We scrambled the rest of the way across the catwalk, hopped down to the door console, and hammered at the controls. Porter pantomimed that he needed to swipe his keycard. I rummaged, found it in my belt pouch, and slapped it to the reader. The door slid open an inch. Then it stuck, grinding. “It’s jammed,” Porter hissed.

  The assassins reached the far end of the catwalk, still firing. Blair nodded at me, took aim, and unleashed the rest of her rifle ammo in a punishing barrage that forced them to take cover. She ejected the mag. “Empty!” she called. “Got my pistol left.”

  Alina grabbed the door’s edge. “Help me!” We dug our fingers into the small opening and pried it. The motor whined, sparks flew, but the door finally wrenched open enough for us to squeeze through. We tumbled inside, dragging Porter with us. A bullet clanged off the metal door behind me. I hammered the close button. The door slid shut as more gunfire peppered it. I heard curses from the other side, but it seemed thick enough to hold them out for at least a while.

  Breathing hard, we spread out in what looked like a relay room, full of humming server cabinets and blinking status lights. The overhead lighting was dull and had a perpetual flicker. We didn’t see any immediate enemies. A sign on the far wall read: “CONTROL TERMINAL ACCESS—SECURITY CHECKPOINT AHEAD.”

  Alina pressed her back to the server stack and sank to the floor, breathing raggedly. Blair set down her empty rifle, flexing her shoulder with a grimace. I steadied myself, scanning for threats, pistol still in hand.

  Porter stood with his hands raised again. “I gave you access,” he said softly. “I kept my word.”

  I exhaled, adrenaline still spiking. “Yeah, you did. For now, you’re staying with us. We need your keycard for the final door.”

  His eyes flicked nervously to the bullet-riddled entrance behind us. “If we don’t keep moving, they’ll break through.”

  “Then lead,” I said, motioning forward.

  Porter nodded and walked toward a corridor labeled “Checkpoint.” We followed, weapons at the ready. The train rumbled beneath our feet. I exchanged a glance with Alina and Blair, each of us battered and exhausted but still pushing onward. Porter’s betrayal was fresh in our minds, but for now, we needed him. Another wave of The Conductor’s goons could come any second. We had no choice. We were gambling that capturing him alive was worth the risk.

  The overhead speaker crackled, and The Conductor’s mocking laugh filled the relay room. “Congratulations,” it purred. “You’re almost there. Pity the truth you find might not be the comfort you’re hoping for.”

  My hands clenched around the pistol. “We’ll see about that,” I whispered to no one in particular. We pressed on into the unknown, Porter at our mercy, and the promise of that control terminal waiting just ahead. We were running on fumes, battered in body and mind—but all that mattered was we were still alive, still moving, and determined to end this nightmare.

  Chapter 29

  We didn’t get more than ten steps down that corridor before the lights blinked out, plunging us into sudden darkness. A few seconds later, emergency red bulbs kicked on, bathing the narrow hall in an eerie glow. The Conductor’s voice returned at once, almost gleeful. “You’re in violation of the separation protocol. Reconnecting with your other ally is currently prohibited.”

  I shot Blair a puzzled look. “Is he talking about you? We’re all together.”

  Then I remembered the plan we’d formed back at the start of the crawlway: Blair was supposed to hold the far side, while Alina and I got pinned. The Conductor’s mention of “separation penalty” now felt like a delayed punishment for something else. Maybe the train’s systems were behind on their twisted schedule. My mind reeled with confusion.

  Blair’s lips formed a line. “He must have set a lockdown when we were in the supply car. Now the system sees us as out of bounds for reuniting. Or it’s messing with us again.”

  Porter gestured to a sealed door up ahead. “It scans for group alignment. If it detects you’re trying to bypass the route laid out for you, it triggers a penalty. Car #19 and Car #20’s bulkheads lock up. Essentially, you’re stuck in these maintenance sections, cut off from normal pathways.”

  “Then what’s the plan?” Alina asked. “We keep going forward?”

  Porter nodded stiffly. “Yes. If we can force open the next checkpoint, we can circle back to the main passenger route near the control terminal. The path is complicated, but we can do it.”

  I shot a glance at Blair, whose face was tight with tension. “Your shoulder’s bleeding again,” I told her quietly, noting the fresh red stain on her vest’s strap.

  “I’m fine,” she said, though the wince in her eyes told me otherwise.

  “Once we find somewhere safer, we’ll treat it. I don’t want you passing out.”

  She nodded, swallowing. “Thanks.”

  We hurried around a corner, ignoring The Conductor’s continuing announcements about “separation penalty” and “group synergy compromised.” Eventually, we reached a heavy steel door with a series of blinking lights. Some labeled it “Maintenance Lock.” Others read “Authorized Keycard Only.” Porter stepped up and swiped his card. I held my breath, hoping it wouldn’t beep in denial.

  The lock clicked, and a moment later the door slid open. I exhaled in relief. Inside, we found an intersection of corridors. The one to our right had a sign reading “RELAY ROOM – VENTILATION CONTROL.” The one forward read “POWER REGULATOR.” The left route said “MAIN ACCESS – CAR #18.” My sense of direction told me that left route would lead deeper toward the terminal. But a big shutter door blocked it, lit by a red warning alarm. Another locked barrier. Figures.

  Porter checked a small digital device he’d pulled from his belt—maybe some sort of local map or code list. He frowned. “That main shutter requires a key override. Not just a card. We’ll need the actual mechanical key to open it.”

  Alina let out a breath. “Where do we find that?”

  Porter nodded toward the corridor labeled “Ventilation Control.” “I heard from an operator once that the override keys are stored in the ventilation office for safety reasons. We can check there.”

  “Fine,” I said. “But no leading us into a kill box. Move.”

  Porter took point again, maybe feeling slightly braver with the possibility of winning us over. The corridor to Ventilation Control had flickering overhead lights, and a hum of machinery grew louder with each step. We passed a sign advertising “Environmental Regulators—Danger: High Pressure.” A door at the end opened into a wide control room stacked with valves, pressure gauges, and large mechanical fans behind plexiglass covers. The fans circulated air from somewhere outside the train, presumably for climate control.

  As soon as Porter stepped inside, a volley of gunshots erupted from behind a console bank. Two black-clad assassins, each armed with submachine guns, took aim at the intrusion. We ducked behind a reinforced steel desk. Bullets shattered glass on the far wall, and I felt a sting as fragments whipped past my face.

  Blair returned fire, her pistol cracking each time. The assassins ducked behind the consoles. We were pinned. Porter clung to the desk, looking terrified. I realized we’d left him with no weapon, so he wasn’t much help in a shootout.

  Alina gave me a look, pressed her back to the desk, and whispered, “I can try to get around to flank them if you keep them busy.”

  I nodded. “Blair and I will suppress.” She nodded back, readying her pistol.

  I counted to three. Blair popped up, fired three quick shots, forcing the two assassins to turn their attention forward. I lunged out the other side, returning with a handful of shots from my own pistol. Meanwhile, Alina sprinted low along a row of piping on the left, hidden by swirling steam from a broken valve. One assassin noticed her movement and pivoted to fire, but Alina took cover behind a large panel and went quiet.

  We traded more bullets. Blair caught the second assassin in the leg, sending him stumbling. He grit his teeth and fired blindly, peppering the back wall with holes. Porter cowered, but I stayed low and returned a couple shots. Meanwhile, from the corner of my eye, I saw Alina slip behind them. She pressed her pistol to the nearest assassin’s neck. “Drop it,” she hissed. He froze for half a second, then she hammered him in the back of the head with the butt, knocking him out cold. The second assassin tried to spin toward her, but Alina shot him once in the arm, forcing him to drop his submachine gun. He clutched the wound, fell to his knees, and reached for a sidearm. That’s when I scrambled over, kicked the sidearm away, and pinned him with the barrel of my pistol.

  “Not so fun when the tables turn, huh?” I muttered. He glared through the tinted visor, breathing hard.

  Alina kicked his submachine gun aside. “You good, Blair?”

  Blair stepped out, wincing at her shoulder, but she grinned. “Better than them.”

  We had the room. I patted down the two incapacitated assassins for gear. One had a half-empty mag for a nine-millimeter. The other had a canister labeled “Tear Gas” and a baton. No mechanical keys in sight. I groaned. “So it’s not on them. Where else?”

  Porter pointed to the far side of the room, near an alcove labeled “Admin Office.” “Check in there. I bet that’s where they store the override keys.”

  Alina nodded, heading that way, while Blair and I dragged the knocked-out assassins to the corner so they wouldn’t cause trouble. One started to stir, gripping his wounded arm. Blair jabbed him in the side with her pistol. “Stay down,” she hissed, and he complied.

  Alina’s voice rang out from the small office, “Found it!”

  She stepped back out with a key on a ring, shaped like a standard mechanical key but with digital sensors along the side. “This has got to be it.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Let’s get to that shutter door and open it.”

  Porter’s anxious eyes flicked to the unconscious assassin. “What about them?”

  “We don’t have time to babysit,” Blair said, her tone ice-cold. “Just tie them or something.”

  We found a length of thick cable near the fans, used it to secure the pair’s hands and ankles. They might eventually free themselves, but hopefully we’d be long gone by then. We hurried out, back to the intersection. The corridor was still lit in that same ominous red.

  At the main shutter door, Alina slid the key into a small slot on the control panel. The panel beeped, and an automated voice said, “Manual override engaged. Please turn key to confirm.” She did, and we heard a series of heavy internal locks disengaging. The shutter inched upward with a clatter, revealing another wide corridor behind it—this one with higher ceilings and better lighting. The sign overhead read, “CAR #18: CONTROL TERMINAL—SECURITY ACCESS POINT.” Finally, we were on track again.

  “Stay alert,” Blair murmured. “If this is the main approach, expect heavier guards.”

  We pushed forward, the corridor angled upward slightly. The train rattled, and I felt the cold from outside creeping in, as if we were nearing a more external part of the car. A large door with reinforced glass panels loomed ahead. It had a security scanning pad next to it. Beyond the glass, I glimpsed a bigger space—antechamber lights, more gear, maybe the entrance to the terminal we’d heard about.

  Porter tapped the scanner, and it demanded a code. He typed something in. A beep signaled acceptance. Then, for a split second over the intercom, The Conductor’s voice warbled: “Separation penalty active. Unauthorized route.” The door slid open anyway, the system seemingly overridden by Porter’s code.

  We stepped into the antechamber, a two-story open space with balconies around the top. The sense of scale startled me—this section was definitely mainline infrastructure for the train. Big monitors on the walls flickered with train diagnostics, shapes of the bullet train’s silhouette sliding across the displays. The overhead lights glowed a harsh white, revealing every bolt and bracket on the steel walls. In the center stood what looked like a smaller bulkhead door labeled “CONTROL TERMINAL.” Perfect.

  Then, from the upper balcony, a voice boomed: “Freeze.” A tall figure in a heavier black uniform peered down at us, pointing a rifle. At least four more assassins flanked him.

  We scrambled for cover, flipping over a metal table by the entry. Bullets rained down, forcing us to duck our heads. Porter tried to hide behind us, unarmed. Blair and Alina returned fire in short bursts, but the vantage point above was tough. We needed to push forward or find stairs.

  “There!” Alina shouted, pointing at a side stairwell behind some debris. But it was partially blocked by metal crates. We had no choice but to rush it. The bullets kept coming, clanging around us. I caught a glimpse of Blair’s pained face as she pressed a hand to her shoulder—still bleeding. My frustration boiled. The Conductor was systematically wearing us down, trying to finish us.

  I grabbed the tear gas canister I’d taken from the assassin earlier. “Cover your mouths!” I pulled the pin and lobbed it up toward the balcony. It clanked near the foot of one assassin. Thick white smoke billowed out. They shouted curses, voices muffled as the gas enveloped them.

  We sprinted out from our cover. Shots still whizzed blindly through the smoke, but less accurately. By the time we reached the stairwell, one assassin lurched out of the cloud, coughing, eyes streaming behind his visor. I slashed him with my katana, knocking him aside. Another tried to open fire from the upper step, but Blair put two rounds in his torso. The others retreated down a hallway above, letting us gain the stairs.

  We climbed fast. My lungs burned from the drifting tear gas, but we pushed through. At the top, we found a door leading to a corridor that overlooked the central antechamber. The assassins had fled, leaving bullet casings. We coughed, blinking away tears.

  We reentered the main space from the balcony edge. Below us stood the bulkhead door for the control terminal. We had the vantage now, but the assassins had scattered. I saw them regroup near a far exit. They were shouting into comms, maybe calling for backup. We couldn’t linger. I pointed to a ladder leading down near the terminal door. “Let’s drop down, get inside before they converge. Porter—keycard ready.”

  We hurried to the ladder, took it rung by rung. I hopped the last few feet, hitting the ground with a grunt. My thigh twinged from the earlier stun baton shock, but I pushed through. “Come on!”

  The assassins took potshots from across the antechamber. One round sliced across my left bicep, stinging fiercely. Alina and Blair fired back, forcing them behind a row of crates. Porter scrambled up to the door panel. It beeped in acceptance, but the door only opened a crack. Then an automated voice: “Error. System requiring… second ID?”

  Porter cursed. “They must have locked it with dual clearance. The Conductor must be messing with me.”

  I stared at the half-open door, searching for a workaround. The gap was too small to squeeze through. “We’re stuck?”

  Porter hammered the panel in frustration. “It’s partial override. We might pry it if we can break the motor or short the servo. There—” He pointed to an exposed circuit box next to the door.

  Footsteps pounded behind us. The assassins were closing in. “We’ll buy you time,” I told Porter. “Work on that circuit.”

  Blair and Alina took positions behind some thick structural beams near the door, exchanging gunfire with the pursuing assassins. Sparks rained down. The air smelled of gunpowder. My heart thundered in my chest as I darted to the circuit box. “What do we do?”

  Porter pried the panel open, revealing a tangle of wires. “We can short this servo line… but it might jam permanently. We’ll have to force the door open manually.”

  Alina hissed, “Better than nothing. Hurry!”

  I rummaged for a utility knife and cut the wire Porter indicated. A crackle of electricity popped, and the door made a mechanical groan before halting. It still only had about a foot-wide gap, but the motor was no longer resisting us.

  “Push or pull it open,” Blair said, glancing behind her. “They’re coming!”

  I wedged my katana’s blade into the gap. Alina and Porter joined me, bracing their hands against the metal edges. Blair kept firing to hold back the assassins. Finally, with all our strength, the door slid open just wide enough to squeeze through. “Inside!” I yelled to Blair. She hurried over, dove in last, and we yanked the door shut behind us. I jammed the katana’s hilt into the track, trying to wedge it.

  CHAPTER 30

  I walked down the narrow corridor with Alina close behind. My baton felt too light in my grip, as if it might slip from my fingers at any moment. A few flickering overhead lights hinted at a power outage deeper up the train. The floors rattled beneath us, and I kept thinking about how each car was another step in a journey with no end in sight. Still, I had no choice but to press forward. If we wanted any chance of finding Blair, we had to push through locked doors, sealed bulkheads, and whatever else the train might throw at us.

  “Do you really think she could be holding out somewhere beyond those bulkheads?” Alina asked. She sounded stressed but resolute.

  “We haven’t seen her in hours,” I said. “Any place beyond these sealed sections is as good a guess as any. I know Blair. She wouldn’t just give up if she got stuck. She’s probably working on a way to move closer to the front.”

  Alina nodded. “We’ll find her. We just have to keep trying every door until something gives.”

  We reached a set of double doors that refused to open. The indicator lights were red, though the control panel next to them flickered uncertainly. Behind us, the corridor vanished into darkness. One or two overhead lamps still worked, but the rest blinked out in time with the rhythmic hum of the train. I set my hand on the control panel and gave it a few taps, hoping it might respond. Nothing. Then I slammed my palm against it. Weak sparks crackled inside the bezel, and the doors pulled apart just enough for me to get my fingertips in.