The Reaping by Annie Oldham Read Free Book Online

closer and resuming their music once we’ve passed on.
    Then suddenly all those sounds stop and all I hear is the crunch of our feet on leaves. I pause, my body quivering as I rise up on my toes, trying to decide if I should keep walking or if we need to run. Whenever the animals in the woods go silent, something big is about to happen. Jack puts a hand on my arm to steady me. Then the ground begins to vibrate under my feet. I rock back onto my heels and I’ve just put one foot in front of the other, ready to bolt, when Jack grips my sleeve.
    “It’s the train.”
    He puts a finger to his lips and cuts in front of me, jogging through the brush beside the tracks. He looks back over his shoulder, peering down the long scar cut through the forest. I hear the train in the distance. Not the train itself exactly, but the unmistakable stillness it creates as it creeps through the forest. The animals quiet for it, and they grow silent several miles ahead of it. It’s eerie.
    “They try to keep quiet,” Jack says, hunched over as we peer through the bushes toward the tracks. “Trains used to whistle loudly or at least chug. These are electric trains, so all you’ll hear is a hum. The government doesn’t want nomads finding them. They don’t even turn on their lights.”
    I nod, straining my eyes on the tracks that gleam in the moonlight. There are no trees and no bushes around them for about twenty feet on either side, and this strange clearing cut through the trees unnerves me. Then in the distance, I see a shape come into view and bear down on us.
    “There it is.” Jack tenses next to me, his long legs and arms ready to spring. I can’t help thinking that he’s not made out for this, but he does this for me. I want to tell him to go back and that I’ll go on alone; I shouldn’t put him in danger like this. But my mouth is dry and he’s not looking at me. His fingers dig into the leaves underfoot, and his whole body is a live wire.
    I turn my focus back to the train—it’s nothing more than a phantom gliding down the tracks—and soon I hear the hum Jack was talking about. It almost sounds like summer cicadas.
    My muscles twitch, wanting to run toward the train, to get this over with. Jack senses some of my anxiety and puts out an arm.
    “Quiet now,” he whispers.
    The first car passes us, and there’s nothing to hint at its passing except the hum, a few red lights along the cars that glow faintly in the dark, and the mounted gun with the soldier manning it. Even in the dark I can tell he’s not relaxed like some of the soldiers I’ve seen. He’s hunched over the gun, his arms gripping it, ready to fire. He slowly swivels three hundred and sixty degrees, taking in the woods around him. The gun is so large it looks like it could tear through the trees if it wanted to.
    Only one? I write on Jack’s hand. I really don’t care if there’s only one gun. I’m writing on his hand just to calm myself down.
    Jack shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes. It depends on the train.”
    I don’t feel good talking. I expected the train to scream and howl as it went by. Instead it’s almost as quiet as the unnaturally quiet forest. Even though we’re shrouded by darkness and foliage, I feel exposed out here. I feel like the train is listening.
    “Ready?”
    I nod. In the direction the train came from, I can see the lighter gray of nighttime fill in the space left as the shadow passes by. We both start jogging through the brush alongside the train. It’s quickly outpacing us, but we’re not looking to jump on now. My eyes are trained on the top, looking for another gun, but there isn’t one. This train must not be carrying medical supplies or even food. Maybe just clothing. Or maybe it’s empty.
    We want to catch one of the last cars, one that won’t be inspected or patrolled until all the others have once we stop. Of course this is a gamble—we don’t know how these trains are loaded—but it’s a chance we’ll