Zero Hour

A wave of shouting erupted. The sound of a scuffle and someone being thrown around reverberated throughout the railcar. A moment later, a man about Kurt’s height was dragged out of the room. Beside him was a young woman. They looked like newlyweds.

The leader examined them. “No,” he said without emotion, “not them.” Then he hauled off and punched the defenseless man. “That’s for resisting.”

The man sagged, held up only by the two bandits. Their leader wasn’t done. He wound up and kicked the man in the chest, sending him tumbling back into his compartment.

Every instinct in Kurt’s body told him to intervene, but the headman was clearly armed, and his two henchmen might have been. Besides, he had one job right now: keep Hayley Anderson safe.

He went to the window again, preparing to smash it. Charging out into the dark and battling one opponent seemed like a better play than a close-quarters fight against three.

He grabbed a chair and raised it over his head. Before he could use it, the door flew open.

“Drop it!” a voice shouted.

Kurt let the chair go, and it clattered to the ground.

He turned around slowly as the intruders measured him up and gave Hayley the once-over.

“I assume you guys are here for the dishes,” Kurt said, pointing to the pile of flatware, cups, and glasses on the floor.

The two men looked down, their eyes instinctively drawn in the direction Kurt had pointed. It was an amateur response, but they were amateurs, local muscle hired to do someone else’s dirty work. In the fraction of a second before they corrected their mistake, Kurt moved. He pivoted on his left foot and fired his right leg toward the closest man’s gut.

The heel of his boot hit like a pile driver and knocked the man backward. He crumpled like a folding chair, sucking wind and grabbing his stomach as he hit the ground. The second thug lunged at Kurt, his huge pawlike hands going for Kurt’s neck.

Kurt blocked the effort, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it. Using the attacker’s considerable momentum against him, Kurt spun him off balance and body-slammed him to the ground. The man hit the floor with a thud, and Kurt dropped down and hammered him with a forearm smash to the face.

He would have slugged the guy again, but he knew the boss would be coming. He spun to his feet and turned.

It was too late.

The gaunt leader of the crew was already there with a black pistol in hand, holding it sideways, gangster style. He studied Hayley, nodded approvingly, and then turned back to Kurt.

“I don’t need you,” he said.

Kurt dove to the right as the man fired mercilessly. The first shell missed, the second grazed Kurt’s arm. The third bullet shattered the window behind him. Before the would-be killer could trigger a fourth shot, a different sound rang out. It was a sickly thud, like the sound of a broken-bat single being hit in a baseball game.

The gunman’s head snapped forward, and the pistol flew from his hand. He fell into the cabin, hitting the table and splaying on the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Behind him, Joe Zavala stood in the doorway with a piece of cabinetry in his hands.

Kurt snatched up the black pistol. “Way to make an entrance.”

Joe gri

The leader was out cold, the other two assailants were moving but not interested in any more combat. They hadn’t expected to take a beating, and now that they were outnumbered and outgu

Kurt pulled the mask off the leader. “Anyone recognize this face?”

Joe shook his head, Hayley did likewise. “Never seen him before,” she said.

“I figure they’re not our friends from the flooded mine,” Kurt replied.

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that we’re still conscious,” he said.

A radio began to squawk in the downed leader’s pocket. “What’s the delay? We heard shooting. Do you need assistance?”

This time, Kurt thought he recognized the accent. “Russians?”

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Joe said.

“What are they doing mixed up in this?”

“No idea,” Joe said. “But I saw another group of them heading to the back, where the caboose would be if this train had one.”

“And at least two more outside,” Kurt said.

Kurt aimed the pistol at the man with the busted face. “How many friends did you bring to this party?”

The man answered slowly. “Eight or nine in the truck. I didn’t count ’em.”

Kurt pointed to the Russian. “How many like him, the guys who did the hiring?”

“There were four of them.”

Kurt looked up. “That means at least three more with guns.”

“And plenty of muscle to do the heavy lifting,” Joe added.

“We have to get out of here,” Hayley said.

Joe nodded. “The lady is a rocket scientist. We should probably listen to her.”

Kurt couldn’t have agreed more, but how and to where? Going on foot into the outback wasn’t going to get them very far.

The radio squawked again. “Victor, respond. What’s happening?”

Kurt grabbed the radio and pressed the talk switch. “Victor’s not available right now, mostly because he’s taking an unintended nap. But please stand by, your call is important to us.”

“What are you doing?” Hayley asked, her eyes all but bugging out of her head. “Now they know we’re here.”

“They already know we’re here,” Kurt said. “Thanks to Joe, we took the first round. Time to go on the offensive, at least enough to throw a little doubt into their minds.”

The radio crackled. “Screw with us, and you’re going to regret it,” the voice growled.

“We’ll see about that,” Kurt replied. “Just so you know, I have your friend Victor’s gun, and, unlike him, I don’t miss what I shoot at.”

Kurt figured that would give them something to worry about. He stepped outside and checked the corridor. Seeing it was clear, he motioned for Joe and Hayley to follow.

He figured the group that went to the back of the train was now headed forward at double speed. He had a plan to slow them down. Making a few threats was the first step, finding the breaker panel at the front of the car was the second. He flipped it open just as the radio came to life again.

“Leave the woman, and you get to live.”

Kurt put his hand to the car’s master switch and spoke into the radio once more. “You want her,” he said, “then come and get her.”

With that, he flipped the switch, cutting power and plunging the fifty-foot car into darkness. A wave of muffled shouts came from the passengers.

Kurt ignored them and continued to the forward door, not hesitating for even a second. He pulled the door open and stepped through. Joe and Hayley followed. And all three stood in the gap between the cars out on the coupler.

“I hope you have a plan,” Joe said.

“Don’t I always?”

“I’m not sure you want me to answer that right now.”

Kurt studied the metal plating that covered the knuckle-shaped coupler below them. Next, he looked up, glancing through the dusty window into the railcar ahead of them.

It was an observation car. Warmly lit, half full. The passengers inside were hunkered down in various places, hands on their heads, too scared to move. At the far end, he saw two more of the hijackers.

“Check the sides.”

Joe and Hayley peaked around the edges of the car, looking backward.

“Our friend is still out there,” Hayley said. “He’s got a partner now. They seem to be ambling this way.”

“There’s a guy on this side too,” Joe said, “also coming forward. Probably moving in lockstep with the men inside.”

“Which means my plan is mostly working.”

Joe’s eyebrows went up. “Mostly working? We’re almost surrounded.”

“Exactly,” Kurt said.

Joe looked confused. “I’m not sure I want to know what total success looks like.”