Page 82 of Surge

Driver paid, she grabbed the handle. “Thank you! C’mon, Surge,” she urged as they slipped out of the car. Though she felt haunted by the last time she’d done this, she couldn’t lie her way through why she didn’t get out of the car. Especially since she’d told the driver her boyfriend was in the semi.

Keeping to the shadows of the depot building, hoping they would provide enough cover, she kept her voice quiet. “We’re at a train depot.” Her stomach plummeted, seeing that they’d already loaded most of the containers. “They’re loading the last LD3 now.”

A curse sailed through the line—sounded like Zim.

The semi’s rig pulled away.

Oh no. No no no. Rig leaving, train closing up, and no Garrett yet. “What do I do?”

Silence crackled in the comms.

“Gar—” She winced. “Bear? Eagle Two, Three?”

Nothing. That’s when she recalled Caldwell saying they were short-range comms. But she wasn’t that far away.

So . . . what do I do?

Stay with them, Garrett had said. Pulse jacked, she scurried across to the track, verified nobody was aware of her, then tapped the grate landing for the caboose. “Hup,” she ordered Surge, who sailed up. She hiked up after him.

She’d either just done the stupidest thing ever or the best thing. Time would tell.

Get in, get out.

Delaney led Surge into the half-lit sleek silver train car. She rubbed the back of her sweaty neck. They only had a few minutes before that employee she’d seen whistling would get to them as he walked down the train, checking each car.

She unclipped Surge’s leash, stuck it in her hoodie pocket. She wished she had the baggie of chem vials. It didn’t matter. At this point, Surge knew what they were looking for. “Surge, seek!”

He sniffed the air and jogged down the eighty-five feet or so to the end of the car, right up to a stack of silver LD3s, each with the purple Sachaai S logo. All six she’d followed here, in three stacks of two. But he didn’t just sniff like before.

He sat and pointed his ears at the first shipping container.

“That was quick.” Delaney ruffled his ears. “Thanks, buddy.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead. She pointed at each of the rest of the six, and he alerted on each one.

She walked to the loading door and peeked out from beside it, saw nothing but the semi at the far end of the street. Back at the LD3s, she signaled Surge to turn and be her lookout. “Watch,” she cued.

Standing at her side, he faced behind her, watching her six?—the loading door—his whole body tensed, ready to defend her.

What would she do without this Mal? “Thanks, buddy,” she whispered as metal against metal screeched through the air—the loading of other cars. She needed to hurry.

Delaney reached to slide open the bolt of the first container, but it was padlocked. She didn’t have a key. Nor a saw or hammer. How would she . . . Wait—pocketknife. She pulled it from her jeans pocket and poked it into the keyhole on the padlock, jiggled it a little, twisted it a little. Heard a click. Opened the door.

Amazing. What she’d seen on TV had actually worked for her.

She glided her pocketknife through the tape on the first carton in the box to reveal shoeboxes. “Surge, seek.” He immediately inched forward with a woof, ears pointing. Positive for the Sachaai lipids. She pulled out the top shoebox and opened it.

Glittery purple Mary Janes, each decorated with a purple butterfly, plastic tubes on each side of the body. Another Surge hit. She didn’t have an FTIR, but she trusted her boy’s hit on Sachaai lipids processed with toxic chems.

She quickly opened the next Sachaai container in the LD3.

More Surge hits on more boxes of shoes. Yes! “Good job. Give me a bop,” she said, and he gave her fist a bump with his nose.

Get in, get out.

“Okay, Surge, watch,” she said, pointing back at the loading door.

She took a couple pics with her SAT phone. All she had time for. She stuck one of the shoes from the first box in her pocket, returned the other to the shoebox, and scooched it into its spot in the carton. She closed the LD3s hatch and signaled Surge to stay with her. They headed toward the opening of the train car, but the whistling employee was approaching.

“With me, Surge,” Delaney hissed, and they dove behind the stack of Sachaai containers. Surge’s hackles rose from neck all the way down his back as he stood in front of her.

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