The train slowed to a crawl as the track grew harder to climb. Nick was in Montana, though his tired body may still have thought he was still two states further east. It was late in the night, and the lights though the hall of the train were off or dimmed. Waking and with a soft crack from his legs, Nick stood and bumbled to unlatch the sleeping compartment door. As the moon hit the stale air, dust glistened, still as if it was frozen in place. He walked to the window, looking at the frosted plains in the distance that were giving way to grainy rock-embedded hills.

It wasn't often that he was reminded of why he was moving to Washington. Quiet moments alone helped conjure up the memories of the chaotic home that was left behind. The bustle of the big city was no match for the state of constant rush that everyone in his family lived. Standing at the window and watching time pass would have been seen as an undeserved luxury not a week prior. Nick was not a religious man, yet looking out at the endless sky made him understand why the natives were so spiritual. His bright slippers scuffed the carpet as he walked down the hall to the dining car.

Joseph was an understanding man, he had a rugged personality but still donned a jacket to serve drinks to passengers. Somebody had to do it. As the man with an undone robe walked in grinning, showing the world his natural side, Joe set down his book.

"I'd give you a double, but it looks as though you may have reached your limit."

Nick, blushing as red as his bathrobe, tied the fuzzy band around his waist.

"It's a good thing you're heat pal, I might never have noticed!" Nick said, giving Joe a hearty chortle.

"Well, I'm not your girl, and I'm too sober to lean the other way." He grabbed two glasses, immediately regretting his choice in words.

If he had been back home he would have left the compartment at that, but Nick felt different, he felt elated to be in this new element.

"Do you have Rumthords here?" He asked.

"No," Joe replied, he hadn't had a request for that bathroom brew in years.

"That's a shame, pour me whatever's good then, I'm having what you're having."

Joe poured two drinks and slid one over to Nick, who downed it like a disciple told that there was no limit on blood.

He put the glass gently back onto the table, toying with the rim before flicking it over. The glass rolled on its side for a semicircle before hitting the brass footrest on the bar table and shattering on the carpet.

"Sorry about that," Nick fumbled for his wallet in his robe before pulling out a small wad of two dollar bills.

"Here, this should be enough to get another set."

Joe smiled, taking a pen out from inside his fine jacket and writing down a note that he needed to pick up the shot glasses.

The red ink worried Nick, as he sniffled and looked down, tapping the glass with his toe before walking out of the car, mumbling a thank to Joe. He slid open the door and looked outside once more.

"You aren't everything to me, but you make everything worth it."

The words echoed in his head. His fist arranged a pleasant meeting with the window across from the door of his room. It bounced and he sighed, retreating back to his bed. His eyes closed, his body jerking softly with the clicking of the wheels against the track. Sleep numbed his body.

The train slowed to a stop. Nick was still asleep in a car near the caboose.

The conductor was concerned, there had never been an army brigade blocking the track in his previous runs. The train stopped among guns and uniforms.

"Sergeant Ford!" A small face yelled from the small mass.

"Yes private?" The short sentence drew no response.

"I see we've come here to an understanding then." A single gunshot was heard, it woke Nick from his sleep.

Everything went quiet, beside a soft thud from the dining car.

Joe saw everything going on outside the window. He saw the engineer get out of the car and walk towards the squadron. He saw "Ford" knock him out with the butt of his riffle. He saw the intentions of the men. He saw an escape through the back window into the cold mountains. The window was not hard to open, it had a latch and a handle. It fell away onto the ground, audible to the rooms adjacent, and more importantly, the men outside.

Joe crawled out the window and under the train. Soldiers surrounded the other side, looking for him. The pure white field crushed under their feet.

"We mean you no harm, you know nothing of the situation you are in."

He stayed silent. A man in a green hat walked under Nick's window and looked down at the metal frame of the train. He started kicking the small opening between the stopped wheels.

The man in the hat looked up into the window, a small groan from underneath Nick let him know the fate of his acquaintance.

Nick locked eyes with the man. Never before had he witnessed a facial expression change so drastically in just a couple of seconds. His face went though a transition so diverse college admissions boards would be jealous. Nick realized that he was the target and bounced up. The man's hat fell off when he grabbed the pole next to the window. As he ran out of the room, Nick heard the pane shatter as a pair of army boots flew through the sill.

Nobody else knew what happened the day before the blonde man stepped aboard the train. Everyone had assumed he was just trying to run from his obligations like the rest of them.

He ran back two cars, going into the cargo hatch.

"Killer! Murderer!" Nick heard the cry from outside, as if it was going to elicit a response.

Getting on, he said he would finally leave his family. He would finally get out of the syndicate. The last job he did, however, sealed his fate.

The haphazard pile of chests did a good job concealing his body from onlookers. Steps were heard and he could make out words above the mumbling from the hall.

"I had no idea."

"Do you think he was trying to protect him?"

"No, no, I understand. But he was working for me."

The door unlocked.

"Here, he might have gone in the back."

Nick froze to the back of the chest, waiting for the clanking of boots against the floor.

"Your stacking leaves much to be desired. Come, everyone, search this place down."

The sound of nine people entering the room masked Nick entering a large luggage bin. The search continued for several more minutes, before a young teen noticed a pile of clothes stashed in the corner.

"Sergeant! Sergeant! Come, there is something"

Nick started shooting through the side of the trunk, hitting the child. He burst from the bullet-riddled side of the chest and darted for the back door.

In a show of extreme agility, he jumped over the back metal fence and onto the ground. He ran as fast as his legs would let him, hearing shouts and gunshots behind him.

It was a stormy night the day he left. The grandfather had come home, disappointed in Nick's performance. The bullets meant for Hanzit missed and went flying into the backboard proudly displaying his presidential campaign slogan. The secret service was notified instantly of what had happened.

Nick knew that he would have to be silenced, but as a man with a dream for the future, that couldn't be allowed. The leader pulled a pen from his jacket, writing Nick's name in red on a small napkin, he looked down, folding it. Nick spent the last bullet of his revolver on a shot that didn't miss. The grandfather fell and Nick started his run to the West.

He would never know who was chasing him. It wasn't until he was well into the balding mountains that he realized he had wronged people trying to help him. The papers would have seen him as a hero, a man who faked an assassination attempt to kill the head of the Italian Mafia. He would be given a medal of honor and the praise that only a clandestine double-agent with a tell-all can receive.

None of that mattered now. He had slain the boy trying to get him out. Forget Joseph, how he ran, and forget the love so powerful it burned over her name. In front of Nick was nothing but snow fields to the grave.

He let out a laugh no chained man could give. For the first time in his life, he was free of his past.