Page 18 of Delta

"I…I can't. It's too much."

The train lurches into motion again and this time keeps going, albeit rather slowly.

"Nein, nein. You must have some money, at least.” He smiles at me with kindness in his blue eyes. "You are of age with my granddaughter, Anja. If it was she in your situation, I hope someone would help her as I help you."

"What's your name, sir?"

Another of those wonderfully kind grandpa smiles. "I am Gregor Mueller."

"Gregor Mueller, my name is Bryn Harris." I can't help but hug him. "I won't forget what you've done to help me, Mr. Mueller."

"Nein, nein, es ist nichts, fräulein."

I pat his shoulders. "If anyone asks, you never met me. Okay? It's safer for you that way."

"This trouble you are in…"

"There will be police. Just…remember, you never saw me."

He frowns. "I shall remember. I hope you will be well."

"I'll be fine. I'm very resourceful. Thank you again, so much, Mr. Mueller."

Before I chicken out and take refuge in their compartment, I move forward toward the front of the train, if only to put more space between me and the dead men.

Nope, nope, nope—I put that out of my mind. I'll cry later.

When you're in the shit, baby girl, Mom used to tell me, you do what you gotta do first. There'll be time to fall apart later. But when you're in the shit, there ain't no time for blubbering.

She'd tell me this stuff all the time. Little lessons that I thought were so random and stupid. What did "in the shit" mean, anyway? I never understood. But I also never forgot. And now, I'm in the shit.

I remember, Mama. No time for blubbering. It's Badass Bryn time.

Exactly eleven minutes later, because this is Germany, after all, the train pulls into a station. The lights of Berlin are bright. The station is empty, the voice of the announcer echoing. I'm first off the train the moment it stops—the frigid winter air smacks me in the face like an icy fist, wrapping deathly cold fingers around my bare legs. Gregor's coat is suddenly much thinner than it had felt moments ago, as the wind knifes through it.

Worst of all, though, are my bare feet.

I catch a suspicious look from a conductor, but then he's distracted by a customer asking him a question, and I jog inside the station. It's warmer in here—as in, I won’t freeze to death in a matter of minutes. There are shops galore where I could use Gregor's money to buy some clothing, but everything is closed.

Wait…hold on.

I slow to a walk as something occurs to me. I started out in Zermatt, Switzerland, on the border of Switzerland and Italy. Now I'm in Berlin, Germany. The two are…not close. My knowledge of European geography is, sadly, limited. I mean, c'mon. I'm a spoiled rich girl who grew up on a private island compound. I got a great education, but remembering geography seemed pointless.

How long was I unconscious?

A conductor passes, and I flag him. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Ja, fräulein? Wie kann ich ihnen helfen?"

"Um, do you speak English?"

His eyes betray a touch of annoyance, but his tone is polite and respectful. "Ja, a little."

"How far is it from Zermatt to here? Like, how long is the train ride?"

"Twelve hours, or something like this." Some-sing like zis.

"Oh. Wow. Okay. Thank you."