Now. . .
"Who the hell are you working for!"
I swat the lady's book out of her hands and grab her by her neck, hoisting her a foot above the ground.
"Jason!" Circe yells, appalled.
The woman struggles, grabbing at my arm but my grip is tight. Her eyes are wild with fear, legs kicking every which way. I witness the conflict in her mind as she debates over keeping her character or keeping her life. The latter was the obvious winner.
She reaches into her waistband and whips out a pistol, the speed of the action telling me she knew how to use it. I catch her wrist with my free hand before she fires off a shot. The sound of the gun going off causes anyone who hasn't already vacated the train car to do so. And more than likely alerted the woman's backup.
I bring her face within an inch of mine. "You ready to talk?"
"Go to hell." She coughs, face the color a tomato.
"Good talk." I say, before slamming my forehead into the bridge of her nose. The woman's body goes limp.
I slide out the magazine of her gun. 14 bullets left.
Circe walks over and kneels next to the unconscious spy. "Very subtle, Jason. Are you sure she was a spy?" She says, feeling for a pulse.
"Most people don't carry around a 9 millimeter handgun. And don't worry about her, she'll wake up in a few minutes. Hopefully we'll be gone by then."
Circe stands, looking at me like I'm crazy. "The next station is still miles away. How are we-" I smile as the realization dawns on her. "Hell. No." She says.
"If you come up with a better plan, I'm all ears. But in the meantime, we gotta make our way to the back of the train. Grab your bag." I walk to the sliding doors connecting our car to the next and glance through the tiny glass window. Empty.
Circe shoulders her bag and stands on the opposite side of the door, back against the wall. "Do you know who we're up against?" She asks.
I hold up the woman's pistol. "Military grade, but no serial number. So unless the Governor gave up on trying to get you back, I think he sent some mercenaries after us."