Chapter 7: The First Body

The train moved across the mountain bridge like a silver blade cutting through darkness.

Below, the valley dropped into nothing.

Snow-covered cliffs rose on both sides, pale beneath the moonlight. The wheels screamed against the tracks as the train continued slowing, but it did not stop. Not yet.

Claire Moreau pushed through the terrified passengers with Adrian Keller close beside her.

People shouted in different languages.

French.

German.

Italian.

English.

Fear needed no translation.

A young man grabbed Claire's arm.

What is happening?

She looked at his frightened face and hated that she had no answer that would comfort him.

Stay away from the doors.

That was all she could say.

Adrian reached the connecting door at the front of the carriage and forced it open.

The next carriage was darker.

No passengers.

No cages.

Only empty seats and luggage scattered across the floor.

The silence inside felt almost worse than the panic behind them.

Claire followed Adrian inside.

The door closed behind them, muffling the cries of the trapped passengers.

For a brief moment, the train seemed to hold its breath.

Then the speakers crackled again.

Unauthorized movement detected.

Adrian looked toward the ceiling.

They know where we are.

Claire kept walking.

Then we move faster.

They passed through the carriage quickly, stepping over bags, coats, and spilled food.

Everything looked abandoned in the middle of life.

A paperback novel lay open on one seat.

A child's drawing was taped to a window.

A pair of reading glasses rested beside a half-eaten sandwich.

Claire photographed as much as she could.

Evidence mattered.

If they survived, evidence would become the difference between truth and another buried report.

If they did not survive, maybe someone would find her phone.

Maybe someone would understand.

The train jolted violently.

Claire slammed into a seat and bit back a cry.

Adrian caught her before she fell.

You okay?

Fine.

You keep saying that.

Because I keep not dying.

He almost smiled.

The moment passed quickly.

Ahead, a service door stood open.

Cold air leaked through it.

A metallic smell filled the carriage.

Claire recognized it before she wanted to.

Blood.

Adrian smelled it too.

His expression hardened.

Careful.

They moved toward the service area.

The door opened into a narrow compartment between carriages. Emergency equipment lined the walls. A storage cabinet hung open. Several tools had fallen onto the floor.

At first, Claire saw only the blood trail.

It started near the cabinet and dragged toward the corner.

Then she saw the body.

A man lay on his side beside a maintenance panel.

He wore a conductor's uniform.

His cap had fallen a few feet away.

One hand remained stretched toward the panel as though he had been trying to reach something before he died.

Claire stopped breathing.

Until that moment, the horror of the train had been terrible but strangely distant.

Missing passengers.

Locked cages.

Masked attackers.

But this was immediate.

A dead man on the floor.

Real.

Human.

Permanent.

Adrian crouched beside the body and checked for a pulse, though both already knew the truth.

Dead.

Claire forced herself to look.

How long?

Not long.

Adrian examined the wound.

Single shot. Close range.

Claire swallowed.

They killed their own conductor.

Maybe he wasn't theirs.

That thought changed everything.

Claire stepped closer to the maintenance panel the conductor had tried to reach.

What was he doing?

Adrian followed her gaze.

Trying to access manual controls.

For what?

Maybe communications. Maybe emergency braking. Maybe door release.

Claire looked at the dead conductor again.

He tried to stop them.

Adrian nodded.

And they stopped him first.

The sadness came unexpectedly.

Claire did not know the man's name.

She did not know whether he had a family, whether he loved his job, whether he had expected this to be just another night route from Paris to Geneva.

But he had tried to help.

That mattered.

She photographed the body, the wound, the panel, the blood trail.

Adrian looked at her.

You can still do that?

What?

Work.

Claire lowered the phone slightly.

If I stop working, then this becomes just fear.

Adrian did not answer.

Maybe he understood.

Maybe he admired it.

Maybe he thought she was using professionalism to avoid falling apart.

He would have been right.

Claire crouched near the conductor's hand.

Something was folded beneath his fingers.

Paper.

No.

Not paper.

A ticket.

She carefully pulled it free.

The ticket was stained with blood, but the printed details were still visible.

Passenger: Sofia Brandt.

Seat: 19.

Status: Transfer Complete.

Claire felt cold spread through her chest.

Sofia had appeared in Seat 19.

Then vanished.

Now her ticket was in the hand of a dead conductor.

Adrian read the ticket over her shoulder.

Transfer complete.

His voice was low.

She wasn't a passenger anymore.

Claire stared at the words.

Then what was she?

A message.

The train speakers crackled.

Both looked up.

The distorted voice returned.

Conductor intervention has been resolved.

Claire clenched her jaw.

You murdered him.

There was no reply for two seconds.

Then the voice answered.

Operational interference required correction.

He was a person.

All persons are processed according to classification.

Adrian stepped toward the speaker.

Who are you?

A pause.

This operation is not designed for personal introductions.

Claire looked at the dead conductor.

What's his name?

The voice did not answer.

His name.

Another pause.

Conductor Henri Valmont.

The name landed heavily in the compartment.

Henri Valmont.

Now he was no longer only a body.

He was someone.

Claire whispered the name once, committing it to memory.

The voice continued.

Passenger Claire Moreau, you are advised to abandon further documentation.

Or what?

Further resistance will change your classification.

Claire looked at Adrian.

There it is again.

Classification.

Adrian turned back to the maintenance panel.

Help me open this.

What are you looking for?

Henri was trying to reach something. If he died for it, it matters.

Claire placed the bloodstained ticket in her pocket and helped him remove the panel cover.

Behind it was a cluster of wires, switches, and a small emergency communication unit.

The unit had been damaged.

Several wires were cut.

But one small red light still blinked.

Adrian's face changed.

What?

External emergency beacon.

Can we activate it?

Maybe.

He worked quickly, reconnecting two wires while Claire kept watch.

The train began slowing again.

Outside the small window, the mountain vehicles were closer now.

Black vans.

Armed figures.

Portable floodlights.

A temporary extraction site built in the middle of nowhere.

Claire's pulse raced.

Adrian.

I know.

He twisted the wires together.

The red light became green.

A soft tone sounded.

Emergency beacon active.

For the first time that night, Claire felt a spark of hope.

Did it send?

Adrian listened.

It should broadcast to Swiss rail control and emergency services.

Should?

Unless they are blocking it.

The speaker crackled again.

Emergency beacon detected.

Adrian froze.

The voice continued.

Countermeasure initiated.

The green light flickered.

Then turned red again.

Claire stared at it.

No.

Adrian struck the panel with his fist.

They jammed it.

The hope vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

A heavy locking sound echoed from both ends of the compartment.

Claire spun around.

Doors sealed.

They were trapped with Henri Valmont's body.

The train slowed further.

The black vans outside moved alongside the tracks.

Floodlights poured through the windows.

Claire raised one hand against the glare.

Figures in masks waited beyond the glass.

Adrian grabbed a metal emergency hammer from the wall.

Claire.

She looked at him.

When I break that panel, we run.

Where?

Anywhere not inside this box.

The speaker returned one final time.

Containment complete.

A hiss sounded above them.

Claire looked up.

Gas began leaking from the vents.

Odorless.

Invisible except for the faint distortion near the lights.

The same compound used on the passengers.

Adrian raised his arm and smashed the hammer into the side window.

The first strike cracked it.

The second shattered it.

Freezing mountain air exploded into the compartment.

Claire gasped as wind tore through the space.

Adrian kicked away the remaining glass.

Outside, the train had slowed but was still moving.

Below was snow, gravel, and darkness.

Claire stared.

You cannot be serious.

Adrian looked back at the gas filling the compartment.

I wish I wasn't.

Another locking sound echoed behind them.

Someone was trying to open the sealed door from the outside.

Masked figures.

Nightglass.

Claire looked once at Henri Valmont.

The first body.

The first confirmed death.

The first name she would carry out of this train if she survived.

Then she looked at Adrian.

Go.

He climbed through the broken window first, gripping the outer service ledge.

Claire followed, heart hammering, hands numb from cold.

The train thundered beneath them.

Wind slapped her face.

Snow whipped through the night.

Behind them, gas filled the compartment.

Ahead, the extraction site waited.

And somewhere inside the train, the missing passengers were running out of time.