Chapter 7 - The Calculus of SurvivalTime seemed to stutter. The heavy freight locomotive was bearing down on us now, its massive headlight cutting a blinding white swath through the freezing mist, the squeal of steel wheels against iron rails drowning out the ambient sounds of the city.
Roman didn't drop his weapon. His stance remained immovable—feet braced, shoulders relaxed, every ounce of his weight balanced for a lethal strike.
"You think you won," Roman said, his voice remarkably steady over the roar of the oncoming engine.
"I know I've won," Miller replied, his smile widening slightly as he gestured with his pistol. "You're outnumbered, you're outgunned, and the train is about to block any chance of a clean escape. Drop it, Roman. Last warning."
Roman glanced sideways at me. For the first time since I met him, the hard, impenetrable mask of the syndicate boss cracked just a fraction. A strange, fleeting warmth flickered in those grey eyes.
"Odessa," he said quietly.
"What?" My heart felt like it was going to burst through my ribs.
"When I give the word, grab the leash and run for the second car of the freight. Don't look back."
"I'm not leaving you—"
"That wasn't a request," he interrupted, his voice dropping into a command that brook no argument.
Before Miller could process what was happening, Roman didn't fire at the men. He fired straight down into the rail switch mechanism beside his boot. A loud clang of shattering steel echoed through the yard as the track points jammed violently under the pressure of a customized explosive round.
The ground shuddered beneath us. The oncoming locomotive, caught by the suddenly forced switch, veered onto the parallel spur with a violent, deafening screech of grinding metal and throwing a wall of sparks thirty feet into the air.
Chaos erupted in a single second.
Miller shouted an order, but his guards were blinded by the blinding arc of electric sparks and the sudden, massive bulk of the engine sliding sideways between us and them.
"RUN!" Roman roared.
I grabbed Luna's leather lead with both hands. The black Shepherd didn't hesitate; she lunged forward like a runaway train, dragging me across the cinders with terrifying power. We scrambled up the steel ladder of a slow-moving boxcar as the freight train lumbered past the switchback.
I looked back just once through the swirling smoke and steam.
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Roman was standing alone in the clearing, two men firing blindly through the blinding white glare of the locomotive's lights, while Roman's weapon flashed in the dark like a star falling from the sky.
Then the massive black bulk of the boxcars slid between us, cutting off my view completely.
