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guards. Making a break for it seemed to be the only course forward. The barbed wire at the top of the fence might give him some trouble, but there was no way around it. On the other side, a variety of freight cars lay inactive. He’d have to scurry behind one if he wanted any chance of remaining unseen.
    Leroy got to his feet and counted. One. He crouched. Two. Shifted his weight to his back leg. Three. Inhaled sharply. Four. Eyes fixed on the fence.
    Five. He darted out and jumped onto the fence halfway up, clenching his fingers around the metal wires until he could slip a foot in a gap, then climbed, stood on the top bar, and jumped clean over the barbed wire. He came down hard, sending another jolt through him, but kept moving.
    Leroy huddled in front of the nearest train car, rusted and old and half the height of the others. He waited for the inevitable sound of boots slapping the ground as guards ran in pursuit, their flashlights criss-crossing in the air until they landed on him. But it never came. He glanced around, looking for anyone, but as far as he could tell he was alone.
    A few tracks over, an assembled train waited on what he assumed was the outgoing track, as the engine unit pointed away from the station and into the woods. As long as he was alone, he figured he might as well explore. But he needed to stay hidden. Leroy slinked along the edge of the car, then hopped over a track and hid behind a boxcar. He grazed his hand over the weather-beaten metal, imagining the places the aged transporter had seen.  
    The other side of the car was covered in a huge tract of colorful graffiti. Amazed by the work of art, Leroy stood, spellbound. He traced the edges of the paint, marveling at how fine they were. It boggled his mind that anyone could be so accurate with finicky spray paint. Not only was it vibrantly multicolored, but the artist had even touched it up with textural details. The craftsmanship stunned him. It’d take quite a bit of effort for him to get to this skill level with any medium, but he desired it greatly.
    He was lost in a ponderous haze, wondering how it the artist found the time it must have taken to create the piece without getting caught, when a metallic thunk behind him scattered his thoughts.
    “Hi.”
    Leroy turned slowly. A man in a hat that read ‘Engine Driver,’ weathered as the boxcar Leroy stood beside, tossed up a friendly wave. Leroy knew he should book it just to be safe, but something told him this man was no threat.
    “Please,” Leroy begged, “I gotta get outta here.”
    The driver advanced toward him, hands clasped behind his back. “We don’t see many your age out here. Heck, we don’t see many of any age much anymore. This your first time in a train yard?”
    Leroy didn’t know what gave it away, but he nodded.
    “Generally, we don’t give tramps much trouble. We being the crew. Just be safe. Getting yourself killed makes us look bad.”
    Leroy was buoyed with relief. He had no plans to get himself killed, and being safe was second nature to him. He was a worrier.
    “Think the tower might’a spotted me.”
    “Good thing there’s nobody up there, then.”
    Leroy couldn’t believe it. All that spiderweb torture for nothing. He could’ve waltzed right up to the fence and whistled a tune on his way over.
    “Where are you going?”
    “Folsom.” The name issued forth from Leroy’s subconscious. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the first stop of the journey had to be there.
    “Northbound, eh? That’s where this old girl’s headed. Can’t get you the full distance to Folsom, but we’ll get you on your way.”
    Leroy couldn’t have imagined things would go this well.
    “She don’t depart for another few hours, mind you. Got to get her loaded up. Plenty of ways to get yourself hurt during loading, so stay well back. The crew won’t bother you none if you don’t get in the way.”
    Leroy nodded. Sad news, having to wait hours to get on a train for what