I managed to get Angel to the car and pushed her into the passenger seat and closed the door. Only then did I look around.
No one was near us. The train cars still crashed and thumped against each other on the other side of the fence. The van sat quiet behind Camus’ warehouse, the dome light through its open door a dim spotlight casting a sick yellow glow on Christian’s body, face down in the gravel behind it.
Looking over my shoulder I could see a guy gassing up one of the yellow cabs like nothing had happened. There were no distant sirens and no one had come out of Camus’ warehouse.
The sound of the train cars crashing together had drowned out the gunshots.
I pulled the pistol out of my jacket and threw it hard and high, watching it spin into the darkness of the train yard, then got in the car, started it, and drove us away from that place of horror.
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