Here is the next installment... thank you (as always) for the reviews, I'm always interested in hearing how you experience the story.

Chapter 3

"I was wondering where you'd wandered off to," Danny remarked, hopping up to join Lindsay in the boxcar. When he heard her call, he had come running, leaving his kit behind.

"I saw the door of this car open," Lindsay explained animatedly, "and thought I should take a look. There was fresh dirt on the ledge, like someone had been inside. It turned out to be a lucky break." She realized she was babbling, and tried to calm herself. This was what she lived to do – find answers, follow clues, solve crimes. Her enthusiasm was never more evident than when a case was about to break wide open.

Danny pulled out his flashlight and shined it in the direction of the odd pile Lindsay was pointing to. "What's all this?" he asked.

A ratty black tote bag lay unzipped, revealing its contents: two boxes of granola bars, several bottles of water, a quart of Wild Turkey, and a leather wallet. Further down was a new fleece blanket, still shrink-wrapped in plastic. Tossed nearby was the item that had initially caught Lindsay's eye: a red hooded sweatshirt.

"Looks like someone was planning on escaping as a stowaway," he murmured. "Our killer?"

Lindsay nodded. "Or at least a person of interest. I thought I should wait for you before I check out the bag contents any more."

Danny squatted down and reached into the bag. Opening the wallet, he produced a Vermont drivers license. "Hello, Cory Abrams," he said, passing it to Lindsay for inspection.

Using her flashlight to examine the tiny photo, she saw that Abrams fit the description of the person seen fleeing the station earlier that morning: long dark hair, about 5'7", 20 years old. Could this timid looking young man really be a sadistic murderer?

"Well, if he is planning on making a getaway, he's probably going to return any second," she pointed out. "Let's get this stuff bagged and get out of here. We can watch outside for him to come back--"

"Then nail the sucker," Danny finished. "Nice work, Montana. If we get this wrapped up in time, lunch is on me."

"Deal," she grinned, savoring the satisfaction of her find. After the day's rough start, she could now look forward to returning to the city and enjoying a leisurely meal with Danny. "Why don't you go get Wyndham?" she suggested. "I'll start bagging everything."

Before Danny could respond, a shadow crossed their flashlight beams. Hearing a noise in the door of the boxcar, they both swung instinctively. Standing before them was the very man in the drivers license photo. He stared at them, unmoving, frozen in wild-eyed shock.

As Danny and Lindsay clamored for their guns, they failed to notice the rumbling of the train engine several cars ahead.

"Freeze! NYPD!" Danny shouted, shifting his body slightly so that he shielded Lindsay. "Show us your hands. Mr. Abrams, right? You all ready to go on a camping trip here, or what?"

"You're trapped now, Cory," Lindsay added smoothly, keeping her aim on his wobbly body. "There are no options left. Just tell us what happened here this morning."

Cory opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, but instead took a sudden step backwards. Clinging to the outside of the train, he began to slide the door closed.

"NO!" Lindsay screamed. She watched in horrified slow-motion as the door rattled shut, trapping her and Danny in complete and utter blackness.

Then the train began to move.

---

"Whoa! What is he doing?" snapped Wyndham to no on in particular. Smoke was pouring out of the train as it began chugging along, rapidly increasing in speed. He jogged over to the station building and poked his head in the door.

"What the hell?" he asked, jerking his thumb towards the locomotive.

The manager shrugged his shoulders helplessly, unconcerned. "I have no idea. We didn't clear him to leave yet."

Wyndham checked his watch. There was no way to stop the train now, and he had done pretty much all he could do for the day. He needed to get back to the station and file his report for this gruesome crime – perhaps the worst he had seen in his seventeen years on the job. He figured he should touch base with the two CSI's before he left, but strangely, they were nowhere in sight. His best guess was that they had wandered into the thick woods, on a trail of some clues. It wouldn't hurt to wait a few more minutes for them to return. For now, he went off in search of a coffee pot within the decrepit train station, humming lightly under his breath.

---

Lindsay and Danny pounded their fists on the wall of the boxcar frantically, yelling until their voices grew hoarse. Any noise they made was drowned out by the clattering tracks. The train was picking up speed at a dizzying rate, making it nearly impossible to remain standing.

Lindsay knelt down and fumbled for her flashlight, which had fallen from her grip when she grabbed her gun earlier. Finally retrieving it, she flipped it on and aimed it towards the door, where Danny was tugging desperately.

"We have to try to slide it open," he told her, half grunting and half shouting. "Help me out!"

Lindsay hesitated. They hadn't yet considered what the next step would be, even if they could get the door open: the train was going much too fast for them to escape. Still, in a half-hearted attempt to appease Danny, she jumped up and threw her weight into pushing the door. It wouldn't budge.

"It latches on the outside," Danny growled. "The son of a bitch got us good."

"Get your cell phone!" Lindsay cried suddenly, retrieving hers from her pocket. "We'll call Wyndham, tell him to radio the conductor."

Danny opened his own phone, then in unison, they both moaned.

"We can't get a signal up here in the mountains." Danny kicked a tuft of dirt in frustration. "That's why we didn't get a call from Mac to see why we were late—we couldn't get any calls."

Realizing the severity of the situation, Lindsay sank to the floor, putting her head in her hands. "Oh, God, Danny," she whispered. "Our perp just got away. Any evidence that could convict him is right here with us. And…" she gulped, then paused, afraid to go on. It was like the superstition of nightmares told before breakfast—voicing them would make them become reality.

She finished with a shaky breath. "And no one knows we're here."

---

Having polished off two Styrofoam cups of sludge-like coffee, Wyndham was now more than ready to head back to the city. Still, the CSI's hadn't returned. He wandered around the scene, speaking to several of the uniformed officers who were finishing up their duties.

"You seen Monroe or Messer?" he asked each one he encountered. All he got was a shake of the head. Negative. No one had seen them in over twenty minutes, and from what little information Wyndham gathered, the conductor had been the last person seen talking to Danny. The conductor who was already miles away, of course.

He sighed and crossed his arms, surveying the woods around him. They were sinister and shadowy, despite the mid-morning hour, and he had a bad feeling. After many years in this field, he had learned to listen to his gut. The ominous scenery only added to his sense of dread: something was definitely amiss.

In his car, he made the call on his radio, crackly but still functioning.

"Call Mac Taylor," he told headquarters. "Tell him two of his CSI's have disappeared."

---

The train was rapidly disappearing into the mountains, heading west toward Pennsylvania. Inside the fourth car in line, all was silent, cold, and dark. They had given up trying to find an immediate solution. They were prisoners of the train, helpless to the speed and power.

"What the hell are we going to do now?" Lindsay whimpered.

The lonely whistle of the train was her only answer.