The Reaping (8 page)

Jack puts an arm around me, and I put my head on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

It’ll never be okay and he knows that, but I still appreciate him right next to me.

“I’m sorry.”

What for?

“If I hadn’t clamped up like that, you wouldn’t have had to do that. I’m sorry.”

I close my eyes again, and a tear traces its way down my nose and falls onto his shoulder.
Neither of us should have to do that.

Jack’s hair whips wildly around him, and he tries to hold it down with his other hand. “It’s going to get cold tonight in this wind. You don’t have your pack, do you?”

I shake my head. It’s tangled in the cargo nets several cars away.

“Me neither. I don’t think we should go back for them.”

I shake my head. We definitely shouldn’t do that. The big soldier will be wondering where his partner is. I feel so exposed out here, but I guess it’s better than being in there where the soldiers have their guns and are looking for us. I just pray they won’t think to look outside. Maybe it’s like looking up—they just don’t do it.

I shiver and Jack scoots closer to me.

“We’ll have to make do for tonight. We won’t have to wait much longer—I think we should get there sometime tonight.”

Chapter Six

Making do is harder than Jack made it sound. We both start off shivering, and then my teeth chatter. I try to clench my jaw closed, but the more I try to stop the chattering, the worse it becomes. Jack chafes my arms and tries to warm me, but he’s just as cold as I am. The sun has begun to set behind the mountains to the west when I hear faint voices over the wind whipping around us. The voices are coming from the other side of the door we sit against. Jack’s eyes meet mine in a heartbeat and without even speaking, we head for the railing.

I peer around the side of the train, and the speed of the train makes my eyes water. I blink the tears away and see just enough of a ledge that we could stand there. For how long, I don’t know; it’ll have to be long enough. I jerk my head that way, and Jack nods.

I swing a leg over the railing and tiptoe along the edge of the platform until my feet find the ledge. My hands don’t want to let go of the railing, but I wrench them free and run my fingers over the side of the train until I find a narrow groove that I can get a surprisingly firm grip on. This has to be the way the soldiers scurried out like ants from the nest when Jack and his father saw the nomads die while they were crossing the prairie. The thought chills me. Jack inches his way toward me, and he’s just come to a spot next to me when I hear the door swing open.

“Why would they be out here?” I hear the big soldier shout. His walkie-talkie crackles and then squeals as he turns it up. “Say again, sir.” He has to shout to be heard.

“You tell me, soldier. Where’s your partner?”

“I dunno, sir. I haven’t seen him since our rounds a few hours ago.”

“And did you think about reporting that?”

“Um, yes sir.”

“Do you see anything out there?”

“Just a second.”

I press myself even closer to the side of the train, and the cold of the metal leeches through my clothes and chills me to the bone. My fingers and forearms are screaming at me, and the wind whipping across my face pulls more tears from my eyes. My face is chapped and the tears burn as they streak across my cheeks, and it’s all I can do to just close my eyes and pray. Please don’t look. Please don’t look.

“No, sir. They’re not back here. Though the chain looks like it’s been damaged.”

“They could’ve jumped or fallen, I suppose. Report back.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door slams closed. Inch by inch, I follow Jack along the ledge and then swing back over the railing. I drop to my knees, and my body shakes all over. Jack leans into me, and I can feel his heart hammering against me.

“That was too close.”

I nod and wipe the tears off of my face. I tuck my hands inside my shirt and cringe when my frozen fingers touch my skin, but they start to warm a fraction. I’m about ready to start thinking about getting off the train just so I can warm up, when the train starts to slow.

Buildings crop up—shadowy blocks that are mostly dark. Occasionally one gives off light through hazy windows, and shadows creep through the darkness around them, and most of the shadows have the posture of soldiers. I’m not too worried that anyone will see us. We’re wedged against the platform and the train, and the sun is almost down.

“We’re getting close,” Jack says in my ear, and I savor the warmth of his breath on my icy skin.

We slow down even more, and then an ear-splitting shriek stabs through the night. I clap my hands over my ears. What in the world makes such an awful noise? The sound echoes in my brain and off the mountains and then stops as quickly as it started.

“The train’s whistle,” Jack says. He crawls to the side of the platform and peers around. His hair whips behind him. “I can make out the station.” He scurries back. “Do you think we should get off here or in the station?”

I shrug. The station will be swarming with soldiers and government officers, but out here it’s so open. Maybe the cover of darkness will be to our advantage, but I’m not sure. I’m ready to tell Jack I want to get off out here when the train passes through a gap of twenty-foot-high chain-link fence with a group of soldiers standing at attention on either side. A spotlight is trained on the opening, and the soldiers are obviously waiting for something. For us? Or just a nomad attack that may or may not happen?

Jack grabs my arm and pulls me back into the deep shadows of the corner of the platform, and we press ourselves into the train as flat as we can, hoping that we’re hidden from the eyes of the soldiers. Some of them watch the wild outside of the fence, and they wear night-vision goggles. A few are turned back to watch inside, and they just wear the standard-issue masks. I close my eyes.

The train creeps along, swaying gently as we slow even more. Then we’re engulfed in a huge building. The stars disappear as we’re swallowed, and I grip the rails until my fingers ache. The air in here is thick and warm and smells like oil and metal. A platform appears to our left and several sets of tracks fan out to our right. Another train is stopped on one set of tracks, and it is still and empty as a discarded shell. No one is on the platform, but we haven’t yet come to a stop.

“We need to get off now,” Jack says, crouching next to me. “We’re going to be swarmed with soldiers once this train stops.”

I nod and rock forward onto my toes. I have pins and needles all up and down my feet and legs, but I set my jaw and lean forward for the gap in the railing.

Where?

Jack scopes the station. “There.” He points underneath the platform to a section that cuts back and lies in darkness. I squint my eyes and just make out the glint of metal. A door? If so, to where?

“I don’t know where it leads, either. But I’m sure it’s safer than on top.”

I glance up as we pass a soldier standing with his gun in his arms. He doesn’t look our way.

Then the train hisses and lurches to a stop. The soldier looks back down the train track lazily. No one’s looking for us yet, anyway.

Jack takes my hand, and he crouches in front of me at the edge of platform. The chain dangles above his head and rubs the railings with a faint clink, clink. I still it with my fingers. The last thing we need is some miniscule, errant noise to give us away. I look back up. We can’t go yet; that soldier will see us. My palms start to sweat as we hover on the edge of the platform. Either that soldier will turn his gaze our way or the soldiers on this train will make their way here and find us. We’re caught in the middle and my heart pounds against my ribs. My eyes flick behind us to the door of the train car that I’m sure will hiss open at any second and back to the soldier who’s so bored he scuffs the heel of his boot on the platform. Then his walkie-talkie crackles.

“Be on the look out for two nomads—male and female. They are possibly still on the Seattle train.”

The soldier tips his head to the mouthpiece on his shoulder. “Yes, sir.” Then the soldier hefts his gun up and walks down the platform alongside our train and out of sight.

“Now,” Jack whispers.

Jack slithers out the gap in the railing and down the ladder that ends two feet from the ground. I follow him, clinging to the railing and making myself as small as possible. I drop to the ground and the gravel crunches under my feet. We’re surrounded by noise—announcements over a loudspeaker, the tromp of boots, the hum and creak of the trains—but the crunch of gravel is deafening. I cringe, expecting the soldier to look down at me crouched here like a cat. I must look like an animal with my wild eyes and my muscles tensed and ready to spring. I glance up and watch the soldier continue his leisurely pace down the platform toward the front of the train. The shadow beneath the platform is only ten feet away.

I wait another second but no one looks our way, and then we’re up and scrambling toward the platform before I can even blink. We stay hunched over, my fingers digging through the gravel and protesting as it bites back at my flesh. Jack disappears under the opening first, and he’s completely lost in darkness. I slip in behind him, crawling on one hand, reaching the other out in front of me so I don’t run into him. After about five feet, I touch his shirt. My fingers fumble down his arm until I find his hand.

Where are we?

“I don’t know. I think there’s a door here. Come feel.”

I look back out of our small hiding space. I see gravel, train tracks, and the end of our train. But no feet, no soldiers, no pursuers. For the first time in twenty-four hours, I take a deep breath. I reach out toward Jack and then past him. The gravel cuts at my knees, but I bite my lip and ignore the pain. My hands wander over a sheet of metal with a seam down the middle. Halfway down on either side of the seam are two raised pieces of metal that could be handles. Jack’s right. But what’s on the other side?

“I don’t think it’s locked.”

I grip one of the handles and pull. It budges an inch and then scrapes against the gravel and shudders to a stop. I bend down and feel Jack there beside me, and we both scrape the gravel away. My hands are raw as I rake through the rock, but after a few minutes we have moved enough that the door swings open two feet and we can worm through.

On the other side of the door is a long, brick-lined tunnel lit by dim bulbs protected by wire. They line the walls every twenty feet or so. Jack pulls the door closed behind us, and the clang echoes down the passageway. I look back. On the door is a sign that reads “Track-level Access.” If the door has to be labeled that way, surely there are other doors that have to be labeled too, and we could be in a system of tunnels that run underneath this entire station, maybe even farther. The gravel gives way to dusty concrete, and I crawl down the passage.

“How far do we go?”

I shrug my shoulders. I don’t know how far this tunnel will take us or if it’s even in the right direction.

“Can we take a minute?”

I nod, and we both sink to the floor.

“Think it’s safe to sleep?”

I shake my head, but we both need the rest. We slump down to the floor. I lean against the wall, and fall half asleep while Jack takes the first watch.

After a few hours of dozing and watching, it’s time to move. After fifty feet, the tunnel opens up into a corridor high enough for us to stand, though Jack is so tall he has to dip his head. I brush the grit off my palms as I look left and right. The corridor looks identical in either direction—the same bricks, the same light bulbs, and only an occasional door to punctuate the walls.

“We have to get out of here eventually. If I’m not too turned around, if we go right that will take us somewhere outside the station on the side we came in.”

He’s right, and there was nothing out there but train tracks and soldiers. I look the other way and then start walking. Jack catches my hand.

“We don’t know if this gets patrolled regularly, so please be careful.”

I touch his cheek.
I will.

I creep along the wall, keeping close. The doorways come frequently enough that we might be able to hide in the shadows of one if someone comes.

No one does.

These tunnels are silent as a cemetery. Our footsteps swirl the dust into eddies that haze the way behind us. Every once in a while when I look down, I see the print of a soldier’s boot or the exclamation point of an agent’s pair of heels. I shudder as I remember the sounds of those heels clicking down the hallways of the labor camp. We see no one, but the echoes send us scrambling.

The first one happens after we pass a door marked “Electrical Access.” Voices rise up before us, and I stop dead and my feet pedal back before I can even make out what the voices are saying. We press up into space partially hidden in shadows. The rough metal scrapes against my arms, and I’m wedged against Jack’s arm. He’s sweating and it drips on my neck. I hadn’t even noticed it had gotten warm. I’m breathing so shallowly my lungs are aching. We brace ourselves as I listen to snatches of the conversation.

“Supposed to be the hottest day on record so far.”