you get what you
needed?” said Epstein.
“I think so. Enough to
know where to start looking for answers.”
We went down the steps
and started across the yard towards the warehouse. Roger was already at the
snowmobile, inserting the key. He picked up the spare helmet, came a few feet
towards us, then tossed it to me. I caught it one handed.
“I gotta get mine,” he
said, then turned and went into the warehouse.
“You made that exception
to your rules you never make,” I said to Epstein. “Thank you for that.”
“These are unusual
circumstances. Our cause is important, but no one is supposed to get hurt. I do
hope you will remember to contact me if you learn anything.”
“Count on it.”
We stood facing each
other as a slow freight approached, pulled by two diesel locomotives. The horn
wailed again, now much louder. The tracks began to rattle and the wind carried
the faint smell of diesel fuel and overheated brakes. A rush of air pushed
through the yard and then the locomotives were going by. Once they passed, the
sound level dropped from ear-shattering to merely mind numbing. About a dozen
freight cars rolled by with a rhythmic clumping. Behind them were flatbeds
bearing shipping containers.
Roger came out of the
warehouse, holding his helmet. He no longer had the rifle.
I turned to Epstein and
shouted over the noise. “So where are they watching us from?”
There are moments where
time seems to slow down and you see everything with startling clarity. The
bullet hitting Epstein was one of those moments. At his temple, where there had
been just thinning grey hair and pale skin, there was now a red hole, a perfect
circle. His eyes bulged briefly from the pressure inside his skull, only to
collapse back when the round exploded out the right side of his head, just
above the jaw line. A bright red mist of blood touched my face.
I somehow noticed all
that, even though I was already diving for cover, rolling between two of the
snowmobiles before Epstein's body hit the ground. I heard a metallic thud,
followed by the sound of another shot. I rolled to the front of the sled and
saw Roger standing against the warehouse, a stunned look on his face. He slid
slowly to a sitting position, leaving a bloody smear on the metal wall. He may
have been dead already, but someone made sure. A second bullet took away the
top part of his head. His body jerked sideways and toppled over.
I ventured a quick look.
There were two of them halfway up the hill beneath one of the electrical
towers. The spotter was already sitting on a snowmobile. The shooter was
flailing away at a tower leg with the rifle. He tossed the mangled weapon aside
and climbed aboard.
I put my helmet on and
jumped on the snowmobile, reversing away from the building and turning towards
the trail. The killers' sled was headed away, up the slope, and the train
blocked my way. If it didn't end soon, I'd have no chance of catching them.
Two men in coveralls
ventured out the door of the warehouse. One of them, an older man, had the
Winchester. He looked at the two bodies, then at me, then back at the two
bodies. He brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at me. I gunned
the throttle and took the sled in a wide arc away from the tracks, towards the
gate. When I got close, I saw it was not just closed, but padlocked. I
continued my turn into a circle. The old man fired, missing me and hitting the
trailer.
This was not going well.
I could only circle like a duck in a shooting gallery, hoping he didn't hit me
before the train ended, which wasn’t happening anytime soon. The container
laden cars were giving way to a string of five empties. Behind them were more
containers. I looked from the train to the rotting wooden platform, whose
sloping ramp might give me just enough height.
The last of the empty
cars was passing the platform. I redlined the throttle and took six hundred
pounds of metal and plastic up the ramp and into the air.
14.
The flat wall of
needed?” said Epstein.
“I think so. Enough to
know where to start looking for answers.”
We went down the steps
and started across the yard towards the warehouse. Roger was already at the
snowmobile, inserting the key. He picked up the spare helmet, came a few feet
towards us, then tossed it to me. I caught it one handed.
“I gotta get mine,” he
said, then turned and went into the warehouse.
“You made that exception
to your rules you never make,” I said to Epstein. “Thank you for that.”
“These are unusual
circumstances. Our cause is important, but no one is supposed to get hurt. I do
hope you will remember to contact me if you learn anything.”
“Count on it.”
We stood facing each
other as a slow freight approached, pulled by two diesel locomotives. The horn
wailed again, now much louder. The tracks began to rattle and the wind carried
the faint smell of diesel fuel and overheated brakes. A rush of air pushed
through the yard and then the locomotives were going by. Once they passed, the
sound level dropped from ear-shattering to merely mind numbing. About a dozen
freight cars rolled by with a rhythmic clumping. Behind them were flatbeds
bearing shipping containers.
Roger came out of the
warehouse, holding his helmet. He no longer had the rifle.
I turned to Epstein and
shouted over the noise. “So where are they watching us from?”
There are moments where
time seems to slow down and you see everything with startling clarity. The
bullet hitting Epstein was one of those moments. At his temple, where there had
been just thinning grey hair and pale skin, there was now a red hole, a perfect
circle. His eyes bulged briefly from the pressure inside his skull, only to
collapse back when the round exploded out the right side of his head, just
above the jaw line. A bright red mist of blood touched my face.
I somehow noticed all
that, even though I was already diving for cover, rolling between two of the
snowmobiles before Epstein's body hit the ground. I heard a metallic thud,
followed by the sound of another shot. I rolled to the front of the sled and
saw Roger standing against the warehouse, a stunned look on his face. He slid
slowly to a sitting position, leaving a bloody smear on the metal wall. He may
have been dead already, but someone made sure. A second bullet took away the
top part of his head. His body jerked sideways and toppled over.
I ventured a quick look.
There were two of them halfway up the hill beneath one of the electrical
towers. The spotter was already sitting on a snowmobile. The shooter was
flailing away at a tower leg with the rifle. He tossed the mangled weapon aside
and climbed aboard.
I put my helmet on and
jumped on the snowmobile, reversing away from the building and turning towards
the trail. The killers' sled was headed away, up the slope, and the train
blocked my way. If it didn't end soon, I'd have no chance of catching them.
Two men in coveralls
ventured out the door of the warehouse. One of them, an older man, had the
Winchester. He looked at the two bodies, then at me, then back at the two
bodies. He brought the rifle up to his shoulder and aimed it at me. I gunned
the throttle and took the sled in a wide arc away from the tracks, towards the
gate. When I got close, I saw it was not just closed, but padlocked. I
continued my turn into a circle. The old man fired, missing me and hitting the
trailer.
This was not going well.
I could only circle like a duck in a shooting gallery, hoping he didn't hit me
before the train ended, which wasn’t happening anytime soon. The container
laden cars were giving way to a string of five empties. Behind them were more
containers. I looked from the train to the rotting wooden platform, whose
sloping ramp might give me just enough height.
The last of the empty
cars was passing the platform. I redlined the throttle and took six hundred
pounds of metal and plastic up the ramp and into the air.
14.
The flat wall of
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