Gabriel
Chapter Eighteen


The Rocky Mountains
September 24, 2001
4:15 a.m.

Gabriel looked around the cabin one last time,
Frohike waiting by the door with a murmured,
"Come on, Mulder.  Gotta make it off this
property by sunup," as he finished buttoning his
coat.

They'd spent the last two hours letting the dust
settle, so to speak, on the mountain.  Still
fearful of running into any of the Ranch's
guards, they'd waited, listening to the night
grow still and cold.  Figuring the arrival of
Julia's so-called husband had stirred the guards
a bit, possibly even added more men to the
mountain's defenses, they'd tried to catch a
catnap in the cold, dark cabin.  It had been
impossible, in Gabriel's case, anyway.  He'd
kept watch by the alcove while Frohike had taken
the bed, doggedly tired after not having slept
since he'd stepped off the train early yesterday
morning.

Frohike had buried his nose in the pillow. 
"Smells like her," he'd muttered with a sigh of
contentment, then rattled the roof with his
snoring.

Gabriel had been more than happy to let Frohike
have the bed; he missed her already, and just
the smell of her on the linens would have made
him howl with her absence like a wolf mourning
the loss of his mate.  He'd been very uneasy
about letting her go back to the Ranch, but he
knew it was necessary for now.  Didn't make it
any easier to leave, however.  It felt like he
was abandoning the only home he'd known in more
than a year.

More so, leaving the battered walls and dusty
floors behind felt like he was severing his last
tie with her.

"Mulder?"

Frohike's urgent whisper snapped him back to the
present, and he gave his friend a, "Just a
second," before he walked to the kitchen table. 
The cabin was now mostly dark, but the dying
embers of the fire gave him just enough light to
see his way through the small pile of sketches. 
He found the most recent, the only one with a
face - his.  With gentleness, he folded it and
carefully put it in his shirt pocket, knowing
one day he'd return it to her - along with his
real name.

He turned and followed Frohike into the waning
night.


Denver, Colorado
9:45 a.m.


Fatigue dogged his every step, but he couldn't
stop, keeping up with Frohike by the sheer pump
of adrenaline through his body.  He shook off
the ache in his shoulder but there was nothing
he could do about the way his head pounded with
lack of sleep.  The trip down the mountain had
sapped his energy and he knew he made a sorry
figure, catching the worried looks from Frohike
only to pass them back with a warning stare not
to comment.  All he needed was coffee; he'd be
fine once they got into town and had some food
and caffeine.

They'd mulled over escape possibilities on their
trek to Denver, each suggestion of Frohike's
ending with Gabriel's adamant insistence that
his father had to go, which meant not just
escaping, but making sure they couldn't be
followed.  Frohike was certain there was a
second chip - he figured all they had to do was
remove it and Julia would be safe from Spender's
magnetic pull.  But despite his agreement,
Gabriel wanted to rid them of the old man's
treachery forever.  It wouldn't be easy, and it
would require delicacy, since they had no army
at their disposal.  He walked into Denver with a
sluggish, overtaxed mind, contemplating the odds
of success with a weary hang of his shoulders.

The sun was rising high over the bustling
streets of Denver as they made their way on foot
through the mess.  The morning was alive with
activity; miners and businessmen milled about,
handshakes and a few fistfights occupied equal
ground in front of the dilapidated buildings. 
The invasion and the ensuing resistance had
pretty much decimated the taller structures. 
New construction dotted the landscape, but it
was more on the order of smaller, two to three
story buildings.  Once again, Gabriel felt like
he'd been transported into the Gold Rush of the
old West.  Men of every size and shape spoke on
the street corners of riches and land;
transactions made and prices set dominated the
snatches of conversation he could hear as he
dodged the bodies.

Most unsettling were the company guards that
walked slowly up and down the streets, their
firearms strapped to their hips.  None of them
stopped to pass the time of day, not even with
each other.  It was as if they were soldiers
patrolling an occupied territory; narrowed,
watchful eyes and tense, black-garbed forms
whose faces were shadowed by equally dark caps. 
Gabriel didn't think he'd ever seen so many of
them in one place before.  Memories of his
father's Guardsmen not so long ago made him
shudder.  Combined with his exhaustion, it made
him jumpy and he forced himself to relax his
strides, giving Frohike a bump to get his
attention.

"What is this?" he muttered, lowering his head
as they passed the second company man in less
than twenty feet of walking.  "A convention?"

"Dunno," his friend answered, rubbing at his
face as they passed another.  "Something's going
down, looks like."

Unspoken was the addendum that they'd soon find
out.  Gabriel had no doubt that the Gunmen were
still very adept at worming into sources of
information and pulling out the smallest pieces
of the puzzle.

"Here," Frohike said, nodding at a fairly new
building a few doors down.  "Got a room
upstairs."

The clapboard sidewalk was dusty brown with
dried mud, but underneath, it smelled of fresh
pine, as did the lobby.  Sparse yet serviceable,
the big room had some comforts.  Sofas that had
seen better days were filled with dozing men,
and Frohike caught Gabriel's look.

"Ten dollars an hour," he explained.  "Or two
hundred a night for a room."

It was highway robbery, Gabriel thought.  Of
course, there were always men willing to feed
off a boom, no matter when and where.  He gave
the man behind the counter a snide look, then
quickly composed his face into a calm mask when
he spotted the clerk's suspicious glare.

"Hey - that makes four o'you," the desk clerk
threw at Frohike, stopping them both with his
brusque words.  "Gonna cost you extra."

Frohike glanced at Gabriel and nodded.  "Go on
up.  It's number fifteen.  I'll take care of
this," he whispered.

As Gabriel backed away, he saw Frohike walk to
the counter and heard the rasp of Velcro as he
dug under his coat.  "How much?"

Gabriel turned his back on the transaction,
making a mental note to ask about their finances
when they got down to the planning.  They would
probably stay off the beaten path on their way
to Canada, but some money would be needed along
the way.  He hoped they had enough, because he
damn well wasn't the best at taking small game,
nor fishing.  City boy all the way.  Survival in
the forest was Scully's forte.  And who knew
just how much she remembered of that.

He climbed the stairs quickly, head down,
bumping into several company men who looked like
they'd just awakened.  Stopping to let them
pass, he caught a few words that pricked his
ears.

"What I hear, the boss man ain't stayin' long,"
the first said.

"Maybe a day or two," another offered.  "Train's
getting re-fueled and re-stocked today."

The company boss was in Denver?  Gabriel let
them pass, then started upstairs once more, his
mind working.  Though no one really knew where
exactly the home base of the company was, he
wasn't surprised to hear that the boss man was
in town.  From what he'd learned in his time
with the company, the boss took a hands-on
approach, not trusting anyone but his top
regional managers.  'K' was much too valuable a
commodity to believe that your workers wouldn't
try to steal from you when they had the chance. 
The rules of the contract were strict for that
very purpose; pay the men well, but frighten
them with threats of reprisal should they get
caught skipping out or stealing.  Gabriel had
witnessed the swift sledgehammer of company
judgment first-hand, and he wanted no more of
it, staying well away from the men as they went
by.

At last, he stood before door number fifteen,
giving it two sharp raps with his knuckles.

"Who is it?" came the wary murmur from the other
side.

He didn't like the idea of broadcasting his
presence through the hall, but he figured his
alias was safer than his real name as he
muttered, "Gabriel.  Open the door."

"Gabriel who?"

"Open the God damned door - *Samson*."

It inched open and he slid through, only to be
caught in a bear hug as it slammed shut behind
him, the lock clicking into place.

"Mulder!"  Byers' arms nearly crushed the breath
from him, making his still-tender shoulder yelp
with pain.  "Good to see you."

Gabriel disengaged himself with a slight
grimace, giving Byers a smile as he pushed him
away.  "Good to see you, too.  Been working out,
eh?"  He eyed Byers' broad build with a wink.

"Busting rocks all day will do that to you."

"Yeah.  That and eating steaks."  A nasally
voice came from Gabriel's right and he blinked
at Langly, who sneered, "Some of us had to live
on beans."

Gabriel rubbed at his tender shoulder.  "Didn't
treat you too well up north, did they Ringo?"

Langly shrugged.  "Not all of us were assigned
to the company's better facilities."  He jerked
his chin at Gabriel.  "What's the matter with
you?"

He rubbed at his shoulder, his eyes darting from
one to the other. "A little run-in with the
company.  Just a bit sore still."  He quickly
scanned the mostly bare room, taking note of the
small table and chair, his gaze lighting with
interest on the laptop that sat upon it.  It was
folded shut, and next to it was a wicked Bowie
knife and a small pistol.  He wasn't surprised
to see they had weapons, but it dawned on him
they may have already had to make use of them on
the treacherous journey to Denver.  "You guys
okay?  No problems on the way out here?"

"No problems.  We suddenly got transfer orders
and a train ride out west," Byers answered with
a smile.  "Courtesy of Frohike, naturally.  Then
he conveniently wiped us all out of existence."

He managed to look the same, thought Gabriel,
despite being clothed in denim and flannel. 
Like them all, he sported several days growth of
beard, but his hair was long and wavy, falling
to his neck.  "Maybe we should start calling
*you* Samson," he said, as he moved to sit on
the cot.

Byers flushed, though he stood straight as he
replied, "It kind of grew on me, so I left it." 
His pun flew right over his head; not so with
Langly, who fumed by the door, arms crossed.

"Doofus."

Gabriel turned his attention to the shorn
Langly, giving him a nod and a grin.  "And
what's with the boot camp look?"

Langly's hand came up self-consciously to rub
his crewcut.  "It won't grow back.  Stress, I
think.  Probably related to malnutrition."  His
misery evident, he tossed a warning look at
Byers, who sheepishly moved to the opposite side
of the room.

"Cheer up, Ringo.  I hear everything grows in
Canada - even hair."  If they could only make it
there, he added silently.  All of them. 
Suddenly, he was bone weary.  But he didn't give
in to it yet, especially when there was another
knock at the door.

Langly moved defensively, his hand on the knob. 
"Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Who's me?"

"Open up, ya moron, or I'll shave off the *rest*
of your hair - get my drift?"

As Langly opened the door, he muttered, "Too
late.  That's gone, too."

Gabriel chuckled, then perked up at the serious
look on Frohike's face, all humor gone.  "What's
up?"

Frohike moved to the desk, sitting down to
position the laptop.  "Heard downstairs that the
boss man is in town.  Arrived yesterday evening
on a private train."

"Yeah - I heard the same thing on the stairs. 
So?"  Gabriel stood, moving in, as did Byers and
Langly.

Frohike worked furiously, connecting via the
unused cellular uplink they'd hacked into months
ago.  It took a few moments to gain access to
the satellite, and he took the opportunity to
ask pointedly, "You said Grandpa came home last
night?"

"Shit."  Gabriel knew that fatigue was dulling
his mind, but he should have made the connection
on the stairs.  "One and the same?"

"Possibly."  Frohike turned, waiting for the
connection to complete.  "Probably.  Who else
would have the resources for a spread like that
on that mountain?"

"Who the hell is Grandpa?"

Langly's confused question made Gabriel growl,
and he ignored it for now, urging Frohike on. 
"See what you can find.  I'm going back to the
Ranch."  He never should have left the cabin;
with the company's might behind him, Spender
could march through the streets of Denver with
Julia on display for everyone to see, with no
fear of reprisal.

"Whoa, Mulder, slow down.  We've got to think
this through."

"Fuck thinking.  I've got to get her out of
there."  He stumbled as he turned and was kept
from hitting the floor only by Byers' quick
intervention.  "Let go of me -"

"Guys, we got something," Langly interrupted,
leaning over the desk.

Gabriel's head snapped back to Frohike, who'd
turned to face the laptop once again.  "New
message on the group," he said.  In a second, he
had opened it.  "From Julia."

"What?  What does she say?"  Coming up behind
Frohike, he trained bleary eyes on the screen,
unable to see much.

"She's okay, she says."  Frohike scanned the
short message.  "Mr. Spencer says they're all
leaving for Helena tomorrow.  Seeking treatment
for Matthew.  He wants Julia and her husband to
accompany them."

"Husband?" This time, it was Byers who
interrupted, but his croaking question was also
ignored.

"Montana?  Tomorrow?  As in today, or tomorrow?"
Gabriel pressed, anxiety speeding up his
heartbeat to a panicked thrum.

"She says they're waiting for the train to be
made ready to accommodate Matthew - Mr. Spencer
told her to be ready to leave Tuesday morning. 
Tomorrow."

Gabriel sagged a bit with relief.  Maybe twenty-
four hours... not much, but at least it was some
cushion.  "Anything else?"

"'Tell Marty hello.'" The look on Frohike's face
was part confusion, part accusation.  "Marty? 
Just what the hell happened up there in that
cabin?"

Julia's guessing made Gabriel grin, but it was
Frohike's erroneous assumption that made him
chuckle as he fell back to the cot.  "Nothing I
needed *that* alias for, Melvin," he said dryly,
not about to elaborate that the hours spent with
her put all of his 1-900 fantasies to shame. 
Any time he made love to Scully was special, but
their reunion in the cabin would always shine in
his heart, because it meant the trust was still
there, still tantamount despite her amnesia. 
"Look, we've got twenty-four hours.  If you guys
are gonna think of something, now's the time."

"We've already given it some thought, Mulder. 
We just need to line things up."  Frohike took a
long look at Gabriel's drooping face and added,
"Get some sleep.  Couple hours and we'll be
ready."

"But -"

"But nothing.  When was the last time you
slept?"

He thought back, remembering the snatches of
sleep those three days he'd not seen her.  When
she came to him, it was as if his body would
never need sleep again, he was so pumped with
joy and relief.  "I can sleep later," he
insisted, with a dark, hopefully menacing look.

He must not have pulled off the threat, because
Frohike stood, his face adamant as he said,
"Later?  When we're all hauling ass through the
forest?  Or when the company goons catch up with
us?"  His voice lowered as he leaned forward. 
"Or when Julia gets so tired she can hardly
walk?  Who's gonna carry her, huh?"

The point Frohike was trying to make was lost on
him.  "We're *hiking* out of here?"  The room
had begun to spin, drunk as he was with
exhaustion.

"She's *not* going anywhere, Mulder.  And you
need to be rested if you want to be of any use
to her."

Though his mind was sluggish, he understood at
last, nodding.  It only took a nudge of
Frohike's finger to fell him like a redwood, and
he collapsed on the cot, mumbling, "Tell her..."

One boot came off, then another.  "Tell her
what?" a voice asked, though it sounded like it
was coming from the bottom of a well.

"Not Marty."  He was asleep as soon as his head
hit the sorry excuse for a pillow.


September 24, 2001
5:18 p.m.


"Mulder."

His name came to him through layers of cottony
sleep and he shifted, trying to make his way up
from dreamless slumber.  Must have been another
all-nighter at the Gunmen's, he thought.  He was
getting way too old to spend the night scarfing
down cheesesteaks and browsing the conspiracy
newsgroups.  Of course, there was always the
inevitable slide into the latest in free porn,
courtesy of Frohike.

"Mulder."  Stronger now, more insistent,
accompanied by a squeeze of his knee.

Eyes still closed, he murmured through dry lips,
"Mmm... a little higher."  He cracked open one
eye just in time to see Frohike snatch his hand
away as if burned.  Yeah, he loved tormenting
the homophobic little weasel.

Frohike cleared his throat before turning away. 
"Wake up.  Time to get busy."

His eyes were gritty and it took a couple of
seconds to focus on the bare walls of the room. 
When he realized where he was, he jack-knifed
into a sitting position.  "What time is it?" he
asked, rubbing the sleep from his face.

"A little after five," Frohike answered over his
shoulder, now sitting at the desk.

"Damn it, Frohike," Gabriel muttered, "why the
hell did you let me sleep so long?  And where's
Langly and Byers?"  He and Frohike were alone;
no wonder he'd slept so soundly.

"Because you needed it."  Frohike's tone brooked
no argument.  "And they're scouting out the
train station, doing a bit of reconnaissance."

"Train station?"  God, he needed something to
drink.  "Got any water around here?"

"Canteen's in my backpack under the bed."  As
Gabriel availed himself of the blessedly cool
water, Frohike continued, "From the railroad
maps I've pulled up, the train's route should
take it up to Cheyenne, then it skirts the
mountains into Montana.  We figure the best plan
of action is to just hijack the train."  He fell
silent and Gabriel sensed there was a qualifier.

"But?"

"But to do so in the middle of Denver is risky. 
Big time risky.  Too many company guards hanging
around.  We could plan to meet them out in the
middle of nowhere.  Between Cheyenne and Helena; 
we can cut across central Wyoming to make up
time.  Easy to stop the train - lots of
wilderness up that way.  We'll cut up a few
trees, make it look like there's been some
damage to the track from a storm."

"That reminds me, Frohike - you have enough cash
to finance this operation?"

"Sure.  Krycek had thousands tucked away, in
several locations."  He smiled.  "The other two
used to make fun of me hanging around old stumpy
all day, but I got some pretty useful
information from him.  Got a truck ready in an
abandoned farmhouse outside town.  All we need
is a few tools, and we're set."

"And the guards?"

"There can't be too many guards traveling with
the train.  From what I understand, it's just a
few cars.  A few canisters of teargas, some
automatic weapons - also courtesy of our well-
prepared, now deceased mercenary friend - and we
have ourselves a train."

"On its way to Helena."  It occurred to him that
he hadn't questioned its destination earlier,
and he did so now, wanting input from Frohike's
more alert mind.  "Treatment for Matthew aside -
which I don't buy for a second -  what the hell
is in Helena?"

"Far as I know, nothing.  Except for another
massive company digging site."

Gabriel sighed, letting go of the reason behind
the trip for now.  "All that matters is that
Scully will be on that train, and so will my
father.  That's all I need.  To nab her, to kill
him.  End of pursuit."  He stood, splashing a
bit of the water on his face.  "So, what are we
still doing here?  C'mon.  We've got work to
do."

At the sharp rap on the door, he stilled, his
eyes darting to Frohike.  His friend held up a
quieting hand and moved to the door, where he
barked, "Who is it?"

"Samson and Fitzgerald," came the reply.  In
moments, they were ushered in by Frohike, and
stood shivering in the middle of the room. 
Langly's lips were slightly blue, and he
muttered, "It's snowing."

Byers' face was pale.  "Unexpected development,
gentlemen."  His statement had nothing to do
with snow, that much was evident.

"What?"  Gabriel didn't like the sound of that,
nor the way Byers looked as if he wasn't sure
what type of reaction his news would bring.

"We can't be sure, but it looks as if the train
will be departing sooner rather than later."

"But Julia said tomorrow morning," Frohike said,
cutting off Gabriel's expletive.

"Before we left the depot - which was about
twenty minutes ago - it looked as though they
were gearing up to leave."

Moving closer, Gabriel asked softly, "Any
passengers arrive yet?" He narrowed his gaze on
the frozen men, feeling a lump of apprehension
bulge up his throat.

"Not as of twenty minutes ago.  But the work
crews left and company guards moved in.  Every
light, every bell and whistle - all on.  Even
the engine was fired up."

"Shit."  Gabriel swore, turning to don his
boots.  He had to do something; they weren't
prepared yet, and they needed at least a couple
hours head start.

"Where the hell are you going?"

Gabriel didn't spare Frohike a glance, picking
up the bag to rummage through its contents. 
"You boys get out of town and up to Cheyenne." 
He paused, lifting steely eyes to his friend
before donning the heavy black coat he found
draped over the end of the cot.

"Hey - that's mine," Frohike protested, then
seeing Gabriel's ignorance of his whine, added
angrily, "And just how the hell are you going to
get up to Canada? *If* you even manage to
disable the train without getting caught?"

"You got the knife in here?"  He knew he'd seen
one earlier, but he had an awful feeling Frohike
had hidden the damn thing, knowing Gabriel's
propensity for rushing headlong into trouble. 
Damn it, he shouldn't have left the cabin at
all.  But then, he wouldn't have known about the
upcoming trip to Montana, either.  Too late for
second-guessing.  "Give me the God damned
knife," he snarled, fisting the bag in his hand
as he pierced Frohike with a furious stare.

As he returned Gabriel's impatient look with one
of his own, he reached into his boot.  Handle
first, he handed the knife to Gabriel.  "You
know she's going to kill us if you're not there
when we meet the train."

Gabriel slipped the knife into his belt and
paused, his anger fading.  "But I *will* be
there," he said evenly, the idea that had been
taking shape in the back of his mind the last
few moments now fully realized.  He dropped the
bag, daring them with his eyes to try and stop
him.

Frohike's eyes widened and he stepped forward,
muscling his way past the other two, who'd
timidly backed off at the sight of Gabriel's
ire.  "You can't do it, man.  Don't do this."

Quiet resolution colored his voice as he grabbed
the doorknob.  "When that train leaves, I'm
already gonna be on it."  He never should have
left her on the mountain.  It was time to
rectify that mistake.

A firm hand stopped his flight.  "She wouldn't
want you to do this, Mulder."

"I can't let her get on that train alone,
Frohike.  If things... go badly," he faltered,
"then we won't make it out.  And I'm not going
to spend another day without her."

"All we have to do is stop the train.  We can do
this, Mulder," Frohike persisted.

"You don't have enough time to get ahead of
them, especially with this snow.  Unless I do
something to slow them down."  Exactly how he
was going to accomplish that, he didn't know. 
But he damned well wasn't letting her go without
him; if the Gunmen never showed, he'd think of
something.  Or die in the attempt.  She would no
longer live under his father's thumb, he'd see
to it.  Take care of the problem at its source,
that was the way to go.

And if she had to make it from here on alone,
then so be it.

"Mulder -"

"No, Frohike." His adamant statement put an end
to his friend's protest as he turned the
doorknob. "The ultimate goal is to get her out
alive, you understand?  I'll take care of that
son-of-a-bitch."  Even if it means my death, he
added silently.

It was heard by all, however, and they hung
their heads, a cloak of doom settling over the
room.

"Just do me a favor, okay?"

Frohike lifted sad eyes.  "Anything."

"If she insists on naming the kid after me, make
sure it's Gabriel, not Fox."  With that, he was
gone.


6:05 p.m.


By the time he'd made it to the train station,
the snow flurries had multiplied to an almost
blinding shower.  Soft, plump, wet flakes that
thankfully didn't sting his cheeks.  But his
gloveless hands were definitely feeling the bite
of the cold; Frohike's coat, while offering more
warmth than he had before, was woefully
inadequate in the sleeves.  His hands and wrists
stuck out.  He ignored their numbness and
stuffed them into the coat pockets, slinking
along the outside wall of the station in the
approaching darkness of the night.  The clouds
were heavy and the wind bit at this cheeks.  It
wasn't pleasant by any means, but he was
thankful for the inclement weather.  Visibility
was poor and the clouds helped usher in the
night, concealing his stealthy approach.

He hadn't encountered any goons with guns along
the now mostly deserted streets, though he
didn't really expect to.  If the boss was a
smart man - and he had to give it to him,
'smart' didn't begin to explain how he was still
alive - he'd have gathered his forces close.  As
he approached the train, he could see the glow
of lights, more numerous than ever, eerily
bouncing light off the snow that was beginning
to come down harder.  Yes, the train was
preparing for the trip, all lit up like a
Christmas tree.  The ominous hum of the
locomotive filled his ears; as he peeked around
the corner of the building, he saw the moist fog
of engine exhaust billow onto the platform.

Like the night before, he crouched low,
carefully moving the knife into the ankle of his
boot, then hiding it with the cuff of his jeans. 
He pulled the collar of the coat up around his
stubbled cheeks and waited, watching the two
guards who patrolled the platform make their
rounds.  He figured there were others on the
opposite side, and at least one inside each of
the four passenger cars.  Now was the time to
sneak on, before the passengers arrived. 
Picking his way around the crates stacked on the
platform, he edged closer.

Only to be stopped cold at the sound of several
vehicles approaching.  He swore under his
breath, knowing there was no way he was getting
on the train now.  Not before it started moving,
anyway.

He peered down the tracks; even with the blowing
snow, he could see an overpass about two hundred
yards away.  Hell, he'd done it before, he could
do it again.  Backing up, he slowly made his way
to the side of the depot once again, where he
paused to watch the passengers get out of the
trucks.

Guards.  Lots of guards, hovering around the few
civilians with guns and wary, defensive
postures.  Gabriel picked out Jesse instantly; 
he was a head taller than anyone else, and
still, he puffed on a cigar like he owned
everything around him.  Grinning, he muscled his
way through the protection with a snort and
boarded the car directly behind the locomotive. 
The lights within shined through the fall of
snow and Gabriel could easily see through its
curtained windows.  It was lavishly decorated,
with cushioned couches and a bar at one end,
which Jesse made for immediately.

Jesse didn't hold his interest for very long. 
Another Humvee came to a halt behind Jesse's and
Gabriel held his breath at the sight of a small
figure that emerged from its black depths.  She
blended in with the night most effectively, her
cloak swirling in the wind as she tried to hold
it closer.  In profile, her hood hid her face,
but he could see the agitated puffs of steam
from her warm breath float up into the sky.  She
kept her chin lowered as she paused.

Her husband.  Gabriel clenched his teeth as he
watched a man get out of the vehicle to stand
behind her, bundled up as she was against the
cold.  She stiffened when he placed his right
hand on her back; he didn't push her, however,
just let it fall away as she moved toward the
train.  Her escort guided her to the last car
and watched her climb in, then he moved to join
Jesse in the club car.  Corridor lights lit her
movement through the hallway on the side of the
car.  She disappeared into the last door, the
one closest to the tail end of the train.

Good, he thought.  Take care of the guards,
unhitch the car.  Besides giving them some
privacy for a while, it would take some time to
back the train up and fix that broken coupling. 
And it *would* be broken, he'd see to it.

As the last vehicle pulled up, he decided it was
time to leave.  Before inching away, he saw the
back of the newly arrived truck open; several
men offloaded a stretcher.  Matthew.  He felt
sorry for the kid, really.  He was a likeable
boy and didn't deserve to be raised by that
bastard.  But Gabriel didn't let sympathy cloud
his judgment... Julia was uppermost in his mind. 
He felt no real attachment to the boy, however
sick he might be.

The train had two more cars between the club car
and Julia's.  Gabriel figured that's where
Grandpa and Matthew would be making the trip. 
He was proven right when he saw the entourage
make for the second-to-last car, carefully
carrying the stretcher amidst muffled commands
from a bundled-up, bespeckled man.  The doctor,
obviously, though any defining features were
lost in the fall of snow.  No sign of Grandpa
yet, but Gabriel saw the lights of another
vehicle approach and he knew it was time to go. 
He didn't need to see Grandpa to know who he was
up against.

Not wanting to waste another moment, he left the
station, making his way down the street to the
overpass.  Hopefully, he figured the train
wouldn't have picked up too much speed in so
little time.  He didn't have long to wait; maybe
five minutes passed as he shivered on the road
above the tracks until he heard the train's
whistle signal its departure.

Before long, it lumbered below him, slowly
making its way out of Denver.  As the roof of
the last car approached, he took a deep breath
and jumped.



End Chapter Eighteen