The Hitman: Dirty Rotters
“I ran across the tops of single door boxcars, jumped from one to the other, on and across the line of tankers and empty flatbeds, and kept moving, too determined to allow fear to linger. I held on tight when I needed to and ran fast when I could. I was going to the nose of the train. I was going to stop it and take it over.
After a mile, it slowed on its own.
It came to a stop finally as I sat perched at the front edge of a boxcar, listening and looking. We were in the middle of nowhere. Trees ...and fields surrounded us like black ink blotches. The air had grown cooler. My nose was runny and my eyes were watery. My sweatshirt was wet with sweat. I pulled the hood down from over my head and listened hard. I heard nothing. No movements. No rusty doors opening cautiously. No voices barking orders. I had assumed that a warning call was made to the train conductor from someone back in the yard. I looked back, wondering how far Frank had made it, but the trees, rails, and dirt all blurred into the darkness and I made nothing out past the end of the train.MoreLess
After a mile, it slowed on its own.
It came to a stop finally as I sat perched at the front edge of a boxcar, listening and looking. We were in the middle of nowhere. Trees ...and fields surrounded us like black ink blotches. The air had grown cooler. My nose was runny and my eyes were watery. My sweatshirt was wet with sweat. I pulled the hood down from over my head and listened hard. I heard nothing. No movements. No rusty doors opening cautiously. No voices barking orders. I had assumed that a warning call was made to the train conductor from someone back in the yard. I looked back, wondering how far Frank had made it, but the trees, rails, and dirt all blurred into the darkness and I made nothing out past the end of the train.MoreLess
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