Broken Gunpowder

Chapter One

The Becklar City train was one of the biggest scores that The Black Devils had ever been apart of. They had many large scores of their time, but this was by far the biggest they had ever seen. It was the only train of the decade to be hauling gold and cash toward banks, the only governmental train Clay had ever seen. Clay Brown was their oldest member, aside from the leader of the group who had found Clay as a child, lost and homeless on the streets. As Clay grew in age, the gang had grown, reaching its peak when Clay had reached the age of 16, but it had slowly begun to shrink when Modern America had begun to surface in the late 1800s. Now, at 27, Clay was apart of a dying breed. There were only around 10 people left in the gang, who had been here in its youth.
"So," Clay spoke, his voice speaking out after a few minutes of silence. "When is this train of yours supposed to arrive Fredrick?"
Fredrick was some man that Clay had met when the gang had been riding through Gally Hollow, a small mining town off of the coast of the Rocky Mountains. He was old, worn down, a madman, driven crazy by the amount of gold he had spent his life looking for, though none came up. He had long, grey and black hair that seemed to go off in all directions for no apparent reason, glazy eyes from being down in the mines as long as he did. He was wearing a large, raggedy shirt that had coal stains on it, as did his hands and torn jeans over his tanned olive skin. He was across from Clay, on a horse that seemed just as crazy as Fredrick was. He spoke in a high, fast tone, "It should be here any minute. I heard some of the locals talkin' about it!"
"We know where you heard about it Fred," Clay said as he looked down at his horse, pulling an apple out of the satchel on the side of the horse, holding it to the horse. The horse ate the apple, Clay straightening his back to where he was sitting up, looking back at Fredrick. "But is it good? Or are we wasting our time here?"
"Have faith, son," Spoke Briggs, the leader of the gang. Briggs was a man that seemed to be either in his mid 40s or early 50s, with hair that looked as if it used to be a dark brown, but had now a lot of grey streaks going along his hair and goatee. His piercing green eyes had been surrounded by pale white skin, his fancy blue and black vest covering his black dress shirt. Unlike Fredrick, he kept his hands and clothing clean, as though he had a fear of being dirty. Briggs was the one person who had cared for Clay when he was young, lost and homeless on the streets. He had taken him in, taught him the ways of robbing banks, riding horses, shooting a gun. For that, Clay was thankful for the chance to live life as he felt was intended. "Fredrick has yet to let us down."
"Faith isn't my forte, Briggs," Clay spoke as he looked to the railroad, trying to listen for a sign of the train coming by. "But if you think that Fred has something here, we'll encourage it."
The other four members sat silent, listening to what Fredrick, Briggs, and Clay had to say, watching them intently. It wasn't until everyone had stopped talking that, the newest member of the group, Richard, spoke. Richard was a kid around the age of 17, having been a former slave to a rich man, whose name was apart of the government train. He had shaved the sides of his head, a poofy mohawk on top of his head, which showed more of his dark chocolate skin. Clay had made it his job to take care of Richard, giving him his old pelt jacket, as well as some of the jeans that couldn't fit him anymore. He looked at Briggs, speaking, "What about the other three? Mary, Kyle, and John? Are they going to be okay by themselves?"
"If you are so worried about them, go back to camp and make sure they didn't die," Spoke Edward. Edward was considered by himself as Brigg's right hand. He was much older than he said he was. He had told everyone he was around the age of 24, but everyone could tell he was at least 47. He was one of the only Russians that had made it into the United States. He had a heavy Russian accent, as well as heavy blue eyes that looked almost black. He had tanned, white skin with freckles covering every inch of his body. He covered a lot of the freckles with a dress shirt that was crimson red and blue jeans that went down to the ground if he wasn't wearing his boots. He was always within earshot to Briggs and always had something foul to say about everything.
"That's not what I am insinua-" Richard spoke quickly before getting cut off by the sound of a train horn off in the distance.
"Shut up now! Both of you," Clay spoke gruffly, jumping down off of his horse and pulling out his binoculars and looking down the railroad, trying to spot the train. He positioned his leather hat to fit better with his short black hair, accompanied by his reddish brown skin. Clay was the only Native American that had ever been in the Black Devils. He had a feeling he'd be the only one to ever be apart of the Black Devils. He was wearing his normal black leather trench coat, a white shirt under it, the trench coat also hiding his holstered gun and hatchet, which were hooked to his dark blue jeans.
He squinted his eye slightly and saw a large pillar of smoke coming up the hill, though it was still far enough away from them, they had time to prepare.
"What do you see Clay," Briggs asked, looking in the same area of direction that Clay was looking.
"Well I'll be damned," Clay spoke as he set the binoculars into the satchel, and looked at the other six of the members. "It's actually coming. You were right Fred."
Fredrick made a nod to himself with a sly smile as if to say, That's right. I knew the whole time.
Clay jumped back onto his horse and looked to Briggs, who had begun talking about the plan of what whey were to do. The plan was to jump from the cliff onto the train's roof, head down into the safes that they had in one of the carts, then they were to steal all of the money they could muster. Three of them would be riding alongside the train and the four who were on the train were to throw the money onto the horses. It was a foolproof plan, if they didn't die in the process. Then..waiting. They sat for what seemed like hours, now off of their horses, smacking the horses backside, shouting "YAH!" to have the horses run off. Those who were riding along the train were hidden, still on their horses. Clay, Fredrick, Edward, and Briggs were off of their horses, standing by a cliff that was by the railroad, a mask covering each of the lower halves of their faces. They looked at the train, which was now bustling toward them.
"Remember, we do not stop the train," Briggs spoke as he looked to the three of them, a very serious tone arising from his voice. "No matter what. Understand?"
"Yeah you two-" Edward started but looked at Briggs as a sort of reassurance, Briggs' eyes telling him to shut up before he made him.
"We get the cash, and we get out of there. Kill anyone who gets in your way." Briggs then drew his gun, Clay doing the same soon after, and the four of them ran and jumped as the train began to pass under them, the four of them landing roughly on the train. Clay had started slipping, for he had jumped too far, and he had almost fallen off of the train, if he hadn't pulled out his hatchet and drove it into the roof of the train, keeping himself on the train, but barely.
"Clay, boy, are you alright," Briggs spoke, keeping his feet steady as he looked at Clay, who slowly lifted himself back onto the train. He dusted himself off, drove his hatchet out of the roof, keeping his gun drawn.
"Yeah, yeah I'm alright," Clay spoke, seeing that Fredrick and Edward had fallen off of the train, for he could see behind the train, two people slowly lifting themselves off of the ground. "Looks like it's just us, so let's get this done."
Briggs nodded and they walked to the end of the car, climbing down the ladder, trying to be as quiet as they could. Clay then opened the door and kept his gun to his hand, looking around every corner that he could, watching for anyone he thought to be a threat. "I saw the car with the safes a few cars down," Briggs spoke, looking around just as cautiously as Clay was. "That or there's a bunch of military men guarding a specific car for no apparent reason."
"Then I say we head there," Clay said, a small smile drawing from his face. "That or we can just grab a few bottles of the whisky in here, and jump off of the train in a drunken haze."
"I'd love to see you try that and get away with it," Briggs spoke as they opened the other door to the car, walking onto where the cars connected, then Clay watched as Briggs opened the next car door.
"Hey, you never know," He spoke as he shrugged, subtly gripping his gun tighter as they drew closer to the car with the safes. "Maybe I have some crazy bloodline I don't know about where they did great involving alcohol."
Briggs looked at him with a chuckle, and made an agreeing nod, "Yeah, guess you never know what could be in your blood."
They laughed to themselves as they opened the second door to the car, and again walked onto the car connectors, opened the door and saw two guards standing guard to the door. They were extremely close to the safe car. They had opened the door very quickly and loudly, but as they saw the guards, they hid behind a few crates before they could turn around to face the open door.
"I thought you latched it Roger," One guard said as he walked toward the door, the other guard, Roger, close behind him.
"I did, or at least I thought I did," Roger spoke, the guards' footsteps growing much louder as they grew closer. Clay holstered his gun and pulled out his hatchet, looking as Briggs gave him the signal as Roger went to close the door, and the other guard stood, leaning against the box that Briggs was behind. "I mean, I may have-"
As he spoke, Clay shot up and slashed his hatchet along his neck, standing as Roger turned around and Clay drove his hatchet into Roger's chest four times, little droplets of blood covering Clay's sleeves and parts of his chest. Clay wiped the blood off of the hatchet with Roger's coat, sliding it into its holster, drawing his gun again.
"The safe car should be on the other side of this door. Get ready for a fight Clay," Briggs spoke, looking at Clay like he himself was not mentally prepared for the gunfight they were about to get into.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Clay spoke as he walked to the end of the car and leaned against the wall, holding the door handle tightly, Briggs on the other end of the door. Clay pushed the car door open, him in and Briggs aiming their guns toward the military officials. The officials had just noticed Clay and Briggs, but only after the two of them had gunned four of the men down, then had moved to some crates as cover. Clay held his gun tightly, looking at Briggs occasionally.
"Let's get ourselves some money," Briggs shouted out as he shot at the military men, dropping more of them easily. Clay and Briggs had moved forward, getting closer to the money they had been dreaming of for weeks.
They shot more and more, hearing footsteps of horses and people calling out as though they were natives. Clay looked up for a second, seeing Richard riding alongside the other two members that had been on horseback, Christopher and Edward. Christopher was in the front, riding his horse roughly to get closer to the train, shooting at military men, "Evening ladies! You walking or working?!"
"Christopher, good to see you," Briggs shouted as he shot again at the men, only a few more left in their platoon. They were so close to getting to the money, yet they were so far.
"Yeah well, get that money so we can get home!" Christopher had also been one of the founding men of the Black Devils, coming around a few months after Clay had been rescued. He was one of the few colored men that had been apart of the group. Though he was not black or Native, his family wasn't from America. He had been one of the few Hispanic men to ever cross paths with the Black Devils and stay longer than a few weeks. He had found his calling with them, sticking around for years. He was in his late 30s, with some grey hairs starting to form along his short, black hair and goatee. His milk chocolate skin had seemed to blend in with his emerald green eyes, though most of his skin was hidden under a poncho, which had been over a button down yellow shirt and dark blue jeans. "I'm dying to see mi mija again!"
As blood and bullets flew, the Black Devils had taken care of the last of the military men, and had been throwing piles of gold onto the horses, getting multiple bags in their possession. Clay had been guarding one of the doors when he saw one of the last Officials running toward the front of the train. Clay had thought they had gotten everyone, but he had assumed wrong, for he was now running at the Official to stop him before he got to the front of the train. He drew his hatchet, running along the flatbed before jumping onto the top of another car, running along the train, the Official in his sight. He had been quickly gaining on him, jumping along the cars, able to hear the Officials labored breath.
"Stop fuckin' running," Clay roared as he chased after the Official, the front of the car getting closer than he had been hoping.
The Official didn't speak, so when Clay had gotten the opportunity, he tackled the Official, the two of them landing roughly on the coal that was right in front of the train controls. Clay had gotten up and hit the Official before he could get up. He picked up his hatchet from the ground and saw as the Official had gotten up and raised a knife he had hidden in his boot, now clasped in his hand.
The man spoke, a low growl emerging from his throat, "You redskins, trying to steal the money you hadn't earned!"
Clay made a small nod to himself and looked at his hatchet, before he swung the hatchet, the man blocking it with his knife and backed away. Clay had to make sure the Official wouldn't get to the brake, so he stood in the way between him and the brake, "You white men, stealing the land from the people who made it flourish. You're going to get this country killed with your large locomotives and your factories."
The man swung, and Clay dodged, then drove the hatchet into the Official's chest, pulling him into a grasp as he let the hatchet dig into his chest.
"Rest, now, let the wind and spirit guide you to where you lie eternally," Clay spoke in a native language and pulled the hatchet out of the Official's chest, letting the man fall and drop out of the car onto the ground passing by. "Though I do not hope that you make it to somewhere that is beautiful."
Clay began climbing up the coal to get to the gang, jumping off of the edge of the car onto the roof of another. He holstered his hatchet and then saw his family riding alongside the train, Clay whistling loudly, his horse, unmanned with a bag of gold on his back began riding away from everyone to get up to Clay. As it grew closer, Clay had climbed down from the roof, climbing down carefully onto the side of the train car, holding himself close to the train car until his horse got closer to him. He jumped quickly off the side of the train car and landed on the back of his horse, holding onto the reins quickly.
He rode hard and fast, his breathing heavy as he saw Briggs waving to him, perched on his horse. When he had gotten to Briggs and the rest of the gang there, some looking battered and hurt, but Briggs was smiling and laughing, "Haha! Clay, my boy. A wonderful thing has been done here. Now! Let's get this back to the rest of the gang and when the time comes, we can put this into cash."
The seven of them rode off, heading toward their camp off of the coast of Stryde, a small, humble town no larger than 100 people. The Black Devils were hiding in the forest to the north of that, camping out in wagons and tents, with three campfires sitting adjacent to some tables. They never had much of the highlife, but Clay loved every second of it. As he and the gang rode toward their home, he had a feeling of contentment. A feeling he had almost forgotten.