"What took you so long to make your move?" I asked casually. "I've been aboard since last night, as you know."
"We waited to see where you were headed. Obviously, you are going to Zurich," Vanuskin said. He smiled again. "Or, I should more correctly say, you were going to Zurich."
Vanuskin and the others suddenly began to talk amongst themselves. My Russian was more than good enough to understand them and what I heard was not designed for relaxed riding. They were discussing the best way of doing me in. Things were getting too close. I needed out, and fast. I was safe for a few moments as the train slowed down to go through a small village. The cramped quarters of the compartment afforded me little room to do anything. Even Hugo was inadequate. I could get one, maybe two, and that would be that. I took in the situation and it was grim. The two heavyweights were at the door. Vanuskin was in front of me. The fourth man was off to the right I heard Vanuskin end the discussion with a decision. They'd take the least possible risks with me and do the job here in the compartment. A quick glance out the window showed me that we were starting to pass over a high trestle. I glimpsed blue water below, too far below. But it was my one chance. For a final moment they were concentrated on their conversation. I raised my arm slowly. The emergency brake cord hung directly overhead. I yanked and the train started its emergency halt with a terrific impact of brakes against wheels. Everybody went flying to the left side of the compartment. Everybody except me, that is. I was braced for it, and I made a running dive for the window, arms crossed in front of me to shield my face. I hit the window with full force, felt the shattered pellets of glass hitting my arms and forehead, and then I was falling, turning a slow, lazy somersault through the air. My ankles had banged against the trestle catwalk rail and flipped me sideways. I glimpsed the train above me grinding to a halt and the water too far below my falling body. It hadn't been a proper dive in any case and though I tried to condense my form, when I hit the water it was as though I'd run full-tilt into a concrete wall. My body shook and quivered at the impact. I went under and instinctively came up gasping for air.
I was dazed, hurt, bleeding from little glass wounds, my body paining in every bone and muscle. In semi-shock, I nonetheless managed to strike out for shore, fortunately not far away. When I pulled up on the graveled, rocky ground, my head had cleared just enough for me to know how much I hurt. My muscles and my bones seemed to be things apart from each other as I laboriously pulled myself up on the rocky shoreline. I hadn't gotten far when I heard the shot and felt the tearing, searing pain in my leg just at the thigh. The force of the shot sent my body turning almost completely around and I saw the four figures running across the trestle catwalk, the train halted midway across the narrow bridgeway. It would take them a while to find their way down to where I was. I looked down at my leg as another shot sent a shower of gravel flying at my foot. The leg was excruciatingly painful and bleeding hard. They must have used a forty-five. A line of trees beckoned just ahead, and I pulled myself forward into them, stumbling along on shaking, quivering legs. The wounded leg hurt badly, but it was the impact on the water which had really shaken me. Between the two of them, I felt myself growing dizzy.
I sank to the ground and crawled forward, feeling my arms growing weak, feeling the loss of blood. My trouser leg was a red-soaked rag, and I knew I was leaving a trail a mile wide. The line of woods suddenly ended and I looked across a pasture, a few cows grazing off to one side. Lifting my head was an effort now, and the scene was fuzzy. I made out a farmhouse and barn on the other side of the green pasture. I pulled myself upright, swaying dizzily, shaking my head to clear it. If I could make it to the barn I might hide out there, I thought dimly, and at the same moment realized the trail of blood would lead them right to me. I started to turn, to take a few unsure, weak steps along the edge of the trees, when I heard a child's cry, close at hand but strangely distant. Then I was on my hands and knees, the ground swimming in front of me. I fell forward and half turned on my back. I saw the child, a little blonde girl, about ten years old, pig-tailed and eyes wide. Then I saw the woman appear behind her, looking like an older version of the child. I lifted my head and fell back again. I hadn't blacked out completely, but I was seeing the world in moments of clarity mixed with moments of gray mist. I felt hands lifting my shoulders and the managed to focus on the woman's face above me. It was a nice face, a sweet, lovely face. I felt her trying to move me, to lift me.
"No… no," I managed hoarsely. "Wheelbarrow… get a wheelbarrow." I felt the woman stop, lay my shoulders back on the grass and I heard her talk to the child. I didn't hear or see anything else until I felt myself being lifted and the hard ride of a wheelbarrow shook its way through to me. The bumping managed to bring me around for a moment and I caught a glimpse of the farmhouse now close at hand and the lovely face looking down at me with concern.
"Men… careful… want me," I croaked out. It was all I could manage. The darkness came down again.
I woke up hours later, I found out in time, to the aching pain of my body. I was alone in a dark room that smelled of the dampness of a cellar. I lay quietly, letting my head clear. My groping hands told me I was on a cot, covered by a quilt, naked under the blanket I tried to stretch and almost cried out with the pain. Every damn muscle screamed. My leg hurt with a special pain of its own, and my groping hands told it had been bandaged with cloths. I lay back quietly and breathed deeply. That drop from the trestle had really banged me up. I lay there and heard the sound of a door opening. The door turned out to be in the ceiling and a shaft of light came down to illuminate the steep, short flight of steps. The woman's figure came down, a lamp in her hand, followed by the child in nightclothes.
"You are awake," the woman said, a faint Swiss accent to her English. "Very good." I'd been right, even in my fuzzy, hazy state. She had a lovely face, sweet and gentle, with fine lips and blonde hair pulled around her head in a halo-like fashion. She wore a dirndl skirt and a deep blue blouse that matched her soft blue eyes.
"How do you feel?" she asked, leaning over me and putting the lamp down on a little wooden table I hadn't seen beside the cot. A chair was also next to it.
"As though I'd fallen out of a speeding train," I said.
"Which is exactly what you did, Mr. Carter," she smiled. "Though jumped is the word, not fallen." She smiled and sat down on the chair. The blouse pulled tighter against deep, heavy breasts. "I went through your papers, I'm afraid," she apologized almost shyly, her lips soft in a slow smile. "And those men who stopped by, they told me they were looking for an escaped prisoner who had leaped from the train."
She shuddered and her eyes suddenly took on a faraway look. "They were frightening," she went on. "Ruthless. Cold. They'll be back. I'm sure of it."
"Why are you sure of it?" I asked.
"I've had experience with their type before," she answered simply, a terrible sadness clouding her face.
"But you didn't believe what they said about me?"
"No," she replied. "Prisoners don't carry the land of passport and papers you had on you, Mr. Carter. I don't know why they were after you, but it's not because you're a common escaped prisoner."
"Thank you for being so astute," I said. "What is your name?"
"Emilie," she said. "Emilie Grutska, and this is my daughter, Gerda."
"Is your husband away?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Gerda and I run the farm alone. My husband is dead. You rest now." She stood up, dismissing any more conversation about the matter. "I will be back later," she said. "I shall put Gerda to bed."