Not Your Villain (Sidekick Squad #2)(85)

“The bridge, the bridge!” Emma gapes at the track collapsing into the canyon, at the metal and magnets falling uselessly hundreds of feet below.

“We have to get off the train,” Jess urges. “There’s an emergency exit that way; we can make it—”

“But what about the other people on the train?” Bells asks. This is a high-traffic train, connecting major cities of the Collective. There are people here, visiting their families, on vacation, with their loved ones—

Jess pales. “I thought this was a supply train!”

Abby grits her teeth. “They sell passenger seats on supply trains if there’s space. This—”

Brendan grits his teeth. “There were eighty-nine passengers aboard the last I checked, not including us. Or the crew.”

“Okay, okay,” Jess says, chest heaving. “We get to the speaker system and tell them to evacuate the train. There are enough emergency exits throughout the train—”

“Can you stop the train?” Bells asks. Brendan is already typing away at his makeshift control pad; Bells doesn’t doubt his ability for a second.

Brendan grabs at the projections and injects a complicated equation. “Too much momentum. I can slow us down, but—”

“There’s not enough time,” Emma says. “Hack into the speaker system; we’ll tell everyone to get off—”

“And go where?” Bells gestures at the moving landscape around them. “Even if everyone flings themselves out the exits, someone’s going to get hurt… I can’t… we can’t—”

The train is still moving, and the broken bridge ahead of them is getting closer and closer. He flips the lever for the emergency exit, and the door springs open. Screeching winds tear at him, and the canyon drops far below the bridge ahead of him.

He turns around, rushing for the door.

“Bells! Where are you going?” Emma whirls around, frantic. “We have a plan, what—”

“That won’t work. This will,” Bells gasps. “Gotta… gotta get to front of the train,” he says, and the door shuts behind him.

Ignoring the shouts of his friends, Bells races down the train. He runs past the passengers who have no idea what’s about to happen. Do these people know that the League was willing to sacrifice them to preserve its secret? Do they know the horrible things their government has done in the name of order?

It only takes a moment to reach the storage car at the opposite end of the train, but Bells feels as if he’s aged a hundred years.

He scans all the vehicles. Car, car, minivan, car. There, in the middle. He shoves aside cartons to clear a path. He knocks aside a crate of tomatoes and then one of fresh apples, and doesn’t even feel guilty when the fruit spills to the floor.

“Brendan!” Bells shouts into his DED. The secure line on their new IDs crackles.

“What are you doing?” Jess shouts at him through the line.

“Brendan, I need you to start this motorcycle!” His heart pounds, as he unfurls the canvas cover. It’s a different model than Bells’ but the basics will be the same. He can drive this.

“Got it; swipe your DED on the touchpad!”

Bells jerks his wrist at the panel, and the motorcycle hums to life. Lights flick on along the lines of the bike, and Bells swings his legs over the side.

Go. Go. Go.

He zips through the train, zooming through each compartment door, sending metal bits flying.

He races past his friends and he can hear his name being shouted, echoing as he leaves them behind.

Bells leans forward, driving on the track now, only a narrow bit of metal between him and certain death. Colors flash by, the reds and golds of the canyon, the dark-green forest, and the faint trickle of green-blue river far below.

Bells ignores the panic in his gut and drives forward to the ragged end of the track. A few pebbles bounce and scatter into the canyon. He stops the motorcycle, and it teeters precariously. He jumps off the bike just before it tips over the edge and then he’s alone, standing on the track with the train rushing toward him.

Bells’ throat seizes up and he feels dizzy but he stands steady. He’s not going to fall. He’s not going to fail.

He’s here: his body, his wits, his determination.

He thinks of the cold, hard metal of the track he’s standing on, thinks of where it needs to go, and thinks steel. He pulls at the shift; his power burns tall and bright inside him, and he gives it his all. He is cold, hard metal, growing, growing, growing. He’s everything these tracks were made for, connection and strength. He’s his friends, his family; he’s the little boy who wanted to be a hero. He’s every single villain that was forced into a role. He’s the souls of the people still on the train who are going to keep going.

Bells can feel his body stretch and transform. He’s more than himself; he’s a living metal-person, in the shape of the track, connecting to the other side. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t have eyes. Bells doesn’t know what his body looks like, but he feels detached, as if he’s floating above it.

The train hovers over him, and Bells can feel the weight of the air cushion between him and the train. And it slows down, goes past him safely to the other side, and then comes to a halt.

Bells slowly lets go of the shift, tries to be aware which side he’s shrinking toward, and slowly comes back to himself, lying on the other edge of the once-again-ruined track. His clothes are in tatters; he doesn’t have energy left to change them. He stumbles forward, heading for the train. His friends pile out of the emergency exit.