Tom Isbell - The Release

HOPE REALIZES THERE’S NO way she can make it up to the Eagle’s Nest riding in the tram. Once the door opens at the top, she’ll be captured and probably killed. So if she can’t ride up in the tram, maybe she can ride up on it.

That’s why she grips the metal plates that connect the tram car to the cable.

“See you in exactly one hour,” Cat says, synchronizing his watch. They know the tram runs exactly every fifteen minutes.

Just as Hope wonders if she’s making a huge mistake, the tram gives a jerk and she is on her way. No turning back now. As the tram rises above the snow-covered boulders and trees, soaring up the mountainside, Cat and Sunshine get smaller and smaller until they’re no bigger than ants.

What she hadn’t counted on was the wind. It was breezy down at the base of the mountain, but up here it’s howling. Gusts tear at Hope’s fingers and screech between the cables. Blankets of snow swirl in mini tornadoes.

The tram sways and lurches, rocking violently side to side. It’s everything Hope can do to hold on. Her fingers are numb from clinging to the biting-cold metal.

She lifts her head and sees a tiny red spot coming her way: the other tram. When one tram goes up, the other automatically comes down. Which means that in a couple of minutes, the two cars will pass side by side, and if there are Brown Shirts in the descending tram, what’s to prevent them from seeing her?

Her mind races, even as the other tram grows larger. Digging her numb fingers into the metal plate, she inches her legs around until the lower half of her body hangs over the far side of the tram. There’s virtually no feeling in her fingers at all, and it’s a minor miracle she’s able to hold on. She doesn’t let herself look down.

The two trams grow close, then near … then pass. Two red squares passing high above the mountainside. No shouts of alarm. No gunshots. Hope lets out a long breath.

A quick glance shows the descending tram is crowded with Brown Shirts, too occupied with their own conversations to spy her. When they’re far away, Hope manages to climb back on top of the tram. The top of the mountain can’t come soon enough.

Although the Eagle’s Nest looked impressive from the bottom of the mountain, it’s even more menacing from up close. Stone walls jut from the cliff face. Spires rise to the skies. It’s an impregnable fortress perched atop a steep mountain.

The tram slows, and Hope can make out the station now. There are two Brown Shirts there, each with an M4 slung over his shoulder. There’s no way she can stay on top of the tram without being seen. She’ll have to think of something else.

Live today, tears tomorrow.

Before the tram shudders to a stop, she leaps from the top, flying through air and landing in a deep snowbank. Of course, just beneath the snow is a granite boulder, and her impact is harder than she expects. It takes everything in her power not to cry out.

She lies there a moment, waiting for the pain in her ankles to subside, listening to hear if the Brown Shirts spotted her. Their laughter and jokes continue as before.

A glance at her watch tells her ten minutes have passed. That leaves only fifty. She needs to get going.

She scrambles up the mountainside, pulling herself up to a ledge. To reach the interior of the fortress, it appears as though soldiers have to walk through a long, damp tunnel burrowed within the mountain. She’s thankful that the few lightbulbs that do work are dim and spaced far apart.

She tugs her cap low and enters the tunnel. The walk seems to take forever, the sound of her footsteps echoing against the stone. The arched stone ceiling drips water.

At the end of the tunnel is a large elevator, and when the door opens she steps inside, admiring the polished brass walls, the immaculate interior. Not what she expected. She presses the button for the top floor, and her stomach drops as the elevator shoots upward. Her hand rests on the handle of her knife, jutting from her waistband.

When she steps out of the elevator, breath leaves her. The exterior wall of the Eagle’s Nest may be a medieval fortress, with its thick stone and crenellated parapets, but the inside is all twenty-first century. Buildings made of chrome and glass reach for the sky. Tinted windows glint in the late-afternoon sun. Everything sparkles and shines.

A glance inside the buildings shows atria with water-spewing fountains, escalators moving people effortlessly up and down, coffee shops and bakeries, banks and grocery stores. It’s like she’s landed on another planet.

And the people—not just soldiers but men and women in suits and lab coats, all in a hurry, moving briskly atop paved, spotless streets. No one pays Hope the least bit of attention. Keeping her head lowered, she edges her way through the fortress, trying not to gawk.

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