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At the far end of the second baggage car, Amber, Ebony and Anna sat on the hard, wooden floor, their backs resting against another pile of backpacks and assorted luggage items. In front of them, each had one of the backpacks Amber had removed from the pile earlier.
In the dark, Amber fumbled with the zipper on a large, external compartment on her backpack. She reached inside and grasped the 9mm pistol, the same weapon she used to kill the three bank tellers. It felt comfortable in her hand. She withdrew it from its compartment and ran her hands lovingly over it. It was fully loaded; she kept it that way, never knowing when she might need to use it. A part of her hoped she would get another opportunity. As her fingers caressed the trigger guard, the butt, the length of the barrel, the
