Gunfire erupts. In less than half an hour, the train turns into a battlefield.
Semmelweis: Damn!
Semmelweis: The gunshots are drawing them in. We've got to close the door!
Corvus: Head to the next carriage. I'll close the door.
Corvus leaves cover and charges straight into the carnage.
Annabelle: Conductress, don't!
Corvus: Don't look back!
The weight of unseen eyes is unbearable. Annabelle turns her head.
Annabelle: ...!
Annabelle: I-I want to go home.
Corvus: ...
Corvus: I tried to warn you.
Semmelweis: There are too many of them. We can't do this alone.
Infected Passenger: Aaaargh ...
From outside, more Infected swarm in, spreading like a plague of locusts through every car.
Cries of panic and bloodlust rise and fall.
Semmelweis: We have enough ammunition but not enough hands to fire them.
Corvus: There is still one option left.
Corvus: There are more passengers. We can rally the people to fight.
Semmelweis: The other carriages are still under guard; I doubt we'll find many willing passengers who are still fit to join us.
Corvus: Hm. I know where to go. Pyrrhos gave me his word he would leave them be.
Semmelweis: And you still think he'll stand by it?
Corvus: It's our best chance. As for whether he has kept his promise ...
She steadies her breath, aiming at the door buckling under the assault.
Corvus: We're about to find out.
COMBAT
Gunfire still rattles.
Another sound joins in—scattered, heavy footsteps.
Reyhan: One, two, three ... No, there are more. Many more.
Her voice trembles.
Reyhan: They don't sound like soldiers. What do we do, Yakov?
Yakov: ...
Yakov: Ready your weapons, everyone.
The steps draw closer. The lock strains.
Passengers grip their makeshift weapons, every eye fixed on the opening door.
Yakov: Hold. Now! Attack!
The mob surges, raining down blows without mercy.
Agitated Voice: Stop, damn it! We're here to help!
Young Voice: My dolly ... I can't find her.
Cries, curses, and wails crash together in a storm.
Yakov: Wait, wait! I heard the little girl! And-And a woman?
The little skirmish finds a belated end.
A makeshift militia appears before them, young and old bedecked in piecemeal gear.
Semmelweis: Everyone, please lower your weapons.
Semmelweis: There's really no need to be at each other's throats each time we meet.
Reyhan: It's that investigator. She's back. And the conductress!
Corvus steps forward, adjusting a tilted hat brim.
Corvus: Excellent, you're already prepared to protect yourselves.
Corvus: I'll make this short. The train is surrounded by vampire Infected. We need your help to defeat them and get moving again.
Corvus: Take a weapon if you're able. We'll fight together.
The stowaways and the passengers glance at one another. Silence holds for a moment.
Stowaway I: But, why us?
Stowaway I: Look around you. We're just a bunch of regular folk—refugees who've probably never even touched a gun. The army's here, isn't it? Shouldn't they clean up this mess?
Stowaway II: And say we risk our lives to save other people from these Infected, what would stop them from reporting us if we try to cross the border after?
Then voices rise again, questions sharp and insistent.
Stowaway I: She's right. I say we unload the carriages with the Infected inside, and the rest of us keep going to Budapest.
Reyhan: You're quiet, Yakov. What are you thinking?
A single soft query hushes the noise, all eyes turning to their leader.
Yakov: ...
Yakov: I'd say ...
The other isolation car is quieter.
Only distant gunfire breaks the silence, like the front line of war.
Sonya: This is all getting rather unnerving.
The woman sets down her porcelain cup in a rattle. Yet she maintains an utter state of composure.
Arbuthnot: Gunshots? Not another bleedin' war!
Arbuthnot: Hell. I knew I should've brought my gun.
The gentleman scans around them, his pupils twitching.
Verity: So this is it, my career's turning point—magazine editor turned combat correspondent.
The editor finally closes her notebook, moving to the door for a peek.
A bloody hand slaps against the window.
Infected Passenger: Oh ...
Passenger IV: Oh, my! What on earth is that?
Verity: More of those Infected? Wasn't aware you could mass-produce such a thing.
The editor peers out further, toward the soldiers' camp.
Men rush back and forth, shouting, waving, losing all sense of order.
Her eyes drift past them to a gray building. Figures burst out, shrieking, trailing blood across the snow.
Some wander into the forest; others charge toward the train.
Verity: That must be the station warehouse. Is that where these Infected are coming from?
Verity: It's only been two hours since the quarantine began. What's gone wrong?
The editor frowns; another scream rings sharp in her ear.
Stowaways: ...!
Sonya: Oh, heavens! I've never seen such a thing in all my life!
Arbuthnot: Ah? Oh.
Infected Passenger: Come ... in. Come.
Passenger IV: The door won't hold for long. Get something to block it!
Stowaways: Ah!
Verity: What are you all standing there for? Get out of the way.
Gunfire rattles. Dark red bursts bloom across the train windows.
Through the smoke, armed figures emerge, faces pale and bloodied.
Semmelweis: Ah. Think I strained my shoulder.
Corvus: I did warn you. Someone your size can't handle a shotgun.
Semmelweis: Well, you can hardly expect me to take them down one by one with a pistol.
Verity: If this is some kind of robbery, then I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. A writer always travels light.
Corvus: It isn't. We want your help.
Corvus: That is all we know. Most of the soldiers stationed here have been infected. Many passengers have become their captives.
Corvus: It's thanks to their help that we made it this far.
She nods toward the refugees beside her.
Yakov: Just repaying a favor. Think nothing of it.
Yakov: She's helped so many people get to Budapest and asked for nothing in return. She'll have our support no matter what.
Passenger III: An extra carriage.
Passenger IV: They look like they just climbed straight out of the trenches or something.
They whisper uneasily. To them, these unkempt and unruly strangers with rifles look no less monstrous than the creatures they had vanquished.
Sonya: Well, in any case, we appreciate you rescuing us.
Sonya: Once we arrive, I'll be sure to arrange for gifts to be sent your way.
Yakov: That won't be necessary, ma'am. Just stay close, and we'll get out of here together.
Sonya: Pardon my confusion. You mean to say we're to leave this carriage?
Corvus: Yes. We need to see if any of the passengers are still alive.
Stowaways: What?!
Passenger III: You're not seriously asking us to fight those soldiers, are you? Infected soldiers, even!
The noise doesn't stop. In the chaos, a child squeezes out from the crowd.
Ivanushka: Um, Ms. Conductress, is Rubuska there, too? I still haven't seen her.
Before Corvus can reply, another voice cuts in.
Passenger IV: Rubuska ... You mean that fake vampire? She was one of the first ones they took away.
Ivanushka: Fake vampire? But she has red eyes and pointy teeth.
Annabelle: Don't listen to her! Rubuska is a real vampire!
Annabelle: Are you one of her familiars too? Come on, let's rescue her together!
Ivanushka: Yes, let's!
Ivanushka: She protected us. I have to pay her back. We pinky promised.
Sonya: Hmph, children. Aren't you afraid of those monsters outside?
Ivanushka & Annabelle: Never!
The bold, if childlike, answer surprises everyone.
Reyhan: Haha, see? Even the kids have got more guts than you.
Sonya: You ...
Arbuthnot: It ain't that we're tryin' to get out of helpin', but we ain't got no weapons. What d'you expect us to do, fight 'em off with knives an' forks?
Corvus: No need to worry about that.
She shifts aside, opening a path for her ally.
Aima steps forward, loosening a heavy sack, which pours out rifles and pistols into a motley assortment like a fisherman displaying his catch.
Aima: Take any you like. All the guns here are quite easy to handle. I picked them out myself.
Arbuthnot: An FN Model 1910! And this is a Mosin–Nagant! And a Mauser C96!
The gentleman lunges into the pile with boyish glee.
Arbuthnot: This one's excellent—consistent firepower. But this beauty, she's got a smoother pump cycle—lovely for follow-up shots.
Sonya: sigh Will the fighting ever cease?
The old woman sighs, then hardens. Her gaze turns ice-cold.
Sonya: Alright, just pick one for me. Something with some punch!