Page 27 of Cold and Bitter Snow

By the time Conor climbed on behind Luc, his friend had strapped both his legs to the sides. Conor grabbed on to the rear handgrip as the snowmobile took off at top speed along the empty run. As usual Luc drove fast—their boss joked he drove like somebody who wasn’t afraid of injuring himself. Conor had always thought his friend drove like someone who missed the speed.

Normally Conor would have enjoyed the ride but, this time, his heart wasn’t in it. He just wanted to make it back to town and find Siena. Hopefully she’d be willing to hear him out.

As they reached the bottom of the first slope Luc stopped the snowmobile.

“I love this view,” he said, pointing at the town of Le Miroir.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Just go speak to her, man,” Luc said, shaking his head. “You’re already morose enough as it is.”

Below them the 7:00 a.m. train was just departing the station, leaving behind small clumps of skiers and snowboarders, all of them heading in droves to the gondola lift.

Conor watched, lost in thought, as the train bordered the small frozen lake in the center of town and made its way towards the overpass. It was a picturesque sight and one he’d seen multiple times before.

The sentence he was about to utter died on his lips as he saw that, instead of slowing down as it reached the overpass, the train seemed to be speeding up.

“Something’s, wrong, Luc.”

“Huh?”

“The train. It should be braking,” Conor said, watching as the passenger train gained even more speed.

They watched in horror as the first rail car plunged off the tracks onto the road below. The sound of crumpling steel filled the air. Several rail cars followed in a macabre domino effect, until most of them lay crumpled on the tarmac.

“Mon Dieu,” said Luc.

“Can you get us down there?” Conor asked.

Luc didn’t hesitate. He started up the snowmobile. This time there were no zigzags, no jumps. Conor held on as Luc maneuvered the vehicle skillfully between trees and down the snowy mountain. Finally, Luc stopped the machine on the side of the road. There wasn’t enough snow for the snowmobile to take them any further.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” Luc said. His jaw was clenched tight. “I’ll call the emergency services to check they’re on their way.”

Conor nodded. “I’ll go look.”

He ran off towards the crash, looking up at the overpass. The last two rail cars remained on the tracks above—for now. Five rail cars lay crumpled on the road. Thankfully it looked like the road had been empty at the moment of the accident.

Conor ran towards what he assumed had been the front rail car. What he knew about trains could fit on a post-it with some space left over. Was an explosion likely? He pushed himself harder and reached the front locomotive.

He looked through a large broken window. The only person inside was the uniformed train conductor—he was lying immobile on the ground. Conor used his elbow to get rid of the broken glass before pulling himself into the rail car.

Up was down and down was up—the conductor was lying on what used to be the roof of the car.

Conor got a whiff of burning rubber—and just like that the snow disappeared and he found himself back in the Colombian jungle.

His knee was throbbing. He tried to look down but one of his eyes wouldn’t open—it was glued shut with blood.

He no longer had the strength to stand or even sit up straight but managed to slump with his back against the wall, facing the doorway. He would be damned if they would catch him looking away, the next time they came. This was a matter of principle more than anything else, since it had been some time since he had been able to stand up to their captors.

Conor heard a rasping sound and felt around in the semi-darkness until he found Logan. Ignoring the red-hot agony in his leg Conor brought Logan closer, raising his friend’s head so it was resting on his lap.

Hopefully that would help ease his breathing.

“Rest,” Conor said. It came out as a croak.

A little while later Logan started coughing. The sound hurt Conor more than anything their captors could do to him. He wasn’t a doctor, but he worried that one of Logan’s broken ribs had punctured his lung.

Conor reached beside him for the small canteen filled with lukewarm water. His hand shook, but he was careful not to drop any—it was barely enough to keep them alive and he knew they wouldn’t be getting any more until the next day.