Nightfreight

You come off the roof at Ferrow with your hands too numb to feel the ladder, which is how men lose fingers, so you stand a while in the lee of the water tower and work them against your coat until they hurt again. The train breathes behind you. Down the line, past the seventh car, Ruell is walking the length of the eighth with his lamp held low, the way you walk when you want to look like you are not looking.