Betrayed — Part II
It was a cold night. We were walking fast and with large steps, breathing heavily and forming tiny clouds into the humid void. It had stopped raining but the breeze had turned into a ferocious wind, making it even worse than having to walk under and on the watery snow.
The train had started moving when I woke. Samuel was standing with his Mexican friend, a man with a wide brow and triangular chin, dark with stubble. And let’s not forget the piece of weaponry he was holding all the time by his waist. An upgraded version of an AK47 with a full magazine. One I thought I would never see except in video games. This was real life.
I managed to loosen the ropes around my wrists. It took me an hour to rid myself of them completely and I peered through the rail cars and the foggy windows, trying to see Samuel or the Mexican figure. There was no sign of them.
Pushing the rail car’s handle tentatively, the door opened and I glanced ahead at the passenger seats. All empty.
It was when I leaned closer to the next door that I started hearing voices. Loud and clear — as though they were deliberate.
‘Why did you bring me a goddamn child on board?’ a man shouted. Peeking through the slit between door-frame and door, I saw he was wearing all black, in contrast to the men around him, who were blanketed in white uniforms. Between his fingers sat a brown cigar, which he moved to and fro his mouth and waist simultaneously as he spoke.
‘I — ’ the Mexican guy stuttered. He hid his AK47 behind his back, either to show respect or hide the fact that he had threatened me to get onto the railcar. ‘I thought he was Owen’s son. That’s what Sam told us.’
Samuel was standing aside, as though hiding in a corner and trying not to attract attention, especially not the gaze of the man who seemed to be in charge of this whole syndicate.
The man turned to Samuel after he smoked his cigar. The grayish smoke vanished as he stared into Samuel’s eyes.
‘Who’s the child you caught?’
Samuel spoke, his voice too low for me to hear. But, by the movement of his lips, I inferred he had said my father’s name. Owen.
Now I knew why I shouldn’t have become a friend of Samuel. I shouldn’t have trusted anybody, or at least not have told anyone who my father was.
Now everything seemed to make sense. I knew where this was going.
My father had a beef with these guys. And I would be the one to pay for the mistakes of a mature adult, as if they were my own.
‘Where is he?’ the man asked and turned to the Mexican.
Everyone inside the other rail car turned to look right at the door of the neighboring railcar, in which they thought I was was sleeping. Then they were all heading towards the car.
I quickly ran to the railcar behind me, put my hands behind my back and sat down, facing them.
The door was smashed into its holder as they marched inside.
I turned around with a loud groan, keeping my hands behind my back. I sat up and stared into the eyes of a tall man, who was wearing a black coat that stretched from his neck all the way to his kneecaps.
He was bald. When he smiled, the rail car’s ceiling light cast gleams on the skin of his spherical head. Bright and strong.
‘Your father,’ he started. Then he took a deep, wheezing breath. Before continuing, he managed a cough and reached into his pocket, quickly taking a small inhaler and sticking it into his mouth. He pressed the tiny tank up, inhaled deeper than before and then coughed. ‘Your father was a good friend.’
‘You don’t know my father.’
The man nodded briskly. ‘Now, no, I don’t. But when he was working for me, I used to know him. Probably better than you do. I trusted him. I sustained him and his family. The food you were eating — and probably the food you’re eating nowadays — are the fruits of my hard work.’
‘Who are you?’ I yelled. ‘Are you the one who made them put my father behind the bars?’
The man crouched, finally meeting my face on the same level. His eyes met mine fiercely — I tried not to blink, but failed miserably. I closed my eyes.
‘He deserved it, didn’t he?’ the man whispered, with a grin on his face. ‘Commitment. That’s what I liked about your father. He committed himself to the work I offered him. Look at you — ’ He paused, his gaze scanning my body, head to toe, and then chuckled. ‘He wasn’t even a good father. I’m condemning myself for believing he would make a good friend. I should have ended his life when I had the chance.’
‘You know nothing about me or my father. What do you want from me?’
‘Just the money your father owed me. And the good stuff your father managed to steal, hide and sell to other syndicates. Is it at your house?’
‘We moved out of our old place! I know nothing of — ’
‘Save it,’ he said, rising to his feet and putting the inhaler back into his pocket. Then he turned to Samuel, whose arms were crossed with a confused grin drawn on his face. ‘Send Freddy to their house. Find me the money.’
‘I swear if you touch my mother I will — ’ I started to say, but then my voice broke off. I closed my eyes and listened to his next order.
‘Get the girl in here,’ he said blankly and walked through the door and into the other railcars.
She came in. A black cloth bag covered her head, yet waves of her blonde hair made their way to her shoulder. Her hands were tied behind her back, and her shirt was dirty and wet on the side, by which I inferred she had been lying on something wet.
Silent. That was her. Even when they put her by my side, she said nothing — not even a single groan. Rain had started striking against the windows and the metal body of the railcar, sometimes accompanied with a streak of thunder or a gleam of lightning.
Samuel followed the Man into the other rail car, and the Mexican gestured with his AK47 in my direction and smirked. He then followed the other two.
We were left with another Mexican guy with American features, wearing a federal suit and acting stiff like a real operative. The only thing I feared was that he worked as an inside man, or possibly a turncoat from the DEA. Either way, I was delighted we weren’t left with someone with an AK47. This one had a service revolver under his belt and a utility knife sticking out of his black suit. He was wearing sunglasses, which made it hard to know whether he was staring at me or not. Nevertheless, I acted as though he stared the whole time.
I leaned towards Chloe and touched her with my wrist. Then I eyed the operative, who never moved — or seemingly breathed. She flinched, coughed twice and started quaking.
‘Chloe?’ I whispered.
‘Chris?’ she managed to say between her coughs.
I eyed the operative again. ‘Let her breathe, come on!’
He didn’t move. He looked at the door and let out a breath. Then, slowly moved towards us, his eyes fixated on me. He removed the bag hesitantly, causing Chloe’s sticky blonde hair to disperse from under the bag.
He regretted it. Once the cloth bag was removed, she moved her left leg to adjoin her right, sat up on her knees and smashed her head hard onto the guard’s. His sunglasses toppled and then fell to the ground as I quickly reached for the revolver inside his holster, took it out and pushed him away from Chloe, although he managed to slap her hard on her face, before regaining his composure on the ground.
I glanced at the door and lifted the end of the revolver at his head, placing my hand around Chloe. The guard glanced at the door as well, appearing to be ready to call for help.
‘Drop the knife now!’ I said.
He did so hesitantly and looked again at the door.
‘Push it in my direction.’
He hesitated, so I repeated myself. Then the knife was between my feet. I quickly bent down and took it with my left hand. Gesturing quickly to Chloe, she leaned closer to me with her back. I set her hands free and squinted at the operative, seemingly readying himself to run to the door.
I knew how they did it. I played these games back home, but I played them as games, not real life scenarios, where they could put an end to your life.
I cocked the hammer tentatively, aimed at the operative and breathed in. Chloe pulled the handle down behind us, ready to run as well.
‘Let’s go,’ she said.
My eyes met his, he squinted as though to tell me not to do it. And I pulled the trigger.
Three rail cars, then we were faced with a train track and snow piling up along the sides. It wasn’t a tough choice, because when we looked behind us, the operatives were flashing their guns and running through the rail cars. Towards us.
We jumped.
It was a cold night. We were walking fast and with large steps, breathing heavily and forming tiny clouds into the humid void. It had stopped raining but the breeze had turned into a ferocious wind, making it even worse than having to walk under and on the watery snow.
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my story, please make sure you follow me on Medium (Tariq Gharra).
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