Last train out of hell
Jack had been hoping the train had more coal on board than it did. There was enough to get them out past the army, out of Saint Clements, but not even enough to get to the next town. He’d watched hordes of the dead (undead? Monsters that were once humans?) as they rumbled past but the last of anything they could burn had turned to ash in the furnace.
Now it was just him and the dozen or so civilians who had been close enough to get on the train in the dark of night. Most of them had plans for where they were going. Virginia was a long way away though, and it might be better if Mama thought him dead. Better expired than a traitor he wagered. Not that he was going to test the theory with hundreds of miles and no horse, train or carriage to help him along the way.
In the distance, he could see a battered sign that read Janestown. It didn’t seem to be the most appealing place he’d ever noticed, but better there than not. With a sigh he adjusted the (too small but it was what it was) shirt that one of the gents he’d helped out of town had given him so he wasn’t running around in his greys and started towards town alone. If he was lucky, none of the dead would be between him and his destination. And if there were, well, that’s why he carried a rifle and a pistol with him.
