* * * * *
A horrible screeching woke Su Kim Khan up. His body burned. It was numb with cold, and his ill-fitting, bright orange jumpsuit was wet and freezing.
He was moving.
He was in a boxcar, and it was slowing down.
Khan grimaced at the cold and at his incredible headache, forcing himself to uncurl and stand up. The boxcar was empty and black. He had closed the door after jumping in, he remembered that much. In the blind darkness, he peeled the soaked orange prison garb off and dropped it in a heap. He needed to get rid of it. And he needed to get warm.
Kneeling, he steadied himself against the rumbling and halting of the boxcar, staring hard into the blackness. He reached out, feeling the damp clothes with his rough fingers. Khan knew how to do this. Somehow, he knew.
He emptied his mind and thought only of her.
There was a spark. The wet clothes made a sizzling sound. A layer of flame spread over the damp material, drying it, burning it.
Khan warmed himself as the fire grew. Watching it, feeling it, breathing in the smoke, he had never felt healthier in his life. He laughed at himself for a moment, stood up to his full height, and started investigating the box car. It wasn’t empty after all, he noted; there were some boxes piled up at the other end. Khan dragged one to the fire and opened it, felt around inside. Some kind of heavy, soft material. Fur? He laughed and laughed. This was his lucky day.
Khan pulled the heavy garment on and warmed himself while there was still time. The fire was starting to die; his prison suit was almost completely reduced to ashes. Khan made his way to the large, rusty door and slid it open a little. He squinted.
Outside, frosted evergreen trees rolled by. The ground was blinding white, and an icy highway wound along the valley below. Khan frowned, wondering what time it was, and how much time had passed. There was no telling whether he was in Arkansas or Alaska.
The boxcar balked and squealed. Any minute now it would stop at its final destination, and Khan was smart enough not to wait for that. He ducked and rolled.
He didn’t roll far. He just kind of sank. The snow was well over two feet high. Cursing silently, Khan danced barefoot to the bottom of the hill, toward the highway. He scanned the roadside until he found a sign and squinted hard.
Toronto: 22 km
Oh, lucky day.
Vessel, Book I: The Advent Page 20
