Chapter 5 - The Trap at the Rail Yards
The abandoned rail yards on the industrial outskirts of Red Creek were a graveyard of rusted boxcars, weed-choked tracks, and towering derelict cranes silhouetted against the night sky. Snow flurries began to drift down through the freezing air, dusting the gravel with a thin layer of white.
Noah walked down the center of the abandoned tracks, his breath pluming in the freezing dark. In his coat pocket, his hand tightly gripped the disposable camera containing the photographic evidence against Victor Sterling.
“I’m here!” Noah shouted into the empty yard, his voice echoing off the rusted metal of a boxcar. “Let my aunt go!”
A pair of high-beam headlights suddenly flashed on, blinding him. A black SUV barreled out from behind a warehouse, kicking up gravel before screeching to a halt ten feet away.
Two broad-shouldered men in heavy black overcoats stepped out of the vehicle. One of them was holding Aunt Sarah by the arms, her mouth taped shut with duct tape, her eyes wide with terror.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” the taller of the two men sneered, stepping forward. His face was scarred, and a cigarette hung lazily from the corner of his mouth. “Little Detective Noah. You’ve been causing quite a lot of trouble for important people, kid.”
“Let her go!” Noah demanded, keeping his distance, his hand resting on the knife handle hidden inside his coat. “I have the film! You get the film, she walks!”
The scarred man chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “You’re in no position to bargain, boy. Hand over the camera first.”
“No,” Noah said firmly. “Let Sarah go toward the gate first. The second she’s safe, I drop the camera at your feet.”
The enforcer’s smile vanished. He exchanged a sharp look with the second man, who drew a heavy-barreled pistol from his coat pocket and leveled it directly at Noah’s chest.
“You don’t seem to understand, kid,” the gunman growled. “You give us the camera right now, or your aunt dies before you do.”
Sarah thrashed desperately against her captor, muffled cries escaping through the tape over her mouth.
Noah stared down the barrel of the gun. At nine years old, he knew what death looked like. He had seen it in his mother’s broken spirit; he had seen it in the rotting ruins of their old life.
“Do it then,” Noah whispered defiantly, taking a step forward instead of back. “Shoot me. But the negatives are already developed and stored in a safety deposit box at the federal bank in Knoxville. If I’m not breathing by sunrise, an automatic timer sends copies to every federal prosecutor in the state.”
It was a complete bluff. There was no safety deposit box in Knoxville. There was only the disposable camera in his pocket.
But the gunman hesitated. Criminals like Sterling’s enforcers didn't want a federal investigation hanging over their heads.
The scarred man glared at Noah, calculating the risk. Finally, he nodded to the other man. “Drop her.”
The enforcer shoved Sarah forward. She stumbled hard onto the gravel, scraping her knees, but immediately scrambled up and ran toward the perimeter fence.
“Now,” the scarred man demanded, stepping toward Noah. “The camera.”
Noah pulled the plastic disposable camera from his pocket. He held it out, dangling it by the strap.
The enforcer reached out to grab it—
And in that split second, Noah didn't drop it. He whipped the hunting knife out from his waistband, lunged forward with surprising speed, and slashed the blade across the enforcer’s forearm.
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The man roared in pain, dropping his hand instinctively.
Noah threw the camera onto the tracks beneath the heavy iron wheels of an abandoned boxcar, stomped down on it with the heel of his boot until the plastic casing shattered into a dozen pieces, and then turned and bolted into the dark labyrinth of rusted rail cars before they could even draw their weapons.
