Chapter 2 - The Shadows on the Track
"Daddy, where did the music girl go?" June whispered, clutching Graham’s arm as the red emergency lights pulsed rhythmically against the dirty windows.
"Stay here. Do not move from these seats," Graham commanded, his voice dropping into the cold, authoritative tone he used when billions were on the line. The grief-stricken father vanished; the ruthless billionaire CEO took his place.
He gripped the leather journal tightly under his arm and stepped out into the aisle. The train was dead silent now, save for the anxious muttering of passengers and the distant hiss of escaping steam from the engine.
Graham strode toward the back of the car, his eyes scanning every row. How could a seven-year-old child vanish into thin air from a moving train car within a matter of seconds?
He reached the heavy metal door leading to the next carriage. It was jammed shut, locked from the outside. He spun around, heading toward the front. As he passed the conductor's station, he noticed the main radio console was smashed to pieces, wires hanging out like mechanical entrails.
This wasn't a mechanical failure. This was an ambush.
Suddenly, the temperature inside the car plummeted. The windows began to fog. Outside, the dense treeline of the valley loomed like jagged teeth under the moonlight.
Graham retreated to his children, his mind racing. He opened Eleanor's journal to the latest entry, his eyes scanning the frantic handwriting:
“Graham, if you are reading this, they found me. They made you believe the casket was full, but I have been trapped in the facility beneath the valley. Do not trust the inner circle. Do not trust Marcus. They are using the McKenzie tech to—”
The entry cut off into a violent ink smudge.
Marcus. Marcus Vance was Graham’s billionaire business partner, his childhood friend, and the co-founder of McKenzie Global Logistics. Marcus had been the one who handled the funeral arrangements. Marcus had been the one who consoled him when the police claimed Eleanor's car had plummeted off a cliff into an explosion so intense there was nothing left but ash.
Before Graham could process the betrayal, the heavy glass doors at both ends of the train car shattered simultaneously.
Shards of glass rained down.
Three men stepped into the carriage from the rear, and three from the front. They weren't common thieves. They wore tactical, matte-black body armor, night-vision goggles, and carried silenced submachine guns.
"Nobody move! Heads on your laps!" one of the men barked, his voice amplified through a throat-mic.
The passengers shrieked, instantly ducking. Graham shoved Toby and June onto the floor beneath the seats, covering them with his own body.
The leader of the mercenaries walked down the aisle, his heavy combat boots clicking against the linoleum. He didn't look at the luxury watches the passengers held out in terror. He didn't care about money. He stopped right at Row 14.
Right where Graham was.
"Mr. McKenzie," the mercenary leader said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "You have something that belongs to our employer. Hand over the bag and the child, and you might live to see tomorrow."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Graham growled from the floor, keeping his body positioned as a human shield over his children. "The girl ran away before the train stopped."
The mercenary raised his weapon, pointing it directly at Toby’s head. "We can do this the hard way, sir. Your status as a billionaire doesn't protect you out here in the dark."
From beneath the seat rows ahead, a tiny voice suddenly echoed.
It was Clara. She was singing again, her voice echoing from the overhead luggage racks three rows down. She had crawled into the baggage space before the ambush.
May you like
The mercenaries instantly spun around, aiming their weapons upward.
THE HOOK: As the red dot of a laser sight painted Clara's forehead, the floor beneath the train violently buckled. A massive explosion detonated directly underneath the tracks, tilting the entire train carriage at a terrifying 45-degree angle.
