and alone or a release from it.
Then he heard the train, somewhere up ahead moving through the forest. This might be useful depending on which direction it was going. He’d even take the wrong way if he could get ahead of it, then it might buy him some time as the dogs would have to wait for it to pass.
Peter sped up and came out of the trees as the train’s engine shot past him followed by large oil cars.
"There! There he is!" Peter heard from somewhere behind him. "Go get it, Kippy."
Peter looked back as the dogs were released and raced through the trees. He looked forward and started running beside the train. He needed a little more speed as he reached out for a ladder. His fingers grabbed at one rung as it passed but he wasn't able to hold on and staggered.
He regained his balance, waited for the car to pass and set himself up for the next one. This time he pushed off from the ground and grabbed the ladder rung. His feet dragged on the ground as he tried to pull himself up.
He pulled his good leg up and put it on the bottom rung. He started up further just as Kippy bit into his other leg. Peter screamed as the animal hung from his calf muscle. The extra weight threatened to pull Peter off the ladder.
The dog let go and hit the ground, rolling and squealing as it got to its feet.
Peter looked at his calf as fresh blood covered his ankle. It dripped off to the ground below. He moved up the ladder as best he could and pulled himself onto the grate walkway on top. Once there he rolled out on his back, stretched out and let relief take over.
Damien watched from where he stood next to Clark. The train moved off around the mountain and trees. Sandy went to check his dogs as several of the other men ran to catch the train but gave up.
"What the hell?!" Damien screamed after the train. "Where does that go? Where does it go?"
"To the city, then wherever after," Clark said. "Just call ahead. You can get somebody to meet it at the station."
"Somebody? Somebody? There is no somebody!" Damien shouted at him, "Don't you watch the news? Everybody is out killing Indians. There's just us. Get somebody to get us a car and meet us on the highway. We have to get ahead of that train."
"Yeah." Clark pulled his phone out.
Damien kicked at the ground and looked over as Sandy came up on them holding a pistol.
"He dropped this..." Sandy held Damien's pistol out to him, who took it with his good hand and started walking toward the highway.
Sandy and Clark shared a look before they followed their idiot leader.

Chapter 17 can be found at: https://steemit.com/fiction/@andrewgenaille/hunting-indians-chapter-17