The fire alarm was deafening, bouncing off the narrow walls of the overturned carriage. Vanessa coughed hard, smoke clawing at her throat. She gritted her teeth, bracing against the sharp pain in her ribs as she pulled herself upright.

The train had derailed, its sleek design now crumpled and useless. The windows—mercifully unbroken—offered no escape, pressing down at what had become the right side of the carriage. Seats, luggage, and passengers had been thrown into disarray, some piled in heaps against the tilted walls.

Her fingers pressed against the edge of a mangled seat for balance. Her chest heaved with each shallow breath, and her hand brushed against something wet. When she looked down, her palm came away smeared with red.

Her stitches had torn.

The wound on her chest, patched days ago, was open again. Blood seeped into the black fabric of her shirt, sticky and warm. It wasn't fatal—not yet—but her head felt light, the edges of her vision threatening to blur.

The sharp sound of metal groaning pulled her attention toward the rear of the carriage. The explosion had ripped apart the back end, leaving jagged steel edges and a blackened, gaping void where seats and passengers had once been. Vanessa sucked in a sharp breath; her eyes focused on the rising plume of black smoke in the distance.

A bomb.

This wasn't an accident.

"Vanessa!"

The voice cut through the noise, pulling her attention forward. Eric was climbing over a collapsed row of seats, steadying himself with one hand as he approached her. His face was pale, streaked with soot and sweat, but his movements were purposeful and focused.

"You're bleeding," he said when he reached her, his eyes darting to the crimson soaking through her shirt.

"It's nothing," Vanessa said quickly, brushing him off.

"The door at the front is clear. It's tilted upward, but we can climb out. It's our only way out." He gestured toward the far end of the carriage, where the exit now faced the sky.

She nodded, scanning the wreckage. Some teenagers had pulled themselves free and were slumped against the slanted walls, coughing and trembling. Others were still trapped in their seats, their faces dazed or twisted in pain.

"We need to get them moving," Vanessa said, already heading toward the nearest group of students.

"I'll handle the ones at the front," Eric called over his shoulder. "You take this end."

Vanessa crouched beside a boy no older than fifteen, his arm cradled awkwardly against his chest. His tear-filled eyes met hers, and she kept her voice calm.

"Hey," she said gently. "You're okay. Can you stand?"

The boy nodded, though his limbs trembled as she helped him. She guided him toward the emergency door, where Eric was helping another teenager scramble up the incline to the opening.

Vanessa turned back to the rows of fallen passengers. Not everyone was moving. A young man was slumped against a pile of debris, his head lolling to the side. Further down, she spotted Winters crouched beside a familiar figure.

"Winters!" Vanessa's voice cracked, and she wiped her face, her fingers coming away smeared with blood. Her nose was bleeding.

"Laura's unconscious," Winters said, glancing up at her as he adjusted his grip on Laura. His forehead was streaked with blood, his movements strained.

"Can you carry her?" Vanessa asked, coughing as her chest tightened painfully.

"I'll manage."

She started toward him, but a low hum stopped her mid-step. It was distant, rhythmic, but unmistakable. Her ears strained against the blaring alarm, trying to confirm what she thought she'd heard.

The hum grew louder.

Vanessa's heart sank as she climbed toward the emergency door, blood soaking through her shirt with every movement. She hauled onto the tilted surface, squinting against the bright sunlight outside.

A helicopter appeared on the horizon, then another, and another.

"Eric!" she called, pulling herself upright.

"What?" Eric's voice came from above, where he was helping another teenager climb out of the train.

Vanessa pointed toward the sky. The helicopters were approaching fast, their angular shapes unmistakably military—but not theirs.

"Enemy soldiers," she said grimly. "Anyone who can walk, send them to the forest. It's the only cover we've got."

Eric scanned the horizon, his expression darkening. Beyond the train, the land stretched in rolling hills, barren and exposed. The forest, dense and shadowed, was their only option.

"Fuck," Eric muttered. He turned back toward the carriage. "We need to move faster!"

Vanessa leaned back into the train. "Winters, hurry up!"

Winters struggled to climb with Laura's limp form draped over his shoulders. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temples as he pushed toward the exit.

Vanessa moved back down toward the remaining teenagers. Most were still slumped in their seats, dazed from the impact or frozen in fear.

"Listen to me! If you can walk, head to the front of the train. Go now!"

One boy blinked at her, his expression blank, before she grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.

"Move!" she barked, giving him a shove toward the door.

Vanessa turned back to Winters, who was nearly at the top.

"Eric, help him!" she shouted.

Eric reached down, gripping Laura's arm as Winters pushed her through the narrow opening. Together, they managed to get her onto the grass outside.

Vanessa climbed toward the exit, her breaths shallow and laboured. She collapsed onto the grass, her vision swimming as she looked up.

The helicopters were closer now, their blades slicing through the air in a deafening roar.

Beside her, Winters was kneeling over Laura, checking her pulse. "She's breathing," he said, his voice tight with relief. Then he turned to Vanessa, his eyes narrowing. "You're bleeding."

Vanessa glanced down. Her shirt was soaked, the blood spreading across her side. She pressed her hand against the wound, ignoring the sting.

Eric grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet. "We need to get an emergency signal out," he said.

Vanessa steadied herself, her gaze sweeping the area. The overturned train loomed behind them, and the helicopters circled overhead, testing the airspace.

"There's no radar. No comms," she said, her voice low. "No one's coming for us."

"Then we leave. We can't hold them off."

"No, not until the survivors are out of here."

Winters interjected. "The driver's cabin has an emergency beacon. If we can get to it, we might be able to trigger it."

Vanessa turned to him, impressed by the suggestion. It hadn't crossed her mind, but then again, everything was moving too fast, and her focus had been on the immediate: keeping the teenagers alive.

Eric's jaw tightened as he studied Winters, and then he gave a sharp nod. "Fine. Let's go."

Vanessa exhaled slowly, pressing her hand harder against her wound. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, her ribs protesting every breath. She leaned against the overturned train, just for a moment, letting the grass beneath her knees anchor her.

The sound of the helicopters was growing louder. Too loud.

She knew she couldn't stop moving. Not now.