The Black Train by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

pregnant, was flung in behind him.
    These were the visions that poured into the darkness behind Poltrock’s closed eyes. He heard endless screams and smelled the stench of human incineration.
    When he opened his eyes, another stench briefly filled his nostrils: old urine.
    Sick.
    Sick.
    That’s how Poltrock had felt since the first day he signed on with Gast.
    “We will lay one hundred miles of track per year,” Gast had told him that day.
    Not with only a hundred workers you won’t, Poltrock thought but chose not to voice.
    Gast had told him this in the den of the mansion he shared with his wife and children. A beautiful house in the center of town, ringed by trees and full of flowers.
    So why did Poltrock keep smelling piss?
    The whites of Gast’s eyes looked yellow, and Poltrock thought he’d noticed that same look in the other men who’d been hired.
    Just my imagination. I’m under the weather, that’s all. Too much to drink last night after the long ride out…
    Gast himself looked like exactly what he was: a vastly wealthy Southern plantation owner. Tailcoats, linen shirt, bow tie, and pointed leather shoes that shined like oil. He stood tall and lean, and the lines in his face suggested he must be upward of fifty. Trimmed muttonchops didn’t look right in the incised, overserious face. “I have signed on fifty men already, some of the finest rail men in the state,” Gast assured. He’d turned just then, looking out the bow window. “But I need an operations manager. You.”
    Poltrock fought off the repeated distractions. “I appreciate your offer, Mr. Gast,” he said in a distinct Southern accent. “But why me?”
    “Because you built the great railroads in Ohio and the Pennsylvania Commonwealth. I need a man like you to run my construction operation.”
    Poltrock felt dizzy. He kept looking to the splendid furnishings and draperies, the crystal vases filled with blooming flowers, but then thought the strangest thing: It’s all covering something up …The house, indeed, inside and out, looked beautiful but it felt…ugly. Corrupted. A sick person in fine clothes.
    For a moment—just a fraction of a moment—again, he smelled urine. But when the moment passed, so did the haunting stench.
    A black maid ushered in a silver tray with cups of minted tea. She said nothing, simply set the service on the desk, glanced once at Poltrock, and left.
    The glance showed Poltrock eyes full of fear. He closed his own eyes again at a wave of nausea. He could not dispel the image that rose: two strong white hands clamped about the maid’s throat, squeezing until the dark face turned even darker, until veins swelled fat as earthworms and the bones in the neck could be heard cracking. When the hands let go, the dead woman’s mouth fell open to ooze abundant semen.
    Then the image retracted to reveal whose hands they were: Poltrock’s.
    God help me, he thought. Where did that unholy vision come from?
    Poltrock had never thought anything so vile in his life. He was a God-fearing Christian. What had caused such a sight to come into his head?
    Gast turned back around, with his yellow eyes. He must have some liver disorder. “Work for me,” he said and handed Poltrock a check.
    It was a finely printed check on heather gray paper. It read RECEIVED OF : Mr. N. P. Poltrock, AGENT OF THE EAST TENNESSEE AND GEORGIA RAILROAD COMPANY , Fifty DOLLARS .
    The unease of the house hampered Poltrock’s reaction. Movement caused him to look to the doorway. He could see into the foyer, where a dowdy teenage girl in a white dress sat on the stairs’ second step. She was petting a dog—a small, wrangly thing with drab brown fur—and scratching behind its ears. For a moment the girl’s eyes looked at Poltrock. She smiled coyly. Now the dog had its head under her dress.
    Poltrock winced and looked away. He reminded himself of the check he’d just been given. Lord, that’s good money. “Just so I’m sure we understand each