“The Terror are going to kill me. They think I put up the picture of Violet. Razor’s going to kill me for hurting you.”
“They won’t hurt you.”
“You don’t know—”
“Promise you won’t hurt him,” I call out. “Swear to me as Razor’s girl that you won’t hurt him.”
“Doesn’t work like that,” Pigpen says real slowly, and my blood pressure plummets. It’s a boys’ club. Violet had said that. A boys’ club that’s going to get me killed—
“On my life,” Razor calls out. “He’ll walk out of here.”
Pigpen assesses Razor with a half-sarcastic grin. “Now, that’s how we work. Razor calls this clean, so I’ll drive Kyle home to Mom and Dad myself.”
Kyle’s arms give, and when I inch to slip out of them, he grabs on to my wrist. My heart shoots to my throat, but then he slides his hand into mine. Nausea knots my stomach. I don’t want to hold his hand, but I do want off this bridge.
With every step, I’m terrified he’ll change his mind. We’re farther onto the bridge than I thought. Too far for my liking, but at least we’re walking on the tracks in the middle.
Pigpen’s telling everyone to fall back and Razor’s staring at me as if his gaze is what is protecting me. Kyle pauses and anticipation builds. Not the good kind like the morning of your birthday. The bad kind. The type that suggests that death is taking note of exactly how your last moments should be.
“Let’s go,” I encourage him.
“I’m sorry. I mean it.” He releases me and a sickening sensation twines its fingers around me like a January wind. “Make sure you tell my mom that I said it and that I meant it.”
No. I know that hopelessness. I’ve seen it before. On Clara. The day she held a knife at her wrist. No one should look that way. Not ever. Kyle steps toward the bridge and I’m the one clutching his hand. “Don’t do this. Not now. We’ll figure it out. I swear we’ll figure it out.”
The metal beneath my feet vibrates and mind-numbing fear freezes my heart. “Kyle, it’s the train.”
A whistle in the distance and there are multiple shouts. Men yelling my name. Telling me to get off the tracks. “Go, Bre.” His eyes are hard and his jaw determined. “Go now.”
Kyle attempts to shake off my hold, and when I won’t let go, he shoves me. I stumble and the words rip so loudly from my throat that it scratches the vocal cords. “He’s going to jump. He’s going to jump or stay on the track! I can’t let him!”
Another whistle and it’s so loud that the hair on my arms rises. He’s going to die, and if we don’t run, we’re both going to die. “Don’t do this! Please don’t do this!”
The entire bridge shakes and Kyle quakes as he studies the churning water. “Tell my mom I loved her. Just tell her that I loved her.”
“Move, move, move!” Pounding of footsteps and an arm around my waist. “Let’s move!”
Tears flood my eyes, but the roaring of an engine causes my feet to scramble, me to move in the same direction as I’m being dragged. Pulling me forward, running with me, it’s blond hair, a black cut.
The green of the trees blur as we race for our lives, as we race to beat a train.
My lungs hurt, my legs burn, I trip in the rush forward and the strong arm lifts me and then we’re rolling. The scent of fall grass, then the air’s knocked out of me as we land and we continue to roll. Dirt and rocks embed into my skin.
I reach out, clawing into the ground. We finally skid to a halt and there’s only the deafening grumble of the train flying past. I whip my head to confirm Razor’s safe and then I scurry back, my arms and legs colliding against each other. It’s blond hair and blue eyes, but that’s not Razor.
“Where’s Razor?” I shout, but the train drowns me out. Pigpen’s on his feet and a wave of nausea crashes into me. Dizzy with dread, I yell Razor’s name, but there’s no reply.
Lots of black cuts. Lots of men wide-eyed and scanning the area. I’m frantic, desperate for a sign of him, desperate to see everything at once.
“Where is he?” Pigpen demands, and my mind rejects someone’s answer of “He went over. He was dragging that kid and it was close. He shoved the kid and they both went over.”
There’s a pain in my heart. So massive, so intense that I bend over. “Razor!”
My shout is swallowed by steel grinding against steel and the rhythmic clank, yet I try again. “Thomas!”
I can’t lose him. I can’t. The last car passes, the rumbling fades and a crow caws in the distance. I’m stumbling through the field, next to the track, and the men march toward the ravine.
“Thomas, answer me!”
“I told you, it’s Razor, but I like that name off your lips, too.”
My heart pulses hard as I drop to the ground and peer over the edge. A few feet down, sitting on a rock ledge, Razor raises his beautiful face in my direction. Dirt stains his cheek and there’s a rip in his jeans with a small amount of blood, but he’s alive. The mix between a sob and a laugh escapes from my mouth. “So I can call you Thomas now?”
“Considering the past few minutes, you can call me anything as long as I can hug you again.”
“Deal.” Movement near Razor and it’s an odd sensation of relief when I spot Kyle propping his back against the rock wall.
Razor catches my eyes and rocks his head for me to stay silent. “Get us help.”