Chapter 13 - An Unexpected Ally
The old man held the match to the tip of an unlit cigarette, taking a slow, measured drag before letting the flame die. The ember glowed red in the darkness, casting long, wavering shadows across his weathered face.
“That was a hell of a jump, girl,” the man said in a deep, gravelly rasp. He wore a patched oilskin coat and heavy leather boots, the timeless uniform of a career drifter.
Hannah pressed herself against the wooden wall, her arms tightening around Leo. “Stay back,” she warned, though her voice was hollow and thin.
The man chuckled softly, exhaling a thin plume of smoke toward the open door. “If I wanted to hurt you, miss, I’d have pushed you back out when your fingers were slipping on that iron rung. Put the kid under your coat. He’s turning blue.”
The drifter reached into a worn canvas rucksack resting beside him and tossed something across the floorboards. It landed near Hannah’s feet with a soft thud: a heavy, dry woolen army blanket and an unopened bottle of clean spring water.
Hannah hesitated, watching him with wary, hyper-vigilant eyes.
“Name’s Silas,” the man said, leaning his head back against the timber wall. “Railroad police don’t shoot like that. The guys after you were wearing private tactical gear. Saw ‘em through the cracks before we hit the bend. You in deep trouble, miss?”
“They’re going to kill us,” Hannah said honestly, wrapping the dry blanket tightly around Leo and herself. The warmth was an instant, overwhelming relief.
“Well, this train doesn't stop till it hits the rail yard outside Chicago,” Silas muttered. “About six hours. If those corporate wolves have money, they’ll have spotters waiting at the terminal.”
“We need to get to the city,” Hannah murmured, remembering what Julian had said about independent news outlets. “We need a public place. A news agency. Somewhere with cameras.”
Silas took another slow drag of his cigarette, looking at the blood seeping through Hannah’s bandages. “You won't make it two blocks past the terminal on those bare, bloody feet, little girl. You'll collapse before dawn.”
He reached back into his pack and pulled out a battered, antique flip-phone wrapped in aluminum foil.
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“My brother runs a diesel repair shop half a mile south of the switching yard,” Silas said, holding the phone out. “He owes me his life three times over. If you need a ghost to hide you, he’s your man. But tell me the truth first... who is that boy?”
Hannah looked into the embers of the old man’s cigarette, her jaw setting with unwavering pride. “He’s the true heir to everything the people chasing us possess.”
