CHAPTER 18
THE RIDGE ALONG THE CANADIAN RIVER leading into Lone Star provided plenty of cover for our stealth approach. Better known as west Texas before the war, this region wasn't much more than cattle country and oil fields before Apollo put his stamp on it. Based on my first look at the place in person, there were still plenty of cattle and oilrigs. But I knew that Lone Star made a name for itself for different reasons these days-music and arts.
Apollo loved his music and if someone showed an inkling of talent, they were immediately transferred to Lone Star to work with supposedly some of the brightest in the music industry. Of all the reasons to hate Apollo, this wasn't one of them. He fostered a sense of musical appreciation that couldn't be ignored. Whether it was toe-tapping, string-plucking, knee-slapping, or head-banging music, Apollo encouraged it all. We'd all heard stories about the Lone Star's incredible music scene, but at the moment it was the last thing on my mind. We needed to find a way in without getting caught.
As we crouched behind a few boulders on the ridge discussing our options, two loud horn blasts from an approaching train startled us. We all looked at each other and smiled. This was our ticket in.
Oblivious to the train tracks before, we now noticed them on the other side of the ridge. The tracks seemed to come out of nowhere at first. I traced them back through a gulch with my eyes and realized that the farther away from the gates we boarded, the better. We all discussed our strategy before deciding it would be best to get on a train from farther away.
It was then that I realized we had exhausted our need for Amber Dancer. I wanted to keep her, but I knew it wasn't feasible. It would be challenging enough to get all four of us onto a moving train, much less a horse. And then what? Would we ride around Lone Star on a horse? Texas roots still shone through here from what I'd heard, but I couldn't imagine a scenario where people were still riding horses. I had to let her go.
Jags and I said our goodbyes to Amber Dancer before coaxing her to take off for the hills. She was reluctant to leave at first, but after a few minutes, she finally took off, free to explore.
I caught a tear streaking down my face. Why I struggled to say goodbye to her was difficult to explain. I'd said goodbye to an entire life-a life I hoped never to see again-and I didn't leak a single tear. Maybe it was because I couldn't think about it before. My life was in jeopardy and I didn't have time. Maybe it was all catching up with me, the emotion of leaving everything behind. But I broke.
Jags put his arms around me, comforting me.
"She'll be all right, Mel," he said.
I knew she would. But this journey grew more painful with each step. I didn't know how much more loss I could take. I'd already lost almost every friend I had when I decided to run. I likely lost my brother. And now I'd lost the horse that helped us escape. I just hoped I wouldn't lose Jags, too.
After a few minutes, I composed myself and prepared to press on. We had to hop onto a moving train if we were going to get into Lone Star. And we all concluded that if we didn't get into Lone Star soon, we might die here.
It took us about thirty minutes to find the tracks on the other side of the ridge. We waited to go down near the tracks until we spotted a prime location to hide. As we peered down from the top of the ridge, I spotted a giant boulder just around a bend. Everyone agreed this would be the best place to lie in wait for the next train.
We made our way near the tracks and waited. It was the worst part of anything, in my opinion. Waiting for anything irked me. I hated waiting for my food. I hated waiting for answers to my questions. I hated waiting for the right time to tell Jags how I felt about him. But waiting was necessary sometimes, an inconvenient disruption to my want-it-now approach to life. Yet I found that waiting often resulted in something good, if not better, than if I gave in to my impatience. In this situation, I had no choice.
In between hearing more stories about the horrors of the Farm and Paradise, we all practiced how we would mount the moving train-grab onto the railing and hoist ourselves up. The problem was none of us had ever done this before, like a bunch of people discussing how to fly an airplane without a single one of us ever having logged a minute in the cockpit. I grew bored of the discussion, knowing we'd all just have to figure it out when the time came-and hope we all boarded without any problems.
Early afternoon gave way to late afternoon and then evening. Not a single train had gone in or out of Lone Star. We wondered just how long we would have to wait.
Once the sun dipped beyond the horizon, the temperature began to drop. I mentioned that a fire would be nice. Ryker retorted that a supersonic private jet right now would also be nice-and neither was going to happen. His sardonic comeback annoyed me for a moment. I welcomed sarcasm most of the time. But I was tired and cold and hungry-three things guaranteed to turn me into a female version of an angry big foot.
I grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. He let out a scream.
"No need for the attitude."
I let go of his hair and he nodded.
About two hours after sundown, I gave up hoping that a train was going to roll into Lone Star that night. We'd just have to wait tomorrow, too. The full moon shone bright on our otherwise dark campground.
I was almost asleep when I heard the train engine roaring in the distance followed by a trio of horn blasts. A train was headed our way.
We all stood straight up and began discussing the order we determined by drawing straws. The shortest straw was the loser. Jags would go first, then Phillip, followed by Ryker. I was last. The order didn't much matter to me. But I figured it couldn't hurt to watch three people try to get on before me. I might learn enough to make my train hopping experience a smooth one.
The plan was to get on board somehow and then find an empty car we could hide in. Once we entered Lone Star, we were to jump out at the closest viable spot when the train horn sounded again. We determined this was the best way to stay together-or as close as possible.
We all stretched and limbered up like we were going to be running in a race. I found it all quite comical. Jags was about as limber as a steel chest. Though he was athletic, Jags' attempt at stretching was nothing short of a comedy act.
"Are you stretching or about to take a nap?" I asked.
He sneered at me but I smiled back. Anything to lighten the mood. This was a serious endeavor, one that could make or break us.
We waited for several minutes before the ground around us began rumbling. Before we knew it, the train wound around the bend and roared toward us. Jags took off running.
He ran parallel with the train and let the first half dozen cars pass before he got up the nerve to grab a ladder attached to one of the cars. The train jerked his arms straight out, and his legs flew off the ground as he struggled to pull himself up. It took only a few seconds but it seemed like minutes. Once he was clearly secure, he signaled a thumbs up to us-a signal that was barely visible in the moonlight.
Phillip and Ryker followed suit, both fighting to grab hold of the iron ladders welded to the side of the train. Then it was my turn.
The train chugged its way past me, seeming more ominous than ever. Everyone was gone, whisked on board by brute strength and sheer determination. Now it was just me, standing alone in the moonlight. I started to run.
Despite hitting full stride within ten seconds, I watched one car after another pass me by. I looked back to see my worst nightmare: the caboose.
If I was going to grab hold and hoist myself on board, it was now. The caboose was only two cars away.
I edged closer to the train before attempting to grab the ladder on the next-to-last car. For a moment, I thought I had it, but then my hand slipped and fell off.
Only one car left. I reached down as I ran and grabbed a handful of dust and dirt, rubbing my hands together to get a better grip. I looked back. This was my last chance. I lunged for the railing on the back end of the caboose-instead of slipping this time, my grip was sure. I held on for all I was worth. I attempted to jump onto the platform and my feet flew out from underneath me. I'm not sure how fast the train was going, but it seemed fast to me. I wriggled a bit as I tried to get my feet onto the platform extending just beyond the door of the caboose. It felt like minutes, but it was probably only a few seconds before I managed to maneuver my feet closer and get them onto something solid. I readjusted my hands and pulled myself over the railing and onto the platform. I heaved a sigh of relief. I had made it.
I peered around the side of the train, looking up the tracks. Lone Star was still a few miles ahead.
The horn blared into the night, making me jump.
Then the door at the back of the caboose flung open. A man carrying a big crowbar stepped out onto the platform.
"Hey, kid. What are you doing back here?"
I shrugged-and then he swung at me with his crowbar.