“I need shelter for the night. I’m no danger to you,” my voice crackled unconvincingly.

“Hell you ain’t,” the old vagabond rasped with hate. He was close, very close, dangerously close. I could feel my luck running out.

I heard the pipe, whistling as it moved, before I saw it. I threw myself backward in time to watch it traverse the space that my brain had occupied an instant before. It had been swung with all the force that he could muster. Images of a hard life on the rails warned me not to underestimate him. He was perfectly capable of defending himself even when three sheets to the wind.

I scuttled under one of the cars. “All I need’s a spare coat or blanket, mister, and I’ll go. No harm done.”

“What you need, I got right here.”

He waited for me with the pipe at the ready. I gathered some of the infection from the wound in my mind and sent it to him. He collapsed into the snow and was still. I climbed out and stripped him of his coat.

The yard was quiet. Damn. Someone else was watching.