“Don’t sit there like a lazy lump feeling all sorry for yourself,” said the Kid, and he pulled her to her feet. “We’ve got work to do.”

He hurried her along the car, Rhiannon grumbling every step of the way.

“This next one’s not so pretty,” said the Kid as they approached the window.

Sam could smell it before he got there. The sickly sweetness of decay, mixed with a salty, meaty pong.

“We’re nearly out,” said the Kid. “Next car is the last. I’ve opened the doors at the end. We can get off the train, so we can.”

This time Sam honestly didn’t think they were going to make it. He was sure Rhiannon was going to get stuck halfway, and they’d all be trapped down here. The poor girl was weeping, and every movement made her gasp. But they at last managed it. She was through to the last car. Sam struggled after her. Slower this time, feeling the tiredness in his bones and muscles.

Flies buzzed around, and the smell was stronger in here.

“Hold your hooter,” said the Kid, flicking on his lighter. “And try not to look.”

But of course that was the worst thing he could have said. Sam couldn’t help taking glimpses on either side as they went along toward the car door.

He got brief flashes.

Something hanging from a hook on the handrail. A bucket catching drips of fat. A box with three small brown skulls in it. A pile of bones on the sawdust-covered floor.

He felt vomit rising in his throat and he fought to hold it back. Rhiannon wasn’t so lucky; she fell in a messy heap to the floor, puking and sobbing.

“We have to go back for the others,” she said. “Tell them what we’ve seen.”

“No way, holy ghost,” said the Kid. “We got to keep moving and save our own bacon, else we’ll end up swinging from a hook.”

“I can’t stand it,” wept Rhiannon.

Sam knelt by her and gently put an arm around her.

“It’s all right, Rhiannon,” he said. “You’ll be all right. We’ll soon be out of here. Maybe we can get help and come back to rescue the others.”

“Yes.” Rhiannon sniffed and wiped her nose. “Okay. Yes. I’ll be all right.”

Sam helped her up. In the center of the car was a huge block of wood, a chopping block, scarred from much use, stained black. A meat cleaver was embedded in it. Sam wrenched it free.

“Leave it, shrimp,” said the Kid. “I already thought of that. Too heavy. No use to you.”

“I’ll use it if I have to,” said Sam. “I’ll kill the both of them.”