By the time the railroad tracks came into view the sun had risen fully, hanging low, just above the horizon.

          Rosie let out a soft sigh of relief and resisted the urge to laugh. Oliver worried about her enough without giving him the notion that she had gone mad.

          They had done it, they had really done it.

          "We made it," she breathed in awe.

          "Don't sound so surprised," Oliver admonished, "I told you we would. When are you gonna start havin' a little faith in me?"

          "Just because you're right one time, Ollie, doesn't-"

          "One time?" Oliver interrupted. "I've been right dozens more times than that!"

          "Oh really? Name one other-"

          The shrill screech of the train whistle cut her off and they both looked up to see a white plume of steam streaking across the pale blue sky. Just below it was the train which sped towards them, bouncing and rattling along the tracks which were still several hundred yards away and ran parallel to a wide dirt road cutting between two empty fields.

          Oliver started forward, his speed hindered by her weight.

          "Put me down, Ollie," Rosie insisted as the train shifted from a small, dark stain on the horizon to a more discernible blob.

          "But Rosie..."

          "We'll never make it with you carryin' me like this," Rosie declared, "now please, Ollie, put me down. I'll be alright. We can't miss this chance, you said so yourself."

          With an obvious reluctance, Oliver released his hold on her and lowered her to the ground. Rosie's foot screamed in protest when she put her weight on it, but she did her best to ignore it.

          This was the only way.

          Oliver reached down and took hold of her hand, Rosie looked up at him and smiled despite the pain.

          "Ready?" he asked his brow furrowing.

          She nodded, her expression one of quiet determination.

          Each strike of her heel against the ground brought with it a fresh wave of sharp, stabbing pain, like she was running over shards of broken glass. By the time they reached the road, Rosie was fighting back tears. The agonizing burn had worked its way from her heel to her calf, but she was determined not to let it slow her down.

          "We'll take the road, it'll be faster," Oliver called over his shoulder.

          They were both so focused on intercepting the train that neither of them notice the dust cloud barreling towards them from the opposite direction. It wasn't until they heard the roar of the diesel engine that they realized they were not alone.

          Rosie looked back just as a rusted, faded blue pickup truck erupted from the plume of dust and debris the bald tires were kicking up into the air. Oliver cursed under his breath and pulled Rosie clean off the road just as the truck flew past them.

          "Don't stop!" Oliver shouted.

          Dust and gravel flew into the air as Hayes slammed on the breaks and the truck skidded to a halt with a loud screeching sound several yards further down the road. The engine roared as the trunk was thrown into reverse.

          Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie could see the back end of the truck fishtail as Hayes turned it off the road at much too fast a speed to pursue them across the field.

          He was going to get them, was all she could think as she ran alongside Oliver. He was going to get them. If he didn't get them, he was certainly going to run them over before they could make their final escape.

          With her heart lodged in her throat and the roar of the engine the only sound Rosie could hear, the pain in her foot seemed a distant memory, present but muted by fear, desperation, and a flood of adrenaline.

          Looking back, Rosie saw the truck bouncing violently across the uneven ground and could tell Hayes was having trouble keeping it on a straight path. After a minute or so, the truck came to a stop, dust billowing towards the sky as it simply sat there. She could imagine the look of anger and frustration plastered across Hayes' face.

          "Look, Rosie!"

          Rosie turned back and looked to where Oliver was motioning. The train was wheeling past them across the track, clattering and clanking loudly as box cars shifted and pulled against the chains and anchors holding them together. One of the cars further down looked to be already occupied -- if the face looking out at them from the shadows of the open doorway was any indication.

          Finally Oliver slowed to a stop and Rosie fought the urge to collapse right there on the ground. She knew if she did, she wouldn't be able to get back up and with the threat of Hayes looming so close, it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.

          "Hayes stopped," Rosie gasped, prompting Oliver to look back.

          The expression on his face went dark.

          "We have to get on now, Rosie," he insisted.

          "Why?" Rosie replied, looking back.

          Hayes had gotten out of the truck and was running full tilt towards them. His face looked worse in the daylight than it had the previous evening and it was a wonder he could see enough to run without falling over. It wasn't so much the fact that he was pursuing them that filled Rosie with the most concern, however, it was the rifle he gripped tightly in his right hand that made her feel physically ill.

          "That one," Oliver said as the car containing the face wheeled closer. The stranger was hanging halfway out of the car, waving his arm at them. "When I say go, I want you to start running, I'll be right behind you. When you see that opening, you jump. Whatever you do, Rosie, when you jump, don't hesitate."

          "Oliver-"

          "Promise?"

          "I promise, but Oliver-"

          "Go, Rosie, go now," Oliver said.

          With Hayes drawing nearer, Rosie knew there was no time to think, she just had to act.

          As she began to run, the pain, which had been reduced to faint, throbbing ache, returned in full force the moment she took that first step. She staggered to the side, the sudden, unexpected jolt of pain nearly bringing her to her knees.

          She managed to stay upright and took a deep steadying breath.

          You can do this, Rosie.

          Placing the bulk of her weight on her good foot, she began again, her gait uneven as she avoided walking on her injured heel and shifted to the ball of her foot instead.

          The report of the rifle echoed through the empty field causing Rosie to stumble again in surprise. She looked back to see the rifle in Hayes hand pointed skyward.

          "The next one is comin' for you, girl," Hayes called, his voice booming. She saw him drawing the bolt back to reload. "You best stop this nonsense!"

          "Oye!" Another voice called, drawing Rosie's attention back towards the train. Now that they were closer, Rosie noted that the stranger hanging from the open doorway was a boy about their age. "Jump!"

          Pushing Hayes, the rifle and his threat out of her mind, Rosie knew she had to act and she had to act fast. Recklessness was not in her nature, but when it was a matter of life and death, even Rosie found she was capable of doing the impossible. So, she dashed forward a few more steps before pushing off the ground with her good foot.

          There was a moment as she flew through the air that Rosie believed she had made a mistake. She had jumped too soon, or perhaps too late, and she was going to get crushed beneath the giant, steel wheels of the train.

          Only she didn't.

          She felt a hand close around hers just as her injured heel caught the edge of the platform. A cry of anguish ripped from her throat as pain ricocheted through her calf and into her thigh. She would have fallen backwards had it not been for the hand locked around her wrist. Instead she found herself falling forward, collapsing to the floor of the train car in a crumpled heap.

          Rosie refused to remain down and struggled to push herself upright. "Oliver," she gasped as the train car swayed beneath her. She felt sick to her stomach and was glad they hadn't eaten much that day. Blackness clawed at the edges of her vision as pain continued to wash over her in waves, each one more intense than the last.

          Hot, salty tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oliver," she whimpered again, closing her eyes against the agony.

          When Rosie opened her eyes again it was dark and for a moment she thought she was back in the loft with Oliver. The train rocked gently beneath her, nearly lulling her back to sleep but just as she was about to drift off again she was reminded that she wasn't in the loft and Oliver...

          "Ollie!" She cried, reaching out into the darkness.

          "Shhh," a soft, familiar voice whispered into her ear. Rosie felt so relieved she nearly burst into tears. "It's okay, I'm right here."

          She felt the pads of his fingers brush across her temple before slipping through her hair in slow, comforting strokes.

          "We did it," Rosie croaked out, her voice thick with emotion.

          "I told you we would," Oliver teased with a quiet chuckle. "You should try to get more sleep, it's been a long day."

          It seemed a reasonable suggestion, and Rosie even tried closing her eyes, but after a few minutes she found she was now wide awake.

          "Ollie? You asleep?" she said quietly.

          "Mmm, not now," he replied, his tone suggesting he'd just been drifting off again. "You okay, Rosie?"

          She chewed on her lower lip, an old habit she'd spent years trying to break. In light of recent events it no longer seemed so important.

          "Yeah, I'm okay," she said, "sorry if I woke you."

          At some point Rosie had drifted off to sleep again because the next time she opened her eyes she found herself looking up at a pair of curious eyes attached to heads which seemed to float above her in the early morning gloom. She let out a little shriek of surprise which caused the heads to draw away and Oliver's arm to tighten where it lay wrapped around her waist.

          "What's wrong, Rosie?" he asked, his voice still heavy with sleep.

          "I saw faces," she gasped, staring into the shadows where the figures had been.

          "Oh, that's just Lily and Roger," Oliver said, his arm relaxing as he waited for sleep to overtake him again.

          Rosie frowned. "Who?"

          Oliver groaned and pushed himself upright. "Lily and Roger," he repeated, which prompted the two faces to appear again. This time they were connected to bodies and no longer looked to Rosie like ghostly apparitions.

          Rosie was a short, stout girl with dark, straight hair that fell just below her chin, the ends jagged and uneven. Roger was tall, almost as tall as Oliver who by no means short, and Rosie suspected that when properly washed his hair was a blond so pale it was almost white. At the moment the short, unkempt strands looked gray.

          Both of them bore eyes of dark brown which reflected the same, wary expression that Rosie no doubt wore as she regarded them carefully.

          "Roger kept you from tumbling out," Oliver explained which prompted a rush of color to flood the young boy's face. Roger averted his gaze and Rosie couldn't help but smile. "Lily here is his kid sister. They've been on the train for... what was it again, two days?"

          Roger nodded.

          Rosie frowned.

          Just how much had she missed while she'd been sleeping?

          "Are you hungry?" Lily asked, her voice soft.

          Rosie was about to say no when her stomach betrayed her and grumbled loudly. "It's okay," Rosie said, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. "I couldn't take your food. We'll get our own at the next stop."

          "Oh, there's plenty," Lily assured her as she moved over to one of the many crates stored within the train car. She pulled back the lid and produce a round, bright red fruit. "Hope you like apples."