Page 28 of Cold and Bitter Snow

He brought the canteen to Logan’s lips.

“Drink,” he said.

Logan shook his head weakly. “No.”

Conor’s heart constricted in his chest. “You’ve got to drink, Logan. Please.”

“I’m not … not going to make it, Conor. Save the water for yourself.”

“Don’t be stupid, Logan. We’re going to get out of here. You’ll see. Please have a sip.”

Logan wet his lips with the water then pushed the canteen away.

“You’ll tell Becky …”

“I won’t have to tell Becky anything,” Conor whispered fiercely. He felt something wet roll down his cheeks. He was losing his friend. His only hope now was that they’d be rescued before that happened.

A shout brought him back to the present.

“Get out of there, Conor!” Luc shouted. “Now!”

Conor looked out the window and saw his friend in his wheelchair, gesticulating at the overpass.

The last two rail cars are about to fall.

Conor’s hand touched frozen metal. The cold steadied him. He wasn’t in Colombia anymore but he was once again going to be responsible for an innocent man’s death if he didn’t get his act together.

He made his way carefully to the unconscious man and pressed his hand to his neck, looking for the man’s pulse.

For a moment he felt nothing—then came the slight regular thumping. Conor breathed a sigh of relief.

There were no obvious injuries except for a large knot on the back of the man’s head, but Conor knew better than to assume anything.

From outside the rail car, heavy metal groaned.

Working quickly, Conor lay the conductor’s arms along his body and placed himself behind him. Keeping his head and neck as immobile as possible, Conor raised the conductor to a sitting position, placed his arms under the conductor’s armpits and lifted with his legs.

Looking behind to make sure there we no obstacles behind them he dragged the unconscious man towards the same window he’d used to get in.

Still working to keep the man’s neck as still as possible, Conor lifted the man to a standing position. He groaned at the pain in his shoulder which still hadn’t healed properly.

Outside the groaning was getting louder and Luc’s screams were becoming more frantic.

Conor straddled the broken window. He sighed in relief. Now he had the leverage he needed to pull the man on to the snow.

We’re not safe yet.

He looked up at the rail car hanging precariously from the overpass. It was a miracle it hadn’t yet fallen. Conor leaned over to see Luc in his wheelchair, peering into the different cars. He was too close to the rail cars.

“I can’t see anybody!” Luc shouted.

“Get away from there, Luc!” Conor shouted. When he figured they were far enough from the crash shite, he dropped the man gently onto the floor. It was snowing now, and large snowflakes fell onto the man’s face and beard. Conor took off his coat and placed it over the injured man.

The conductor’s eyes fluttered open. He moved his arms and legs.

“Monsieur,” Conor said. “Ça va aller. You are going to be fine.” He couldn’t remember any reassuring words in French.

Shit.