Raven's Fall (World on Fire Book 2)

by Lincoln Cole

  Abigail waited until he walked past her, heading toward the front, and then climbed atop the bar quietly. Her foot scuffed on the faux-wood, and he started to turn toward her, but she leaped out at him before he could react. She kicked him in the face and knocked him to the ground.

  He hit hard but tried to find his feet immediately. Abigail rushed forward, kneeing him hard in the jaw and grabbing the gun so that he couldn’t get a good hold on it.

  He managed to land a solid punch to her stomach, knocking her wind out, but she retaliated by kicking him hard in the testicles. He winced and let out a groan, and then she punched him in the throat.

  Abigail followed that by slamming his head into one of the seat backs of an aisle chair, and he fell to the ground, unconscious. Then she picked up his rifle, hoping she wouldn’t need it, and headed toward the rear of the railcar.

  The door leading out, while latched, wasn’t locked. She slid it open. The wind whistled in around her. The sound of the train intensified.

  A small metal platform connected the two railcars. Hitched at the center, it had a pathway no more than half a meter wide. Each car extended a pair of railings, about waist high, that met in the center, making it a little easier to cross from one car to another.

  The train hadn’t reached full speed yet, so she had no trouble in stepping across to the next passenger car. The air felt bracingly cold as she went, whipping over her skin and raising gooseflesh on her arms. A latch held the outside of this car as well, and it also proved unlocked.

  Seats packed the otherwise empty railcar, two on each side of a central aisle. Abigail headed down the row. The lights flickered overhead occasionally as the third rail disconnected. It felt eerie moving through the quiet railcar with snow falling outside. It had a detached feeling to it.

  Without incident, she made it to the far side and looked through the window at the next car in line. This one seemed empty too, and so she made the trek across the snowy divide. Bitterly cold, she wished she’d brought a heavier coat. To be honest, she hadn’t expected to spend any time outdoors.

  When she moved into this next car, the opposite door opened a crack. Someone was coming in the opposite way; probably guards doing a sweep to make sure no one like her had come aboard.

  Quickly, Abigail slid the door closed behind her and ducked down into the seats. She glanced through an opening in the chair backs and watched two bundled up men enter the railcar and move forward through the aisles. They carried assault rifles and walked toward the front at a brisk pace.

  Abigail ducked low, knowing she wouldn’t have anywhere good to hide when they made it up to her seat. She still had the assault rifle but didn’t want to use it. The gunshots would alert everyone in the nearby vicinity to her presence, and that would change things from dangerous to hopeless in but an instant.

  Crouched as low as she could, Abigail slid partway under the seat and scrunched into a ball. The footsteps approached, and she grabbed the hilt of her revolver. The rifle wouldn’t do any good in such close quarters and would serve more as a liability than an aid.

  She weighed her options: either she had to jump up now and use her momentary surprise to take out the two guards, or she would have to hope for the best—that they might walk by without noticing her.

  If she stayed tucked into her little cubby, and they spotted her, it would take several seconds to extricate herself. Too long, and most likely, they would execute her before she could mount a defense.

  Still, taking them out now meant alerting the entire train to her presence and giving up her surprise. Having all fifteen guards descend on her at once would be a worst-case scenario.

  Better to stay low and pray for the best.

  Luck stayed with her. The lights flickered just as the two men reached her section of the train. They went off for a few seconds, and by the time they came back on, the men had passed. The door she’d entered from slid open to allow the men to pass to the railcar she’d just vacated, and then it closed, leaving her alone once more.

  It would only take a few minutes for them to find their downed compatriot. Abigail regretted not dragging him behind the bar, but she couldn’t worry about that now. She climbed out of her hiding place and rushed down the aisle and toward the door leading further along the train.

  The snow had picked up outside, and she could barely see through the windows anymore. When she opened the door, she saw that the train headed into the mountains, weaving up and down switchback trails and across rocky terrain. No sign of the city remained behind them, or any other sign of life.

  Hopefully, Dominick would manage to navigate through the storm, but it seemed doubtful. Though not snowing too heavily yet, the storm had picked up and would make flight dangerous.

  Still, if any pilot could handle weather like this and make it through to the other side, Dominick could.

  As a little girl, she’d always loved riding trains. Abigail had even—though she would never admit it—wanted a toy train set of her own to snake around her room.

  Arthur had taken her across the US from east coast to west, and once, they’d even managed to ride the trains in Siberia, though only for a short leg of the journey while he went on a mission.

  Abigail kept moving further back down the train until she stood in the car ahead of the one where they held Frieda. She crouched low and moved slowly, carrying the rifle and trying to decide her best course of action for freeing Frieda.

  Though she had a healthy respect for assault rifles, she’d never gotten accustomed to using them. Arthur considered them a crutch because they were too difficult to obtain in most countries.

  He had forced her, instead, to train endlessly with holdout pistols and small arms and only shown her rudimentarily how to shoot anything heavier. She’d fired them enough, though, to know she could hit her target.

  At sixteen, she got her first gun. Arthur had asked what kind she would prefer, and she’d told him she wanted a revolver just like his. At the time, it proved almost too big for her to carry, and the kick enough to put her on her butt. Now, though, the weight felt comfortable, and she loved the reliability.

  Abigail moved to the window and glanced into the next car. Another first-class railcar with a bar and only a handful of seats. In the center of the car, in a ring, stood a group of six. She couldn’t see Frieda, but she did see the young woman standing at the center of the group with the curved dagger in hand.

  One guard stood ready with a rifle, and the rest held hands, chanting. The girl stood near them, watching carefully and supervising the group.

  The sight brought a flash of images to Abigail’s mind. She remembered being younger and strapped to a table. A group of cloaked people stood in a circle around her, chanting and performing some terrible ritual.

  She didn’t remember what they were saying or even how old she had been when this happened. These memories, she’d buried and tried to forget about, and so they remained hazy and unfocused. She pushed them away, shaking her head and focusing on the situation at hand.

  Abigail didn’t have a lot of time. Whatever they were trying to do, it involved Frieda, and she needed to get her out of there.

  Carefully, she slid the door open just enough to slip through, and then closed it behind her. Stood on the walkway between cars, she checked the clip on the assault rifle and prepared herself.

  No going back now.

  With a steadying breath, Abigail threw open the door to the first-class car, picked a few targets, and opened fire.

  Her first shot hit the guard carrying the rifle in the shoulder, staggering him. He dropped his gun and fell back against the seats, crying out in pain. She held down the trigger and swept across, emptying the clip into the crowd of cultists.

  The nose of her gun pulled up, and she ended up losing half of the shots over their heads, but it served its purpose. They ducked into seats and scrambled in confusion and terror, and she knew she’d hit about half of them with at least grazing shots.

&nbs
p; The clip emptied a lot sooner than she’d expected, however, and she drew her revolver.

  Abigail took aim at the woman with the dagger and pulled the trigger. The woman reacted too fast and managed to duck behind the seats and out of sight.

  Abigail continued firing anyway, not sure if she hit her or not. Her bullets would rip right through the soft red cloth of the seats, so she sent bullets in a spread pattern to cover as much area as possible. Abigail aimed for every spot where she thought the woman would hide.

  Once she’d emptied her gun, she spun open the cylinder, spilling shells onto the tracks beneath her. Then she reached into her pocket to scoop out another load of shells. Just then, three cultists leaned out of their hiding places to fire back at her. The rest had dropped under her barrage of fire, and two of these three men looked wounded but still able to fire at her.

  They forced Abigail to dodge back out of the way of the door. She slid under the side rail and put the metal wall of the railcar between her and the attackers.

  Bullets thudded into the metal walls, and occasionally, one ripped through and hit the next car in line behind her. Glass shattered when they blew out the windows around and above her.

  A metal ladder, built into the railcar next to her, gave her something to hold to keep her balance while she hung over the tracks. She used her free hand to finish reloading her revolver, snapping the cylinder back in place.

  Abigail grabbed hold of the railing and pulled back onto the walkway, waiting for the barrage of suppressing fire to end. As soon as a break came, she leaned in and took aim at one of the targets.

  Her first shot hit a cultist in the stomach, who had rushed toward her position. He fell back in surprise, collapsing into one of the seats with a scream of agony. The other two men still stood busy reloading and managed to duck out of sight, but she fired at their hiding places anyway. She felt certain she’d hit at least one of them.

  As soon as Abigail had fired her last round, the woman reappeared from her hiding place behind the seats. She bounded overtop and dove into a roll. She landed nimbly in the center aisle and rushed forward.

  Abigail tried to reload her spent shells, but wouldn’t have time before the woman fell upon her. Instead, she slid her gun away and pulled out the blade strapped to her lower back. She stepped up into the railcar and stabbed out just as the woman came in.

  Up close, the woman looked younger than Abigail had anticipated, maybe early twenties. Dark skinned, she may be of Middle-Eastern descent. Difficult to tell with the flickering lights in the middle of a gunfight.

  The woman dodged Abigail’s first attack, and then kicked out at her, forcing her to duck back out of the train. She backpedaled nimbly onto the narrow walkway and slashed back and forth with her knife, forcing the woman to maintain separation between them.

  One of her cuts drew blood on the girl’s stomach, but she didn’t seem to notice. She stepped right through the attack and punched Abigail in the side with a fist. Then she followed that with a kick to Abigail’s knee, and then another to her chest, knocking her roughly into the door of the railcar behind.

  Then the woman spun and slid the door closed, trapping them both out on the narrow walkway. Abigail caught her balance and darted forward, avoiding another kick and stabbing with the blade again.

  The woman countered, slipping under her attack and catching Abigail’s wrist in an iron grip. She yanked Abigail forward and knocked the blade out of her hand. It bounced against the side of the train and disappeared into the snow.

  Abigail kicked out, hitting her opponent in the knee, and then punched her twice in the face. The woman seemed to barely notice, maintaining her lock on Abigail’s wrist and keeping her close.

  Abigail tried to counter, ducking back and pulling the girl toward her, but her plan backfired. The woman yanked Abigail toward her instead, off-balance, and then threw her over the railing and toward the side of the train.

  She went flying into the air and scrabbled at the side for something to grab onto. Just in time, she caught the ladder built into the side of the train and clung to it, clutching the cold and slippery metal.

  Slowly, Abigail pulled herself back onto the ladder and climbed the freezing bars, refusing to give up the high ground.

  The girl leaped out at her, catching onto the ladder beneath and grabbing hold of her foot. Abigail kicked down, hitting the woman in the jaw, and kept climbing.

  When she reached the roof of the railcar, she slid onto it, finding her footing a few meters farther away on the roof of the train. It jostled underneath her, and it felt like standing on a sheet of ice in an earthquake.

  The girl followed her, stepping lightly onto the roof and rushing forward at Abigail. She launched a flurry of attacks, sliding across the icy surface, yet somehow maintaining her balance.

  Abigail dodged and punched, receiving a kick to her right leg but landing a few solid hits herself. They moved back along the train, and Abigail found it difficult to maintain her balance.

  She’d reached the back end of her railcar, and the one behind lay about two meters away. The closer she got, the harder it would be to make the jump. Abigail waited until they stood only a few steps away, and then turned and sprinted.

  She leaped into the air, clearing the distance and landing roughly on the next roof, where she fell to one knee and slid about another four meters before finding her feet.

  The woman pursued her, leaping the distance and landing in a rush. She tried to barrel into Abigail, who dodged her and let her slip past.

  The girl came to a stop several meters farther, turned, and then came sprinting back in, launching another series of attacks. Abigail countered, hitting her several times in the kidney with what should have been debilitating blows, but her opponent didn’t even seem to notice.

  Abigail connected twice as often as her opponent, but none of her attacks had any effect. They both slipped across the roof, and this was a battle of attrition, Abigail held the disadvantage. Quickly, she needed to find an opening and take out her opponent.

  A long and tall bridge drew nearer. It disappeared into the snow in front of the train, and when they passed onto it, Abigail couldn’t see the bottom of the canyon beneath them. It had to be several hundred meters high at least.

  With the snow whipping around them and freezing her skin, it gave her an intense feeling of vertigo.

  Abigail kept attacking, trying to find some weakness in her opponent. The snow had let up once more, but the roof had grown slippery and difficult to maneuver on as they fought.

  In the distance behind the train, a speck of light approached, but she couldn’t identify it from this distance. Hopefully, Dominick and his helicopter, but impossible to tell.

  Desperate and wanting to end things, Abigail drew her second blade, the one she kept tucked in her boot, and stabbed forward. She pierced the girl in the shoulder and drew a deep cut, but received a nasty blow in return.

  Abigail fell back, landing on the roof and sliding toward the edge. She scrambled, catching her balance, but her opponent refused to let up.

  The demon—the woman had to be a demon—kicked her in the side of the head, dazing her and knocking her farther down the train. Abigail stumbled back, reeling, and fended off a quick series of punches and kicks while she backed up and tried to put distance between them.

  Abigail tried to regain her composure but realized too late that the attacks were feints, as the woman repositioned to her side. She’d set Abigail’s back to the edge of the train, and they remained overtop the bridge.

  Only emptiness lay behind her.

  The demon came forward in a rush. Abigail tried to move and reposition herself back to the center of the roof, understanding what her opponent intended to do, but moved too late. She dodged a punch, but the following kick caught her full in the chest.

  Her feet left the train.

  Her body flew backward into open air. Abigail watched in slow motion while the train ran away from her. The demon g
irl, still on the train, watched as Abigail flew backward.

  ***

  “What was that?” Haatim asked, squinting forward through the snow. They flew just behind the train and had caught up quickly. Something, however, had just gone flying off the top of one of the railcars, maybe twenty meters in front of them.

  “Hold on,” Dominick shouted.

  Haatim glanced over at him, trying to figure out what he meant, and then the seat dropped under his butt. Luckily, he’d strapped in, so it dragged him down with it, but he had an intense moment of vertigo during those first few seconds.

  Dominick aimed the helicopter down at a sheer angle, pitching them toward the ground of the canyon. Then he rolled the helicopter sideways so that the blades wouldn’t have any air underneath them, and the helicopter plummeted.

  Alarms blared, warning them of the ill-advised maneuver. Haatim couldn’t help but agree. He hadn’t been in many helicopters during his life but felt fairly certain that they weren’t designed to do this.

  “Throw out the ladder!” Dominick shouted.

  “What?”

  “The ladder! Get it to her!”

  Haatim, all at once, understood, and his heart skipped a beat. “That was Abigail?”

  Dominick didn’t reply but turned his attention back to the dashboard in front of him. Rapidly, he threw switches, tilting the helicopter further and powering off the engine.

  Haatim froze in fear when the helicopter fell. He stared out of the window, unable to move, and with only the realization that he was about to die flying through his mind.

  “Move!” Dominick screamed at him.

  Haatim came back to reality, blinking, and unbuckled himself. He climbed into the back while the helicopter jostled in the wind, and then grabbed the rope ladder and pulled it free from its restraints.

  The rotors stalled out above them just as he opened the side door of the helicopter. His body moved mechanically while terror gripped him. The helicopter went into free-fall, nothing more than a huge brick heading for the ground. Haatim clutched the sidebar, and the frigid wind whipped into the area around him.