Chapter 8 - The Ghost Train
The deafening roar of the train engine shook the bricks loose from the tunnel ceiling.
The massive metal beast was hurtling toward us with no intention of slowing down.
"The alcove!" Larkin screamed over the noise, pointing to a shallow maintenance indent in the wall.
He grabbed my waist and threw us both into the narrow brick recess.
I pressed my back flat against the cold stone, pulling my stomach in as tightly as possible.
The train roared past us, the rusted steel cars missing my face by less than an inch.
The wind from the passing cars violently whipped my hair and tore the breath from my lungs.
Sparks showered over us as the metal wheels ground against the ancient tracks.
It felt like the train dragged on for an eternity before the final car finally whipped past.
I collapsed onto my knees on the dirty tracks, gasping for air.
The train screeched to a violent halt about fifty yards down the tunnel.
Red tactical lights clicked on from the back of the caboose.
"It is a clean-up crew," Larkin panted, drawing his backup weapon from his ankle holster.
"Thomas anticipated we would use the tunnels."
Heavily armed mercenaries jumped down from the train cars and began marching toward us.
"We cannot fight them," I said, spotting a rusty metal ladder leading up to a manhole cover above us.
"Climb," Larkin ordered, providing covering fire into the dark tunnel.
I scrambled up the freezing metal rungs, pushing the heavy iron cover off with my shoulders.
I scrambled out onto the wet asphalt of a dark alleyway in Chinatown.
Larkin climbed out a second later, dragging the heavy cover back into place.
He took two steps and collapsed onto the wet pavement, his body finally failing him.
"Larkin," I cried, dropping to my knees beside him.
His skin was pale and his breathing was dangerously shallow.
"Leave me," he whispered, his eyes closing.
"I am not leaving you," I said fiercely, trying to lift his dead weight.
Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the alley.
A figure stepped into the dim light of a streetlamp, pointing a silenced pistol directly at my head.
I froze, fully expecting Thomas to pull the trigger.
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The figure lowered the gun, revealing a face I had not seen in three years.
"I told you never to contact me again, Penelope," my brother Arthur whispered.
