“Some of those yard dogs are cool,” the girl says. “If you cool with them, they might let you go. Shit, some will even be friendly, let you know where the train’s headed, and if it’s not your direction, they’ll let you know a train that’s coming in and headed your way. Some even give you a bull’s schedule so you know when it’s safe to hop on from the yard. Others will turn your ass in. Toss you in the clink. Get a hefty fine.”

“How about tankers?” Trot asks. “I hear they’re a no-go.”

“Got that right. No room to ride. Gotta watch the junk cars, too. They can be dangerous as fuck. Some loaded with scrap steel that’ll shift and crush you. Get some loaded with coal. I had some friends riding in an open-top gondola. They was sleeping inside when it was empty, didn’t wake up when it stopped, got loaded with rock. Crushed their asses.”

“Shit! That’s horrible!” Anne says.

“It is, but having the variety of cars means more places to hide when traveling, you just gotta pay attention, be on your toes.”

“And you learned all this in nine years?”

“I’ve rode a lot of trains in them nine years. Met a lot of different folks out here, each carrying different knowledge from their travels and encounters. Some good, some not so. You gotta know your shit, pay attention. Ain’t no joke. I’ve met people that wanna follow me, pay me money to do things.”

“What kinda things?” Anne asks.

“Sexual things. Being a girl out here is dangerous. Ain’t gonna lie. Best get you a blade. Keep it sharp and available. You’ll also meet people that’ll watch your back; you just gotta return the favor. They’s people you will meet that will be like a real family. Lot of freedom, but it comes at a cost of your livelihood. Out here, payment is your attention or your life.”

“You ride any intermodal?” Trot asks.

“Yeah, they’re the fast track. Get you to where you’re headed in a hurry. They get hotshotted, don’t have to stop anywhere.”

“What’s ‘hotshotted’?” Anne asks.

“When they don’t have to stop in the yard, got clearance to blow right on through rail yards. They’re double-stacked containers. Good, steady ride. Loaded with lighter freight, usually consumer goods.” Pulling a water bottle from her side, Cinnamon removes the cap, takes a sip. Swallows. “Y’all want any?”

Anne waves her hand. “I’m good, but thanks.” She’s feeling comfortable, then remembers about her brother. About whether she might have killed him, or just left him for dead.