Without hesitating, he floored the accelerator, still searching to his left as the headlights of Renee’s BMW played across the sides of the corn cars. The approaching train, a totally black phantom from what Lou could tell, seemed to be crawling ahead, perhaps trying not to disrupt the loading process by sending kernels flying everywhere.
He sped past Chester’s silos without slowing. The corn train seemed unending. Still no fifty-eight. Perhaps he had missed it. No matter. If his plan worked, and if fifty-eight was part of the train, he would find it. Finally, he passed the engines-three in all. The head of the dragon. He kept on driving. The black phantom was now a slow- moving eastbound snake with a yellow CSX insignia painted on its two ebony engines.
Ahead, the horizon glowed like the remnants of a settling fire, its red orange hues being nudged into oblivion by the descending night sky.
Seven fifty-five.
Here, the road curved, bringing Lou even closer to the train tracks, now some ten feet to his left. He cut his speed, then confident he had driven far enough, braked to a stop and exited the Beemer. He took the car keys with him, hoping against hope that once Cap and George were freed, all three would be able to make their way back to this spot undetected. Lou took one other item from the car as well, a tire iron. It would probably be that against guns and killers who knew how to use them, but better a tire iron than just his wits.
The huge eastbound freight train lumbered along at about the pace of a brisk walker. Lou jogged up to it, ignoring painful messages from both his wounded thigh and stiff ankle. Down the track to his left, the lone headlight on the lead engine of Chester’s train glowed like a cyclops in the deepening night. Following alongside the CSX cars, Lou checked out the steel ladders on two of them.
From a distance, jumping hobo-style onto such a slow-moving train did not strike him as too perilous. However, from up close, and somewhat hobbled, he wasn’t so confident.
Seven fifty-eight.
He had to move. Cradling the tire iron in his hand, Lou caught his breath and jumped at a chest-high rung on the next passing ladder.
The tire iron clanged as he got a hold of the painted metal. An instant later, the hand with his weapon lost its grip on the rung. Lou swung away from the side of the car like an opening door. The tire iron fell to the gravel beside the squealing wheels. Gripping tightly with the other hand, he shifted his weight to counter the momentum, then swung back, hitting his nose hard against the ladder. Instantly, his eyes teared up and his vision blurred. With his hand now freed, he managed to regain his hold. With tears still cascading, and now nearly breathless, he climbed. At the top, he flattened out on the roof and peered across at the trio of engines on Chester’s train as the phantom rolled slowly past them.
Next came the unending line of corn cars and boxcars. One by one, he scanned the numbers painted on each. The massive CSX train groaned and shuddered as it passed no more than two feet from the other.
“One-thirty-one.
“Twenty-seven.
“Sixty.”
Lou said each number aloud. His heart was racing as the cars glided past. The car he had chosen to jump on was past the silo now. The sound of corn kernels rumbling down the loading tubes was lost in the grinding of the wheels.
“One-oh-seven.
“Sixty-two.”
It was just after eight.
“Thirty-six.
“Eighteen.”
He looked ahead at the number of the next car he would pass.
There it was! Fifty-eight, right after eighteen.
Lou shifted into a crouch and inched across toward the other train. He would go for the roof of car number eighteen, to avoid alerting any guards who might be in fifty-eight. Time had run out for Cap and George. The fear that was choking his confidence gave way as he readied himself to make the leap. Even though the black phantom was moving slowly, the ground between the two trains was a blur.
With all the force he had, Lou launched himself across the gap between trains. He traveled much less distance than he had expected or intended, and landed hard on the roof of number eighteen. However, he hadn’t appreciated a slight slope to both sides from the center of the car, and without traction he immediately began to slip backwards.
Unable to arrest his slide, Lou went over the roof feetfirst. At the last possible instant, he caught hold of a rib running along the roof edge, and his arms held. Uttering a soft thanks to Cap for the upper body training, he hoisted himself back onto the car in an awkward chin-up-the second time in eight hours or so his arms had been tested like that.
Eight-oh-seven.
With his body as flat as he could manage, Lou crawled marine-style along the length of car eighteen. Up in a crouch again, he was about to dive above the platform joining it to car fifty-eight, when the train lurched forward to receive another load of Frankencorn. Lou was thrown hard onto his back. Air burst from his lungs, and his head snapped backwards against the unyielding metal.
Dazed, he again scrambled into a crouch and leapt headfirst from eighteen to fifty-eight. His belly-flop landing was surprisingly easy and silent.
If he was right-and he simply had to be-Cap and George were just below him.
The train stopped moving. Glancing ahead, Lou heard the rumble and saw a rush of yellow corn seed as one of the silos emptied some of its load about four cars ahead.
At the center of the roof of car fifty-eight was a closed hatch. The door’s rusted hinges creaked slightly as Lou lifted it open, but the sound of the corn rushing down the loading chute appeared to mask it. Flattened against the metal, he peered into the gloom below. The sliding door on the left side was open, bathing the inside in a dim light from the spots on the silo. He could make out a lone guard-jacket off, gun in his shoulder holster, unaware of the changes above him.
There might be other guards down there, out of Lou’s line of sight, but no matter. The flames of his determination were fanned by what he saw just in front of the man below him. Cap and George, neither of them moving, were dangling from a ceiling support on thick chains, their feet barely touching the floor. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see that they had been viciously beaten. Their heads hung down lifelessly.
At that moment, the gunman, tall and blond, with a square-set jaw, glanced up. He moved directly beneath the opening of the hatch, blinking to clear his vision.
Lou clenched his teeth.
He said a silent prayer for God to watch over Emily.
Then he jumped.
CHAPTER 51
Falling prey to his own disbelief, the guard was late in reacting to the movement above him. Silently, arms flailing, Lou plunged fifteen feet chest first, like a sky-jumper in free fall. Below him, he could see the confusion and hesitation in the young man’s face. Just before they collided, he thought he recognized him from Chester’s cornfield.
“What the-?”
The guard’s words were cut short when Lou, head turned to one side, hit him like a cannonball. Lou’s knees
