“You and Plank will be recognized if you try to take a passenger train,” Kal said as he got out of the car. “The schedules are pretty simple. It’s going east. We get off at Detroit. QED.”
Quite easily done? Trisk thought sourly, but Daniel’s eyes were pinched in concern as he looked behind them to the growing plumes of dust. Their pursuers hadn’t given up. “This could work,” he said as he gave Trisk’s hand a squeeze and opened his door. “The trains run right into the edge of the city. They won’t shut them down, not in the middle of the desert. It only takes a few people to move thousands of tons of product.”
Nervous, she looked at the handholds on the passing cars, wincing. “Fine,” she breathed. “We take the train. Just one problem. If those wackos find the car here, they’ll know where we’re going. One call, and they’ll be waiting for us.”
“It’s a risk, yes,” Kal said as he watched the passing cars, presumably looking for a suitable one.
“One we don’t have to take.” Quen stepped between Kal and the moving train. “Keys. I’ll lead them away.”
“What? No!” Trisk exclaimed, scrambling out of the car. “Quen, no.”
Face expressionless, Kal took his keys out of his pocket.
“You’re kidding, right?” Daniel said, clearly loath to put their trust in Kal.
But Quen’s jaw was set. “Get to Detroit,” he said, moving Trisk toward the train. “Do what you need to do. I’ll find you. I promise. I’m not a geneticist. You don’t need me there.”
“I need you there,” she protested, but he had turned to Kal.
“If you hurt her, I will find you. Understand?” he said, and Kal’s expression went stiff. “Now, next week, next year, forever.”
“I’m not leaving you here to get caught by those butchers,” she said, then gasped when Quen picked her up, heaving her into a slowly moving car. “Quen!” Scrambling, she righted herself, her hands feeling the rough floor as she crawled to the open door. “Damn it, Quen!”
Her eyes widened, and she flung herself out of the way as Daniel half scrambled, half fell into the car. Kal was next, his stumbling lurch looking almost graceful.
“You are unbelievable,” she said, pushing around him to get to the door. “Let go. Let go!” she shouted, but Kal’s grip on her arm only tightened. “I said . . . let go,” she intoned, letting the barest hint of ley line energy slip from her to him.
Lips twisting, Kal released her arm.
Her eyes had almost adjusted to the dimmer light, and she squinted when she staggered into the doorway and looked back at the car. They’d moved far more than she would have expected, and her heart dropped.
“Quen!” She sat down to slip off. He was already in the car, not even looking back.
A thin hand landed on her shoulder, and her first impulse to hit Kal faltered when she realized it was Daniel. His eyes were pinched in heartache behind his dirty glasses, giving her pause. “Let him go,” he whispered, and she took a breath to protest. “Trisk.” Daniel crouched beside her, his hand never leaving her shoulder. “He’s infected. Let him go.”
Infected? Trisk’s breath seemed to go stale in her, and she exhaled. She sucked in the air, but the dry heat had robbed it of any oxygen. His neck had been flushed. Had it been the beginnings of a rash and she hadn’t realized it?
“No,” she whispered, leaning to look out again, but he was gone, heading out into the desert like an old cat to die. “No,” she said again, spinning where she sat, lurching awkwardly to her feet to move to the other side of the car. But she couldn’t see him from there, either, and she closed her eyes, letting her head thump against the hard wood. Why hadn’t he said anything?
But the answer was obvious. She would have stayed to see him through it, slowing her down and possibly resulting in never getting the word out about how the virus was spreading.
The rumble of movement vibrated into her. She took a breath, then another. Somehow she kept breathing. Daniel was still holding her elbow, and she tugged free of him. “I won’t jump out,” she said, and he rocked back, awkward and unsure.
“Trisk, come over here out of the wind,” Kal said, but she didn’t move, refusing to let him see the depth of her pain. Quen would be okay—if he could slip Fallon’s population, hell-bent on retribution. He was only 6 percent human. He’d survive. Please, God. Let him survive.
“Come out of the wind, Trisk,” Daniel said, and she numbly let herself be led to a pile of blankets. It was only then that she realized they were not alone. Two families, human by the look of it, were huddled on the other side of the boxcar between pallets of goods headed east.
They had to have come from Reno, and as Trisk tried to smile at the little girl watching her with wide, frightened eyes, she wondered if anyplace was safe.
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