Chương 46

Louis did not know how long he had been sitting in the dark. His wrists ached, his lower back had stiffened, and nausea rose into his throat whenever the train entered a sharp curve. He sat on the edge of the narrow bunk with his wrists bound in front of him and listened. Angelique was in the cell to his right, Gladice in the one to his left. He rarely heard Angelique move. Gladice shifted often, then dropped back onto the bunk hard enough to make it creak. Neither of them had spoken for some time.

Footsteps approached along the corridor. A key struck metal, and Louis heard a voice he had already learned to hate.

"Turn the lights on," Pastor Bell said. A guard drew back the bolt on the outer door and switched on the corridor lamps. Louis stepped back from the bars and blinked against the sudden light. Bell entered in his high-collared black coat, with the Bible under one arm. Two guards followed him. He stopped outside Angelique's cell.

"Well now," he said.

"There's the hour." Louis's stomach turned over.

"Leave her alone." Bell did not look at him.

"Young women who speak with that much ungoverned pride often require quieter settings than supper allows." He nodded to the guard at Angelique's door.

"Open." The guard drew back the bolt. Louis rushed to the bars and slammed his bound hands against them.

"Don't touch her!" Gladice threw herself against the door of the cell to his left.

"You fucking pig," she said.

"If you put one hand on her—" Bell turned toward Gladice.

"Miss Simington, your mouth is a testimony to the failure of your upbringing. And a warning of what awaits you if you do not learn to close it." He gestured to the guard at Angelique's cell. The guard opened the door. Bell held one hand toward the corridor.

"Come."

"No," Louis heard her say. Bell sighed.

"My dear, I would prefer not to make this rougher than it has to be." Angelique did not come to the door. One of the guards stepped into her cell. Louis heard a struggle inside, followed by the rattle of the bars and a hard impact against the wall.

"Let me go!" He heard Angelique shout. The guard emerged with one hand locked around her upper arm. Angelique twisted and pulled against him, but he dragged her into the corridor. Her bound hands caught at his sleeve as she tried to wrench herself free. Louis gripped the bars with both bound hands and shook them until the plastic cut into his wrists.

"Angelique!" She looked at him, and for the first time he saw fear on her face. The guard jerked her away and pulled her down the corridor. Bell followed without looking back. Gladice kicked the steel door with the sole of her boot. Each blow landed with a dull thud.

"Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck—" A guard opened the door at the end of the corridor. It closed after Bell and Angelique passed through. Someone locked it from the other side. The lights went off. Louis closed his eyes until the brightness left behind by the lamps had faded. Angelique was gone, and he could do nothing but hold the bars. He breathed hard. The kicking stopped. He heard Gladice slide down the wall, still breathing hard. Gladice spoke first.

"They won't kill her. Not yet." Louis kept both hands on the bars.

"You don't know that."

"I know what kind of people they are. They want us afraid. They want us broken. That means they need us alive." Her voice shook, but she finished without stopping.

"This is how they break prisoners. Isolate, humiliate, remind you of your powerlessness. That's how the Collective trained us to expect it."

"Does it work?" Louis asked bitterly. Gladice did not answer at once. Then she said, "For a while, yes." He released the bars and sat on the edge of the bunk, his bound hands between his knees. He imagined Angelique in a room in another carriage, alone with Pastor Bell and his Bible, and for the first time in his life, he imagined killing a man with his bare hands. The thought did nothing for Angelique while he remained locked in the cell. He breathed through his nose and tried to push it away, but it returned.

Gladice spoke again, more quietly than before.

"We need to find a way out of the cell."

"Tell me how." Gladice did not answer at once. He heard her move around the next cell. The bunk frame rattled, then the bars.

"If we can get these bindings off, we can work on the door," she said.

"But we need something sharp. Or something that can be made sharp."

"There's nothing."

"Look under the bed. In the drain. Any edge on the walls." Louis crouched and ran his bound hands along the floor. The drain was a smooth metal plate set flush with the concrete. He could not get his fingernails beneath its edge. The cinder-block walls had been sealed over, and the bars were solid. He turned to the bunk. The steel frame was welded to the floor. A strip of old wood remained beneath it. When he ran his fingers along the wood, they caught on a rough point. He bent lower.

In the moonlight from the window, he saw the head of a small finishing nail protruding from the wood. Rust covered the exposed edge. Gladice called from the other cell, "I have nothing here. You found something?"

"Maybe." He kept his voice low.

"There's a tack under the bed. Old trim. It's half loose."

"Good. Get it out." He caught the raised head between his fingernails and worked the tack from side to side. It moved in the wood. He pushed his thumbnail beneath it and pulled again. The rough metal scraped the skin beside his fingernails until it began to bleed, but he kept working. The tack came free with a splinter of wood caught beneath its head. Louis sat back on his heels and held it near the window, where the moonlight reached it. It was a short finishing nail, rust-dark along most of its length.

The point was still intact.

"I got it," he said.

"Good," Gladice answered.

"Now cut the restraints. Carefully. Don't waste it." He pressed the point against the plastic band between his wrists and dragged it across the same spot. The plastic was thicker than he had hoped. The point slipped and scratched the inside of his wrist. He changed his grip and scored the same spot again and again. A pale groove appeared in the black plastic. He kept the point in the groove and worked it back and forth, stopping whenever the carriage jolted. The point finally punched through the thinned plastic.

Louis set the nail aside and twisted his wrists in opposite directions. The plastic split at the puncture and broke, releasing his hands. Red marks circled his wrists. Blood ran from the cut beside his forefinger nail and from the scratch on his wrist. He opened and closed his hands. His fingers were stiff, but they moved freely.

"What do we do once we're free?" he asked. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

"First we check the door," Gladice said.

"Then we find her. Then we deal with the guards. Then we get off this fucking train." Louis leaned against the bars with the tack in his hand and tried to think like a man who had never been born with his name.

"You think we can get the door from inside?" he asked.

"No. But we can make enough noise to make them come to us. And when they do— They don't know you are loose yet. That is our advantage." Louis looked at the tack. If a guard entered the cell, he would have one chance to strike before the others reacted. He could not hesitate once the door opened.

"You pretend to be unconscious." Gladice lowered her voice in the next cell.

"I'm going to yell for help. When the door opens, you take the first one who comes in."

"All right."

"Now don't make any sound even if I call you. Don't move. Don't answer. Not until they open your door. Understood?"

"Yes." He lay on his side between the bunk and the bars, where anyone in the corridor could see him. He closed his hand around the tack with its head against his palm and the point projecting below his fist. He tucked that hand beneath his chest and left the other open on the floor. Then he slowed his breathing and let his body go slack. Gladice slammed her bound hands against the steel door.

"Hey!" Gladice's shout carried down the corridor. She struck the door again, harder this time.

"You deaf bastards?" Louis made his breathing shallow and uneven. Gladice slammed her bound hands against the door again.

"Get down here! Now!" No one answered. She waited. When she called again, her voice was higher and less controlled.

"Louis!" Louis did not move.

"Louis!" Gladice kicked the lower panel with the sole of her boot. The steel door shook under the blow.

"Get down here, you stupid fucks! He's not responding!" Footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor and came closer.

"I said get down here! He's dying!" Louis knocked his heel against the bunk frame, then let his leg fall still. A guard called from the far end.

"What now?"

"He's out cold! He won't answer!" The footsteps quickened. The guard stopped outside Louis's cell and shone a flashlight through the bars. Louis lay with his face toward the floor and both hands tucked beneath his chest. The tack remained hidden in his fist. He kept his breathing shallow and uneven. The guard moved the beam over the bunk and the floor before pointing it at Louis.

"Shit," the guard said. He unlocked Louis's cell and drew back the two bolts. The hinges creaked as he opened the door. Louis stayed limp. The guard left the key in the lock and stepped inside, holding the flashlight in one hand while reaching for Louis's shoulder with the other. Louis moved. He pushed himself up, struck his shoulder against the bunk frame, and stumbled into the guard. The man began to turn toward him. He caught the front of the guard's coat with one hand and thrust the tack upward with the other.

The point struck beneath the man's jaw. Louis felt it sink into soft tissue. The guard's shout broke into a gag, and warm blood ran over Louis's fingers. The guard staggered backward. He clutched at his throat with one hand and reached for Louis with the other. Louis panicked and threw himself after him. He drove the guard backward, and the man's head struck the steel doorframe. The steel rang under the impact. The guard went down and pulled Louis with him. He gagged and tried to push Louis away.

Louis drove his forearm into the guard's face and struck him again. Louis kept striking. He no longer knew which blows landed on the guard's face, neck, or shoulder. He stopped only when the man no longer tried to push him off. The guard stopped struggling and sagged beneath him. His fingers released Louis's sleeve. He gave a final choking breath and went quiet. He stopped over him, breathing hard. The tack was still clenched in his fist, and blood covered his fingers and wrist. He had killed him.

The thought made him vomit.

"Louis!" Gladice snapped. Louis jerked his head toward her cell. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and reached for the guard's pistol. His hands were shaking as he worked it free of the holster. His bloody hand slipped on the grip, and he almost dropped it.

"Louis!"

"Here."

"Fuck, are you alright?" Louis looked down at the guard before he understood that she meant him.

"I'm alive."

"Take the keys. Open my door. Hurry." He pulled the key ring from the lock and hurried to Gladice's cell. The key scraped against the plate around the lock before he forced it in. He unlocked the door and drew back the two bolts. Gladice shoved the door open. She looked at Louis's blood-covered hands, then at the body in his cell.

"Cut me loose, with his knife." Louis tucked the pistol into his waistband, took the folding knife from the guard's belt, and cut through the plastic restraint between her wrists. As soon as her hands were free, Gladice pulled the pistol from Louis's waistband. She drew the slide back far enough to see a round in the chamber, then released it.

"We go for Angelique first," she said.

"Stay behind me." He nodded. She stepped into the passage with the pistol held low and checked both directions. Louis followed with the knife in his hand. They reached the end of the corridor. The carriage swayed beneath their feet. Gladice reached the door and listened. No sound came from within. She looked back at Louis.

"Be ready." Gladice turned the handle and pushed the door open, then entered with the pistol raised. The corridor beyond was dim and quiet. A closed door stood at the far end. A loud snore came from a room off the corridor.

"What should we do?" Louis whispered.

"Give me the knife. I will take them out quietly. You take the gun and get to the door." Louis hesitated, then handed her the knife. Gladice gave him the pistol and kept her attention on the side room. Louis took it with a grim understanding that the dead guard might not be the only man he killed tonight. Gladice entered the guard room. Louis crossed the corridor to the door at the far end. Bell's voice came through it.

"…and the Lord has seen fit to strip away every false covering tonight, my dear. Every vanity. Every crown you thought you wore. Now you will learn what true submission feels like." Louis gripped the pistol harder and tried the handle. The door was locked from inside. He heard fabric tear. Angelique spoke next. Her breathing was uneven, but every word was clear.

"Touch me again and I will bite your throat open." Bell gave a quiet laugh.

"Such spirit. Such beautiful, useless spirit. The flesh is weak, Miss Bourbon. But the spirit… the spirit can be broken sweetly." Louis's instinct was to shoot the lock. He stopped himself. A shot could ricochet off the hardware or pass through the door and hit Angelique. Boots scraped across the metal floor inside. Something heavy moved aside. Angelique's breathing quickened. Then Louis heard a belt buckle and the rustle of clothing.

"You were made for this moment," Bell murmured.

"All that pride, all that old-world blood, brought low so that grace might enter. Lie still. Let me show you how a woman is truly cleansed." Louis's pulse kicked harder. He drove himself into the door hard enough to make the frame jump. Pain flashed through his arm and chest. The door held. Bell stopped speaking.

"Go away," he snapped.

"I said no interruptions." Louis hit the door again, harder this time, putting his whole weight into it. The panel shuddered. Bell's voice sharpened.

"I said leave us!" A struggle followed. Something struck the built-in bench, and Angelique gasped. The bench creaked under a sudden weight. Angelique spoke again. Her voice broke on the words.

"Get off me—" Her words ended in a gasp. Louis heard a zipper being pulled open. Clothing rustled again. Her shoes struck the bench and the wall. Then the impacts stopped. Bell was breathing harder now. Louis stepped back for a third strike, breath ragged, blood roaring in his ears. He was not thinking clearly now. He only knew the door was between him and Angelique, and that if he could not open it, he would break himself against it trying.

Then Gladice came up beside him, hands and face streaked with blood, her eyes terrible with murder. She held the pistol in one hand and a key ring in the other. She motioned him aside, found the right key, and unlocked the door.

"Now," Bell whispered, "you will feel the weight of truth." Louis did not wait. He kicked the door so hard that the wood around the strike plate split. The door swung inward and struck the wall. Bell's head snapped up. He was half over Angelique on the narrow bench, his black frock coat open, shirt untucked, trousers shoved down just past his hips. His pale, soft body was exposed to the waist.

One hand still pinned Angelique's wrists, the other had been guiding himself between her thighs, the head of his cock already brushing the soft skin there. Angelique's skirt and underwear had been wrenched aside. Her blouse was torn open to the navel, one breast exposed to the cold air. She had turned her face away and was still pulling against Bell's grip. She kicked and twisted beneath him, trying to keep him from penetrating her, but his weight and the narrow bench left her little room to move.

The interruption lasted less than a heartbeat. Gladice fired once. The shot took Bell high in the shoulder, spinning him sideways off Angelique and onto the floor. He screamed in a raw, shocked animal sound. Blood sprayed across the steel wall in a bright arc. His erect cock bobbed as he fell, already half-flaccid with shock. The next shot struck one of his testicles, spraying blood and pale tissue across his inner thighs and the floor.

His erection collapsed against the blood-slick skin as he folded around the wound and screamed. Gladice was over him before he could crawl. She fired three more rounds into his head at close range. The skull ruptured open. Blood and brain matter splattered the metal beneath him, trousers still tangled at his knees. Louis rushed through the doorway while the gunshots still rang in his ears. Angelique rolled off the bench, yanking her skirt down with bound hands, breathing like she had run ten miles.

Louis reached her and helped her to her feet. She caught hold of his shirt and shook against him. Gladice stood over Bell's body and kicked him hard in the ribs.

"Filthy pig," she spat. Then she looked at Angelique.

"Are you alright?" Angelique had gone pale. Her eyes were wet, and her lips trembled. She nodded.

"Yes." Gladice cut her restraints. Angelique rubbed her wrists, then pulled the torn sides of her blouse together over her chest. Her hands were still shaking.

"We need to get out of here." Gladice turned to Louis.

"We have a few minutes at best before someone else shows up." Louis nodded. He kept looking at Bell's mangled head and cock on the floor. His stomach turned again. He forced himself to look away and turned back to Angelique. She was still trembling. He put one arm around her shoulders and held her without speaking. She leaned against him, then stepped out of his arm and straightened her back.

"Where do we go?" she asked, her voice low and rough.

"The engine," Gladice said.

"If we can get to the driver, we can stop the train. Then we get out." Louis swallowed.

"How many guards left?"

"I killed two." Gladice released the magazine into her palm, checked the remaining rounds, and pushed it back into the pistol.

"More will have heard the shots. So we move fast." She looked between them.

"Stay close. Shoot anyone who isn't us." She opened the door into the forward corridor and went first. Louis followed with the knife in his hand. Angelique stayed close behind him, one hand gripping the back of his shirt. They stepped over the blood and entered the narrow passage. Then the carriage lurched beneath them. Louis caught the wall with one hand. The brakes ground beneath the carriage. Gladice stopped. Louis felt it too. The train was slowing.