The only thing he's heard of known to explode is a creature known as a bone fiend, an amalgam of human remains that can detonate itself, sending shards of bones flying everywhere. He doubts that such an explosion would be as large as the one he felt however.
Of course, there are certainly bad things out there smart enough to use explosives and the like, but it's probably more likely to be something man-made.
As to using explosions against an opponent, if he could somehow weaken the tunnel so that it would collapse on top of the foe that might work, but such a thing would be difficult without knowing more.
The posse's progress slows and stops as they realize that in addition to the mechanical sounds which have been growing louder ahead of them, there now seems to be something coming the other way as well. It seems they are trapped between a rock and a hard place
Whatever is coming from the east seems to be moving at a fair clip, the vibrations growing stronger until everyone notices the fine bits of dust and debris raining down, and the rattling of the gravel beneath their feat. About 30 seconds later they realize that the eastern tunnel is growing lighter, a large beam of golden light shining brightly down the tunnel soon to hit the posse standing in the middle of the tracks. Looks like a train is comin'!
"Fecking great..." Raveneau deadpans as he gazes towards the oncoming train "Anyone know how to stop a train?" His eyes flash to the side of the tunnel to see if he reckons there's enough room to hug rock and safely let it past...
There should indeed be enough room to safely get out of the train's way. The most risky part will be trying to keep your horses calm, as it is bound to be a hair-raising experience. The train sounds a short burst from it's horn, inciting you to scatter and get out of it's way. It does seem to be going slower than you would normally expect a train to travel.
Pressing themselves up against the wall and praying to whatever forces they believe in for safety the posse spends a nerve-wracking minute waiting for the train to pass which it does with a couple feet slearance from the horses. It is blessedly short, consisting only of an armor plated engine, and two flatcars loaded with ties and rails.
"An armoured train? Union, confederate, or corporate I wonder... Regardless, it's not hard to guess that they won't be happy about finding us in their secret tunnel."
"Nor will they be happy to find out their tunnel has a cave in, if that explosion we hear earlier did what I think it did!"
T.J. tries frantically to flag down the engineer, or even a crewman. He's kicking himself for not realizing it sooner, but was a bit more concerned with his own skin. Is that pride? Perhaps selfishness? Either way, he's bettin' it's on the good Lord's list.
Dr. Dione content to follow the horses through this strange tunnel steps aside as the train passes.
, 1 raise.
With one eye on his patient and one on the train the doctor notes the finely painted sign on the rapidly receding train.
"She's Wasatch Rail. But I thought they only operated in Utah?"
That was until they ran up against the Denver-Pacific lines, themselves a neutral party in the wars, but owned by Wasatch's main competitor. The last Dione remembers hearing was months ago, that the railway crews had disappeared from the public eye somewhere in the Rocky mountains. Rumors had abounded about Darius Hellstromme's plans, but such speculation had died out from lack of information well before he set off for the west.
Rolling his eyes as he concentrates on his horse not getting startled "Fascinatin... no really" with merely a hint of sarcasm. Once rolling wheels are becoming distant he sighs "Right, least we knows this here leads somewhere... onward?"
T.J. chuckles at Raveneau's comment. "And it appears we may have chosen the wrong line for our own travels. What doesn't kill ya..."
Michael squints into the oncoming lights, trying to make out some feature of the approaching train. As he stares into the bright lights he finds spots appearing before him, and his vision start to swim. His foot catches on something as he tries to back away, sending him stumbling forwards instead.
William grabs for his arm but his hand closes on only air, and Michael feels a sharp pain as the train rushes past, clipping his left shoulder and sending him tumbling to the ground. His head swims as the nearly deafening clacking of the train rushes past less than a foot from his prone form.
Dione assesses the injury after the train has past, causing Michael additional pain and discomfort as he probes the shoulder. Thankfully nothing seems to be broken, the train having been driving at a reduced speed. The blow does appear to have dislocated the shoulder. Summoning help from T.J. and the others Dr. Dione guides them in painfully popping the joint back into place, before putting it into a sling in hopes of forcing Michael to keep it still.
Those who care to cast their gaze after the train notice that a small circle of light from a lantern on the rear of the train seems to be slowing it's pace dramatically in the distance rather than disappearing completely from sight.
Ahh.. te te te...ooh that is going to sting in the morning. Michael nods at the Doctor. Thank you good sir, you are a man and a legend. He tries to move his shoulder a bit twinges of pain wrack his body, instead of wincing the group sees at a smile appear on Michael's face with each sickening crunch.
OhhKay, hey the train is slowing down, maybe it'll pick us up to get out of here. Or maybe a blockade? Or something like that...?" Michael laughs. "Well we won't find out sitting here, come on fellas" Despite the wound Michael presses on.
T.J. chuckles as he helps the good doctor pop Michael's shoulder back in place. "Not an uncommon injury." he says with a smile. "I've seen more than a few fighters go through the same thing. It's gonna hurt for a while, and boy is it gonna turn some fun colors."
He appreciates the tenacity of the man as well. Even being hit by a train does very little to dampen his spirits. With reigns held beneath his left arm and a healthy grunt as he helps lift the stretcher again, T.J. continues witht he others toward the slowing train car. However, as uncharacteristic as it is, he sticks toward the back this time as he carries a badly burned individual.
The group of strangers eventually pick themselves up and dust themselves off sufficient to continue, slowly making their way after the train. Communication becomes steadily more difficult as the noise ahead grows louder and louder. After a couple more minutes of this, when the group has to shout just to be heard the light of the lantern plays over something ahead of them. At first the dim shape at the edge of the light appears to be a large, potbellied stove, standing just to the right of the tracks. As more light washes over the shape however, it outlines what seems to be a gattling gun firmly attached to it's right side, while from it's left extends a pincer-like appendage. It sit stolidly in it's place, facing the posse.
Michael thrusts his hand back at the group signifying for them to stop. Oy oy, madman's invention up ahead. Not sure who's manning it and if they are friendly. Having been around the west a couple times already you can't be too careful. Heh, now let's keep those gun arms at the ready.
Michael tries to look around to see if anyone is leading this intelligent machine or if it is on its own.
"What in God's name is that thing?"
The things continues to hunch there, resting implacably on squat legs, silently watching...
It is an Automaton from Dr. Darius, this one has been left alone by the looks of things. I have no idea if it is aggressive or not but shall we find out? Hmm wait on second thought it might shoot us, on third thought maybe it can be reasoned with or tricked.. heh heh." That glowing smile getting him into trouble again.
Michael decides to walk forward towards the golem with his hands up, his gun is still in one hand however.
"Oi, big fella, how you doing there?"
As Michael approaches the device shifts slightly, following him with the business end of it's gun, the only noise it makes however is the brief rasp of metal on metal as it turns. Michael spectacularly fails to be eviscerated by gunfire however, even as he continues to approach.
Speechless. T.J. has never seen such a thing before, and for a moment he's stunned. What's more astonishing is the face that Michael seems to be approaching it. The pugilist begins to prepare himself, considering that at any moment he may need to act quickly. Except he has no idea what that action might be. He likes to consider himself prepared, but what the hell do you prepare for in this situation.
He too begins to draw closer, but makes sure to stay far enough back as to not create a greater threat. He does, however, stay out of the extended 'line' created between Michael and the contraption. Should it decide to open fire, it may be best if he's on a different track.
"Oh come on my friend, I am not going to hurt you .. see?" Michael holsters his gun.
"Tell me oh grand creation, your creator must have give you a name what would it be? They call me Shrewd, that's a good name for now. You must have some grandiose name like out of a novella no?" Michael says and he begins to flatter the intelligent creature, he doubts it cares about the flattery but maybe it will begin to talk with a bit of badgering.
Hellstromme is the only mad scientist who has managed to craft such an intelligent machine, capable of limited reasoning and other autonomic function. The design behind it's intelligence is a closely guarded secret.
It seems rumors of them bellowing insults and threats may be exaggerated, if not completely false.
The device aims at Michael, silent and implacable even as he draws within polite talking distance. It seems in fact that there would be room to pass it on the other side of the tracks if it hasn't fired at this distance.
"You think this abomination talks? If it is a machine, is it just there to make sure no one passes?"
Noting the relative docility of the machine, and taking advantage of Michael's conversation--T.J. attempts to slowly cross the other direction, noting whether the contraption follows him at any point as he attempts to pass by. Something about this whole ordeal makes the boxer quite uneasy, and his eyes continue to bounce around the cavern searching for what other unearthly things might be lurking about.
Michael leans his head back "Seems it doesn't, looks like it won't shoot if I don't take any quick moves closer. Huh, I wonder if I can slip by..." Michael then sees T.J attempt to do it.
"I like this man, he takes the ideas right out of my head. Tell me if it shoots you yea?" He winks at T.J.
The machine's attention remains squarely upon Michael until T.J. draws level with the man, after which the bulk of the body shifts as it faces the new arrival. Summoning up his courage the boxer continues on his way, and once he draws level with the creature on the other side of the tunnel it seems to lose interest completely, and he passes beyond it without further incident.
breathing a sigh of relief the others are soon able to follow, leading mounts and the wounded slowly past it. The machine continues to silently menace them until they have passed beyond it, after which it pays them attention not at all.
Continuing on past the automaton conversation becomes near impossible, short of shouting and even then the cacophony from ahead nearly drowns everything out. It seems whatever is responsible for the noise must surely be nearby, and after another 50 yards the train survivors spot signs of life.
Sitting amidst a settling cloud of steam lies the train that passed them not ten minutes ago, while human figures move around beside it. Numbering roughly half a dozen--although the obscuring steam makes it difficult to get an accurate count--they seem to be unloading the train's flatcars, moving rail ties, and sleepers from the car's further down the tunnel.
Before approaching Michael tries to determine at least a little about these figures, not wanting to in blind.
As conversation is near impossible with the cacophonous sounds echoing through the chamber, T.J. finds himself continuously reflecting back on the contraption. It clearly saw them, and had opportunity to lash out, yet chose not to. He wonders if perhaps it was programmed to keep out something else. Naturally, his mind wanders after the concept of what else could be, but appreciates the confidence that they may not find themselves completely unwelcomed.
As they approach the train that passed them earlier, however, much of that confidence wanes. He approaches Michael and tries to say something, but quickly finds it an exercise in futility--opting instead to raise his eyebrows and lift his chin inquisitively, then motion toward the group. The pugilist is more than willing to take point so long as he's not left flapping in the proverbial wind. The disconnect of such a statement while underground isn't lost on him.
As the quarters grow closer, Abram stows his rifle back in the boot on his horse's saddle, and lets his hands drop down near his belt. He holds the leads from his mount loosely in his left hand, his right hanging just off his holster. Not a great man for words, he leaves it to some of the others to take the lead where conversation might be concerned.
Abram looks at his comrades, making eye-contact and silently gesturing that one of them should go ahead and make contact with the workers, if anyone is going to.
With a nod, T.J. catches Abram's gesture and begins to slowly approach the group--arms straight at his side and palms held open about a foot from each side. He wants to show that he is unarmed, and move steady enough not to startle.
If he gets close enough he'll try to say something before he gets right on top of them, but won't say anything before it's reasonable for them to spot and evaluate him.
Dr. Dione remains with the horses. Working to keep them as calm as possible in this din. It would not do to have them panic and undo all the doctors work.
Raveneau watches TJ approach with guarded concern. If his passage proves easily done and without challenge, he'll attempt to lead his horse past the squat machine.
The din is loud enough to be uncomfortable, but is steady, and while the horses seem nervous, stamping hooves and flaring nostrils is about the worst of the resulting behaviour.
As T.J. approaches the group one of the workers begins to turn with a hemp bag in his arms, stopping as he catches sight of the boxer. He sets the bag down and calls shouts something over his shoulder without taking his eyes off of T.J. The activity of the other men slows to a halt soon after, a few fondling irons at their hips, but none draws. One, a relatively handsome man, not quite as bulky as the others, in his early thirties steps away from the group, closing the distance between the workers and T.J. stopping with a few meters still between the two.
"Well... who might you lot be then?" he calls, raising his voice to be heard above the ever-present din.
Abram stands still, tight lipped and wary, not jumping forward to do any talking, but not moving his hands from where they hang at his sides (and near his guns) either.
T.J. slowly raises his hands up as he ceases his approach a few meters from the gentleman.
"We've had a run in with some natives," T.J. says, turning his head to speak to the others who are slowly reaching for firearms. "There's some injured with us, and we could use some help. We don't need trouble, and we don't mean to bring it."
Dr. Dione remains near his patient nothing in his hands but his gladstone.
Raveneau melds into as much background as he can muster, waiting to see if a dive for cover is needed.
Ah they seem to be the local rail helpers, wonderful! Let's go say hello!
Michael steps out alongside to greet the men. "Hello, hello my friends! How are you all, as this fine gentleman has said we indeed do have some injured. Myself included." He points to the makeshift sling he has.
"Ah but where are my manners, you can call me 'Shrewd', pleasure to meet such fine workers." Michael tips his hat at the crew of 7 in front of him. "May I be so bold as to inquire your name, fine sir?"
The man looks at Michael as he steps up, noting the sling, but it's not til he looks past him to the doctor and his patient that his eyes go wide. "Christ! That must have been some attack, but then..." he glances to the rest of the workers and gestures for them to continue. "Charley Bill, Charley Bill Buckner."
Well, you better come on in, we can see about getting someone to look at you all. We'll need to keep you in our protective custody until we get to Lost Angels anyway. It shouldn't take but another week with any luck. We just can't let word get out thet we're almost there or we'll have every rival rail gang in the West descending on us like flies on cow patties."
"Don't worry though. You're safe. We've got a couple of celebrities with us so you can bet we're well armed. Who? Well, that fella from the [iTombstone Epitaph[/i]. Lacy O'Malley. Writes all them weird tales? Let me introduce you to the other."
Unless anyone objects he leads the way past the steamy section by the resupply train--now it seems being loaded with tools and lumber--revealing the camp proper. Several dozen men wield pick-axes, smoothing the walls to either side of the tunnel, while on the tracks ahead sits a very fancy-looking caboose attached to a second train. It is surrounded by stacks of equipment, railroad ties, foodstuffs, water barrels, and even some explosives, and seems to be Buckner's destination. He stops along the way, calling out to one of the workers by name, and sending him off to "Fetch the sawbones." A couple others take charge of the horses, though they look somewhat uncertain what to do with them, no other animals seem to be present.
That sorted, the cowboy turns to the train, nodding to the two grim guards at the rear of the caboose--both armed with Gattling shotguns, you notice--and one of them knocks some sort of code on the caboose door. You don't hear anything from inside for all the noise in the tunnel ahead, but someone must have answered for the guard nods you on in.
You step up onto the rear platform and into the most luxurious rail car you've ever seen. The walls are carpeted with rich red velvet panels inset into cherry wood. Brass fixtures and handrails add contrast, and a short dining table is set with what looks like more silver than came out of Virginia City.
But what really captures your attention are the two figures seated in plush chairs at the other end of the car. One is no doubt the famous Lacy O'Malley. He wears his trademark white suit and hat, though even from here and by the flickering candles you can tell it's seen better days. He smiles amiably and tips his hat.
The other figure sits back in his chair with a clipboard in his hand. He wears a scarlet smoking jacket and puffs on a pipe. His face is hidden in shadows, but as he leans forward and his piercing gray eyes emerge from the darkness, there can be no doubt this is the famous Dr. Darius Hellstromme.
As they are ushered into the train Michael nods at Charley. "Ah thanks for the hospitality my good fellow."
When walking into the luxury carriage he whistles. "Wow, haven't seen stuff this good since I left home." Michael tips his hat back towards Lacy in greeting. He then walks over rolling his injured shoulder a bit sitting down next to the two men, as if he should be there. "Hey hey, how are you fine gentlemen. Quite the set up you have here. What you doing all the way out here?" Michael says smiling at the pair.
Michael pretends to stutter. "Oh where are my manners today, the second time no doubt I forget to say my name. I am Shrewd. I doubt you two need any introduction at all, such that you are." Slapping his knee to lighten the mood. Michael is trying to manipulate the situation to get himself some info.
The boxer stands awkwardly in such a luxurious carriage, his hands folded behind his back as he finally lets his frame relax. Even though the man assured them that they were safe here, T.J. was hesitant to let his guard down. This room doesn't appear to be a trap however, so he is gradually easing out of his vigilance.
As Shrewd takes a seat, looking truly comfortable in this ostentatious environment, T.J. steps forward pulling his hand free from behind is back and outstretching it to greet the others. "Thanks for takin' us in. Name's Tennison James Beauchamp."
Abram looks around the opulent car, his face looking flat and disinterested.
What is the point of all this? You can't take it with you...
He considers sitting down to rest his tired body, but thinks better of it, instead opting to stand to the side where his hands will be free and his guns in reach.
Unwilling to leave the side of his houngan friend, Raveneau makes sure of his deliverance to someone who will care for him before thinking about moving to the carriage.
Michael's conduct earns a raised eyebrow from the reporter but Hellstromme only stands to cast his gaze over his new guests. "Welcome travelers. What brings you to our little expedition here?" he asks, seeming to be in quite a good mood despite the unexpected visit. He listens to your story and glances at Charley Bill.
"We've already got a crew on the way to patch the hole. Resupply train had to blast the debris off the track." he reports. Hellstromme waves his hand in dismissal and the foreman lets himself out, momentarily allowing the noise of the drill in from outside. As soon as the door shuts the caboose falls into blessed silence apart from the sound of the half-dozen people occupying it.
"Perhaps you've heard Wasatch dropped out of the so called 'Great Rail Wars?' I believe Mr O'Malley here reported as much last year."
"The thruth is we've been working on a revolutionary way to avoid these treacherous mountains. After your experience with those buffoons at Smith and Robards, I assume you can see why."
"Ahead of us, beneath approximately a half-mile of earth and stone, is a new machine of such staggering complexity that I alone can service it. That is why I am here."
"By my estimations, we should be emerging in California in a few days time. From there we will link with my existing line and roll into the City of Lost Angels by high noon in two days. There we will confront Reverend Grimme with the inevitable approach of progress, and end these damnable and expensive Rail Wars forever."
"You will accompany us on this historic occasion and witness an epic moment in history as our guests. Mr. Buckner will see that you're fed and shown around the camp, please listen to what he says, the tunnel can be a bit unstable sometimes."
A small stove has been set up near some collapsible chairs and tables and it is to this area Raveneau is led where an older man is stirring a pot on the stove. The other horses are led off towards the privy where a roped off area is erected and they are corralled. At a call from one of the men leading the horses Jeb, the man tending the stewpot turns to look at Raveneau and strolls in his direction. The man looks to be in his 50s, more grey than black in his hair, a little stooped but otherwise in good health. He looks Raveneau over briefly before he shifts his attention to Elias.
"Weeeell..." he says, making a sucking noise through his teeth. "Better get 'im on one of the tables so I can take a proper look at him." he instructs Raveneau. If the huckster doesn't seem to want to do it himself he calls out to a couple of the laborers returning from dealing with the horses. "Careful now. Don't want to crack his scabs." he cautions them.
After a few minutes examination and making sucking and clicking noises, he heads over to one of the tents, returning with a carpet bag and sets it on the table. "Not too much I can do fer him. Someone's done a good job with the bandages, but with the burns so bad..." he observes with a clucking noise. "He been given anything? Don't seem ta be drugged, just deep unconcious. That's about the best thing for him raight now."
The doctor removes his hat and tucks it under his arm.
"A pleasure indeed to meet you both. I have enjoyed your writings Mr.O'Malley, and who among is not in debt to the Great Dr. Hellestromme.
We have fallen among giants gentlemen, giants.
Oh where are my manners? I am Dr. Ignatius Dione, late of Boston and Detroit, now apparently a traveller on Dante's railway."