Page 32 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

My point drives home when Luke twists to avoid a vicious swipe and Denim’s nails slice through the sacrificial seat cushion like it’s tissue paper.

The unfortunate truth is that while Luke has one blade, between the two of them and their razor-sharp claws, they have twenty.

But Luke doesn’t have one blade. He’s hiding a weapon stash. And he has me.

Until he shoves me behind him, so I have no choice but to back up past the last row. “Go to the next car!” he orders, dodging another attack. Luckily, the aisle is working in our favor, not allowing enough room for both Denim and Flannel to attack at once without nearly swiping each other. But it also doesn’t leave much space for maneuvering, and Luke can’t evade them forever.

The door at my back is locked with a heavy lever that reads DO NOT OPEN in bright red.

It’s not a door to the vestibule and another car. It’s a door to the outside.

“Bad news!” I yell, retreating. My back bumps into Luke after only a step. They’ve trapped us. “We’re in the caboose!”

“Open the door,” Luke orders, swiping wide with his attack. From the howl that emits from Denim’s mouth, I don’t need to look to know Luke got him. But, apparently, here a scratch isn’t enough. Denim nurses his wound but lunges forward with eyes fury bright. “Now!”

Against my better judgment, I throw my weight onto the lever, cranking it open. The door swings outward, its rusted hinges shrieking. I careen with it, slamming against the back of the train.

“Brie!” Luke yells after me, still fighting them inside.

“I’m okay!” I exclaim, my voice immediately swallowed by the whipping wind. There’s a ledge beneath my feet, but I can’t ignore how nauseous the blurred tracks make me. We are going fatally fast.

“Stay there,” Luke commands. My hands wrap around the rusty iron railing.

Fear seizes my chest as Luke outmaneuvers Flannel, grabbing him by the back of his collar. In the same breath, he fists Denim, turning toward me.

“Now get out of the way.”

He throws them through the threshold and I barely have enough time to press myself to the back side of the train to avoid their flailing limbs. They ram into the railing, and it breaks with their weight. Denim tumbles right over the edge.

A gasp erupts from me as he skids across the tracks, the velocity of the train as deadly as I thought. A spray of black blooms in the air, but we’re zooming away before it can splatter me. It’s like spilled ink against the lightening sky.

Flannel narrowly avoids Denim’s fate and screeches expletives while trying to steady himself. Before he finds his footing, Luke tugs me back into the car.

“Run back to our seats, get your bag, and meet me at the front of the train.”

“Meet you?” I ask incredulously. “I’m not splitting up—”

“You will lock this door behind me and leave, do you understand? I will meet you. I promise.”

“How? You won’t be able to get back into the cars!”

His gaze burns with determination. I look down at where his fist is wrapped around my arm, tight enough to make sure I won’t fall off the caboose but not harsh enough to bruise. “I’ll find a way. Now go. We won’t make it far with him still after us.”

To emphasize Luke’s point, Flannel lunges at him, ten claws out. Luke releases me and spins, slamming his shoulder into Flannel’s stomach so they both push back onto the ledge. “Do it, Brie!”

I swing the door closed, latching it just as a body gets thrown against it, though I have no idea whether it’s Luke or Flannel. One slip of a foot and Luke will be just like Denim, and I’ll probably be trapped in the underworld for all eternity, full of regrets.

But I’m used to living with regrets, so I leave him behind.

Eleven

Irace down the aisles in a mad dash to return to the car that has my bag. Now it’s more obvious than ever who’s a soul and who’s a monster. The souls don’t register my movement, but others—some of whom look deceivingly human—glance at me with startled or annoyed expressions.

When a hand wraps around my arm, I’m expecting it this time. I wrench out of the grip, but the woman stands, slipping into my path with a speed that squashes what little inkling I had left that maybe her human facade isn’t a ruse.

“Thought about my deal, sad one?” she implores. I lean back to put distance between myself and the lilting pull of her voice. Her face is already transforming, becoming eerily familiar. “Ready to succumb to a lifetime free of pain and suffering?”

“A short lifetime,” I correct her, needing to hear it out loud. It’s too easy to fall into her melodic voice that pulls me in, blurring the lines between fact and fiction. Luke can’t save me this time. Maybe he’s already dead, pushed off the caboose and lying on the tracks in a pool of blood.