Chapter 4 - Breach at Midnight"Down! Get down on the floor!" Hayes hissed, grabbing the back of my hoodie and yanking me hard into the narrow leg space beneath our seats.
The heavy metal door of Car C blew inward with a dull thump, sending a cloud of grey smoke billowing down the aisle. Passengers began to scream, scrambling over upholstery and diving into luggage racks as heavy combat boots stepped onto the vibrating floorboards.
"Sector clear," a cold, mechanical voice crackled over a tactical comms unit. "Target is female, twenty-seven, brown hair. Secure her alive. Terminate any civilian interference."
My breath hitched in my throat. I pressed my palm hard against my mouth to silence my breathing.
Through the small gap between the seat legs, I could see their boots moving down the aisle. Step by heavy step. One row away. Two rows away.
"Hannah," Hayes whispered right beside my ear, his breath hot and ragged. He slipped something heavy and cold into my hand. It was a small, brass-bound notebook with singed edges—my grandfather’s original field journal. "Take it. Memorize the final cipher on page forty-two. If they take me, you swallow the page or burn it. Do you understand?"
"I'm not leaving you—" I started, but Hayes was already pushing himself up from beneath the seat, lunging out into the aisle.
"Hey! Over here, you cowards!" Hayes roared, swinging his heavy leather briefcase and smashing it directly into the nearest operative's visor.
Bang!
The muffled crack of a stun grenade echoed through the car, flashing a blinding white light that filled my vision with dancing spots of purple and green. I screamed, covering my ears as the sound of a scuffle—fists hitting flesh, heavy bodies slamming against seats—erupted right above me.
"Target secured!" someone shouted.
"Wait! This isn't—this is an old man, where is the girl?!" another voice cursed.
"Check under the seats!"
Before the heavy combat boots could pivot toward my hiding spot, the train lurched violently again, veering onto a secondary switch track with a screeching metallic roar. The sudden centrifugal force sent the tactical operatives sliding down the slick floor, crashing into the beverage cart.
Seizing the split-second window of chaos, I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, ducked through the broken vestibule door, and pulled the emergency release lever for the external side door.
Whoosh!
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Freezing Canadian air rushed into the cabin as the sliding door hissed open, revealing the dark, blurry rush of gravel embankments and pine trees rushing past at sixty miles per hour.
Without looking back, I leaped out into the dark.
