The Behemoth was a streak racing along a silver track.
Holden could see it through the cargo hold window, a quarter-mile-long fortress of armored steel moving at three hundred miles per hour through the industrial corridor. Its enchanted propulsion system left a trail of blue-white energy behind it.
The jet flew directly above it, matching the train's speed with precision. From the ground, the jet was little more than a shimmer against the night sky, its stealth systems hiding it from anyone who happened to look up. Inside the cargo hold, however, there was no hiding from the wind waiting outside.
The cargo door opened.
The wind hit them like a wall.
Air screamed through the open doorway with enough force to shake the entire cargo hold, filling the space with a deep roar that seemed to vibrate through their bones. Talking was nearly impossible, and even breathing became harder as the cold air slammed against them.
