“Sheeeit.”

  But he knew exactly where it came from, remembering the weapon he gave to Nicole. She actually used it—inside the train station.

  Begrudgingly, Kane broke into a sprint, heading for the Amtrak gates and hopefully to his very much alive friends.

  42

  Union Station

  Washington D.C., USA

  BOOM!

  The ground shakes, and furniture flies as Nicole’s lone grenade detonates directly behind the two men ahead of us. Immediately following the blast is a fireball of heat and smoke, flowing by our position behind the departure sign, scorching everything in its path.

  I peek out from behind our now melted and disabled cover. Satisfied with what I see, I yell, “Clear!” And step out, shotgun at the ready, just in case someone else decides to poke his ass into our business.

  Nicole follows, skirting around the other side of the sign, SCAR up, prepared for anything. The two remaining local cops come up fast behind us and—

  It's then I get a whiff of the air. The smell of roasting flesh wafts through the concourse making me… Gag. If I had a shirt collar—of which I don’t—I would hold it over my nose, filtering the air. But I can’t since I’m wearing my helmet. It may be protecting me from turning to ash, but it does nothing to ward off the noxious odor I smell now.

  Lucky for me the whole room is burning, and the scent of broiling chairs and carpet help mask the smell of well-done man-meat. Extra well, I think as I hurry forward, inspecting the carnage brought on by the opposing force.

  What’s left of both men are exactly like I thought they’d be…original recipe…extra crispy. The black uniforms are burnt and charred, and there is a hole in the wall that was behind them, adding to the explosion’s energy. I can see clean through it to the next set of gates.

  “Damn,” I say, looking over to Nicole. She’s a few steps back, not at all interested in the bodies. No, she’s looking past me, deeper into the entrance these two guys were guarding.

  “Why here?” She asks rhetorically, walking forward rifle up, finger hovering just over the trigger. Then she turns back to me, formally asking me the question she just asked herself. “Why were they guarding this platform?”

  I shrug…unless. “Frost?”

  This time, she’s the one who shrugs.

  I turn and take a step forward, peering through the walkway’s opening, never lowering my weapon. I lead, my barrel pointing the way, index finger ready to twitch and release another burst of the steel slugs in my fresh twenty round drum.

  I step onto the platform and freeze, listening for anything that would hint of Frost’s whereabouts. Hearing nothing but the hum of the overhead fluorescents, I move forward, stepping heel-to-toe, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  A shape steps up next to me. I glance to my right, seeing the barrel of Nicole’s SCAR. I don’t need to see the weapon’s wielder to know it’s her. Nicole, as always, is right beside me in the thick of it.

  We approach the rear of the train, sitting idle, having been locked down by Kane before we even entered the building. The only problem with that is if Frost wanted to take one, all he’d have to do is force a conductor to move out.

  Which is what is going to happen, I think, recalling the two gunmen protecting this gate. Why else would they have stopped here?

  Pausing, I place my hand on Nicole’s shoulder, halting her advance. I lean in closer, whispering my thoughts, her eyes and weapon never leaving the platform ahead of us.

  As I relay my suspicions and worries, my eyes pick up on something past Nicole’s head. Through the slightly tinted window, I see people. Dozens of them. They sit as if waiting for the train cars to move at any moment.

  And then they do.

  There’s a clunk of metal, and a slight squeal from below, as the car next to us, along with the cars ahead, start forward, slowly picking up momentum.

  “Dammit!” I yell, diving for the rear of the train, grasping onto the ladder. I quickly climb up a few rungs as Nicole throws herself onto the bottom few just under me.

  I reach the top quickly, the train picking up speed, and spin around on my hands-and-knees, ready to help Nicole if necessary.

  “Hank!”

  I look down, seeing Nicole safe, feet planted safely on the bottom rung, hands gripping the sides, SCAR thrown over her back via a shoulder strap.

  So, why is she yelling at me?

  She points back towards the platform entrance, towards the two cops who helped us find our way. But it’s not the policemen that have her attention, it’s the gray specter pushing through them like a cheetah in the Serengeti.

  Kane.

  He’s limping, but still hauling ass, trying to catch up to us.

  “Move it, Nicole!” Kane shouts through his helmet, slightly muffling his words. He then pumps his arms and legs faster, picking up speed.

  My eyes go wide as I realize what he’s about to do. I grab Nicole by the back of her jumpsuit and pull, aiding in her ascent. Her upper body reaches me, her feet dangling off the edge of the accelerating train.

  Kane leaps.

  Nicole screams.

  I curse.

  Washington D.C., USA

  “Hold on!” I yell, the wind whistling past my head. I’m still holding onto Nicole, who is only half on the roof of the rear car. Bouncing around at what I can only guess is fifty to sixty miles per hour, it takes everything we have just to hang on, let alone help each other.

  “No shit, Sherlock!” Kane yells back, the lower half of his body dangling off the back of the train like a worm on a hook. “What the hell do you think I’m doing?”

  The worst part is that Kane is basically holding onto the ladder with one hand, the other one still severely injured from when the Jeep flipped, and no doubt made worse during his fight with Brooks, which I haven’t had time to ask him about. He’s gripping the life out of the steel rung with his right hand, while he has his left wrist hooked, flexed as tight as he can.

  “Nicole!” I yell. “You’re going to have to slide back down and help him. I’ll help you as best as I can from up here.”

  She nods her head and begins to lower herself back onto the ladder as carefully as she can. Once she’s within an arm’s distance of Kane, she squats down and hooks her right elbow around the step in front of her. She then reaches down with her free hand and snags Kane under the armpit, pulling with everything that she has.

  Having followed her down onto the ladder, I reach out and grab her wrist, the one wrapped around the rung, and squeeze, not really sure if I’m doing anything more than adding to the weight on the ladder itself.

  Relieved of some of his weight, Kane flexes his left arm, pulling himself the rest of the way to the ladder. Then, he lets go with his good hand just long enough to grasp a rung above his head. He then pulls up again with his good arm and repeats the process with his bad one until he is high enough to get a booted foot on the bottom step.

  “Nicole!” I yell, trying to get her attention, but she doesn’t hear me. “Nicole!” I shout again, reaching out my hand. Forget it. I yank off my helmet and chuck it away, not watching where it sails, but knowing it’s long gone.

  “Nicole!” I shout for the third time, this time getting a reaction out of the woman. “Grab my hand! Let’s move!”

  She reaches up, thrusting her free hand into mine, as I pull her back up to a standing position. She lets go and makes her way up the ladder, followed by a hobbled Kane.

  Nicole climbs atop the train car and turns, helping me lift Kane onto the speeding train. With one final pull, we lean back, yanking the large man, up and over the edge of the caboose.

  Following my own lead, the two of them remove their helmets, tossing them overboard, the need for the over the top protection being over with. At least I hope it’s over with. Plus, communicating on top of a train that is mimicking near hurricane-force winds would be impossible with them on.

  “Okay,” Kane says. “Now what?”

  He’s hugging his left hand close to his body, which indicates to me that it got worse during the fight in the food court. I’m about to ask him what happened when I remember watching him run towards us in his gray armor… We aren’t wearing gray armor. Which means…

  I don’t even need to think about the answer. I know what happened. We failed. Brooks released the darkness, killing hundreds if not thousands of people. How it didn’t reach the concourse is nothing short of a miracle. It still could, I think. And if it reaches the outside…

  One thing at a time. First, we need to stop this train and then Frost. I look forward seeing the front of the train off in the distance. And I don’t really care which order we do it in.

  I huddle up with the two of them, so it’s easier for them to hear me. Screaming over the howling wind is hard enough, but doing it after going through what we did makes it feel like my lungs are going to explode.

  “Okay,” I say. “We can either drop down, in between the cars and make our way through that—”

  “And possibly running into more of Frost’s men,” Nicole adds.

  I nod, then continue, “Or we can stay on top of the train and jump from car to car like James freakin’ Bond.”

  This gets a smile out of Kane, then a wince as he clutches his hand.

  “You good?” I ask, concerned.

  He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

  It doesn’t.

  Neither one of us is in great shape, but he is most definitely in the worst. At least Nicole and I are in one piece…bones and all. But Kane... Let’s just say I don’t think he’ll be runnin’ and gunnin’ with both Desert Eagles for quite a while.

  Kane crouches, not being able to stand straight up because of the wind. “Let’s do this. Come on Oddjob,” he says to me, then turns to Nicole. “You too Puss—”

  “Don’t!” Nicole barks, but is unable to hold back her smile at the Bond Girl reference.

  Good ole’ Pussy Galore. Everyone’s favorite.

  43

  Washington D.C., USA

  Going the Bond route undoubtedly saved us some ammo, but it killed us on time and energy. Worst case scenario, we show up at Frost’s locomotive doorstep a little winded instead of shooting our way through the cars below. That would be the worst case. The killing of more innocent lives at the hands of a shootout in close quarters.

  At least on a positive note, we aren’t covered in ash anymore. The wind took care of that, sweeping it away. Hopefully, it gets tossed around enough that it won’t be effective anymore. I look to the sky, seeing rain clouds off to the east. That’ll help too, I think, feeling hopeful.

  On a positive note, my AA-12 would be perfect for that. I’d be able to blow holes straight through anything that got in my way. The slugs I’m using instead of the standard buckshot-filled shells would make short work of just about anything underneath my feet.

  Running up to the last of the passenger cars, Kane, who is again in the lead, stops. He fully kneels from his crouch run, inching towards the edge of the car, weapon drawn and pointed down. Having the best weapon for up close and personal combat, I keep in stride with him.

  “Wait!” Nicole says, trying not to yell too loud, her SCAR over her shoulder. She lays down, and belly crawls towards the edge quickly peeks over it.

  Kane and I wait, fingers hovering over our respective triggers, waiting for someone to try us. It’s been a long day for everyone, and we would sure love to finish this thing before we ended up sipping Molsons with our neighbors to the north.

  I wonder if Cheryl would care if I stopped by uninvited and covered in corpse-ash and blood.

  Just thinking of my Aunt gives me chest pains as I think back to Mom dying all those years ago…and now Dad. I know I haven’t mourned properly—I haven’t exactly had the time—but when I do…it’s gonna be ugly. I could never have told you growing up, that both my parents would be gone before my 31st birthday. I figured I would have had more time. But as Dad always said, C’est la vie—that’s life.

  Nicole holds up her hand, thumb raised to the sky in the universal sign for, “We good.” Two steps behind her, Kane and I lean forward covering Nicole as she silently descends to the partition between the lead car and the locomotive.

  As she lands, the door from the locomotive swings open and a set of hands reach out and grab Nicole. She screams and fights, but gets cold-cocked by the bastard, whacking her on the back of the head with a gun. Her body falls limp, and she is dragged inside.

  Before he can shut the door, I jump down, shotgun at the ready, where a familiar, yet unfamiliar face greets me, gun to Nicole’s head. He has a hideous scar across the left side of his face, his eyebrow singed. The skin on his face is peeled back like he had one too many facial reconstructive surgeries.

  It’s then I realize that the only time I’ve actually met Frost, was underground in the Smithsonian Castle’s basement.

  While he killed my father, I think, seething with anger. And Sophia. I raise my shotgun, pointing it at the man’s ragged face, but he just smiles. It’s a sickly grin, with only half of it completing the gesture. The other half is frozen, the nerve endings fried after the accident in Colombia.

  “Why hello again, Mr. Boyd,” Frost says, cooing me. “How’s your father?”

  The mocking tone is almost enough for me to pull the trigger and erase the smug look on the half of his face that works. But then he cocks the hammer back on his pistol, effectively neutering me. The gun is still pointing at Nicole, more specifically her head.

  “Toss it,” he says, motioning to my right. I turn, contemplating my next move while looking at the world zip by in various shades of color. Knowing that I can’t win this battle with sheer force, I toss the AA-12.

  I turn back to Frost, hands at my sides. I will not give him the benefit of watching me raise them in surrender. Where’s Kane, I think, wondering where he went. If he’s smart, he’ll stay on top of the first class car and wait until we have left… Or until he kills us.

  “Come inside, Mr. Boyd. We have much to discuss while we wait for Kane to show his face…before I erase it.”

  The door behind me opens, and another of his hired helpers steps out, weapon drawn. I feel the prodding of the small caliber pistol in my back and do as he says, for Nicole’s sake more than my own.

  Her unconscious body is carried away by the other man with Frost, as I’m lead in at gunpoint. I look up to the roof of the locomotive just before I’m shoved in, and the door is slammed shut.

  Right before the jerk with the gun, the one poking it into my back shuts the rear door, I had one thought going through my mind.

  Where the hell are you, man?

  * * *

  For the first time in forever, Kane had no idea what to do. Nicole had been attacked and knocked out, and Hank was subsequently captured at gunpoint, losing his weapon in the process. The only positive was that Nicole still had both of her Rugers holstered on her thighs and the FN SCAR was secured around her back. He knew the jerkoffs would relieve her of them, but at least they would be around for Hank or her to use if they could get ahold of them, but for now… He needed to do something about the other people aboard the train.

  He waited until he knew that no one was left to watch the rear door of the locomotive and jumped down, almost falling off. His knee buckled, the joint shot from the last few day’s beatings. Luckily, he reached out with his undamaged hand and caught a support bar next to the door.

  Kane turned and faced the first class car. He would clear it and the remaining cars if he had time, and then try to figure out a way to disengage the cars from the locomotive, freeing the hostages.

  He’d seen it done countless times in the movies, but knew it had to be more complicated than just pulling the locking pin. Newer cars had a braking system that would kick in once the couplings were separated—a failsafe to prevent passenger cars from careening down the railway. But would the locomotive keep going?

  Runaway train never going back.

  Wrong way on a one-way track.

  The lyrics from Soul Asylum’s 1992 single, Runaway Train, popped into his head as he gripped the handle of the first class car’s door. He pulled on it, sliding it open. He was then greeted by silence as he stepped in and quickly shut the door, quieting the howling wind.

  “Doogie, that you?”

  Kane froze as someone’s voice perked up.

  Doogie? Seriously? I swear if Neil Patrick Harris is a part of this…

  Kane slid into a blind spot behind a divider wall and waited. A few seconds later, a man a foot shorter than him stepped into view, pistol holstered. These guys are awful at their job.

  Shorty reached for the handle, popping it open asking, “McDougal?”

  Kane acted swiftly, grabbing the man around the neck and yanking hard to the right. The man’s spine resisted, but Kane’s height and leverage added to his superior upper body strength. The additional pressure was too much, and Tiny’s neck cracked with a sickening snapping sound.

  “What the…” A voice rang out in alarm from behind him.

  Holding the now dead merc as a shield, Kane spun, lifted his Eagle and found his next target. The man was at the end of the car, guarding the other door, but the narrow space and look of confusion were enough. Kane pulled the trigger, sending a single .50 caliber round through the throng of screaming passengers, and the empty walkway, and into man’s chest, just below the throat.

  Blood splattered against the soundproof door’s window, his body following a split-second later. The man, dead on his feet like his partner who was still in Kane’s arms, hit the door hard and slid to the floor.