Page 52 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

“Derailment?” Mom demands. “Are you seriously looking at a map right now?”

“This is not good,” Dad snaps into the darkness. I should be surprised they’re arguing at a time like this, but I’m not. Dad’s voice is closer now, but he turns to Mom when he speaks again. “Of course I’m looking at a map. Do you really think I’d derail a train with my entire family on it?”

Mom says, “No one else knows we’re here.”

“The people who matter know. The people you’re running from know, I can assure you of that.”

I can’t breathe. My chest tightens. I try to stand, but the floor is uneven beneath me, shifting with every movement. The air is thick, too hot now, almost like it’s pressing in from all sides. I hear the scream of metal twisting, groaning under pressure, and the whole train seems to lurch violently again. I grab Malik’s hand, my fingers digginginto his skin.

“Malik,” I say, my voice shaking. “I think we are going to die.”

I hear him inhale, his breath unsteady, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything.

“Just in case it’s not clear,” I tell him. “I wasn’t sleeping with people for money.”

He looks over at me. “I know.”

“I was killing them.”

“Yes,” he says. “I can see that now.”

“But I did—Idocare about you.”

“I know.”

I squeeze his hand. “Are your parents going to miss you?”

“No,” he says. “I don’t think so.”

“Seriously?” I shift in my seat. “Why not?”

“Let’s just say they are not good people.”

“They can’t be worse than my parents.”

He snorts. “They can. They are.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Sophie. You were the first good thing to happen to me in a long time.”

“Wow.” My brows raise, and I’m thinking I really hope we live through this, or at least long enough for me to get the full story. “Worse than my family? That’s really saying something.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk.”

And so we don’t. For several long moments, there’s nothing but the rumbling sound of the train—and something else, something worse, starting to fill the air. It smells wrong—like smoke, thick and pungent.

“Fire,” he says, the word coming out too slowly, like he’s still trying to process it. “The train’s on fire.”

I don’t have time to think about that. There’s a terrible sound, like glass breaking, and then the train lurches again, a violent twist that sends me sprawling. I feel the heat before I even see the smoke, and when I look down, the floor is alreadystarting to glow, faint orange flickers creeping in from under the door.

“Get up!” Malik pulls me to my feet, dragging me toward the emergency exit. I’m not sure how he’s managing to move so fast, but his grip is firm, his hands urgent.

I don’t have time to question it. There’s no time to think. My legs are shaky beneath me as we stumble toward the door. The air is thick, too thick. My lungs are filling with smoke. I’m suffocating, and I know—we are probably not going to make it out of here alive.

He reaches for the door, pulling it open. The rush of air hits me, frigid, but carrying the sharp, acrid scent of smoke.

“Jump,” he orders.

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