Here is a scene from my novel, Mortals As They Walk. The protagonist, a young boy, finds himself bound and gagged inside a truck. Who are these men? What happened to his parents?
The van bumped and jostled as it made its way through the narrow streets. Salim felt as if he were in a dream—strangely calm after his brief bout of crying. It felt as if, at any moment, something would make sense of it all. It was as if he was supposed to be doing something.
He realized that he’d been subconsciously keeping track of their progress. Apparently one of the men was actually driving instead of using the AI, which was strange, but made it easier to envision each turn, how far they went before turning again. Humans drive less smooth than AIs. Now we’re at the light at Neckarstaden. Right on Rohrbacherstraße. Just passed Bizmarkplatz. The van turned onto Kurfürsten-Anlage. Towards the train station.
No turns for a bit. His mind began to wander. The man had said, “Leave him by the bins, someone will find him in the morning.” That had to be about his dad. Salim’s lip trembled. Salim didn’t need to recall the year of Latin he had to know what the phrase the man uttered meant.
He couldn’t be dead.
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Then he thought of his mom lying in a pool of blood. He shook his head and focused back on his current circumstances. The vehicle had been stopped for a while, probably at Römerstraße right before the roundabout. If they went straight, they were likely bound for the train station. He’d know for sure at Mittenmaierstraße. Left or right, to the major freeways out of town. Straight, it was the train station. Salim could hear traffic and crowd noises, and the van engine idling. The men up front had not spoken.
His dad said kidnapping happened all the time in America, because it was a land of lawless and violent people. But they were rare here. (His Dad also said that America passed so many laws every day that eventually everyone would be in prison. Salim wondered how it could be both lawless and stifled by laws.)
A cold sweat made him shiver. Were they going to kill him, too? Probably not—otherwise why kidnap him? Cold sweat beaded up on his skin. Were they going to take him away and kill him? And if they wanted something from his parents, they would have taken it. Or kidnapped them. Was it a child trafficking ring?
It made no sense. He and his parents were ordinary, plain, unremarkable people. Sometimes his dad joked about how they were invisible.
He began working through the facts he had. Part of his mind knew that his penchant for analysis and cold reason was a way to keep distracted and calm. It also gave him courage, because he knew he was good at it. He would observe, listen, and evaluate. There would be an opportunity to escape. People always underestimated him.
He heard voices now from the three men up front, but it was just a mumble with the van noise and the bag he inhabited. The fat one was driving. He was not sure how he knew that. Sometimes he just knew things.
He turned his attention back to his body. The bag was not tied shut. He could wriggle out. His wrists were taped. Perhaps he could rip the tape on something sharp in the van.
He twisted his hands back and forth. The tape was made of cloth, flexible and not too sticky. As he did so, the fibers of the fabric stretched. He continued the motion until it was loose enough to pull one hand out and then the other.
Were there handles on the inside the van? This was an old van, perhaps not even retrofitted for self-driving.
As he wriggled, the van slowed again and stopped. Salim used the momentum and the noise to push with his feet and slide out of the bag.
The van was bare inside, and dark, with only a little illumination streaming in through two small side windows. It was a cargo van. He squinted at the back door. At the bottom of each was a lever.
The van jerked to a stop again. Mittenmaierstraße, for sure. Now he’d know where they were going. After a short wait, the van drove straight ahead—towards the train station. Unless he’d missed a turn. But he was sure he hadn’t.
Why a train? Why so public if this was something sinister?
Salim thought ahead. Hands out, leap to the door, open both levers (in case one was a stationary door), and jump out. Of a moving vehicle? No. They’d be stopped soon, anyway. He’d have to wait.
The car swerved to the right and squealed to a halt. He grabbed the bag and pulled it over his head. The engine stopped. They were at the Hauptbahnhoff. He could hear the kidnappers better now with the engine off.
“You stay here. We’ll go inside and find Pablo. We’ll come back and get him once we have the tickets.” Salim replayed the voices from earlier. It was the man with the big nose, telling the fat driver to stay.
Doors opened and slammed. It was too quiet to open the doors. What now?
A door opened then slammed shut. Silence. The driver had gotten out. To smoke a cigarette? To watch and guard? This might be his chance.
He wriggled out of the bag, but before he could make a move, the door it opened.
The fat man stopped and stared. “How…” He shook his head. “No matter.” He reached in and pulled Salim out, to set him on the ground. The man leaned down into his face. Salim estimated he was in his 40s. Scars on his face. Clear blue eyes. Rather kind-looking. “This will be confusing to you, but I don’t have time to explain. Do as I say if you want to escape. Go into the train station. Don’t run, don’t draw attention to yourself. Keep with a crowd. Get on a train—any train that is not heading towards Frankfurt. You got money?”
Salim blinked. What was going on?
“Kid! Focus! Do you have money?!”
Salim nodded. He didn’t have money, but he knew how to ride trains without paying, like most boys his age.
“Don’t go to Frankfurt, don’t come back here. This is more important than you can imagine. Go!” Without waiting, the man turned and ran down the street, away from the station.
Salim hesitated. Why couldn’t’ he just go back home? He looked back down Kurfürsten-Anlage towards the old town. Why trust a kidnapper?
Because the likely explanation was that the man was not a kidnapper, but a mole. At least he had his own—or someone else’s—agenda. The “why” and “who” were unknown, but irrelevant at the moment.
Salim headed to the entrance, finding knots of people to walk close behind or beside. He kept his eyes on the entrance, watching for the other two men. If they came out, he’d have to move—without drawing attention—to put crowd members between him and them.
It was good luck that it was a busy night. Cars, vans, and taxis were pulling in and out, parked vehicles with travelers and taxi-drivers unloading luggage, while a steady stream of people flowed in and out of the station. A tour group of about twenty filed out of a bus. Salim found his way over to a family of five. A little girl struggled with her rolling bag.
“Excuse me, may I help?” He said, nodding to the parents and taking the suitcase.
“Thank you, very kind of you, young man,” the mother said. The father gave him a nod. They entered through the large doors, with letters above proclaiming “Hauptbahnof.” His dad always liked to say that it was the only Bahnhof in town—of course it was the Haupt! He said it every time they came. Salim smiled at the thought, then felt a pang of pain.
Inside, a mass of people were moving and weaving through the walkways. Vendor stands dotted the concourse, sitting like rocks in the middle of a river of people.
His adopted family halted just inside to scan the large train schedule board mounted high above and across from the entrance. They seemed befuddled by the occasional clacking and flipping of the numbers and the letters on the board, as trains left, arrived, or—rare in Germany—late.
Where should he go? He’d been to Strassbourg the most of any other town—his parents had friends there. He had an aunt in Hamburg, but he’d never been there. He’d only met her once, when he was little. All he remembered was that she had a French accent when she spoke German. He didn’t even remember what she looked like or her name.
As he looked down the station, he spotted the two kidnappers passing in front of the ticket booths, with a third man now accompanying them. They were fumbling with papers and talking. He moved over behind and beside the little girl, next to the mother, keeping his eyes on the men. They turned towards the entrance, peering here and there. Their eyes passed over him without a hint of suspicious or recognition. People are not too observant when they expect things to be a certain way.
He didn’t have much time. When they got back to the van and discovered him missing, they’d come after him. Would they search inside the station, or assume he’d left the area? If it was him, he’d split up three ways—one to the station, the other two in the most likely directions.
He set down the suitcase. “Have a nice trip.” Trying not to run, he moved towards the platforms. Faint “Thank you’s” floated after him.
He passed through the arch into the platform area: a wide, elevated walkway with glass walls on both sides which crossed perpendicular to the twelve tracks underneath. Stairs provided access down to each of the twelve.
He walked near the stairs, looking down at the signs. The first three were headed north: “Mannheim-Frankfurt,” “Mannheim-Mainz-Düsseldorf,” and “Frankfurt-Leipzig.”
He glanced back and was surprised to see one of the men, just crossing under the arch, walking and scanning the crowd, some sort of communication device in his hand.
They’d split up, obviously. He needed to get below before he spotted him and alerted the others.
He took the next stairway and saw the train was already waiting. Excellent. The sign read Baden-Baden-Stuttgart. Leaving in three minutes.
He took the stairs two at a time, slowing as he hit the platform, dashing through the thinner crowd outside the cars, up through the first door of the passenger car, then made his way back, stopping at the far end of the third car, where the luggage racks and bathroom were located. He could duck into the bathroom when he saw the conductor enter the car at the front. He took a seat near the racks on the aisle, away from the window.
He was fortunate to have found a train going south that was ready to leave. If he’d had to wait ten or fifteen minutes, they’d surely have caught him. Once underway, they would have no way of knowing which train he took. Or if he had even gotten on a train.
Three minutes seemed like ten, but the alarm sounded, the door closed, and with a puff and a whoosh, the train lurched forward. Salim watched the platform flow by and disappear. Baden-Baden was about a thirty-minute trip. All he had to do was stay out of the way of the conductor. Once there, he could decide where to go.
The door behind the racks whooshed open. Before he could turn and look, someone grabbed his arm.
“Don’t move.” He looked up into a pale face and beak nose.
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Mortals As They Walk is a riveting sci-fi thriller that delves into the ethical quagmire of genetic engineering.
Pate Williamson, a once-promising tech innovator now living on the streets, is recruited for a secretive project promising riches—but at a cost. Eris, a woman grappling with the loss of her family and child, joins the same experiment, seeking answers to her past. Meanwhile, Salim, a teenager raised in a carefully curated lie, discovers his true identity as a product of this very project, making him a target in a dangerous game.
Spanning from 2006 to 2038, their stories intertwine across continents, from the cobblestone streets of Heidelberg, Germany to the windswept cliffs of the Outer Hebrides in Scotland. As they uncover a conspiracy involving nanobiots, in vitro modifications, and corporate greed, they’re hunted by black market forces desperate to exploit their unique DNA. With the fate of humanity’s future in their hands, Pate, Eris, and Salim must decide whether to end the experiment that created them or risk its misuse.
Blending high-stakes suspense with profound ethical questions, McDowell crafts a narrative that echoes Gattaca and The Island. This thought-provoking tale explores free will, identity, and the cost of perfection in a world where science can rewrite destiny.
Available from select retailers in paperback, eBook, and audiobook.
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