Page 72 of Brass
The methodical way he adapts to this information—this revelation that should be world-altering—is impressive and slightly terrifying. This is why he’s survived so long. This ability to incorporate new intelligence seamlessly into tactical planning without getting caught in emotional reactions.
“When we jump,” he continues, “we’ll need to move quickly. Find transportation that Phoenix won’t anticipate.”
“No electronic components,” I add. “No vehicles that could connect to any network.”
“Exactly.”
We fall silent. The train sways beneath us, metal wheels clicking rhythmically against the tracks. The sound forms an oddly soothing backdrop as we prepare for the next phase of our escape.
Ryan rises, moves to the partially open door, and studies the landscape sliding past. Moonlight catches his profile, highlighting the sharp angles of his face and the vigilant set of his shoulders despite the injury I’ve just treated.
“The area coming up is heavily wooded,” he observes. “Good cover for our exit, but challenging to navigate.”
I join him at the door, our shoulders nearly touching as I peer into the darkness. The night air rushes against my face, cold and sharp with the scent of pine and earth. Below, the ground moves past in a blur of shadows and moonlight.
“That’s going to hurt,” I comment, imagining the impact of jumping from the moving train.
“Tuck and roll,” he instructs. “Let momentum carry you. Don’t fight it.”
The train begins to slow slightly as it navigates a curve. Ryan tenses beside me, assessing speed and trajectory. “This is our window. The train has to slow for the curve. Best chance we’ll get.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. It’s one thing to discuss jumping from a moving train—quite another to actually do it. Ryan turns to grab our pack containing the few essentials we were able to bring from the motel.
“You first,” Ryan says, his hand finding the small of my back. “I’ll be right behind you.”
I nod, unable to speak past the sudden knot in my throat. Fear and excitement twist together in my stomach, creating a dizzying cocktail of adrenaline.
“Now,” he commands, that voice that expects to be obeyed.
TWENTY-FIVE
Celeste
I don’t hesitate.One moment I’m in the relative safety of the boxcar, the next I’m airborne, wind rushing past as the ground rises to meet me with alarming speed. I tuck my body as instructed, hit the ground shoulder-first, and allow momentum to carry me into a roll that disperses the impact across my body rather than concentrating it at a single point.
Pain still explodes across my healing ribs, my shoulder, my hip. The world spins in a disorienting blur of grass, sky, and darkness. When I finally come to a stop, I’m lying on my back, staring up at stars partially obscured by fast-moving clouds.
The rumble of the train already sounds more distant. I push myself up on my elbows, scanning the area for Ryan. For a heart-stopping moment, I don’t see him. Then a shadow detaches from the darkness further down the tracks, moving toward me with that fluid grace I’ve come to recognize.
“You okay?” he asks, crouching beside me, hands immediately assessing for injuries.
“Bruised,” I admit, wincing as I sit fully upright. “But functional.”
His hand brushes dirt from my face with surprising gentleness. “Good roll. You’re learning.”
The approval in his voice sends a ridiculous flutter through me despite our circumstances. I file that reaction away for later examination.
“Where to now?” I ask, letting him help me to my feet.
Ryan surveys our surroundings, orienting himself with that uncanny internal compass he seems to possess. “Northeast. Two miles through those woods to reach the nearest road.”
The terrain around us is rural wilderness—dense trees ahead, the train tracks behind, rolling fields to either side. The moon provides just enough light to navigate, though clouds passing overhead create patches of near-total darkness.
We move away from the tracks immediately, using a small copse of trees for initial cover. Ryan sets a careful pace, mindful of my recent impact and still-healing injuries while balancing the need for distance against the risk of pursuit.
“They’ll figure out we disembarked before the station,” he says as we enter the deeper woods. “But it will take time to coordinate a search of this area. We need to be well clear before they establish a perimeter.”
The forest floor is soft, cushioned by decades of fallen pine needles, which release a sharp, clean scent with each footfall. Overhead, branches create a cathedral-like canopy that blocks much of the moonlight, plunging us into shadow. In the distance, an owl calls—three hollow notes that echo through the silence.
