It was a delicate balance he sought while listening for any sign Silas met with the monster while making his way to the caboose. He watched the gages climb into the red one by one.

Three cars back, Silas braced himself against the wind and sway of the car as he slowly paced the length of the roof to the gap between the freight cars.

Light from the caboose was occasionally visible in gaps of the storm, a green light that seemed welcoming and warm in the snowy night. If Karl was right, then the demon had journeyed all the way back to the caboose, but Silas was holding out one last hope that John was snug and warm in his little red shack.

At the coupler, Silas braced himself on the brake wheel riding above the roof of the freight car and gathered his strength briefly. Little was visible between the cars, only shadow and a sense of rushing ground as his fate should he slip. With his feet spread wide and arms stretched out, he hopped the gap. He paused on one knee as his heart raced, acutely aware there was a stick of dynamite nestled in the warmth of his coat.

The plan seemed good even if it was insane, and unfortunately Silas could think of no other route to help the people of Cloquet. It was just as Karl had said; the rescue had to happen even if it cost their lives.

Silas worked his way along the roof of the car, hunkered low to the roof with his gloved hand hooked under the wood of the walkway.

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The color of his skin seemed a long way from being important at this moment. Silas might have laughed had he not been so frightened. It was all about fear; he thought as he crawled; everyone faces their fears in life. Racism was just a way weak people hid from their fear. Killing people in wars because of the politics of fear, murder in the name of fear, it all seemed the same on the swaying roof of the boxcar.

Losing track of how often he slipped on the frozen wood, Silas finally reached the first firewood car. He gratefully climbed down a few feet to the box carrier and made his way over the tightly stacked cords of wood.

They would survive, he would see his family again, laugh and live. Silas concentrated on the idea of survival as if the very thought would keep him alive.

Truth be told, it scared him to his core and was barely conscious of his journey.

Finally, one car away from the caboose, Silas could clearly see the light of the swaying caboose. The green lamp cast a strange color to the storm, a wild swirl of green that seemed to circle the caboose.

Silas stood as high as he dared and peered at the gondola windows.

This far back from the locomotive, Silas could hear the wind scream over the clack of the truck wheels on the track. It was the noise John thought could put him to sleep faster than a rocking chair. While the snow was still thick, he could see John sitting in his chair in the elevated cab. The old engineer was asleep with his head tilted to one side and a hand resting on his chest.

It seemed colder this far from the locomotive, the green snow twinkling as bright as shards of ice. There was a thick layer of frost on the wood of the caboose, so thick it would take a hammer to clear the doors.

“Aw Christ,” Silas breathed sadly.

The man in the gondola had frost covering his face and hair; he seemed a doll left out in the elements. John was dead, just as Karl had predicted, and the frost suggested the demon was inside the caboose.