We slunk in a line, just the three of us up to the building across from the bank. In the alley, I peaked around Charlie's shoulder to see the door opening. A troop of soldier's came out, headed by Tom Neville, with a single civilian in the center. He was a teenage boy, blond, with eyes so blue I could see them from a hundred feet away. He was a little roughed up.

"That's him?"

"Yeah."

"Alright..." I stood, sliding back toward the other alley along the back of the building. "See you on the train."

I slid in the back door of one building, where bar patrons were gambling and rabble-rousing. A stage was in the back, and I saw one Militia soldier at the bar, drinking.

A scene. A scene. A scene. How to make a scene?

One man was sitting close by, strumming lazily at a guitar.

"Excuse me," I said, setting a hand on the hilt of my sword, "can you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Do you know... any Johnny Cash? Can you do me a 'Folsom Prison Blues?'" He snorted. Started to play a clumsy but recognizable version of the song. "Not here. On stage. Come on. Excuse me!" I yelled, climbing on stage. "Can I get your attention, please?"

I nodded to him. He started to play.

"Any of you heard of the Monroe Militia?"

A chorus of mumbled 'boos' came from the patrons, drunk for how early in the day it was.

"Well, I'm not a fan of them," I said. "In fact they're not a fan of me, either."

The Militia soldier at the bar looked up. He slid out stealthily. The first verse came, and I twisted my hands as I started to sing.

"Well I hear the train a-comin'. It's rolling round the bend. And I ain't seen the sunshine since -I don't know when- well I'm stuck in Folsom Prison. And time keeps... dragging on."

"Woo!" someone called.

How was killing people so easy, and singing for people so nerve-racking? At least I could sing. What I lacked in looks, I made up for with a voice that rasped like some old blues singer and a strength I'd perfected in the Militia, but that I'd had since I took voice and piano lessons as a child. Frobisher taught me to play guitar, I remembered, and the memory of him made me smile.

"But that train keeps a-rolling... on down to San Antone. -Or maybe Philadelphia!"

More boos came from the crowd, but they were laughing and cheering as I spun.

"When I was just a baby, my mama told me 'Hun-'," I said the word languidly and did a sexy dip, then flipped my hair and rasped, "-'Always be a good girl. Don't ever play with guns! But I shot a -militia man in Reno-. Just to watch him die."

A chorus of cheers and applause. Someone whistled.

"Damn!"

"When I hear that whistle blowing... I hang my head and cry."

The man strummed on.

"But if they freed me from this prison, if that railroad train was mine-. I bet I'd move it on a little farther down the line. Far from Folsom Prison. That's where I want to stay. And I'd let that lonesome whistle... blow my blues away-." I dropped down an octave and bowed. My voice was scratchy and sexy, when I wanted it to be.

Then the doors burst open, and a dozen Militia soldiers poured in. Neville was in the lead.

"Well well. If it isn't number four on the Monroe Republic's most wanted list. Syracuse, isn't it?"

I gave another bow. "Indeed. But that's merely my stage name. Tell me, Tom, if I turn myself in... does that mean I get the reward? You know... for when I escape?"

He smiled with that dead look in his eyes. "I tell you what, Miss Kelly: I'll personally hand it to you when they slip the noose around your neck."

"Such a gentleman," I said, and drew my sword.

The men swarmed forward, while barflies dove out of the way. I met one's sword and ducked under the swing of another, slicing my blade into his stomach as I disconnected. But two of them grabbed me and I hardly put up a fight after that, letting them cuff me, and then walking.

Tom walked beside me. "Whatever you're planning here, it's not going to work. I knew you were in cahoots with them. My son sent your regards."

"I could've killed him, Tom," I said. "But you and I both know I've got bigger fish. And most of them are in Philadelphia. I'll thank you kindly to take me there."

"My pleasure," he hissed.

Tom Neville hated me.

I hated him right back as they loaded me onto the train. Walking back through the train cars, we came to a room with several plush seats, tables between. Danny sat at one, his hands cuffed. He watched me with interest. The men remained while Neville cuffed me to the bar that ran under the window, along the wall.

"Dismissed," Tom said.

The men dispersed.

He sat at the table and poured himself a drink. Scotch, I thought.

"You can go ahead and make your introductions," he said. "Don't mind me."

"Hello Danny," I said. "My name is Syracuse Kelly. I'm a friend of your sister's."

"Really?"

"Oh please," Neville smirked. "Like you're fooling anybody, Miss Kelly. You're a friend of his uncle's. Although you're certainly the right age to be a friend of the kid's, aren't you?"

I smiled sweetly. "Tom. Did Julia ever find a cream to make that scar go away?" His face darkened. "Do you think of me every time you're making love to her, and you're kissing her neck, and there's that scar reminding you of how you couldn't protect her?"

"You shut your little whore mouth," he hissed, "if you have any intention of making it to Philadelphia in one piece."

I shrugged. I had been working at cuffs behind my back. There were tiny metal picks tucked into the waist of my jeans, the cuffs of my jacket and even in the souls of my shoes. A second passed, and the train started up with a rumble and a whistle. "Damn, Julia's cute, though. No wonder the guys had that limerick about her in the men's room."

He slammed a fist down on the table as he jumped to his feet. I flinched back, though the cuffs had slid off behind my back. With the back of his hand he struck me on the side of my head. I let out a small noise inside my throat.

Danny yelled, "Don't!"

Neville glared as he turned to face the boy, and I sprang up, using the cuffs that were still hooked on to one wrist to wrap around his throat, tightening them as much as I could. He let out a horrid whooshing sound as the air left. Then I was slammed back into the wall of the train. But I squeezed more tightly on my grip to keep the chain cutting off his air supply. Danny stood frantically, but didn't move. He wasn't cold blooded like me.

"Danny, go," I said, "Get off the train." My breath was strained from the exertion of strangling someone, but Neville was beginning to release his grip on my hands. He was losing consciousness.

Hands clamped down on me and dragged me away, throwing me to the ground but not injuring me. Nate looked between me and his father, regrettably. Neville was getting up a second later, and he came up with a gun. But I was on my feet and knocked his arm up before he could aim. A shot went into the roof of the train car.

Scenery from the country side was racing by outside the window. Danny smashed the glass of whiskey over Neville's head. He went down.

Charlie bounded through the open door that Nate had come through, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. Nate was facing me, but he didn't move to harm me.

"Come on!" Charlie yelled.

She turned to run, but two Militia men had come in, and were fully armed. Nate snagged Charlie, pulling her into his arms with an arm locked around her throat, holding her steady. I pushed Danny behind me when the men turned their guns to us. The act surprised even me. But he was dragged away a second later, by Neville. I reached out and grabbed Charlie's crossbow. It was still strapped to her shoulder, so I was close to her and Nate as I aimed at the soldier's.

For a second, there was only heavy breathing and tension. It was a standoff.

"Put the guns down," I hissed.

Charlie jerked at Nate's hold on her. I swear, he turned his body so his back was facing me, and his large, muscular frame was the perfect shield. I slid partially behind him so the standoff was more even.

"Put 'em down."

"Do you want me to snap the kid's neck?" Neville growled. "If I've got you and the girl, I think Monroe will be perfectly... happy."

I stole a glance back at him, finger twitching on the trigger. My brain was racing. No way out. You've been in sticky situations before. Think. One shot. Two men at one door. Neville at the other. Might hit Danny. He might kill Danny. If I stay they'll kill me. They might shoot me if I run.

I swore under my breath. If Frobisher were there, we'd find a way. We'd make it out. He was lucky that way. But he wasn't there.

Behind the two men, Miles landed stealthily. His sword sliced through one of their chest's, and the other wheeled around, firing wildly. He ducked back and the two of them tumbled out onto the rigging between the train cars, fighting over the gun. I turned and fired at Tom, but for fear of hitting Danny I missed him entirely. Neville threw him aside and charged at me. I backed up and tripped over my own feet.

Rough hands caught me and jerked me back through the door. Miles. Nate had backed up to the corner with Charlie still locked in his arms, struggling away.

Neville hissed, "Bring me the girl. I'm gonna shoot the bitch."

My heart locked up in fear. He had his gun. The door burst open on the other side of the car, and men went streaming in, cutting off Danny from view. Miles made a move to go back in, but Nate kicked open the small, emergency exit door, and threw Charlie out.

I tried to go back in, but Miles grabbed my arm and dragged me close to him.

"No!" I screamed, fighting against him.

But he jerked his arms and shoved me off the train. I hit the ground harder than I'd imagined was possible, and barely shielded my head, rolling away from the noisy train tracks. I heard him land after me, but my head was spinning too much to look around.

I clutched my aching ribs, then stumbled to my feet and onto the tracks. Charlie was running after the train, stopping with a defeated sob and her lower lip trembling.

Miles limped over to me. I turned on him.

"He was right there!" I slammed a hand into his chest, knocking him back a step.

"You'll get another chance at Tom. We're going to Philly, now."

"I wasn't talking about Tom," I whispered spitefully.

He frowned at me, and I kept an arm wrapped around my stomach to hold my ribs in place as I started walking back toward the town. I knew what it was. I wasn't just suddenly growing a heart. The kid reminded me of James.

...Author's note: Sex and drugs is coming up. Which means... well... sex and drugs. Not for all ages. Please review! I love your reviews, they keep me alive.