DisPLACEd: The Iron Horse

Chapter Ten

The clanging of the bell was met with dozens of heads poking up out of the trenches. It was the end of another long day of laborious work. The Union Pacific Railroad construction crew - Ryan included - were tasked with hauling the heavy metal rails and perfectly laying them on the dirt softened by the preceding cut crew. He clambered out of the trench, breathing hard. They were a few miles from the nomadic settlement they called home, so rode back to town on horse-drawn carts.

Despite the ever-present threat of Indian attacks, Hell on Wheels had no real guards for protection, making it all the more surprising when four armed soldiers were there to greet them upon their return. They stood near the main station, chatting amongst themselves.

Ryan found himself walking beside Eli and his lackeys, all too tired and sore to carry a conversation.

"Guys wait up!" Jonathan ran up to them.

The group kept walking.

"What is it Five Strikes?" Eli spoke over his shoulder.

Jonathan caught up to them. "We're getting paid today."

"How do you know?" Campbell asked.

"I just came from the station. They was talkin' about it and about some fancy people visitin'."

"You sure know about everything that's going on around here," Ryan joked.

Ayers reached out and ruffled Jonathan's hair, much to his chagrin. "Yeah. Johnny Five Strikes is so little no one notices him sneaking about, eavesdroppin' on everything."

Jonathan's cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

They entered the outskirts of the town, trying their best not to breathe too deeply around the pig pen and garbage pile. The wind was not in their favour, and the stench carried on for a fair distance.

The line from the foreman's tent was long, stretching past the station, where teams worked to beautify and decorate the wooden platform.

Ryan and Jonathan stopped at the end of the queue. Eli and his followers surged on ahead to the front of the line.

"Meyers?" One of the soldiers patrolling the bustling decorating committee stopped and looked at Ryan.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" Ryan glimpsed around, but the man's eyes were on him.

"You're Sergeant Meyers from the 15th Mass. Infantry." The man had his pistol hanging in a loose grip. He pointed to himself. "It's me, Barty." As he came closer, Ryan could see a deep purple scar that ran down his cheek, marring his once-youthful face.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." Ryan looked to Jonathan who appeared equally confused.

The soldier shook his head. "I'm sure of it. We fought side-by-side at the Battle of Ball's Bluff under Colonel Devens. I lost track of you when we were coming back across the river. I looked for you, but got myself nabbed by those Confederate bastards."

The man's words were beginning to unsettle Ryan. "Look, I'm really sorry, but I'm not whoever you think I am."

After what seemed like minutes of unblinking consideration, the soldier snapped out of it, giving him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. You just look exactly like him." He gave a nod and moved on.

"That was weird," Jonathan said to a murmur of agreement from Ryan.

Dodge forced himself to a seated position on his bed, his eyes flaring as a wave of dizziness overtook him. "I said I am fine."