Then Peter hears it: something like a muffled scream over the clickity-clack din of the train's wheels grinding against ancient rails. He surveys the cabin.
No one returns his gaze. They are all like him, eyes down, their heads plugged with ear buds, totally ignorant of each other’s existence. No one stirs.
Perhaps, Peter thinks, a squeaky brake-pad. He starts to read his newspaper again.
A muted male voice cries again. “Help.” It’s unmistakable.
Peter snaps to attention, dropping the Trib to his side. Still the other passengers do not move.
Then the pounding starts…
…from behind him.
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