I collapsed into the dust to get my breath back and the blood rushed to my head when I heard some geezer laugh; none of what just happened was any way funny. I put my ear to the door and tried to listen for more voices, hoping for a clue as to why I’d been locked up and what the hell they’d done with Stuart. But the noise down the corridor had eased off to nothing more than the odd shout in the distance. Other than what seeped under the door, the only light came from a long strip window up near the ceiling on one wall. I figured the room must be somewhere in the station - a back storeroom or an old office. I pushed some crates and balanced a couple of boxes to climb up and get my bearings. I rubbed the grime from the glass with the chump of my fist and peered through at hoards of people on the platform way below me. I recognised some of the tense, sallow faces from the line outside. They milled around before being picked out, seemingly at random, and ushered into a train that looked like it should be carrying fuel; round, bulbous trucks with red warning triangles splattered across their bellies, hooked one after the other.
