The Beast on the Tracks

by Amy Cross

  I take a step forward, ready to set off, but Richard puts a hand on my shoulder. When I turn to him, I see that he seems worried.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. “I mean, I kinda have to, it seems this is my destiny, but you have a choice. Whether the tracks called you or not, they eventually gave up on you and chose me instead. So why don't you use that as your way out? You still have a chance to live a normal life. Just get as far from the railroad as possible so that its influence ends, and then you can be yourself again.”

  “You don't want me to come?” I ask.

  “More than anything,” he replies, “but that's not the point.”

  “Last night showed me that my destiny is still caught up in all of this,” I tell him. “No matter what either of us did last night, we were supposed to end up right here. You might be right, I might be able to turn and run, but...” I reach down and takes his hands in mine. “I don't want to,” I add.

  For a moment, he seems poised to argue with me again, but then he turns and looks along the railroad. Following his gaze, I see that the light from the train has faded, but I know it's out there somewhere and I know it's going to be hungry again soon. It's eaten well over the past forty-eight hours, yet something tells me that its hunger never fades for very long. And if Richard and I don't provide more souls for it to consume, then it'll just find someone else. At least we deserve to live this kind of life. In a way, it's our penance for the things that we've done. Sure, the train most likely manipulated us, but that still doesn't let us completely off the hook.

  “Come on,” I say, still holding one of Richard's hands as we start walking along the railroad. “We've got a long way to go.”

  “How will we know where to stop?” he asks.

  “I don't know,” I reply, “but I guess the railroad will somehow let us know when we get to our next stop.”

  DESTINATION

  Chapter Forty

  Richard

  Five years later...

  Milk. Juice. Baby powder. Spinach. Toothpaste.

  I mentally tick each item off the list in my head as I make my way round the store. This is my weekly visit, and the guy at the counter knows now to expect me at 10am every Tuesday. I usually buy the exact same things every week, too, although I always try to throw in a surprise or two for Milly. This week I'm getting her some eggs, because I know she loves eggs and she hasn't had them for so long. I've already spotted a can of apricots that I know she'd love, but that'll have to be next week's treat.

  I wish I could buy both, but that's just not possible.

  “Beer!” a voice shouts, as the door bursts open and several men storm in from the snowstorm. “Don't let Wiggy pick! He always gets it wrong!”

  I instinctively despise these people already. I've never liked people who are loud in public and, as I turn my back to the men and pretend to examine the tin of apricots more closely, I remind myself that this encounter is a very rare occurrence. Since leaving Sobolton five years ago, I've barely encountered anyone else at all, and certainly not people who yell about beer. Still, the sound of their heavy boots stomping across the store's creaking boards is enough to make me furious.

  “Dude, is this all the beer you have?” one of the men calls out.

  “Everything I have is on display,” Chuck replies from the counter. “I don't keep anything hidden in the back.”

  “I told you we should have got something on the way,” another of the men complains, not even bothering to lower his voice. “I bet the prices here are sky high as well. These little huts in the middle of nowhere always try to fleece everyone who comes through the door.”

  I set the tin of apricots down. The last thing I want is to end up at the counter at the same time as these morons, so I figure I'll just loiter a little and wait until they're gone. That's easier said than done, of course, but for the time being I head to the cheese display and act like I'm trying to find something to buy. I mean, these morons probably won't be here for more than a couple of minutes, and then I can -

  “Dude, do you know where we can get beer?”

  Someone nudges my arm, and I turn to see that one of the oafs has come over to me.

  “Better beer, I mean,” he continues. “The selection here's not exactly inspiring. I guess you don't know of a big store hidden somewhere around here, do you?”

  “Sorry,” I murmur, “there's nothing for miles.”

  “That sucks,” he says with a sigh. “I guess that's what you get not planning a snowboarding trip.” He pauses for a moment. “So are you from around here?”

  “Sort of.”

  “We're staying at a cabin about two hours from here, up on the slopes near the pines.”

  “I know the place.”

  “Right. So what's the local knowledge? Where do you recommend we should go in the evenings?”

  “There's not really anywhere around,” I tell him, hoping that he'll leave me alone. “Sorry, but you're quite a way from anywhere like that. You'll just have to entertain yourselves.”

  With that, I head over to one of the other shelves, but the guy immediately follows me. This time he puts a hand on my shoulder, as if he thinks that we're friends. My instinct is to pull away, but I don't really want to invite any more dumb comments.

  “So where do you go, my friend?” he asks, lowering his voice now as if to indicate some kind of confidence between us. “You seem like a cool guy, and I find it hard to believe that you just spend your time shoveling snow and dropping by your local store to buy tinned goods. Listen, I know we're from out of town, but we don't wanna spend our evenings sitting around in the cabin. There has to be somewhere we can hook up with local girls, right?”

  “Really, no,” I reply. “If you wanted that, you should have stayed in the city.”

  “Are you sure you're not just keeping all the good stuff to yourself?”

  “No, I promise. There's nothing out here but snow and more snow. There are a few small houses dotted around, but the only town of any size is Manoba and -”

  “We drove through there on our way here,” he replies. “It looked pretty dead.”

  “There's not much nightlife,” I tell him. “People around here tend to keep to themselves. No-one really gets into anyone else's business, if you catch my drift. I'd suggest that you just focus on enjoying your snowboarding, or whatever you're here to do.”

  “Is that right, huh?” He seems disappointed, but after a moment he pats me on the shoulder as he turns to go back to his friends. “Bad luck!” he calls out to them, shouting for no obvious reason. “My local buddy back there says this is as hot as the local life gets. I guess we're gonna have to entertain ourselves!”

  As the four of them laugh and joke, I watch carefully and start analyzing them. They're all fairly tall, and obviously quite fit, and they certainly wear their confidence on their sleeves. They're also out of their comfort zone, and two of them are wearing shoes that are wholly inadequate for the weather in these parts. That's good, that suggests a lack of capability, and my mind is already racing as I watch them paying for their beer and chips. These four are just the kind of people I've been waiting for.

  “See you around, buddy!” one of them yells, waving at me as they all head back out into the snow. “Thanks for the tips!”

  The door swings shut after them, and the bell rings once as if to celebrate their departure.

  “Let's hope they don't become regulars,” Chuck says at the counter, as I take my basket over. “They must be staying up at Harry Peak's place. They won't find much excitement up there in the evenings.”

  I smile as I set the basket down, but in truth I really don't want to get involved in a conversation. I've already spent longer than usual here at the store, and I still have a few things to do before I get back home.

  “You guys doing alright out there?” Chuck asks as he starts scanning my items.

  “Fine.”

  “It must be hard with -”

  “W
e're just getting on with things, you know?”

  “And how's work?”

  He sounds a little suspicious.

  “We're not working,” I remind him, careful to stick to the story I've been using since we arrived here in the summer. “We're just taking a break from the rest of the world.”

  “That's right, I remember now.” He scans the final things, but I can tell that another question is coming. “And how much longer do you think you'll be sticking around?”

  Before I can answer, I hear the roar of an engine outside, and I realize that the four party guys are heading off to their cabin. For a few seconds, all I can think of is the fact that maybe my prayers have finally been answered. Not that I've actually been praying, of course, but I've certainly been hoping that we'll get a sniff of luck. And now that moment has arrived, albeit with something of a challenge attached.

  “It might not be much longer now,” I tell Chuck, as I fish some cash from my pocket. “You never know. This time in a week, we might be on the road again.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Richard

  The snowstorm is really picking up as I round the corner and push against the wind. Snow is howling and swirling all around, and my progress is terribly slow as I push through the piles of snow that have been left mostly undisturbed. I took a different route on my way to the store, but on the way back I wanted to take a slight detour and come around the edge of the mountain.

  I wanted to see the tracks.

  And there they are, glinting in the sheer white light of noon. Sometimes it's hard to believe that these same metal rails extend hundreds of miles back east, all the way to – and through – Sobolton. Then again, Milly and I walked along the railroad for every single one of those miles, occasionally stopping for a few months in remote spots. We've managed to make our money really last thanks to some frugality and a few light robberies on the way. Plus, we got lucky with some of the people we sacrificed to the train.

  Now here we are, high up in the mountains with nothing but snow all around.

  Reaching the tracks, I stop and crouch down, and then I reach out and touch one of the rails. After a moment I remove the glove from my hand. My skin is freezing now, but I have to touch the rail properly, so I press the back of my hand against the metal. Somehow, despite the icy weather, the railroad feels a little warm, and I guess maybe that's why it's managed to remain uncovered through the winter. Sometimes I genuinely believe that the rails are alive, that they're a living organism that has ways to keep itself going.

  But it's hungry.

  I don't know how I know, but I know. I can feel the hunger in the air, aching in the snow.

  “Soon,” I say out loud, even though I have no idea whether my words will get through. “I know it's been a long time since we were able to feed you, but we kinda got stuck here for obvious reasons and there really haven't been any options. But today I saw some people, and I think you're gonna get a real feast soon. You just have to wait a little while longer.”

  I wait, but of course there's no reply. How could there be? I just hope that the rails somehow heard me, and that they somehow know that I'm still going to feed them. Deep down, I've been worried for a while that I might be deemed a failure, that the rails might start looking for someone else. Even that they've found someone already. After all, I have no way of knowing what's happening on other stretches of the line. Is it possible that I'm surplus to requirements?

  “Soon,” I say again, more to reassure myself than because I think my words are having any real impact. “I promise. I'll feed you real soon.”

  ***

  The shack looks abandoned. As I trudge through the snow, carrying the bag of shopping, I can't help but think that the place looks exactly the same as it did when we first arrived. Back then, the shack appeared as if out of nowhere, as if it was some kind of miracle. And it has been miraculous in many ways. I have no idea who built the place, or why, or when, but this abandoned building was perfect for us. Deep down, I guess that the shack would have fallen apart if Milly and I were no longer useful to the railroad. Its continued existence is proof that we're still needed.

  As I reach the door, I turn to grab the handle, but then I hesitate for a moment. I'm going to have to tell Milly that I'm going up to the cabin tonight. I just need her to understand that I don't have a choice.

  I push the door open and step into the cabin's gloomy interior. The fire has gone out in the hearth, but I'm used to that. No matter how many times I urge her to keep adding logs while I'm out, Milly always seem to forget. She ends up huddled in old blankets, which I guess works for her even if it leaves me with an extra job when I get back. Still, I can't be too angry, because I know Milly has the hardest job out of the two of us. And as I shut the door and set the bag down, I can already hear a faint murmur coming from the back room.

  A moment later, Jennifer starts crying.

  It's hard to believe, sometimes, that I have a daughter now. She's six months old, and she's spent all her life in this shack. When Milly and I arrived here, we already knew that she was pregnant. We didn't plan to stick around here so long, but we got lazy and we hadn't anticipated the bad weather. When the snow began to really fall, we quickly understood that there was no way we could get back on the road with a baby. I might have told Chuck that we could be leaving soon, but in truth I know there's no chance of that. We need to wait until summer, at least. By then, we'll have been here for a year.

  Preferring not to disturb Milly just yet, in case she's sleeping, I busy myself with the task of rebuilding the fire. That in itself is not an easy task, but I've come to be pretty good at this kind of thing lately. Sometimes I wonder what my father would think if he could see me now, because he certainly didn't think that I was much good at being outdoors. He'd probably be utterly shocked if he realized that I could even light a fire, let alone that I'm actually good at this kind of lifestyle.

  After all, I'm keeping us all alive, and sometimes that's not easy.

  As I get the fire burning again, I hear a shuffling sound, and I turn to see Milly standing in the doorway. She's leaning against the wood slightly, and I can see her wild eyes in the gloom. Her hair is messier and bigger than ever, and she looks so unlike the calm, confident girl I first met at that party.

  “Hey,” I say, checking that the fire is coming along nicely and then getting to my feet, “I met -”

  “I think I've finally figured it out,” she says, taking a few steps toward me as Jennifer continues to gurgle in the next room. “It kind of makes sense when you look at it from one particular point of view.”

  “Milly -”

  “Listen to me!” she snaps, before taking some papers from the table and spreading them out for me to see. “The rails take the blood, and the train takes the souls. I think they're in a kind of symbiotic relationship. Do you remember all those years ago when Debs said she saw faces on the underside of the train? I think she was being literal, I think the faces of the dead souls somehow end up there and -”

  “Milly, I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Shush!” she hisses. “I told you I was gonna figure it all out, and I have! You just have to listen! So the souls get trapped beneath the train, meanwhile the blood and the body parts somehow seep into the rails. That's why there aren't really any bodies left behind. Meanwhile, the railroad itself is able to influence events nearby. I mean, you killed several people, but the cops never started poking around. That's because the railroad kept them away. The railroad looks after people who look after it. And I know why it all -”

  “Milly, can we -”

  “WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?” she screams.

  I flinch.

  Jennifer starts crying.

  “Just one more minute,” Milly continues, “and then I'll go to her.”

  I sigh.

  “Somehow this railroad has a kind of sentience. I know that sounds nuts, and I can't explain why it happened. I'll figure it out later, but for n
ow you just have to go with it. Maybe it really does go through an Indian burial ground, or maybe it goes through some place that's cursed. I don't know. But the point is, I read in the old papers years ago about all the accidents that have happened on this stretch of track. That's because the rails demanded blood. And when the line was closed, the rails still needed blood, so somehow the ghost of one of the old trains was brought back to help.”

  “That sounds... unlikely,” I tell her, “but I need to go and check on -”

  “There must have been other people in the past,” she continues, “people like us who served the lines. Ten years ago, I was supposed to be the next one, but I misunderstood it all and I ended up getting fixated on that wood chipper. So the lines chose you instead, and they did whatever it took to lure you in. That hobo, the one you thought was your father... I think he was being used too. That was the track's way of motivating you. It can reach into our minds and manipulate us, based on our deepest fears. And it changes us, so -”

  “Milly...”

  “So we're not bad people!” she adds, grabbing the sides of my arms. “That's the most important thing! We're not bad people, Richard, really we're not. We'd never have killed anyone if the railroad hadn't made us. We'd have been good people, or at least ordinary people. We wouldn't have been killers!” There are tears in her eyes now. “Say you agree,” she continues. “Say you understand.”

  “Sure,” I reply, even though that's only really a half truth. “But you're missing one thing out.”

  “What's that?”

  “Without the railroad, we'd probably never have met. And if we'd never met, we wouldn't have her.”

  For a moment, we stand in silence as Jennifer continues to cry. Milly turns and looks toward the doorway, but she still looks so wild and crazed, as if the madness of the past few years is really taking its toll.

  “You're a good person,” I tell her finally, placing a hand on the side of her face. She's so cold. “You're the greatest person I've ever met, and soon we're going to be somewhere better than this.” I wait, but I'm not even sure she's hearing me right now. “I love you, Milly Sutton,” I continue, “and one day I'm going to marry you. I will keep that promise.”