Part of the Flash Fiction Train
John jumped out of the train.
The idiot. Every single other option she could think of would’ve been better than jumping off a moving train. Sometimes she wanted to kill him, and other times… Well maybe the jumping’s done him for good. Unlikely, John had a streak of luck like no one else. He should be working the casino instead of the agency.
First, she needed to clear her head. The drug was kicking in and she’d guessed GHB. She reached down and up her skirt, slipped out a packet of black pills and took two in one go. The pills were her own mix; a quick sober up for a bad night. She’d normally only needed one, but she wasn’t sure if they would work on GHB. The only thing she can be sure was was that they’d taste twice as horrible.
She chewed and slowly got up. Dammit, this thing is awful. She judged the carnage with a frown. John does things inelegantly, he killed people like flies in a way that is indiscriminate and very him. Her antithesis.
The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting ~ Sun Tzu.
She stepped around the two dead bodies and started searching their pockets, taking pictures of each ID she found on them. They’re probably fake anyway, but just in case.
Reaching the tumbler juggler idiot, she searched him. She had seen John as he took out and slipped in something to the man’s phone. He didn’t seem to know this man, let’s see.. Tyler. Why would John put this chip in your phone, hmm?
The snow made slow journey. She stopped her bike beside the road and took off her hat, swiping the snow collected off it. Her phone beeped her the latest coordinates on her GPS.
She got off, and started walking through the inches of snow, under pine trees towards the blinking red light on her map; the last known location of the Chinese prototype.
Some fifteen minutes later she reached the track and followed it west. The snow falling covered the grounds, there were no footprints to follow. She saw the embankment forming a sort of cave and approached. John?
A man was inside. She quickly whipped out her knife and readied, but his non-reaction seemed to indicate he was sleeping, unconscious, or dead. She crouched cautiously toward him and looked him over. Not John. Not John.
His left leg was missing. Ouch. She reached and touched his forehead and felt the clammy, hot fighting against cold fever. She pressed for pulse, still alive, just hanging in there by a thread. The left leg still leaking blood, there were dried frozen blood all around the floor, too much. Thankfully, the man was big.
Given the location, and that the tracker pointed to this location, he must be the guy John threw off from the train. She made an easy decision.
She pulled her knife and started cutting.
Done, she slipped the cloth around his left upper thigh and pulled hard, grunting. She tied it once, twice, and a third time. First step done.
She went outside and whipped out her phone.
— Hey, it’s me again.
— No, I haven’t found it, I found something else though. There’s a guy here that got thrown out from a train. The one who bought the gun. He’s critical. I’m not sure if he’ll make it. Do me a favor will you?
— Yep, I need you to call it in again. I don’t know what’s going on. If the client wants answers from him they better send help, asap. With lots of spare blood. So check with them. Otherwise if they don’t care, call emergency line for me. I’ll make it up to you, buddy. I’ll send through the details of the location.
She finished the call and did a series of quick taps on her phone. Then, she took off her jacket and started filling it with snow, the cold gradually reaching her fingers as she worked. Once the jacket was full, she hauled it in and made a mound around the man’s bleeding stump. She repeated the process twice until she was sweating. Her sweat felt cold running down her back and the wind blowing snow all over her face blinded her a few times making her stumble around..
Slipping out two of her pick-me-up pills, she chewed on them for a bit, warming and dissolving them with her tongue. She opened the man’s mouth and passed the paste in.
She searched the man’s pocket and took a picture. Oleg, that your real name? Stay alive and thankful enough to help me out, please.
She searched for the tracker on him and around the shelter, but couldn’t find anything. She was on top of the red dot on the map, but there was no sign of John, nor the big gun. There was some time between the fight and John jumping off the train. Oleg wouldn’t have travelled far with that lack of a leg, and John should be off from here by at least ten miles. If John had been here, he would’ve finished off Oleg in an instant, except if he couldn’t find him. But she’s missing something.
She recalled the chip she left on Tyler’s phone. John should’ve put that in with an intention to trace it back, or he’s just taunted her for a game of hide and seek. Either way eventually John would come to her. All she needed to do was wait. She pulled out a small coin-shaped token from her bra and slipped it in Oleg’s pocket. She’ll know when someone took him away too.
She grabbed some snow to get the disgusting taste off her mouth as she walked out of the shelter and ran to her bike.
The wind-blown snow covered the trails she left behind.
This story is a part of a collaborative chain of flash fiction stories. Resources and links are available in the master post here:
- The Woman with the Hat — finds Oleg, field-dresses him and calls in someone to save him. Placed a tracker in his pocket.
- One legged Oleg—missing a leg, in critical condition, saved by Woman with the Hat. Will he survive..??