The moon is full and bright as I gently untangle myself from Liamâs arms and head to the kitchen. Iâve been planning this for a week now. I canât bring myself to take their food, not after everything theyâve done for me.
But I can take what belongs to me.
I secure my water bottles to my body and tuck the revolver snugly against my ribs beneath my jacket. My hair is pulled back tight, hidden under my gray hood.
I donât want to leave without a word, but I donât know how to say goodbye. And honestly, Iâm scared Liam might convince me to stay.
I know Ellen understands how grateful I am, how much I love them. Sheâll get it. I just hope the others will too.
I quietly leave the house and hurry down the street. The workers live in a ruined village about a kilometer away from the steel factory.
There are no fences around them. Actually, in all the time Iâve been here, I havenât seen a single Master. They donât care enough about the workers to keep them locked up.
Workers could run away anytime they want, but where would they go? How would they survive? At least in the village, they have loved ones, food, and a roof over their heads.
Besides, all runaway workers are eventually found, always dead. Thereâs no hope. So I have to create my own.
Liam mentioned a functioning train less than a hundred kilometers from his village, in an old city.
The Masters use it to transport weapons and food from one coast to the other before theyâre loaded onto ships and sent around the world where Perfects are fighting. I can use it to get me closer to Sector 64 to look for Beth.
Itâll be quicker and much less exhausting. Plus, they transport food for the soldiers, so I can steal some for myself.
I walk all night and find an old abandoned house to rest in for half the day. By the next dawn, I find myself heading towards a city.
Iâve never seen one before, but Iâve heard about them. Huge silver buildings reaching for the sky, dark roads all leading to the center, stretching out as far as the eye can see.
Most of the buildings are damaged, with gaping holes and covered in a thick layer of ash. As I get closer, I can see that the area isnât abandoned.
Trucks are driving through the ash, and I can just make out the sound of engines echoing between the buildings.
I spend the next day dozing on and off in a ruined building near the edge of town. Throughout most of the day, I donât see anything, but in the evening a truck drives past my building and disappears down the street.
I wait for night to completely fall before slipping out and following the tracks left in the ash. They donât lead too far.
Peeking through broken windows, I spot ten trucks hauling containers. Soldiers are opening them and moving the boxes into the train compartments.
To my delight, the train is from the old times, before the war. Itâs quite long, and many of the compartments are left open and empty. I watch as bombs and missiles are carefully placed into the trains.
Further along, I see the food stored in boxes, tightly sealed, and carried onto the train as well.
I watch as all the supplies are loaded. Then the trucks drive off, empty, to gather more food from around Albion. I count five patrols of soldiers marching around the platform. They start to close the train doors.
I clench my fists and look for an opening to run. As the last door is being closed, a vehicle drives onto the platform. The soldiers are quickly distracted, rushing to the vehicle.
I seize my chance and sprint across the platform, diving into the last compartment. I hold my breath and quickly look around.
There are a few empty cardboard boxes from long ago piled in a corner, a wall of boxed grenades, and a door leading to another compartment. Thereâs also a small window, high up, that lets in a bit of the night air.
I slide up against the wall so I can peek outside again. A Master is standing next to the vehicle talking to the soldiers. Then he opens the passenger door, and three boys hop out.
They donât look much older than ten. Their eyes are wide and scared. They huddle together, following in the Masterâs footsteps.
I understand who they are, of course. Young Masters. The next generation. After the massacre at the mansion, the Mastersâ numbers have dwindled. Now theyâre creating more.
The boys follow the soldiers to the front of the train and get on, and the Master goes back to his car. The soldiers take a last look around the platform.
Then one remembers my open door and rushes to close it. He doesnât even glance inside as he slams the door shut.
I sit down in a corner and lean back with a smile as the train jerks to life and slowly starts to move.
***
âMy mother didnât wait long to look for food. She hadnât eaten since she left the workersâ house two nights before. She tried the door and was overjoyed to find it unlocked.
âIt led into a container where boxes upon boxes of rifles were kept. There were no soldiers in that container or the next three. The soldiers were in the front guarding the young Masters.
âMy mother could also make out the sound of a helicopter flying low over the train and trucks driving nearby. It was obvious that the train was being escorted and guarded by Perfect soldiers to its next destination.
âThe food containers were close to the front of the train. My mother was purposely very quiet as she pried a box open and peered inside. Canned fruits and vegetables and bottles of water.
âShe didnât need water. It rained often enough, and she still had three full bottles. She strapped the canned food around her body and slipped back out, closing the box carefully behind her.
âThe longer she went unnoticed, the better. She returned to the back of the train and gorged herself on the sourest tasting beans and apricots sheâd ever eaten.
âShe stayed on that train for over a week. It didnât move fast and stopped often, which caused my mother a lot of grief. More food and weapons were added at each stop. She was especially careful not to leave any traces behind.â
âWhat happened when she made it to the end of the line?â
The man gave the journalist a half smile.
âShe never did,â he replied. âThe train was attacked. Carrying all those supplies, it was a target. It happened at night. My mother was fast asleep when it began and woke up to the sound of an explosion.
Before she even glances out the window, she knows whatâs happened. The train tracks up ahead have been blown to smithereens. The train screeches to a halt, soldiers shouting, doors flinging open all on their own.
Trucks pull up alongside the train, soldiers bracing for an attack. A helicopter hovers overhead, floodlights scanning the area around the train, searching for the attackers.
A deafening silence fills the air as my mom straps her belongings to her body and loads her revolver. She squats by the open door, holding her breath, just like the soldiers.
Shots ring out from the dark foothills. The shooters are hidden, but their aim is deadly accurate. One by one, the Perfect soldiers start to drop.
The helicopter swoops closer to the foothills, floodlights blazing, heavy machine guns firing into the darkness. The night fills with screams and blood.
My mom huddles in her corner of the container. Soldiers scramble up into the foothills, guns blazing into the night.
Suddenly, the enemy is visible, leaping out from behind boulders, dressed head to toe in black. They descend on the soldiers, shooting them down.
My mom catches a glimpse of a Perfect soldier shoving the young Masters into a truck and speeding off.
Itâs only then that it becomes clearâthe men in the foothills were a distraction. While the soldiers were busy fighting them off, other Foreigner soldiers climbed onto the train.
My mom watches in awe as three men perch on top of the train, gigantic guns in hand. They fire at the helicopter.
Caught off guard, the helicopter only manages to turn just in time for the bullets to rip through its propellers.
With a deafening explosion, the helicopter bursts into flames and crashes into the side of the foothills. It burns like a beacon, lighting up the night.
By then, the Perfect soldiers are starting to retreat. They scramble into the last trucks, leaving behind food and weapons. All they care about is saving their own skins.
By the time the enemy reaches the train, the last few soldiers are making their escape. Orders are barked out in a foreign language.
They know they only have minutes before planes and tanks arrive to wipe them out. They need to get moving.
My mom stays hidden inside the container as the Foreigner soldiers loot food and weapons. Sheâs terrified of Foreigners. More than anything, she wants to run, but fear has her frozen in place.
She hears them laughing outside, pleased with their haul. Then she smells smoke. With a gasp, she realizes the train is on fire.
Theyâre burning Albion food and weapons. Holding her breath, crouching near the container opening, my mom waits for the Foreigner soldiers to leave.
One by one, they melt into the night. But the flames are spreading faster. Soon, theyâre licking at the container behind my mom. The air fills with smoke and heat.
When the last soldier vanishes into the darkness, my mom leaps from the train and bolts into the night, coughing and gasping for breath. Her legs are shaky, her chest burns with each breath.
But she forces herself to keep going. She needs to get away before the Albion soldiers come back.
She runs blindly in the darkness, no idea where sheâs headed. She keeps the burning train at her back, and doesnât stop until an arm slams into her chest, knocking her to the ground.