Tom Isbell - The Capture

Before Hope knows it, ropes are flung around their wrists. Attached to the inside walls of the boxcar are big, black, metal rings for lashing cargo. Now, suddenly, the six prisoners are tied to the rings so their faces poke the wall.

Dozer shuffles over and says, “Let me know if I can get you anything, Hope Less .” He laughs maliciously and walks away. Red, Angela, and Lacey follow in his wake.

Lashed to the metal rings and pressed against the wooden wall, Hope gives a tug, but it does no good. She’s strapped in tight. They all are. There’s no getting away from here, and everyone knows it.

Overcome with despair, Hope sags against the wall.

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.