CHAPTER 65
Kate stared out into the black night. A sliver of a moon cast a small twinkle of light over the treetops that rushed by. Or had rushed by. The train was slowing. But there was nothing outside, just forest.
She slid David’s head out of her lap and walked to the door. She leaned out and looked toward the front of the train, then to the rear. They were in the last car and there was nothing on the tracks behind them. Kate turned to go back into the car, and she saw it — through the opposite door, on the track beside them, another train, sitting there as still and dark as the night, almost invisible. And there was something else: dark figures standing on the top of the train. Waiting for what?
The train stopped, and at almost the same instant, she heard the thunder of boots landing on the ceiling. Kate moved back into the shadow of the car just as the soldiers swooped in through the doorway like gymnasts rounding a high bar. They spread out in the room quickly, shining lights in her face and in every corner of the car. They snapped a zip line between the trains and pulled it to test the strength.
A man grabbed Kate, clipped onto the line, and launched out the door toward the second train. Kate looked back. David. But they had him too; another man, right behind her, held David to his chest with one arm like you might carry a sleeping child.
Kate’s captor led her into a dining car and shoved her into a booth. “Wait here,” he said in Chinese-accented English before turning to leave.
The other man brought David in and plopped him down on a couch. Kate rushed to him. He didn’t look any worse, but that wasn’t saying much. He didn’t have long.
Kate looked around. Maybe there was something she could use. The dining car was about 40 feet long, most of it dedicated to booths, but at the far end was a small bar with a soft-drink dispenser, glasses, and liquor.
Kate ran over to the bar and ransacked it. What was she even looking for? She needed a plan. What did David need? Blood. And to get the bullets out. Well, the bullet. The shot to his shoulder had glanced off of him and the one in the leg had gone straight through. There was just one bullet — in his chest. It was buried pretty deep; it must have been the first shot that hit him. She had to face facts: she couldn’t get the bullet out; that would kill him for sure. That left giving him blood. And she could give him blood — Kate was O negative — the universal donor. If… she could get it inside him.
The train lurched, throwing Kate to the floor. They were moving. She got back to her feet as the train jerked forward in gasps and spurts, picking up speed. Out the window, she couldn’t see the other train, the cargo train they had been on. They were taking them in the other direction. Who were they? Kate didn’t care, not right now.
She continued searching the bar. A tube, or— the drink dispenser. She spun the cart around. Clear plastic tubes ran from the taps to black and yellow plastic bags. She ripped a tube out and sized it up. It could work, but the end was flat, it would never puncture a vein. She grabbed a knife and whittled at the end, sharpening it. Would it work? She ran around the car, surveying the rest of the “tools” she had to work with.
Fifteen minutes later, the tube ran from Kate’s arm to David’s. She pumped her fist. The blood flowed. She was so hungry. And sleepy. But she was doing something, and that felt very good.