Читать книгу The Capture - Tom Isbell, Tom Isbell - Страница 20

THE DAY WORE ON. The temperature soared. Splinters creased my cheek where it pressed against the wooden planks. Once the sun set, the door was slid back open—the fresh air washing away only a portion of the stench of twelve sweaty bodies.

One by one, people went to sleep, even standing up, and I gave myself over to the steady clatter of wheels on rails and the train’s gentle, swaying rhythm.

That’s when I dreamed of them again: the prisoners held captive beneath the tennis courts, their hollow eyes and sore-covered faces begging for my help.

Then the dream shifted, and it was the woman with the long black hair. We were racing across a smoke-covered pasture, bullets whistling, explosions rocking the ground. The woman stopped and knelt. She was older than I remembered, more stooped, her skin more wrinkled. Her previous words echoed in my head.

You will do what’s right.

You will lead the way.

I wondered what it would be this time. To my great surprise, it wasn’t a sentence at all, just a single word.

“Now,” she said. And then she disappeared. Vanished.

“Now what?” I asked, but she was gone. It was just smoke and haze and singing bullets.

“Now what?” I cried again.

My voice startled me awake, and there I was, hands bound, wood grain tattooing my cheek like wrinkles from a pillow. Hope was awake too. I could make out her luminous brown eyes even in the dark.

“You were dreaming,” she whispered.

“Did I say anything?”

“You moaned.”

There was no going back to sleep. I was far too wide-awake for that. Besides, even though I didn’t know what we should do, I knew when we should do it.

Now.

Argos was sleeping in a corner, chin resting on his paws, and when I emitted a soft, low whistle, he scrambled to his feet and made his way to my side. His toenails clicked on the floor.

Way back when, Argos had been a stowaway, snuck into a pack and carried up the mountain. He went from Less Than to Less Than, ending up with me once I’d saved him from the fire in the Brown Forest. He’d barely left my side since.

Although we were inseparable, I never trained him. Never taught him any tricks. I didn’t need to, because Argos understood. And when I stretched away from the wall and presented my bound hands, he didn’t hesitate.

Placing his front paws against the wall so he was standing on his back legs, he swung open his jaw and began gnawing, his hot breath painting my hands. The ropes vibrated and buzzed. I looked down and saw a frayed strand of rope.

“Good boy,” I mouthed, but he was already onto the next strand, digging his sharp teeth into the coarse bindings. Another rope snapped in two, and I was able to squirm my hands free. My wrists were chafed and bleeding, but I was free.

I bent down and stroked Argos’s head. “Thanks,” I whispered, then rushed to Hope’s side. The knots were cemented with dried sweat and blood, and I turned back to Argos. He shuffled over and prepared for knot number two.

At that very moment, the train snaked around a sweeping curve. I could see the engine tugging our caravan of boxcars … and I let out an involuntary gasp.

“What?” Hope asked.

I pointed. In the far distance, bouncing off the low-hanging clouds, was a warm amber glow: lights from a town. Crazies. This was what the woman with the long black hair was trying to tell me: that we had to get off the train now, before we reached the town.

Argos was working as fast as he could, but it wasn’t fast enough. I needed a knife. Since my own had been stripped from me by Red, I needed to borrow someone else’s.

Four Fingers was fast asleep, his head propped against a crate. I scrambled to his side and clamped my hand across his mouth. His eyes popped open.

“It’s okay. It’s just me: Book.”

Once he made sense of what was going on, I could feel his smile beneath my palm, his lips stretching against my fingers. I removed my hand.

“I need to borrow your knife,” I said. “Just for a little bit.”

He recoiled, his hand falling across his weapon.

Ever since his accident in the Brown Forest—when Dozer had thrown him to the ground and he’d banged his head against a slab of granite—I didn’t know what Four could understand and what he couldn’t. But it was obvious he had no intention of parting with his knife.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll give it back.”

His grip tightened on the handle.

I was getting desperate. Time was running out, and I had to free my friends.

“Hey, Four. How would you like to go on an adventure? Just a few of us.”

His smile returned, his hand began to relax.

“I can’t tell you where we’re going yet, but if you let me borrow your knife, we can get out of here right away. And Dozer won’t be coming with us.”

Four Fingers seemed to consider what I was saying. He tilted his head to the side as if deep in thought. The train rounded another curve. Once more the town’s amber glow came into view.

“Please?” I asked.

Four Fingers plucked the knife from his belt, presenting it to me like a general surrendering a sword. I snatched it from his hand before he had second thoughts.

I hurried back to Hope. The other prisoners were awake. Argos had made little progress in my absence, but not for lack of trying. He was panting heavily, saliva dripping from his tongue. I eased him away.

“Good dog,” I said, and stroked his flanks.

Hope thrust her hands forward, and I began sawing. The coils of rope snapped. Hope was free. She took the knife and we took turns on the next four. By the time we finished, both Hope and I were each covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Now what?” Flush asked.

At the same time, Hope and I shot a glance at the open doorway.

“Now we jump.”

We tiptoed through the car, avoiding sleeping bodies. Four Fingers hauled himself to his feet, and I returned his knife and guided him to the open doorway. Below us, railroad ties whooshed past. Beyond the gravel embankment stood a sea of weeds.

We were just getting ready to jump when some sixth sense prompted me to turn around. There was Red, staring right at me, his splotched face visible in the dark.

I suddenly regretted giving Four Fingers his weapon back. My mouth opened, but no words followed. What could I say? What lame excuse could I come up with?

Red’s fingers curled around his dagger’s handle, and I waited for his move. If I had to go at him without a weapon, so be it. It wouldn’t be pretty, but what choice did I have? Nothing was going to stop us now.

But it wasn’t a fight Red gave me, it was a nod. Slight. Subtle. Barely noticeable. Go, he seemed to be saying. Sorry it had to end this way.

I nodded back, releasing the breath I’d been holding.

I joined the others in the doorway. In addition to the prisoners and Four Fingers, Twitch was there also. Flush had asked him to join us, and he was right to do so. Dozer would have little patience for a blind Less Than.

The glow of the town was closer now, lighting up a chunk of sky. Hope tapped Diana on the shoulder, and the fiery Sister tossed her backpack into the dark. She jumped out after it. Scylla and Helen followed, then Flush and Twitch. Before Hope left, she turned to me and met my eyes. I had the feeling there was something she wanted to say … just as I did. Something like I’m sorry. Maybe something more.

But neither of us spoke.

Instead, she leaned forward, kissed me on the cheek, and leaped from the train.

Now that it was just Four Fingers, Argos, and me, Four seemed suddenly afraid. He began edging away from the opening.

“No,” he began saying. “No! No!” Even though the wind muffled his voice, it was more than loud enough to wake the others.

My mind scrambled. “You remember Frank, don’t you?” I asked. “Up in the mountains? The old guy who gave his life for us, so we could be brave and do brave things for others?”

“Fraaank.” He elongated the name in a way that told me he remembered. How Frank had fed us and hid us from the Brown Shirts and taught us all those skills. How he’d invited us into his cabin and told us about his family—even given us the clothes of his dead sons.

“So now we need to jump, because that’s what Frank would want us to do.”

Four Fingers nodded—he seemed to suddenly understand—and without waiting a moment longer, he threw himself into the darkness. I heard the crunch of his body against the ground.

That left Argos and me.

“You ready, boy?” I said.

“He might be, but you’re not.”

Dozer. Before I could react, he swung his meaty arm across my shoulder. I felt the sharp blade of his knife pressing into my neck, dimpling skin.

“Where’re you going?” he asked. “Or should I say, where did you think you were going?” He laughed, his sour breath splashing the side of my face. “The next time you wanna take off in the middle of the night, you might want to think about leaving the moron behind. He’s not so good at keeping quiet.”

My eyes darted to the doorway, but the knife dug in farther, a trickle of blood dribbling down my neck. “Don’t even think about it, Limp: your life ends here.”

In that fraction of a second I saw it all: our escape from Liberty and the trek to the new territory. The Less Thans held captive beneath the tennis courts. Frank in the mountains. Hope and the other Sisters. Cat. Good-bye.

As Dozer reached back to give my neck a final slice, we were both slammed to the floor with a violent thud. Dozer’s knife clattered to the side. When I got my breath and turned my head, I saw Argos shaking Dozer’s withered arm like it was a rat he was trying to kill.

“Get him off, get him off, get him off!” Dozer screamed, but Argos had no intention of letting go.

I stumbled to my feet. By now, the others were awake, trying to make sense of what was going on. Angela and Lacey were reaching for their knives.

“Come, Argos,” I said, but for once he didn’t listen. He continued to twist Dozer’s arm as though snapping a wishbone.

“Argos, no!” I cried.

I should’ve known better.

Argos looked at me with questioning eyes, and Dozer used that opportunity to kick him in the ribs. Argos yelped and went sailing through the air, flying out of the boxcar and into the night. I heard his loud whimper as he landed in the ditch.

Anger swelled in my chest. “You shouldn’t’ve done that,” I said.

“Why? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Stepping back as though about to kick a game-winning field goal, I launched my foot forward until it collided with Dozer’s groin. He let out an oomph and doubled over, grimacing in pain.

“Don’t you ever kick my dog again,” I said.

I turned and threw myself out of the boxcar, landing on the edge of the rail bed and rolling hard down the gravel slope, watching as the train receded farther and farther into the distance.