Overwatch

by Logan Ryles

  Reed gasped for air and let go of the roof with his right hand. He grabbed the exterior handle of the emergency door and jerked it up. The door opened, and he shoved his right foot into the gap before sliding to the right, allowing the door to swing open. He let go of the roof and slung himself inside the train. The door slammed shut behind him, and for a moment, everything was shockingly still.

  Feeling dazed and disoriented, he looked up to see terrified commuters standing at the front of the car, staring back at him with wild, terrified expressions.

  Reed walked forward, shouting over the clacking rattle of the train.

  “Get to the back! Hold on to something. Help the others!”

  No one responded. Reed raised his voice and pointed to the rear of the car. “Stand in the back! We’re going to crash! Grab the rails!”

  He shoved past the remaining commuters and to the front of the car. The tunnel disappeared around him as he jerked open the emergency door at the front of the car and stepped out onto the coupling between the cars. As he burst through the next door, he was already shouting,

  “Go to the rear car! We’re going to crash! Hold on to something! Move! Now!”

  The commuters screamed and fought their way past him.

  Reed pushed through and ran through the next two cars, shouting at the passengers and waving toward the rear of the train.

  “Move now! Get to the back!”

  The passengers moved with increasing urgency, pushing past him and fighting through to the back of the car. A baby screamed. A woman cried. Somebody shouted a blatant refusal to step out between the cars.

  Reed ignored them all and burst into the last car. Lights flashed outside the windows—they were passing through Kensington Station. As the lights of the city glowed in ambers and reds, gleaming in muddled blurs through the windows, the prerecorded voice of the announcer kicked in overhead.

  “The next station is Indian Creek Station. This is the end of the line.”

  Reed grabbed the handle into the driver’s pod. It was locked. He drew the Glock from his belt and fired four rounds into the handle. Screams burst from the crowd behind him, and he kicked the door, breaking the latch, and then jerked it open.

  Blood covered the floor. The driver lay stretched out in front of him with two bullet-holes in her chest. Reed lunged over her, and then he saw Banks standing to his left, outside of the dirty windshield, with her face pressed against the glass. Her hands were bound by cuffs to the security latch at the top of the door.

  Reed shoved past the driver’s seat and pulled the first red lever he saw. Something snapped, and the train lurched and slowed a little, but it didn’t stop. He jerked the lever again. It was limp now, flopping in its channel like a broken arm.

  One mile ahead, under a highway overpass and just beyond the offloading deck of the Indian Creek Station, red lights lit up the outline of the metal train stop. The train lurched over another joint in the track, and Reed grabbed for something to break his fall as the train raced toward the end of the line.

  Twenty-Seven

  Reed pulled himself to his feet and jerked the pistol from his belt. He fired twice into the window to the left of the door, then sent his fist crashing through the glass. Wind whistled through the interior of the car, carrying Banks’ scream with it.

  He pushed his arm through the hole and grabbed her by the arm.

  “Banks! Come toward me!”

  The wind tore the long blonde hair out of her face, and she looked up at him. “Chris?”

  “Come toward me!” He pulled on her arm, but she shook her head.

  “I can’t move! I’ll fall!”

  “I’m going to cut the handcuff. I want you to move to your right so I can open the door!”

  She shook her head again. “No, I can’t—”

  Reed didn’t wait for her to finish. He jammed the pistol through the hole with his left arm and pointed it toward the chain of the handcuff. He fired once. The chain burst, and Banks started to fall backward, but Reed grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the left of the train.

  “Hold on!”

  She wrapped her hands around the rubber of the window frame. Shards of glass still stuck from the edges, and she cried out in pain as they sliced into her hand, but she didn’t let go.

  Reed jammed the Glock into the holster and shoved the handle on the emergency door. It popped, but it was pinned closed by the blast of the wind. He pushed it forward, forcing it open far enough for him to slip through. He fought for purchase on the front of the car until his boot found the same narrow lip that he had used on the other end of the train.

  Banks screamed over the roar of the wind. “Let me in!”

  Reed shook his head.

  “We’re about to crash! We’ve got to jump!”

  “Are you insane?”

  Reed looked over his shoulder. Indian Creek Station was a hundred yards away, and less than four hundred yards farther, the train stop loomed up from out of the dirt.

  Reed didn’t have time to argue. He wrapped his powerful right arm around Banks’ torso and pulled her into him, twisting her around until they faced each other. He inched his way along the front of the car, clinging to the broken window frame with his left hand.

  “Grab my chest rig and hold on!”

  Her eyes were wild with panic, but she grabbed the chest plate, planting her face against the rough fabric. The train station flashed past them on the right, and nothing but a wide-open ditch and trees stood to the left of the tracks. Reed let go of the window frame, wrapped both arms around Banks, and then launched himself away from the car.

  As the train rocketed past, they flew through the air, spinning over the ditch. He clung to Banks like she was the only person left on Earth, holding her close with his arms wrapped around her back. An unearthly slamming and screeching sound exploded behind them, and then they landed.

  Reed hit the dirt, then rolled onto his back, tumbling over Banks as they crashed through the leaves and low underbrush. Dirt filled his mouth, and he lost his grip on her as his legs flew over his head and he continued rolling then slammed his hips into the base of a tree.

  The sky spun overhead. He twisted his neck and saw the train lying in a pile of mangled cars. All but the last two had flown off the rails and rolled into the ditch. The passengers were piled in the last car, and nobody moved.

  Reed tried to roll to his knees, but the pain was too much. Banks lay face up on the ground, still and silent, blood streaming from her temple.

  “No . . .” Reed hissed. He rolled onto his stomach and crawled toward her. Every part of him burned with pain, but he jammed his palm against her throat and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

  He clawed the phone out of his pocket and fumbled to unlock it before pressing the first contact.

  A female voice answered. “Where are you?”

  “Indian Creek . . . station. MARTA.”

  “Don’t move. I’m coming.”

  Reed collapsed.

  Please let her be alive.

  He heard the rustling of sheets first, then the faint feeling of something prodding his feet. His eyelids felt like they were weighted down by a ton of bricks.

  He tried to open his mouth, but his tongue was dry. He coughed, then he felt a tube prodding around in his mouth. Cold water flowed over his tongue, wetting his throat, and he gulped it down. The stream continued for a few seconds longer before it was removed.

  A grey ceiling filled his vision overhead, and he heard the faint whir of a fan, but he couldn’t see it through his blurry vision.

  “Can you hear me?” It was the familiar voice again.

  “Kelly. I can hear you.”

  “Excellent. Take your time.”

  Reed couldn’t remember anything. “Where was I?”

  A soft laugh. “The usual. Lying in the middle of a cloud of dust and chaos.”

  It sounded believable. His mind was fuzzy, but details began to return. “Banks.”

  H
e twisted his head and saw a short, brunette woman in her late twenties sitting on a stool next to him, her arms crossed as she stared at him. Thin hair was pushed back behind her ears, and her brown eyes flashed.

  “You mean the blonde girl?”

  “Yes.”

  Kelly grunted. “She’s alive. They had her in ICU at Grady, but I think they moved her to a regular room today.”

  Reed let out a sigh and slumped against the pillow. “Thanks, Kelly.”

  She snorted. “That’s it? You don’t want to know your situation?”

  Reed attempted to shrug, but the movement was painful. “I assume I’m alive.”

  “Yeah, you’re alive. You don’t deserve to be, but there’s nothing new in all that. You’ve got fractured ribs, a seriously sprained ankle, a deep bullet graze on your left leg, severe lacerations over your back, a definite concussion—”

  “How long?”

  Kelly raised an eyebrow. “Until you and I can take a tumble between the sheets or until you can get back to blowing people away?”

  Reed forced a smirk. “Is there a difference?”

  Kelly rolled her eyes and stood up, picking up a purse and shoveling personal effects into it. “You can go home tomorrow. I’ll have you loaded up with some heavy-duty pills. You’re beat up pretty hard, but nothing life-threatening. I stitched up your leg and put a brace on your ankle. Ideally, you should stay off your feet for a few days. But of course, you’re not going to listen to me.”

  Reed tried to smile. “You’re the shit, Kel.”

  Kelly lingered next to the bed, the keys dangling from her fingers. She stared at him a long time, then slowly shook her head. “Dammit, Reed. This is the last time. I’m not patching you up any more. I’m engaged now. I’m gonna settle down. Have a family. I can’t have you barging into my life every two months needing illegal medical care.”

  Reed closed his eyes and nodded. “Don’t worry. I won’t call you again. I’ll set you up with a sweet engagement present.”

  She smacked him with the keys, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that hers were rimmed with red. She leaned down and gave him a hug, then kissed him on the cheek.

  “I would have married you, if you weren’t such a scoundrel.”

  She stood up and walked toward the door, her tennis shoes squeaking on the linoleum. The keys rattled against the lock, then she turned back toward him.

  “Let her go, Reed. Whoever she is. I saw the look in your eyes when you said her name. Take it from me…you break hearts a lot better than you break necks.”

  Reed stared at her, standing next to the door. Her deep brown eyes were sad and quiet, but there was peace in them. Kindness.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow. The door shut and Kelly was gone. As silence filled the room, Reed tried not to think about her. He tried to push out the memories of the blonde girl with the ukulele—the smile on her face, her beautiful voice. The way her eyes flashed in the city lights.

  But as his mind drifted into oblivion, those eyes were the last thing he saw.

  Twenty-Eight

  Grady Memorial Hospital sat in the heart of the city. It rose above the tangle of concrete structures and streets, towering in all of its old glory as one of Atlanta’s keystone hospitals. Reed stood outside the main entrance and tilted his head back, looking up at the tall building. His neck hurt. Actually, his whole body ached, but Robin’s drugs were working all the magic he could hope for. They numbed enough of the pain so he could walk, and the rest would fade in time.

  Reed looked toward the northeast. He couldn’t see the west faces of the 191 building or the Equitable Building, but he knew they were both laced with crime scene tape. The blown-out window on the forty-fifth floor of the 191 building was patched with thick plastic, pending a full replacement. The bleeding mannequin was gone, as were the ropes from the Equitable Building. The news stories Reed read earlier that morning postulated on every possible explanation for the bizarre events just days before, including drugged-up homeless vagabonds, terrorists, and even a satirical article that blamed it all on Batman.

  The explanations for the derailed train were much more sinister, which was to be expected, considering the dead driver and all the mortified civilians on board. Several of the passengers sustained broken arms and concussions, but nobody died. Reed was thankful for that.

  The investigations into the events around the towers and the train would turn against him. Cameras inside the trains would have captured his face. They wouldn’t know who he was, and part of Oliver’s detailed recruitment program involved washing Reed’s fingerprints from national databases, so when the police found the abandoned submachine gun in the tunnel they wouldn’t be able to trace it back to him. But it was only a matter of time. Oliver would feed them what they needed to know, step back, and let the law do his dirty work for him.

  Reed knew he should’ve been gone already. Everything about his training and the voice of survival in the back of his head commanded him to go. Even now, at the front entrance to Grady, Reed almost turned away, but he couldn’t refuse the burning desire to see Banks just one more time.

  He adjusted the shoulder holster under a new Panthers jacket, pulled the ball cap low over his ears, then stepped through the sliding glass doors. The busy main floor of the hospital hummed around him, and he pulled the jacket closer around his torso as he walked to the elevator. With the heel of his hand, he pressed the button to select the fifth floor, and then pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and jammed it between his teeth. The elevator rose slowly, and Reed chewed and tapped his foot with methodical nervousness, feeling suddenly closed in.

  The doors opened, and he shuffled towards the nurse’s station, waiting for them to acknowledge him.

  “Yes, sir? Can I help you?”

  Reed glanced around the hospital hallways. The squeak of a wheelchair passed behind him. Computers beeped. A keyboard clicked.

  “Sir?”

  Reed clamped down on the gum, then without a word, shifted on his feet back toward the elevator.

  “Chris?” The excited voice rang from behind, and Reed stopped. He almost walked forward again. Almost hit the elevator button.

  He turned around, and Banks stood across the room wearing a loose T-shirt. Her left arm was held in a sling, both hands were bandaged, and on the outside of her sweatpants, she wore a brace around one knee. Her hair fell down behind her ears, and she wasn’t wearing makeup.

  The breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. She had never looked more beautiful.

  Banks broke into a big grin and limped toward him. Without hesitation, she wrapped him in a one-arm hug, pulling him closer toward her. “Chris! I couldn’t find you.”

  Reed shifted, keeping his hands in his pockets. He could smell her hair and wanted so badly to sweep her off her feet.

  She smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay. I was so worried.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t do anything but stare, but he swallowed the gum and coughed. “I was, uh . . . at another hospital.”

  “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice was so sincere. So innocent.

  “Yeah . . . I’m great. Just a few bruises.”

  She reached up and touched his cheek, stroking it with the tips of her fingers, then she stood on her toes and kissed him softly. Sweetly.

  Lost in the kiss, the world around him no longer mattered, and everything faded into perfect bliss.

  Banks leaned back. “Thank you.”

  Those simple words knocked the wind right out of him. He wondered how the hell this girl could be so calm. She was strapped to the front of the train and sent hurtling toward her death before jumping from the moving car and rolling into battered unconsciousness. She was kidnapped, probably harassed, and mentally tormented. She almost certainly thought she would die.

  Thank you?

  “I . . .” Reed didn’t know what to say. The knot in his stomach was like molten iron.

  “Who are you, Chri
s? Why were you there?”

  This was the question he dreaded. The one that kept him away from the hospital all morning, and probably should have kept him away altogether.

  “I was at the station,” he lied. “I saw the train pass. I just . . . did what I could.”

  The words stung him, and he wondered if she saw through the paper-thin sham.

  Instead of pressing for specifics, she tilted her head toward the hallway.

  “Come on. There’s somebody I want you to meet.”

  Reed hesitated, but she grabbed his hand. They walked down the hall until she stopped at a closed door. Blocking the way was a Georgia State police officer, glaring at him and cradling an AR-15 in his arms. Reed thought he was about to get frisked, so he tucked his left arm closer to his shoulder holster and started to turn back.

  Banks pulled him forward. “It’s fine, officer. He’s with me.”

  The officer grunted and stepped to the side. Banks opened the door, and Reed ducked his head, slipping into the room. Another officer sat in the corner with a pistol strapped to his hip and a rifle leaning against the chair next to him. A beautiful woman with long, dark hair and wearing a three-piece business suit stood next to the bed. She held a tablet and was busy tapping on the screen.

  Lying in bed, bandaged up with tubes and wires strapped to his arm, was Senator Mitchell Holiday.

  Reed relaxed his shoulders and allowed Banks to lead him toward the bed. The senator broke into a big smile when he saw Banks. She smiled back, and Reed forced himself to further relax his defensive stance.