Tarnished by Kate Jarvik Birch

wheels continued churning beneath us and after a while the steady and subtle rocking lulled me a bit. Missy was silent next to me, but the car was filled with noises, the clicks and whirs and clangs of movement, and every once in a while the whistle cut through it all, as if to remind us it was in charge of all this.
    Time hung suspended, rocking on its hinges. We could have been inside the train for an hour, or a week, or a year, I couldn’t tell. Without conversation, there was nothing to punctuate the time except for the occasional wail of the horn and the sense of moving forward toward some scary future that I both dreaded and longed for.
    “Missy,” I finally said, breaking the silence within our tiny vehicle. “Tell me about the black market.”
    She sighed and stayed quiet, shifting slightly in her seat, but I couldn’t tell if she was getting ready to speak, or if she was actively ignoring me.
    “What do you want to know?” she finally asked.
    “It’s just a big scary blob in my mind. I don’t even know what questions to ask.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s kind of a big scary blob in real life, too,” she said. “Not really. I’m making it sound worse than it is.” She fiddled with her fingernails, pulling at the small hangnails on her thumb. “It’s hard to explain, because each one is a little bit different. At least that’s what I’ve seen. The market in Buffalo is small, but there are quite a few free agents there.”
    “Free agents?”
    “It means they don’t have owners, but they still choose to stay on the black market. Some people just can’t get used to the idea of being in charge of their own life. They need someone else in charge.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s a way for them to make money. It gives them a place to stay and a network of people. It sounds screwed up, but I guess it’s the closest thing to a family that they’ll ever get, you know?”
    I nodded, even though I didn’t really understand.
    “But free agents aren’t the norm. Most markets are there to sell pets to families. Or at least that’s what they claim. The buyer’s credentials aren’t as high as they had to be with the kennels. There aren’t any background checks. It’s all about the money. The highest bidder gets the girl.”
    “But you were in the black market and you ended up in a decent home the second time.” I’d met her previous family. They were pretentious and vain, but they had treated her well.
    She lifted her chin. “I was one of the lucky ones.”
    “But what if someone wants to buy us, someone from a bad home. How will we know?”
    “No one’s going to buy us,” Missy assured me. “We’re going in as free agents. We make our own terms.”
    “But—”
    “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
    I wanted to trust her. If anyone could get us back to Penn, she was my best bet. But even though Missy was confident and strong, I still didn’t trust her entirely.
    T he inside of the car had started off cool that morning, but over the hours it had grown hotter and hotter. By the time the train finally ground to a halt, the metal train car felt like an oven.
    As soon as we were certain that the train had stopped for good, we cracked the door, gulping down deep breaths of fresh air.
    Missy hitched her backpack up. “We’re going to have to make a run for it,” she said. “Follow me, okay? Even if someone spots you, don’t stop.”
    Outside, the train yard was quiet.
    “Can’t we just wait until everyone leaves for the night?”
    “The train isn’t staying here. We don’t have very long.” She pushed the door open a little wider and swung her legs out, hopping down onto the gravel with a crunch. I squinted, trying to get my eyes to start working again, but the world was too big and too bright. I followed after Missy, stumbling a little as I jumped. My hands and knees hit the gravel at the same time.
    “ Run ,” Missy hissed at me, breaking into a run across the