The passengers in the Tail Section of the Snowpiercer had been growing hungrier by the day. For nearly two weeks now, the protein blocks they relied on for sustenance had ceased arriving. Rumors swirled that Mr. Wilford had finally decided to condemn them all.

Curtis Everett leaned against the door, his usually alert eyes drooping with exhaustion. As unofficial leader of the tails, he'd tried every means he could think of to pry it open brute force, fabricating tools from scraps, even pleading through the metal with whatever soul might be listening on the other side. But the door remained shut, as implacable as the train's constant forward motion, and hope was slipping away with each empty growl of stomachs gone too long untreated.

A noise above pulled Curtis from his daze scraping, banging. Faint voices from the outer cargo. He lifted his head slowly, dread and disbelief warring within him. It couldn't be...after so long resigned to their fate, had salvation truly come?

"How the fuck you open this door?" A male voice demanded, rough with irritation.

"Maybe you should've killed the person who knows how to unlock this door, Hm?" A second voice answered, a calm and composed feminine female voice.

Pushing shakily to his feet, Curtis staggered towards the sound. "Hello?" His voice cracked from disuse. "Who's there?"

The voices paused. "We're trying to get this door open," a man called back. "Stand clear."

Curtis waved the others away from the door weakly. Hope flared in his chest like a dying ember if these people succeeded, maybe, just maybe, the Tails wouldn't succumb after all. He leaned in to listen as the scraping resumed, prayer and determination giving him renewed strength. This was it. Their last roll of the dice.