Fourth Generation

III: Aces are Always Alone

I tighten my rugged brown backpack holding only a water bottle, a knife, and a black ball cap. Lowering my stance I tighten my laces and wait in a bush, my heart slamming into my rib cage.

The growl of the train's engine and the squeak of the breaks come to a halt. Looking down the track I watch men load a crates while machines do the rest. Swiftly I yank up my black balaclava over my nose to mask my identity. My eyelids drop and I take a breath in through my nose and out my mouth to steady my neves.

Finally, the train begins to move. The men yelling at each other to watch for runners and make sure everything is on and everyone is out of the boxcars. I dig holes with the toe of my shoe to get better grip. My worn runners kick up the loose dirt as I wait. The connecting rod attached to the wheels move up and over before plunging again. The rhythmic tune of my past burns into my ears as a boxcar with an opening approaches. My legs lung forward involuntarily, my muscle memory guiding me towards my destination. My instincts are honed to my surroundings and my heart in tune with that of the trains engine.

My feet push off the ground and I leap into the open, rusted boxcar. It's dark and damp, the wooden floor rotting. Most importantly it's quite, no one had seen me hop onto the train. Instantly, I push myself between a few boxes and pull my balaclava down to take in fresh air. Hiding in the shadows and letting the sound of the wheels whistling on the tracks lull me into a sweet memory.

The sound of the train racing across the rail soothed my nerves. The weight of the chocolates resting on my stomach was like the weight of a first place metal. Sweet victory.

"Eagle," President called. "One of these days you'll give me one of your chocolates."

I shook my head as I laid on the floor. I popped another piece of chocolate into my mouth and chewed soulfully. "Get out of here loser."

President leaned over me, "Are you seriously going to eat all of those?"

"Are you fat shaming me?" I scoffed and kick his chin playfully.

"Just give me one." He pleaded and fell to his knees. "Please?"

"No." I pushed him away with my foot as I popped another chocolate into my mouth.

"You always leave two extra every night you go train running." President pouted. "Why?"

"Hey," I sat up and swallowed the chocolate. "You're breaking rule number three; no personal questions."

"Either you answer the question or give me a chocolate." He bargained.

I sat contemplating his offer and decide to lay back down. "No thanks. You have nothing to offer anyways."

"Hey!" He kicked my foot. "What if I give you 25% my profits next run?"

I raise a brow and peer up into his smirk before closing my eyes. "Fine. I always save something for my little brother. That way I feel like I came here for a reason."

President sat down beside me and leaned back. He reached over and snagged the third last chocolate in the tin. "That answer only deserves 10% of my profits."

Thump!

My eyes shoot open and my heart plummets into my stomach. The train hasn't stopped and all the boxes seem to be in place. Peaking around the corner of a wooden crate I spot a large dark figure. Their hands pressed to the floor and their body heaving as they take large breaths. A yellow light passes the boxcar opening and a stream of black ivory hair is exposed from underneath the hood. Steadily they stand up and walk over to a wooden crate and sit down absorbed into the shadow. Sliding the black hood away they rest their face in their hands. They lift their head up just in time for a warm, yellow light to filter across their face for a moment. 

My lips part as I get a quick glimpse of a beautiful, strong figured man. His hair is cut cleanly, a strand flopping over his brow. His quintessential body sits ruggedly on a crate. His hoodie is pulled up to his elbows exposing his sculpted forearms.

As light fades and I smack my admiration down, forcing my eyes away, but when another light approaches I take a second glance. He is strong and looks out of place in a boxcar. As I try to hide behind the boxes again he looks up and catches my eye when the light falls onto me. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach drops.

"Hello?" He calls, his voice clear and calm, "Who's there?"

I wince knowing it'd be far more creepy for me to stay behind the boxes than to reveal myself. "Hey," I reply, my voice partly muffled from the balaclava that covers my mouth. Taking a step out of my shadow I can only see his silhouette standing.

The man reaches for his backpack and lowers his voice, "Reveal your face. Who are you?"

I squint at him and shake my head, "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. It's against the Train Runner's code. Rule number one; never state your name. And rule number two; never reveal your face. If one of us gets caught it's to ensure no one knows the others identity. It's to protect each other."

The man sighs and drops his hand from his backpack. "So, you aren't one of them. What's your code name?"

"Wait," I pause and take a closer step towards him. "One of who?"

"One of the patrolling officers," the man stares puzzled at me, "you should know. The men who've been hiding in open boxcars hoping to catch Train Runners."

My eyes widen slightly as the knowledge sinks sullenly, "Oh, right." I could've been easily caught if I hadn't found out. "I'm Eagle," I walk across the boxcar's soft wooden floor and sit a few feet away from him. "Yourself?"

"Ace," he lowers his voice and plops down onto another crate. "What are you getting?"

I shift wondering if I should lie. The last time I opened up I fell in love. "Stuff," I mutter, "why do you ask?"

"Just trying to start a conversation," Ace takes his emerald eyes and throws them towards me. "I'm trying to get food."

My heart falters and I feel guilt slide down my throat. "I'm sorry. I take it you are from the Third Generation then."

"Home sweet home," Ace whispers and shakes his head, tossing his loose hair. He doesn't look like he should belong to the Third Generation. The only thing contradicting that thought is his ragged cloths, dirty face and slouch. He appears too sophisticated, and handsome to be here.

"I'm grabbing springs and a few other things," I sigh and rest my elbows on my knees as I lean forward. "Someone important to me needs them."

Ace nods but never replies, worried to pry into a touchy subject. I'm grateful he doesn't.

₪ ₪ ₪

The train begins to squeak as it slows down, my head snaps up. I move to the edge of the boxcar's opening preparing myself to leap and sprint.

"This is your stop too?" Ace meets me at my side and peers out at the trees.

Glancing up I nod, "maybe I'll see you on the train ride back. That is if you make it back."

Ace smiles and stares down at me, "I always make it back. It would be nice to see you again, but I travel alone. Maybe we'll cross paths again, or we won't." Without hesitation I watch Ace fly off the edge and land stealthily before disappearing into the woods.

"Maybe," I whisper, knowing he'll never hear me, or more likely never see me again. Taking in a sharp breath I too hop out of the boxcar. Tumbling to the ground I roll over before running to the woods. Adjusting my balaclava and securing my black cap on I head for the Second Generation's market. They should be closed, and hopefully unguarded.

It's been a long time since I've stolen something. I hate to admit it, but the sick flutter in my stomach makes me crave the adrenaline that waits for me beyond the wooden trunks rooted to the ground. I promised myself it'll be the last time, but I wish it wasn't.