Handcuffs

We went to look. The next car was an empty one with spaced wooden slats and an open top. It looked like something used to haul cattle. There were three men in it, unconscious or dead. Michael climbed the far wall of the cattle car and onto the next car in line.
We climbed down into the car. "Dead?" Marcone asked.
"Napping," Sanya said.
Marcone nodded. "We should finish them. These men are fanatics. If they wake up, they'll attack us without hesitation, armed or not."
I eyed him. "We're not going to murder them in cold blood."
"Is there a particular reason why not?"
"Shut up, Marcone."
"They would show us no such mercy. And if they are allowed to live they will surely be used by the Denarians to cause pain and death. It's their purpose."
"We're not killing them."
Marcone's mouth curled into a bitter smile. "How did I guess." He snapped open a case on his belt and tossed two sets of handcuffs at Sanya. The Russian caught them and cuffed the downed men together, looping one of the sets around a metal strut of the car.
"There," Marcone said. "I suppose we'll just have to take the chance that none of them will chew off his own hand at the wrist and slip free."


Death Masks Chapter 32, Page 291