GSIH: Riding The Rails

[x-gambit.livejournal.com]

The train starts moving, but their troubles have just started.



The old diesel engine sputtered a few times, as the aging machinery slowly came to life. There were any number of questions to be considered as the refugees and wounded were slowly loaded on. Even if only a few thousand might go on this trip, it represented the first lifeline out to medical facilities, shelter, and food. Each train full of refugees that made it back to the camp would be replaced by aid workers, supplies and temporary shelters on the way back; a constant back and forth in order to stabilize the area and fend off at least the worst of the dangers until roads could be cleared and new routes established to support the displaced populace. As they took their spots on the train, there was a sense of achievement, but muted in the face of the immensity of what was faced, and how little it seemed that a person could do.

The US Army Engineer Captain at the controls whistled appreciatively through his teeth. "Geez, I think my daddy drove one of these babies when he was with Union Pacific. Older than me." He touched the panel for a second, and checked a few of the worn gauges. Satisfied, he pulled out his walkie talkie and clicked it on. "Alright people, lock down those cars. Captain Lubanski, get people back from the train. I don't want any last minute hitchhikers. This heap is going to have trouble pulling the people we got."

There was a shout as the lines were cut off, and people surged forward, but fortunately, the guards and the men detailed by the locals which Angelo and Farouk had arranged a bargain with forced them back, and order slowly returned to the camp as they realized that the order was serious and no one else was to board the train. The Captain gave a blast of the horn, and with a muttered prayer, eased open the throttle. The train shuddered, seemed to hang paused for a moment, and slowly began to crawl forward.

Amahl rubbed his temples gently in the vain attempt to forestall the incipient headache brought on by the noise and the smell. "Ah, the wonder of technology. Presuming we don't explode on the way, we should hit our destination right about the New Year's..."
Yvette was tired and possibly a bit over heated - even the slight breeze generated by the train's slow movement seemed like bliss to her and she leaned out a little further, resisting the urge to start panting again. It might cool her down, but she had her dignity, after all. She glanced around the assorted refugees, seeing faint hope appearing on their faces, and felt a small surge of the same emotion herself. Their hard work might actually pay off. She managed a small smile to the other Xavierites in the train with her.

Callisto raised her eyebrows at first but then managed a returning small, tight smile, though her eyes immediately strayed back out the window. It was hard to relax, knowing that anything that might go wrong with the engine that propelled them was basically her fault. Every little creak she heard from the engine, every slight variation in its pitch or rhythm, made her tense slightly, her wiry frame as always poised for action.

There was, Jean-Paul decided, absolutely no form of automotive transportation that he was comfortable with on a personal level. Even despite his own, internal discomfort and a myriad of small physical pains he now felt, he had to admit that actually seeing the cars of the train loaded with people, seeing his efforts come to fruition and, for the moment, succeed... was gratifying. He kept to himself, though, near a door and an open window for the breeze as well as the knowledge that he would be able to escape if he needed to. A small part of him sincerely hoped that there would be no need, in the end. The rest of him was far too preoccupied with the rumble of the engine, the vibrations in the soles of his feet, to pay anything else much attention.

John was checking on the wounded to see if they needed further assistance. He moved down the aisle and stopped when he spotted a young boy of about two, dozing on his father's lap. He thought he recognized the kid from earlier when he and Jean-Phillippe helped to get the wounded onto the train. He crouched next to their seat and noticed that the little boy's arm was heavily bandaged. The father shook his head and let out a smile, murmuring something in his native tongue. There was that language barrier again and John decided to move on ahead.

Kevin watched the faces of the refugees from the back corner. He'd isolated himself as much as possible and was covered with layers of cloth once more. He was hot and sweaty which made the clothing more uncomfortable now. Some light breeze hit him but he reminded himself the other people on the train were by far worse off than he was. He focused on their faces and wished he had his sketchpad with him. It wasn't a moment to commemorate but it was an important one to record and he tried to memorize it for later. He also tried to not sway when the train hit bumps or had small jolts. He was exhausted from the use of his mutation but falling over wouldn't be of much use.

Jean-Phillipe leaned back in a seat, trying to get comfortable and failing. He was among friends...he paused to muster up a brief smile as Yvette's eyes fell on him...but he was still uneasy at the press of humanity that he'd been subject to practically since arrival in India. He was a loner by nature, spending so long among so many people was grating on him a bit.

Cammie had found a corner of her own and was spending it reading. This week's choice was a book about the Zodiac Killer. Even more messed up was the fact that they had never caught the prick.

The first hour had been relatively quiet; a train full of injured people tends not to have many people demanding speed. While the ride was hardly smooth, over an old worn track in a dilapidated train, it was steady and the Captain was leaning against the window with a sense of accomplishment, the plan working and feeling just a little like what his father must have, running engines in the fifties and sixties in rail's last days as king in the United States. He reached for his walkie-talkie.

"We're about twenty-five minutes from the India-Pakistani border, and another forty minutes from there to the camp." He said, and then paused. He shook his head, willing his eyes to simply be tired, but a second look confirmed that wasn't the case. A phalanx of flying people were angling towards the train, dressed in some kind of uniform. They'd heard rumours of India using mutants in their military, and now it looked like he'd just been given confirmation.

"Uh, people, we've got, well, flying people incoming. Unidentified and possibly hostile. I don't know exactly what it is your people do, but whatever it is, I think it's time to cowboy up. Army, you do not fire until you or the train is fired upon, copy? If this is going to be a war, I'll be damned if we fire the first shot."

Of course not, Farouk thought acidly. That way lies the insanity of survival. And I did so hope to avoid the pleasure of the Guard's company this go around...

Angelo reacted instantly, stepping to the window to get a better look at what was coming at them. It was impossible to tell what other powers the fliers might have, but at least he could get an idea of the physical strength of some of them.

Goddamn this stupid fucking senseless war, John thought as he joined Angelo at the window.

Yvette's eyes flashed and her hair visibly sharpened as adrenaline surged. "We must protect the train and the passengers," she said, perhaps a bit unnecessarily.

Rolling her eyes a little (although at what was anyone's guess), Callisto sighed and rose to her feet, moving to another window and pushing it further open to stick her head out, the train's roar growing a little louder within, adding to the sudden buzz of worried muttering and conversation from its inhabitants. Her worried gaze flickered between the flying figures, and the engine of the train, mind working furiously.

Tension coiling along his shoulders, Jean-Paul glanced from the walkie-talkie to the window, then the door. "Merde," he muttered.

Shifting through people carefully, Kevin tried to shove his own fatigue aside and put himself between the injured and the windows. He wasn't any good in a fight and likely useless against whatever a flier might pull out but he could at least take the hit before someone who was injured, right?

Jean-Phillipe moved to stand at Jean-Paul's shoulder. "Merde, merde, plus la merde," he cursed in an echo of the Quebecois mutant. A spark crackled around his fingers as they flexed rhythmically. "It is never the easy solution, is it?" he asked rhetorically.

"Well fuck," Cammie grumbled. She had spent too long fixing - and randomly eating - the train engine for someone to come and mess it up now. Either way, a fight was a fight. She cracked her knuckles, but some how wasn't as excited as she felt she should be.