Mr. Cole was late, and Fuller was starving. The dinner - or lack thereof - had done absolutely nothing to satisfy his hunger, and now, as he stood in the empty railcar, studying the fine furniture and paintings around him, he could no longer ignore the protests of his empty stomach. Fuller eyed the fruit tray on the table beside him. It would be considered rude to take fruit from the platter in front of company, but Latham had yet to return from seeing to his sudden visitor, and the Reids were safely tucked away inside the storage car. After a moment's hesitation, Fuller reached for the white gloves tucked into his belt and slid them over his hands, then reached for a shiny green apple and sank his teeth into it.
Several bites into the apple, Fuller's mind began to wander away from food and toward the mother and son hidden away several cars down the line. Her words echoed through his mind like the tunes his men sometimes sang around the fires at night when the coyotes howled and sleep seemed impossible. A Ranger... A Ranger's still alive.
Fuller frowned, studying the white flesh of the apple absentmindedly. No, ma'am. My troopers found seven graves...
His gaze rose to the door. Mrs. Reid owed him an explanation.
Running his fingers briefly over his hair and mustache, Fuller deemed himself presentable and began crossing through the railcars, pausing briefly in an office car that seemed to have been recently vacated. He passed a hand over some papers that bore the dusty outline of a boot and followed the trail of footprints in the carpet to the door. From there, he proceeded to the supply car, and pushed the door open as he took another bite of his apple, while his mind raced to connect the pieces of the puzzle.
The sight that greeted him brought him to a sudden halt. The fruit fell from his grip, and he was vaguely aware of the door closing behind him as he yanked the gun from its holster and pointed it toward Cavendish's cranium. He chewed on the last mouthful of tender apple as he listened to the demands of the man pointing a weapon at Mr. Cole; every word that came out of the stranger's mouth spelled disaster for Fuller.
As though he knew the captain's thoughts, Cavendish cast a smirk over his shoulder as the truth dawned on Fuller. He swallowed thickly as Mr. Cole approached him, posing questions he didn't care to answer. Every answer that came to mind equaled the blast of a rifle, the torrid pain of bullets hitting his flesh. The fear of tarnishing his reputation - the fear of death itself - lodged in his throat. He looked into the eyes of the man in front of him, took in the badge on his coat, and made his decision.
In war, he knew, there were rules. And sometimes, rule number one was coming out alive.