Page 40 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love

In the next moment, the train whistle screamed.

The train lurchedinto motion.

And slowly but surely—without the crowds or fanfare that Howard Hart had planned—The Millennium Expresslaunched itself into the history books.

From inside, I used the crowbar to prise the lid off my crate. I peered outside to make sure there were no guards around. The rocking car was empty but for crates everywhere.

I climbed out of mine, then levered the lid off Stella’s.

She was frantically gasping for air. “Oh my God, I thought I was gonna suffocate in there! Is that what it feels like to be buried in a coffin? Oh God, don’t ever put me in a coffin, Buck. Cremate me, put me on a Viking ship and push me out to sea, feed me to the goddamn vultures if you like. Just please don’t bury me when I’m dead, otherwise I’ll have a panic attack and die!”

“Pull yourself together, would ya?” I yanked her out of the crate and put her down. “We need to figure out how to get to Harry.”

I pulled the shotgun out of my crate then scanned the carriage. It was made not of wood, but solid iron, each panel and beam thick and sturdy. In the middle of the car was a steel ladder leading up to a hatch with a wheel lock on it, while along the walls were a dozen portholes. I peered out through one to see the outskirts of Wilde City passing by, the pale light of dawn casting a sleepy blue haze over the skyscrapers as they drifted farther and farther away.

“What the hell do you think is in the rest of these boxes?” Stella asked as she moved from crate to crate. “God, I hope there ain’t any people inside. They’d be dead by now, for sure.”

“I guess we’re about to find out.” I scooped up the crowbar and stepped up to the longest crate in the car.

I jammed the end of the bar under the lid and jimmied the crate open.

Carefully, I slid the lid aside, then picked Stella up and sat her on the edge of the crate so we could both see the contents.

On top was nothing but straw to cushion whatever was inside.

I pushed it aside to find myself staring at a long metallic cylinder, at least three-feet wide, and if the crate was anything to measure it by, no less than eight-feet long.

Set into the body of it was a clock with wires, only it wasn’t a normal clock.

“What is that gizmo?” Stella asked.

“I have no idea, but it looks like some sort of timer.” I pushed more straw aside to uncover the two ends of the cylinder. One end had fins and a propellor, the other end looked like a large drill, sparkling with diamonds.

Their reflection shimmered in Stella’s eyes. “Jesus, are those what I think they are?”

“Settle down, we’re on a hunt for Harry, not treasure.” I turned and saw an identical crate. “Looks like there’s two of these onboard.”

Looking around, I opened a different sized crate. Inside was a spiky black sphere. “That’s a goddamn mine.”

I opened another. “This one’s packed with TNT.”

I opened another. “This one’s full of grenades. Jesus, this place is a fireworks factory just waiting to blow sky high.”

“Maybe you should be a little careful with that rifle then,” Stella pointed out. “Shoot one of these boxes and it’ll be curtains for you, me, and everyone else on this train.”

Suddenly we heard the sound of latches moving and deadbolts sliding.

I looked to the door leading to the next car.

It was solid iron with a series of locks running down one side, not to mention a door-lock wheel in the center that began to turn as we watched.

“We got company. Quick, help me get these lids back on.”

Hastily we replaced the lids I’d pried off thecrates, then I scooped Stella up, dropped her into the crate I was carried in on, and jumped in after her, pulling the lid loosely over us.

Leaving enough of a gap to peer out, I watched as the door between the carriages opened and a dozen German soldiers entered.

One of them barked orders, and four men promptly lifted one of the crates containing the rocket missile, while another four men lifted the other.

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