Tracking Logan Foster

{9} Better Off Dead

Bare branched trees whizzed by in indecipherable blurred flashes, but I couldn't have focused on them had they been still. My mind whirred, trying to figure out what I could do.

The boy I had promised to save was now at least a mile in the opposite direction that I was heading on the train. He'd given me three days to prove that his life was worth living.

Now that I thought about it, the time had blown by faster than the high speeds of the train we had ridden on, and I couldn't have been sure how many days we'd been gone for.

Unless, today was the third day which meant...

Was I too late?

I crumpled in a ball on the wooden floor of the empty cart, pulling my knees to my chest as I buried my face in my hands. The pink Maine hoodie I wore did nothing to block out the icy coldness from seeping into my heart as my eyes poured out tears of frustration and sadness.

I didn't have a recollection of how long I'd been crying, but I must've stopped at some point to fall asleep because the next time I awoke, a black sheet covered the outside as darkness fell despairingly.

Logan had tossed the bag of leftover fast food onto the train with me, but I couldn't bring myself to eat even a bite in fear my stomach wouldn't be able to hold it down from being crunched so tightly.

Time seemed to drag on to infinity as I sat in the train cart for days and nights, just staring outside without actually concentrating on what I was seeing.

I eventually passed by the rest stop that we had found Logan's brother, Justin, at and debated getting off when my bladder got the best of me, making the decision for me.

I catapulted off the train, falling to the ground as soon as my feet met the uneven terrain from refraining from standing for an extended amount of time.

A building similar to the rest stop I had abandoned Logan at, stood just above a ledge from the train tracks. The first time Logan and I were here, we hadn't noticed the fact that this wasn't a rest stop so much as it was a private business building.

Shakily climbing to my feet, I cringed when the cold mud seeped through my jeans at the knees from falling in a particularly dirty area. The pink sleeves were now also stained a dark brown color from trying to catch myself.

The wind let out a mighty howl as it surged all around me, toying with my equilibrium as I fought to stay upright. It was a worthless effort to put a hood on when it was knocked off seconds later.

I knew I shouldn't stay out much longer, and headed for the average sized two-story building with the full intent of reheating my frozen body.

Upon entering, I walked into a lobby with dark carpeting, a single window to the right, and a desk at the far end of the room.

I earned a few disgusted looks from wealthy patients with superiority complexes sitting in plastic chairs off to the sides. Each one of them wore various types of business suits, and each owned a brief case that was laid under their chairs.

I stopped just inside of the lobby, still feeling the cold draft of wind from the outside as I self-consciously tried to rake my fingers through my knotted hair to become more presentable.

I didn't know who these people were or what they were here for, but I could make a logical guess that they were some very important people.

I searched the room with only my eyes until a sign above the giant desk stood out.

Berkeley Insurance Co. has your back. Call us at 1-800-InsureMe was written in large block letters above a woman dressed with identical clothes to the adults lined across the room.