“No, no,” he muttered, “not that. Not a train.” Ignoring him, Clara tucked her dagger back into its sheath and squinted to the east—at least, if that was where the sun rose in this place. The railroad tracks were not far from them; if they hurried, they could intercept the train, which would surely take them near some kind of civilization. Maybe her father was even on board? Unlikely. Too convenient to consider. And even if they somehow managed to climb aboard without killing themselves, there was no way to guess what the train held, and if it would be even more dangerous than blizzards and barbarous hunters. Too tremendous a gamble—were her family’s lives not at stake. Resigning herself to it, Clara straightened her posture, steeling herself. Nicholas pulled her toward the shack and pressed them both flat against the wall and out of sight. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, we have to leave here, but not like this. We can’t trust it.” “The train?” “It will listen to her.
