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It took a full second for the realization to hit him. When it did, he reached down and angrily snatched up the cuffs. She was gone. His prisoner had escaped.
With a violent shove, he pocketed the cuffs and crawled back out of the baggage car. His eyes fell upon what was left of the observation car. Where the hell could she be? How could she have managed to survive the crash? More important, how did she manage to escape his restraints?
Sam made his way through the rubble, stopping only once when he spotted his hat. Snatching it up, he rammed it on his sore scalp before heading toward the nearest opening. Cussing and groaning at the pain in his shoulder, he crawled through the jagged edges of a broken window. In truth, however, he knew he was overreacting. It didn’t hurt nearly all that bad. He was just so damn mad she had managed to slip right past him.
Finally able to stand completely upright, he turned and surveyed his first sight of the crash. The train lay off the tracks in a mass of crumpled steel. The baggage and observation car were turned completely on their side, but otherwise remained in tack. The other cars hadn’t fared so well. They had folded into the one before until all that remained was one heap of twisted wreckage.
From out of a large black cloud of smoke, he spotted the first car. Or what was left of it. The wooden coach lay in one, huge heap of kindling wood. He grimaced imagining the state of the occupants. He and Ivy McGregor's lives had been spared because they were located in the least damaged cars in the back of the fleet.
He weaved his way through the charred remains of the front cars not expecting to find any life, but needed to search for his own peace of mind. Not surprisingly, not a single life stirred. Other than himself, there were no survivors.
Except one.
Anger pierced his conscience. Out of all the decent folks on that fateful train, Ivy McGregor, a cold-blooded murderer, had survived.
Thrusting his anger aside, he forced himself to concentrate. He was an expert tracker. Recapturing her would not be a problem, though the darkness wouldn’t be of much help. He glanced toward the eastern horizon and spotted the trace of gray sky. Dawn would be arriving within the next hour.
That would give him enough time to collect some much needed supplies for trekking through the wilderness. He’d pick up her trail and hunt her down. If there was one thing Sam was proud of, it was his tracking skills. He was the best. His expertise was often sought. And a woman with nothing but the clothes on her back, would be a cinch. He’d find her and haul her back to where she belonged. Prison.
Covering his mouth with his bandanna, he climbed through the black smoke and into the shard remains of the engine. Finding and lighting a kerosene lantern, he uncovered a satchel and quickly gathered what he needed. In a cabinet drawer, he found a map and was able to pinpoint where the accident occurred to the mile board he spotted on the telegraph line near the back of the fleet. With his finger he traced a trail to Fort William. Three days of walking he figured.
With a sigh, he turned and blew out the light. Crawling back out of the wreckage, he gave a quick glance up and noticed the gray sky beginning to spread westward. They were closer to Fort William than he realized, which made him wonder just how long he had been unconscious. And how much of a head start Ivy McGregor had on him. All he knew for certain was, he wanted to re-apprehend his p
risoner as soon as possible. Dead or alive.
* * *
Ivy struggled through the heavily dense forest. It was cold, but she barely noticed over her own sweat. She had been on the move for several hours. How many? She wasn’t certain. Where she was headed? Even less certain.
The wilderness was one huge maze of forest and bush. She knew she was over her head in the surroundings. But she would not go back to Chicago. She would rather die at the hands of nature before she succumbed to her fate back in the United States.
She swiped at some mosquitoes buzzing around her sweaty face. It surprised her at their unexpected appearance being it was so late into autumn. However, though it was cold it was not nearly frigid enough. With the warmth of the sun beating down on the earth and the lure of the many marshes she had passed, more than likely helped prolong their life.
Tugging her hood closer to her face to help prevent their invasion, she pushed forward only to stumble over her own feet. Exhaustion had long gone and crept into her weary bones. She had gone without sleep. Not uncommon for her, as she had trained her body years before to survive on the most minimum amount of sleep and at those, in short spurts. But last night, she remained awake and alert. Her body engulfed in terror. A terror that had long ago permanently embedded itself in Ivy.
She hated being enclosed. Walls all surrounding her. The train had been bad enough, so small and compact. But the baggage car Sam Michalski had sealed her into had no windows and felt ten times smaller. The old fear had bubbled instantly and resurfaced. She had begged him for compassion. Mercy. He gave her neither.
As her entire life had been. No mercy. No one had ever shown her an ounce of compassion. Except Moira.
But she wasn’t that meek little girl anymore. She wouldn’t sit back and let it happen. She hadn’t survived this long to have some selfish cowboy drag her back to her sure death.
Taking a deep sigh, she looked around for somewhere to sit. She couldn’t afford to stop. But her leg was bothering her horribly. The throbbing she received when it knocked against her chair had subsided, but was replaced instead with a new, agonizing, pain received during the crash. Bearing far too much weight while she plowed through the wilderness not to mention the frigid temperatures didn’t help the old wound. Walking was almost impossible.
She found a huge uprooted tree and perched herself on it. For only a moment, she promised herself. She did not know how much longer before they came for her.
After the train crashed, she thought it a godsend the door had snapped off its hinges. Having already long discarded the handcuffs thanks to years of practice in the Earl’s own set of confinements, Ivy had slipped out of the car only to trip over a pair of legs. They belonged to Sam Michalski.
Outside, a fire burned from one of the cars. More than likely, it was the locomotive with its hot coals used to fuel the engine. With the bit of light it provided in the rear of the train, she was able to see the remainder of Sam’s body caged behind a rubble of iron and steel.
Wanting to flee immediately, she paused long enough to watch his chest rise and fall in the darkness. For a entire micrometer she contemplated killing him. No one would be the wiser. And she would be free.
But instead she turned and fled into the night.
She wasn’t able to make out any other passengers. Not that she tried. Her opportunity of escape had opened the door—nay, had blasted the door—to freedom and she wasn’t sticking around for the Radford’s indignation.
Once Sam Michalski told them of her true identity and her past, she had no doubt they would have fired her on the spot. They were upright and moral citizens. They wouldn’t take kindly to her deception.
A sound from the forest had her going still. An image of wild animals flashed across her mind. She spun her head around searching the thick underbrush for the source of the sound. The morning sunrise had now fully cast daylight into the forest, but all she saw were bare branches.
