The people inside rushed to the hatch, startling Nate out of his thoughts. He backed up against the window, grabbing on to the plush seats for balance. They clawed for a way out the narrow exit, fighting like street dogs. Ignoring the fray, Nate vaulted over the backs of the tall seats to make it to the other end of the car. He had more work to do. The steel door from this railcar to the next was locked.
The handle was warm to the touch, but people stumbled and flailed in the smoke and heat behind the thick glass. They weren’t burned up yet.
“I’m going to get this door open!” he shouted. He could rewire the lock, but it would take more time than the people in the smoky car had. The pressure hinges would have to do. But the cables holding them together were too thick for Nate to cut on his own.
A handful of commuters hung back, allowing the rest to exit first. Nate whirled on them and coughed until his throat cleared. “I need another hand on this. Please. It’ll open the door!”
“You’re one of the sick ones.” A tall man with white hair and dark-brown skin approached with halting steps. He wore a suit finer than any cloth Nate had ever seen and a narrow tie with an elaborate pattern gleaming with little bits of metallic thread.
“No one here is sick anymore.” Nate struggled with the wire cutters. “And I don’t have time to talk.”
The man pushed up beside him and pressed his full weight into the cutters. For a long moment, their efforts were futile. Then the cutters snapped shut, and the wire gave. Nate wound it out of the hinges.
“Nothing’s happening,” the man said.
“Give the door a good push. Hard, with your shoulder.”
When the man pushed, it gave a little. Nate joined in, straining and digging his boots against the carpeted floor. The door gave way, falling into the car with a jarring thud, and they collapsed onto the floor with its momentum. The people inside stampeded toward the exit hatch.
The white-haired man rolled toward Nate and cast an arm out, bracing him from the feet trampling them, but it was no use. Passengers billowed from the flaming car like the smoke that chased them. They stomped and climbed over Nate, sharp heels biting. When the thudding blows finally stopped, Nate touched a painful, hot spot at his hairline, and his fingers came away bloody.
Nate scrubbed his hand against his pants, anger twisting his face into a grimace. Even after saving them, he meant nothing to the commuters of Gathos City.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said, pushing up onto his hands and knees as gingerly as Nate did and looking as bad as Nate felt. Blood ran down his chin from a nasty split lip. “They’re afraid.”
Smoke poured in from the other car. Nate’s anger dampened. They’d almost cooked to death in a metal prison. He’d walk over someone too, if it meant catching a breath of air after choking on poison.
Nate wondered what he’d do for Remedy if he had to. “I know.”
“My name is Ben. Thank you for doing that.”
Ben helped Nate up, and they approached the hatch shakily. The last few passengers in the car worked together, offering the wounded help up through the hatch. One of them gave Nate a suspicious look.
“This boy freed us.” Ben stepped between them and Nate. “Help him up.”
One of Nate’s tools fell. He reached with numb fingers, but wasn’t able to grasp it before the men lifted him up and pushed him through the hatch, out into the open air. Nate spun, trying to gain his bearings. Dres put an arm around his back, and Sandy ducked under his arm.
“I feared that might happen,” Dres muttered, wiping Nate’s forehead with a greasy rag.
“It’s not that bad.” Nate drew in gulping breaths. He was crying a little, but mostly from the smoke.
Gathos City passengers poured from the emergency exits of each car. At least they were smart enough to fear burning up more than they feared the Withers. They climbed down the ladders at each support beam like ants.
Sandy made a face. “Your head is bleeding.”
Dres reached down and helped Ben out of the hatch. Ben made a low, whistling sound. “It looks different. . .like this.”
“When you’re not speeding by?” Nate glanced back through the hatch at his wrench on the floor in the railcar but didn’t have the energy to go back for it.
“Yes,” Ben said absently. “There’s so much space.”
A robed woman in the crowd beckoned him, and he made his way down the ladder to the ground below and took her hand. She led him away to the crush of robed Servants, and Nate squinted. Something about the curl of her fingers was familiar, but the blood in his eyes blurred his vision. When he wiped his face, Ben and the woman were gone.
Nate hadn’t thanked Ben properly for trying to protect him in the train car. Crowds swarmed around the survivors from the city. They were swallowed up, part of the Withers now whether they liked it or not. Chest sore and head throbbing, Nate wondered if all he’d done was lead them to a different violent end.
“Careful there,” Dres said, taking Nate by the elbow. “You’re wobbling.”
Dres and Sandy helped Nate down the ladder. The moment Nate’s feet reached the ground, Reed’s arms wrapped around him like a vise.
