Mildred who stood at the mirror, ignoring the man in the bunk.
“North? South?” Mildred shrugged, filling a disposable hypodermic syringe she had taken from her med kit. “I really don’t know. I can’t think of any Forks.
Maybe it’s a nickname.”
Ryan breathed a sigh through gritted teeth before turning his attention back to his captive. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was taken on this train against his will.”
The man in the bunk just looked at Ryan with those wide, scared eyes.
Ryan continued, gouging the barrel of his blaster into the man’s forehead once more. “What are you? Sec man? Is that it?”
“Yeah,” the man breathed, clearly terrified.
“You take prisoners? You do that?”
“Sometimes,” the man croaked. “Just kids though.”
“Just kids?” Ryan repeated, scowling.
The man struggled to breathe. “Mebbe sluts sometimes, I’m not…not sure.”
“Be sure,” Ryan warned him.
“Yeah. Gaudy sluts. Good lookin’ girls who should be gaudies. You know, guy?” the terrified man pleaded.
“No,” Ryan shook his head. “My friend is young-looking, very distinctive. He’s an albino. You know what that is?”
The man tried to shake his head but Ryan’s blaster point held him firm. “No.”
“Means he’s white,” Ryan told him. “Pure white, like snow. You get snow here? You’ve seen snow?”
“I see snow,” the man agreed. “Wintertime.”
“My friend’s skin and hair are colored like snow. You wouldn’t miss him.”
“I don’t…” The man in the bunk tried, but couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. His eyes fluttered.
“You don’t remember, you haven’t seen him? What?”
“I ain’t seen no one, man,” the man croaked. “Please don’t chill me,” he added, his voice high and squeaky.
Ryan took the blaster away from the man’s head but continued to point it at his face. “You are going to have to remain very quiet for me if I’m to let you live.” The man nodded, his lips clamped shut, and so Ryan continued. “And you are going to have to prove irreplaceable in your helpfulness to me and my people.
Think you can do that?”
The man’s eyes flicked across to his right, looking above his head for a fraction of a second, then he looked back at Ryan. “Anything,” he said. “Anything at all.”
Ryan stepped back slowly, his SIG-Sauer still trained on the man’s face.
“I can sedate him, if you want,” Mildred told Ryan.
She had found some ancient sedatives during their rummaging in the remains of military hospitals and the like, although she wouldn’t want to vouch for the reliability of these medicines these days. Sedatives, like everything else in the , inevitably expired.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ryan told her.
“Our friend here just wants to play along. Isn’t that right, friend?”
The man spun in the bunk, launching his right hand at a cubbyhole above his shoulder, obscured from view by the pillows of the bunk. “Screw you!” he croaked, pulling a snub-nosed .38 weapon from the cubbyhole and swinging it around to target the intruders.
Ryan’s bullet drilled through the man’s forehead in an instant, and the man’s blaster hand continued to swing around but his fingers never pulled the trigger.
The back of the man’s skull opened up as brains splattered across the bunk, the pillows and the Beachwood wall behind. Though loud in the contained area of the cabin, the noise of the blaster was negligible outside thanks to the racket of the train rocking along the tracks.
Mildred held her breath, looking at the scene for a moment as the man’s body twitched, its life departing.
“I thought we could sedate him,” she said quietly, “if he became rowdy.”
Ryan sighed. “Didn’t seem like the sedating type, Mildred,” he told her, his blaster still trained on the body in the bunk as a final muscle spasm jerked through it.
After a moment Ryan opened the door slightly, poked his
“North? South?” Mildred shrugged, filling a disposable hypodermic syringe she had taken from her med kit. “I really don’t know. I can’t think of any Forks.
Maybe it’s a nickname.”
Ryan breathed a sigh through gritted teeth before turning his attention back to his captive. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was taken on this train against his will.”
The man in the bunk just looked at Ryan with those wide, scared eyes.
Ryan continued, gouging the barrel of his blaster into the man’s forehead once more. “What are you? Sec man? Is that it?”
“Yeah,” the man breathed, clearly terrified.
“You take prisoners? You do that?”
“Sometimes,” the man croaked. “Just kids though.”
“Just kids?” Ryan repeated, scowling.
The man struggled to breathe. “Mebbe sluts sometimes, I’m not…not sure.”
“Be sure,” Ryan warned him.
“Yeah. Gaudy sluts. Good lookin’ girls who should be gaudies. You know, guy?” the terrified man pleaded.
“No,” Ryan shook his head. “My friend is young-looking, very distinctive. He’s an albino. You know what that is?”
The man tried to shake his head but Ryan’s blaster point held him firm. “No.”
“Means he’s white,” Ryan told him. “Pure white, like snow. You get snow here? You’ve seen snow?”
“I see snow,” the man agreed. “Wintertime.”
“My friend’s skin and hair are colored like snow. You wouldn’t miss him.”
“I don’t…” The man in the bunk tried, but couldn’t seem to finish the sentence. His eyes fluttered.
“You don’t remember, you haven’t seen him? What?”
“I ain’t seen no one, man,” the man croaked. “Please don’t chill me,” he added, his voice high and squeaky.
Ryan took the blaster away from the man’s head but continued to point it at his face. “You are going to have to remain very quiet for me if I’m to let you live.” The man nodded, his lips clamped shut, and so Ryan continued. “And you are going to have to prove irreplaceable in your helpfulness to me and my people.
Think you can do that?”
The man’s eyes flicked across to his right, looking above his head for a fraction of a second, then he looked back at Ryan. “Anything,” he said. “Anything at all.”
Ryan stepped back slowly, his SIG-Sauer still trained on the man’s face.
“I can sedate him, if you want,” Mildred told Ryan.
She had found some ancient sedatives during their rummaging in the remains of military hospitals and the like, although she wouldn’t want to vouch for the reliability of these medicines these days. Sedatives, like everything else in the , inevitably expired.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Ryan told her.
“Our friend here just wants to play along. Isn’t that right, friend?”
The man spun in the bunk, launching his right hand at a cubbyhole above his shoulder, obscured from view by the pillows of the bunk. “Screw you!” he croaked, pulling a snub-nosed .38 weapon from the cubbyhole and swinging it around to target the intruders.
Ryan’s bullet drilled through the man’s forehead in an instant, and the man’s blaster hand continued to swing around but his fingers never pulled the trigger.
The back of the man’s skull opened up as brains splattered across the bunk, the pillows and the Beachwood wall behind. Though loud in the contained area of the cabin, the noise of the blaster was negligible outside thanks to the racket of the train rocking along the tracks.
Mildred held her breath, looking at the scene for a moment as the man’s body twitched, its life departing.
“I thought we could sedate him,” she said quietly, “if he became rowdy.”
Ryan sighed. “Didn’t seem like the sedating type, Mildred,” he told her, his blaster still trained on the body in the bunk as a final muscle spasm jerked through it.
After a moment Ryan opened the door slightly, poked his
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