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Ten : Lovethorn

Leaping over couplings, cutting through the wall of trains, I can hear their footsteps clomping closer like the drumming of impatient fingers on a tabletop. I try and glimpse the codes on each train as I stumble through their ranks, uncomfortable and sticky in my pair of coats. AH, TB.

"Corin," I think at him urgently, "I can't find LT. Are you sure about the code?"

Definitely. It's what's marked on the train that takes medical supplies to and from my father's Research Institute.

I try not to project the curse words streaming through my consciousness at him. The men chasing me race nearer still, fumbling over the piles of little pebbles around the rail tracks. I hear them scattering, swearing as they skid and slip. My chest is getting tight, limbs aching. My back is sore where the container inside my backpack beats my spine as I run. I can't outrun these guys. They're security guards in better-than-peak physical condition. I was just lucky to have a head start.

I could give up, or... there's a behemoth of a train ahead of me, big wheels smudged with black oil. Beneath the roofing there is no snow, which means I'm not leaving a handy trail of footprints for them to follow. Quickly, I dart underneath the train, crawling backwards behind one of the massive wheels. I balance on all fours for a second, breathing shallowly as possible to conceal my wheezing. Waiting. Just as I hoped, the three men stampede right past in a blur of black clothing. I peer around the thick metal disc, watching as their pace slows. They begin to gaze around, slowing to an amble, bickering over my whereabouts. My lips curl into a relieved smile. At the very least, I've bought myself some time. I crawl around and turn back the way I came, emerging from the other side of the giant hunk of machinery.

There, a few trains south of me, is a row of dull iron carriages apparently without an engine. Before the security guards spot me again, I nip between train cars and over couplings until I've reached it. I clamber around to the opposite side, hopefully hidden from my pursuers, and follow the convoy along the track. I'm wedged in a canyon of towering trains, at least eight feet tall. The carriages finish with an engine marked LT, nose pointing into the distance toward a seemingly everlasting track stretching away, into orchards of apple trees heavy with fruit despite the inclement weather. I examine the pale lettering printed onto the front of the train, unable to believe I'd originally run right past it.

"Found it," I check in breathlessly with Corin.

Security's voices are just within earshot, but on the other side of the tracks. They, too, must be backtracking our earlier path.

"We'd better do a quick check before it leaves the station," one of the men says, somewhat reluctantly. Since this one is facing the opposite direction to the other trains, I assume they are discussing LT. The train I am supposed to –according to Corin- hitch a ride on. Skipping carriage to carriage, I try the thumb scanners to see if I can unseal any of the doors. Maybe I'll get lucky and one has been left unlocked. Red, red, red. The colour flashes at me from scanner after scanner. My feet perform an impatient little jig. The guards are nearby, but still on the opposite side of the train. If I don't disappear quickly, I can kiss this escapade goodbye. Come to think of it, I can kiss life as I knew it goodbye. After stabbing Dr Frenchwood, I won't be easily forgiven. I'll be sent straight to her "safe facility". Well, at least I won't have the awkwardness of being face-to-face with Jesse at school everyday. Silver linings, and all that.

Dr Frenchwood crossing my mind offers a flash of inspiration - her notepad! She used it to open those scannerless doors in the Medical Institute. Perhaps she has clearance to open these doors, too. It's worth a shot. I unzip one coat, unbutton the next, then lift my top. The notepad has slid down into my pants a little with all the running. I take it out. It appears to have survived okay, but all my frantic movement has also opened several random applications competing for attention on the wide screen. I fiddle around with the settings, feeling very appreciative of the fact I have my own notepad. I can't think of any other school kids who would know how to use one. Most adults have only even glimpsed them, nestled safely in the palms of government officials.

It doesn't take long to find the lock override code. I lift the notepad level with the scanner attached to the closest carriage door. It beeps once and instead of red, I am greeted with green. The door rushes open with a gentle hiss. I jump aboard, quick on my feet. The door seals behind me. Faint greenish lights flicker on from above. The area is still gloomy, criss-crossed with shadows extending from stacks of wooden crates strapped together. On my hands and knees, I spot a small gap between two towers. I disappear into it, pulling a third in front of the small space. Surprisingly, the cubes are fairly lightweight. The gap stretches all the way to the back wall. Almost the length of my legs. I remove my cushy overcoat and beat it into a pillow.

I freeze. The door purrs open and grey light floods in. It may be dreary outside, but even through the gaps in the crates protecting me, it's blinding compared to the gloom in here. I curl into a tiny ball, cease to breathe, and listen.

"Why are we bothering with this wild goose chase? She's just a kid."

I shrink further into my hiding place, burying my face in duck-down.

"Dr Frenchwood made it very clear," A second voice snaps.

"Oh right, some procedure she didn't get to complete, boo hoo for her."

They disembark loudly, pebbles crushed beneath their boots as they leap back to the ground. The sound abruptly stops, cut off by the closing door.

I sit up. Well, as much as I can manage, jammed between two crates grating my back. So Dr Frenchwood is alive and talking. Nothing I didn't expect, but I still feel disgustingly disappointed. I should be thrilled. I've made it onto the train, eluded the security guards. But it doesn't feel like a victory so long as she and my father are able to follow. With some difficulty, I retrieve the chrome tree from my pocket, turning it over in my hands. I can't help but caress, curiously, the gritty dark crust of dried blood smeared across its branches. Who am I becoming?

After a while, I feel the train begin to sway in a slow dance. We're off. There isn't much in the way of entertainment, so I pull my backpack onto my lap and unzip. The mouth flops open, exposing the lunchbox Mrs Plum packed. I snap open the clips holding it shut and lift the lid. My hands shake as they reach between the wax-paper wrapped croissants for a small, cylindrical vial, filled with dark liquid swooshing around in time to the movement of the train.

It isn't blackcurrant juice. It's hair dye. She knew.

I've never used dye before, always perfectly content with my silvery mane. I'm going to miss it. Carefully weaving my fingers through my lengthy plait, I un-braid it. Shake it out like a blanket draped around my shoulders. Repeating what I had witnessed my mother do before me, I snap the vial into the base of my hairbrush, shake, and comb through. Then I connect to Corin to pass the time. I ask him what LT stands for.

Lovethorn. He answers. It's a city I have only heard of in passing, part of pointedly ambiguous sentences uttered between Cee and my father when I was nearby.

"What's in Lovethorn?"

I am.