Chapter 5 - The Freight Train to Nowhere
The iron tracks of the old industrial rail yard stretched endlessly into the gray, bruised dawn. Frost coated the ties, crunching softly under Monica’s worn-out boots as she urged the girls forward.
"Almost there, my loves," Monica panted, her breath pluming in the freezing air like ghostly smoke. She cradled the baby box tightly against her chest with one arm, while her other hand gripped Emily’s small, ice-cold fingers so hard her knuckles ached.
Parked on a siding just past the old coal loader was a long, rumbling freight train—its diesel engine idling with a deep, rhythmic vibration that rattled the loose gravel beneath their feet. It was bound for the northern logging towns, far outside the jurisdiction of the city police and miles away from Alistair Vance’s private security network.
"Mom, I'm tired," Grace whimpered, her little legs stumbling over a discarded steel bolt.
"I know, baby. I know. Just a few more steps," Monica encouraged, her own muscles screaming with exhaustion. She hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, and her chest ached from the bitter cold and relentless stress.
They reached an open boxcar filled with stacks of empty wooden pallets. Without hesitation, Monica boosted Grace up first, catching her as she tumbled onto the rough wood floor, then hoisted Emily up beside her. Finally, she scrambled up herself, pulling the baby box up last and clutching it to her heart.
As the heavy iron wheels of the train let out a deafening screech and began to slowly roll forward, Monica collapsed against a wooden pallet, pulling her daughters into a tight, protective huddle.
The train gathered speed, chugging out of the railyard and leaving the sprawling, neon-lit skyline of the city behind them. For the first time in two days, Monica allowed herself a micro-fraction of relief. They were moving. They were escaping.
But high above them, perched on the catwalk of a rusted gantry crane overlooking the rail line, Marcus watched the train pull away. He didn't chase them. He simply pulled out his encrypted satellite phone and dialed a direct, high-priority extension.
"She's heading north on the freight line, boss," Marcus reported smoothly. "Shall I intercept?"
May you like
Alistair Vance’s voice crackled back through the earpiece, cold, calm, and dripping with a terrifying promise of retribution.
"No," Alistair replied softly. "Let her run. Let her believe she's safe for a few days. I want to watch her build a home for my grandson out in the wilderness... and then, when she loves him as her own, I will take everything away from her."
