Chapter 1: Nothing Changes
Authors Note: Big fan of the show, I love it to death and here is my piece. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Hell on Wheels
I wake up early that morning to the sound of explosions going off and orders being shouted. I let out a heavy yawn as I quickly get to my feet in my shitty little tent and slip on my brown boots. I would need to polish them again soon.
I quickly put them on and throw on my white long sleeve shirt and feel that it is still damp from when I washed it yesterday and fasten my pants suspenders over it to keep everything in place. I roll up my sleeves before slipping on my brown vest and get ready to face the day ahead of me. Right before I leave my tent I grab my gun belt and fasten it tightly around my waist, before stepping out into the bright green pasture and blue skies.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright sun, but I take in a deep breath and make my way to the railroad right as a train approaches.
I pulled some jerky out of my tin and took a bite, before pocketing the tin and heading out to the cut crew. I didn't walk four feet from my tent before explosions started going off in the fields beyond. I lowered my hat to shield the dirt debris from my eyes as chucks of it rained down all around us.
Council Bluffs, Iowa, or Hell on Wheels, was where I had arrived a week ago and since I didn't have much experience with manual labor, thanks to my pampered upbringing, my job was to babysit the blacks and make sure they dug up the dirt and laid down the railroad track for the Union Pacific Railroad.
I wasn't there to make friends or to be liked, but I tried to treat the black people as well as I could. I told them to call me, Mr. Abel instead of boss and I tried to keep the fresh water handy so they wouldn't die of thirst from working in the hot sun.
None of them would admit it, but they all liked me a hell of a lot better than that one-handed son of a bitch, Johnson. Right when I approached the cut, Johnson arrived on horseback, next to him was a man dressed in a black coat with matching pants, boots and hat. I couldn't get a good look at his face, but I could just make out the black stubble forming around his mouth. He let out a holler and everyone had stopped working.
"This is Mr. Bohannon…your walking boss." He introduced as Bohannon tipped his hat to us. "You can address him as 'Boss' or 'Boss Man' or 'Walking Boss.' Mr. Bohannon is a former master of slaves."
Another explosion went off in the fields as I heard one of the men grunt out, 'Some things don't ever change.'
"So, he's up to your tricks." Johnson continued. "He's going to work the blue out of your gums, boys. Any coffee boilers or otherwise slack work ethic will be dealt with severely. Now, dig me a cut." With that Johnson road off and left us with the new guy, who looked as clueless as the rest of us.
Everyone else went back to work and I did my part as well.
As the day carried on I noticed a lot of people riding on wagons and setting up tents. Not all of them were railroad workers, some were farmers who provided the meat and veggies to feed the crew, while other set up the watering hole for the men after a hard day's work and word around camp is we were getting a church set up real soon.
I guess I wasn't the only one looking for a new start somewhere.
After the day had ended I went to the makeshift bar and I was not surprised to see that it was full of both tired men and rowdy women. I asked the bartender for a bottle of whiskey and sat down at a nearby table to drown my sorrows.
I watched as the new guy joined Johnson and a couple other guys for a game of cards and they talked about his past in the slave business.
Apparently, he owned a small tobacco farm and ran it with the help of five slaves, who he had set free on a count of his wife being a northerner or was since she died after the war. What did I care?
His business was his own as was mine.
"Herschel there owned a few slaves himself, didn't you Herschel?" Johnson shouted from his table. I grunted as my named slipped out of that hillbilly's mouth. I turned and saw four pair of eyes on me. I just wanted to drink and was in no mood to bring up my shitty past.
"Over one hundred slaves actually." I stated. "My family owned a large plantation field. We grew up wealthy, me and my brothers and sisters."
"Must have stung pretty bad when you had to give up all those slaves." One of the other men chuckled.
"I didn't care for slavery." I boldly defended. "I fought the war because my father forced me to and I left my home because my last remaining sibling and older brother disowned me from the family estate. Not that there was an estate to go back to."
"What do you mean?"
I downed another shot and filled it right back up before explaining my story to the boys.
"My family loved owning slaves, but I thought it was wrong, so my father and my three older brothers decided to toughen me up and fight for their way of life. While we were gone my mother and two sisters hired guards to protect the estate if anything went wrong. After the death of my father and two brothers, my eldest brother and I returned home to find our mansion burned down along with our fields. It turns out that my mother tried to force the slaves to stay on the plantation and that didn't sit right with the darkies. So, late at night a few of them got this bright idea to start a fire in the field using some kerosene we stored in the shed. To sum it up, it lit the whole damn plantation on fire. My family wanted revenge, but I didn't and they saw me for the disgrace that I was, so I was disowned and I have been on my own ever since."
"You don't care that your home was destroyed and your business was ruined." Johnson asked with that snooty fucking tone.
"What can I say, but I am a black sheep amongst the lambs." I snarled before downing my last drink and storming out of the tent.
"Fuckers." I snarled.
My family were nothing but a bunch of spoiled rotten little bastards. I was glad that the slaves broke free and burned everything down. I hope they are all rotting in an alley somewhere.
Those slaves weren't the only ones who were happy to be rid of that hell hole.
(!)
It was another scorcher today and the poor boys in the cut were feeling it as they dug the way for the railroad. Bohannon and I walked the cut and listened to them sing in order to try and boost their moral, but it didn't take long before one of them collapsed into the piles of dirt.
"Is he alright?" I asked. The bald black man with the black bushy beard spoke back.
"He needs water, Mr. Abel." The man spoke back. I think I remember his name, Elam Ferguson.
"Get him to the water barrel." I said, he nodded and dragged his friend from the cut and over to the barrel that held the water.
"I thought I told you to dump that dirt on the other side." Bohannon shouted. Elam left his friend to his drink as he confronted, Bohannon.
"I told him to do it." He said as he and Bohannon stood face to face. Bohannon removed his hat as Elam explained himself. "We fittin' to fill in that dip over yonder next. I figured we might just use some field dirt nearby."
He wasn't wrong that last blast took up some ground and it needed to be filled. Bohannon agreed as well, though he did not admit it and just gave out orders.
"You talk to me before any decisions are made, all right?" Bohannon said as he turned back to the cut. Elam made no fuss about it and simply responded.
"Yes, sis, Master."
"What did you say?" Bohannon snapped as he quickly spun around on his heels and was once again face to face with Elam. I was ready to break up this potential fight when I heard a horse ride up from behind us.
"Bohannon, what that hell is going on here?" Johnson shouted as he spotted the man from before drinking his water. Johnson snapped and swung a whip at him, knocking the poor man on the ground. "You drink when I tell you to drink!"
"I said he could drink, stupid bastard!" I shouted at him as someone fired off a gun, scaring the horse. The man happened to look up as the horse swung its hooves into the man's face.
The man fell down with blood all over his face as Elam quickly went to him. He grabbed him by the sides of his face and frantically spoke to his friend.
"Willy!" He shouted over and over again, but it was no use. He was dead. One good kick to the head from a horse's hoof is usually all it takes.
Johnson just sat there unapologetic and looked down at all the workers who had stopped digging.
"This is what happens when you break my rules." He boasted.
"You fucker," I snarled. "I gave him permission, you can't kill him regardless of your rules!"
"Oh, and please tell me, what are you going to do about it." He asked rhetorically. I slowly lowered my hand to my Remington as a few of Johnson's boys started to back him up.
"Mr. Abel." Bohannon shouted. "You want to do this man right, then go get the wagon and give him a ride back to camp for a proper burial."
I continued to glare at Johnson and removed my hand from my gun. The bastard just gave me a smug grin and road off leaving me to clean up his mess and I don't mean the body.
(!)
After that unfortunate event I decided to try and calm my nerves and went to the Magic Lantern Show everyone has been bragging about. It was run by the McGinnes brothers, couple of Irish fellows looking to make their fortune here. The pictures were beautiful landscapes and families, but not as beautiful as Mickey's singing that went with it.
I noticed Bohannon sitting behind me, but he looked like he was lost in Mickey's singing as well, so I let him be. After the show I stood up and shook Mickey's hand, slipping him a silver dollar in the process. He smiled and nodded a thank you as I took my leave.
"Pretty generous of you to give a man a pretty coin." Bohannon remarked.
"Eh, what can I say," I shrugged. "I'm a stupid bastard with a heart of gold. Besides, one shiny coin ain't nothing to me. I come from wealth hadn't you heard."
"I heard your father beat you in front of his whole platoon for sparing the life of a few blue coats. Which is why you were almost cast out of the confederate army, if they weren't so strapped for men."
"I don't know why I am the way I am, Bohannon." I chuckled. "I just couldn't be like my family. I didn't like seeing people being beaten an abused like wild animals. It wasn't right. Hell, I never really fought in the war. I kept to running supplies to our troops or burying the dead. My father caught on and well…you said it yourself. He wanted me to preform a live execution on those poor bastards, but I couldn't do it. So, he beat me in front of them and my men. Why bring it up at all?"
"I just wanted to know why you are really here, this would seem like the last place a cowardly Johnny Reb would be."
"Like those boys who just put on a show I want a new start. Maybe, be that one good apple in a rotten barrel, you know. I think this railroad can bring some good cheer to everyone. The question is, why are you really here, Bohannon and while we're on the subject, how did your wife die and what happened to your farm."
"If you ain't gonna tell me why you are really here then I won't tell you. I just wanted to know why the son of Eustice Abel, the biggest tobacco tycoon in all the south would stoop so low to come here and work on a railroad while being in charge of former slaves. Also, that big fella whose friend died earlier, he is planning on gutting Johnson."
Bohannon walked past me and towards the tent where the bar was. I shouted back at him.
"To hell with you, you don't need to know about me. I know why I am here. I am…"
I didn't know how to finish that sentence. I just couldn't find the words. It didn't matter anymore my life and my past were my business.
So, after that awkward encounter with Bohannon I grabbed me a bottle of whiskey and decided to drown my sorrows and forget my past at least for a moment. I don't know how long I stomped around in the mud for until I spotted Bohannon and Johnson leaving through the back of the tent, only Johnson had his Remington pointed at Bohannon's back.
I slowly followed behind them and drew my own Remington revolver, but thanks to that whiskey my aim was off. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but from the look on Bohannon's face, he was either startled or intrigued by what Johnson was saying.
"She hung herself." Bohannon said.
"No, she didn't," Johnson replied. "The sergeant strangled her and strung her up."
"Sergeant, what sergeant?" Bohannon asked.
"Well, he's out here, too. I figured you were saving him for last." There was a brief pause between them and I slowly advanced on the two. That's when I heard a low chuckle from Johnson. "Oh, you didn't know about him?"
"You tell me who he is." Bohannon demanded.
"Well, it hardly matters now." I was so lost in what they were saying and slow from the booze that I didn't see Elam sneak up behind Johnson and slit his throat.
"Shit," I slurred. I was so upset at Bohannon for bringing up my father, that I completely forgot about how he told me that Elam was planning on killing Johnson.
Johnson fell to the ground, holding his bleeding throat as Bohannon demanded that he tell him the name of that sergeant that was mentioned. It was no use. He was dead and took whatever information he had with him.
The three of us just stood there in the dark over Johnson with no knowledge of what to do next. Bohannon looked pissed, Elam looked confused and I probably looked drunker than hell, so there was nothing to do. Bohannon stormed off and I told Elam to get the hell out of here as I just stumbled back to my tent.
Today was a shit day, but what else would I expect from Hell on Wheels.
(!)
We packed up bright and early the following morning. It's what happens when the road get's too far, or the land becomes too dangerous. We pile up the garbage and anything else that is useless and burn it in a pile while the tents are packed up in wagons and we set up camp elsewhere.
The sky was grey and cloudy as the rain had just past. Everyone looked tired or depressed, me I was a little bit of both. My wagon rode down the dirt road as we ran over the sign.
Hell on Wheels
Population, one less every day.
Ain't that the truth. Johnson was a rotten bastard, even the guys he worked with couldn't stand him. He did no good for anyone and no one will care that he is gone. There are plenty more where he came from.
I know that I am lying to myself. Someone will come sniffing and someone will talk and look for frontier justice. I look out into the grey sky and bleak rising sun and know that in the pit of my stomach, this was not over. Like this railroad, my journey was just beginning.
