Chapter 13: The Train to the Ocean Trench
The rhythmic, ground-shaking thrum of the diesel engine vibrated through the metal floorboards of the boxcar. Maya bolted toward the ceiling access hatch, shoving against the heavy steel plate with all her strength. It didn't budge. The sudden jolt of the locomotive coupling with the line had jammed the locking mechanism completely shut.
Outside, the screech of iron wheels grinding against rusted rails filled the air as the freight train began to roll forward, accelerating smoothly down the coastal spur leading directly toward the deep-water industrial piers.
"Damn it!" Maya muttered, slamming her shoulder against the underside of the hatch.
The micro-SD card burned against her palm like a hot coal. She knew she couldn't break the steel plate from the inside without heavy tools. She swept her penlight across the interior of the boxcar, searching frantically for anything that could pry open the rusted side doors.
Piled near the rear wall were several heavy crowbars used by cargo loaders. Maya sprinted across the shifting stacks of documents, grabbed a rusted iron crowbar, and jammed it into the vertical seam of the sliding side door.
The train picked up speed, rounding a sweeping coastal curve where the roar of the Pacific Ocean crashed against the concrete seawall below. Through the small cracks in the door’s seal, she could see the dark, churning grey waters rushing past the tracks just fifty feet below. They were heading out onto the old trestle bridge—a stretch of single-track rail built over an underwater trench nearly three hundred feet deep.
With a final, desperate roar of effort, Maya threw her entire body weight against the crowbar. The rusted latch snapped with a deafening pop, and the heavy side door slid wide open.
Saltwater spray and bitter ocean wind whipped into the dark interior of the boxcar, tangling her braided hair across her face. She stepped out onto the narrow metal threshold, clinging to the iron handrail as the train hurtled across the trestle bridge suspended over the abyss.
Headlights flashed from the front of the locomotive. A figure stood on the front platform of the caboose directly behind her car, holding a long-barreled rifle aimed squarely at her chest.
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It was Marcus Thorne, his face bruised from her fire extinguisher blow, smiling wickedly against the howling wind.
"End of the line, waitress!" Marcus yelled over the roar of the engine, his finger tightening on the trigger.
