by Amy Cross
“You're the driver?”
“I have been for a while,” he replies, “but I wasn't the original driver. No, he's long gone. The train needs a driver, but it has a habit of... wearing them out.”
“Then where did you come from?”
Smiling, he steps past me. He stops and looks out the door, toward the snowstorm, and for a moment he seems lost in thought.
“So refreshing,” he continues, taking a deep breath. “Do you know what it's been like, always seeing the world from the window but never feeling it against my face?”
“None of this makes sense,” I tell him. “Where can I find Milly?”
“I was like you once,” he replies, as he steps out through the door and stops at the top of the ladder. He seems totally in awe of the snowstorm. “I was drawn to the tracks, I was manipulated so that I began to bring offerings. You've got no idea how hungry the tracks are, and the train too. They have a deal, the train takes the souls and the tracks get the blood.”
“Milly was right,” I whisper.
“But they need people to be brought to them,” he continues, “and that's where you come in. It's where I came in too, once. A long time ago. I don't know how many there had been before me, but the tracks somehow twisted my mind so that I brought as many offerings as I could. I was a young man then, it was twenty years ago at least. Maybe thirty. It's so easy to lose track of time in that chair.” He turns to me. “Eventually, the deal always wears a man down. That's something I've realized. Eventually we give up the thing we love the most, and that's when the train stops for us.”
“I still don't understand,” I tell him. “All I want is to find Milly.”
“I believe you'll find that she's smeared along the tracks,” he replies. “If you look closely, you'll be able to see her blood slowly getting absorbed into the rails. It's quite a sight to behold.”
“I need to be with her again,” I reply.
“Twenty or thirty years ago,” he says, “I was in exactly your position. For the past few decades, I've longed to leave that chair.”
“Then why didn't you?” I ask.
“Well, it's simple.” He pauses, and then he puts a hand on the door. “This thing can only be opened by the right person, at the right time. And only... from the outside.”
I open my mouth to ask he means, but at that moment I see a faint glint of hope in his eyes. I freeze, wondering whether I've made a terrible mistake, and then finally he slams the door shut.
“No!” I shout, rushing forward and trying to force the door open, only to find that it's sealed tight. “Let me out of here!” I shout as I start banging my fists against the metal. “There's been a mistake! I'm not supposed to be in here! I have to find Milly!”
“That's pretty much exactly what I said, all those years ago,” I hear him reply from the other side of the door. “I wonder what the world's like now. I gave my dearest love to the train, and I hear her voice every night calling up to me. Now it's time for me to go to her, to be with her again. I can only hope that one day you get the same chance. Until then, please... don't hate me too much. One day you'll do the same thing to someone else. It's the only way, I'm afraid. One in, one out.”
“No!” I yell, banging the door again, trying every possible way to get out. “Come back!” I shout as I hear Stephen climbing down the steps. “You can't leave me in here!”
I can hear Stephen walking around the train now, but I'm focused on trying to get this door open. There has to be something else I can do, I refuse to believe that I'm trapped in here, yet it seems as if the door is simply stuck. I turn every dial, I pull every lever, I try every bolt, but somehow the door remains firmly in place. Finally, figuring that maybe there's some kind of release button somewhere else in here, I rush forward and step past the chair. I find a whole set of buttons and levers and dials on the panel beneath the window, but there are no labels and nothing makes sense.
Spotting movement outside, I look through the window and see Stephen walking away along the tracks, already disappearing into the snowstorm.
“Wait!” I shout, banging on the window. “Come back! You have to get me out of here.”
He stops ahead, just about still visible, and he turns to look at me.
“Come back!” I yell again, with tears running down my face. “You can't just leave me trapped in here! I don't know how anything works! I have to find Milly!”
I reach out and start pushing every lever I can find, convinced that one of them is going to allow the train to finally start moving forward. After a moment, however, I hear a loud hissing sound coming from somewhere over my shoulder, and slowly the train starts moving forward.
“What did I press?” I stammer, as I realize that I must have pressed at least half of everything on the panel. “I don't understand!”
Looking out the window, I see that Stephen is still on the track, even as the train picks up speed and starts roaring toward him. I wait for him to step out of the way, but then I realize that he's looking down toward the train's underside. It's almost as if he's waiting for us to hit him.
“Get out of the way!” I shout as I try to find the button or lever that'll stop the train. “I need your help!”
He doesn't respond. He doesn't react at all. He simply stands there as the train gets faster and faster, and finally I realize that he's not going to get out of the way. The lights of the train pick out his face, and the last thing I see is a sense of relief in his eyes. Then the train hits him, and he's pulled under, and I hear a sickening crunching sound as the wheels run across his bones and he's killed.
“No!” I shout, slumping down in the chair as the train roars on through the snowstorm. “Someone get me out of here!”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Richard
Five years later...
The train shudders slightly as it runs along the track, jolting me from a dream. I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is that I'm still in the chair, still in front of the panel of controls. I don't know how long I've been asleep, but it must be at least a couple of hours since I nodded off. Looking out the window, I see that we're rushing through a beautiful green valley with rolling hills on either side. I know this place, of course. After five years, I know every stretch of this line.
Slumping back in the chair, I take a deep breath. I think I was dreaming about Milly again, although it's hard to remember any of the details. I definitely have a sense of having seen her, but of course that sense is rapidly fading and I'm left all alone. The train shudders again, but this time I'm not surprised. It's not just the view that I know so well now; I also know every inch of the railroad, every spot where a slight imperfection robs the rails of their usual smoothness. I've been back and forth along the line so many times, I honestly don't think that there's anything left to learn. The railroad just runs uninterrupted from one coast to the other, with a loop at each end to allow the train to turn.
I look down at my shoulder, where there's nothing left except a stump. Somehow, being here in the train seems to have healed the wound. I lost a lot of blood, and I expected to die a long time ago, but somehow being in here seems to have kept me alive.
Getting to my feet, I feel pretty stiff and unfit. The inside of the train isn't exactly huge, so there's not a lot of room to get any exercise. I keep myself busy by doing sit-ups and one-armed push-ups every day, which is something, but I long for the chance to run and to feel the wind against my face. I remember the bitter cold of the snowstorms when Milly and I lived in that shack. At the time, I hated the cold, but now I'd give anything to feel it again. The truth is, every time the train passes through that part of the country, I always look away. I don't want to watch as we pass the shack, just as I don't want to watch as we pass through the cemetery at Sobolton. Whenever we're approaching those two spots, I make sure that I'm away from the window.
I peer into the furnace, where chunks of coal are burning to power the train. I still haven't quite figured out how this wh
ole thing works, and the train seems to never run out of fuel. As I peer at the burning coal, however, I can't help but notice that there seems to be a lot of thick, sticky blood caked around the bottom. My running theory so far is that blood from the railroad line gets up here and somehow powers the train. And then some crazy supernatural magic stuff happens and we end up with a ghostly train. Maybe one day I'll figure it all out.
Unless I find a way out of here first.
Reaching the spot next to the door, I sit down and stretch my legs out. Sitting in the chair all day drives me crazy, and even this small change is enough to clear my head. I found some journals a while ago, written by Stephen Armitage on the backs of the pages in an old log book, but I've read them over and over and I've pretty much committed them to memory. He seems to have been a good guy, at least when he was first trapped in the train by a man named George Garside. After that, however, the years of loneliness and isolation seem to have warped Stephen's mind until he was frantically waiting to find someone who could take his place. All he wanted was to join his beloved Anthea on the underside of the train, he even spoke of hearing her calling up to him.
They're together now, but their happiness came at my expense and I want out of here.
I briefly consider reading the journals again, but I can't quite bring myself to do something so tedious. Instead, I reach down and carefully remove one of the floor panels. This is a trick I learned from the journals; Stephen described loosening a panel that allowed him to more clearly hear the voices that come from the souls beneath the train. At first I found the whole thing macabre, but lately I've been listening to them a lot. As I lean down now, I can't help but wonder whether this time I might finally hear Milly's voice.
I wait for a moment, struggling a little to pick out the voices over the sound of the train rattling along the track.
“Please,” one of them is saying, “I can't handle this anymore. I just want to die.”
“All I see is the track,” another voice, female this time, whispers, “and then sometimes there's blood. So much blood.”
“I just hear all the other voices,” another says. “So many voices, all saying the same thing. Let me out. Let me go. Release me.”
“Milly!” I hiss, hoping against hope that finally I'll make contact with her. “If you're down there, say something! Anything! It's me, it's Richard!”
I wait, but there's nothing. The voices never even acknowledge me now. They seemed to notice me when I first climbed aboard the train, when I was on the ladder, but once I was inside it was as if they couldn't hear me. And as much as I've tried to remove more panels, I can never get any further down. I guess I'm cursed to simply hear them all the time.
A moment later the train goes over a distinctive triple bump, and I realize that we're at the coast.
As I get to my feet, I feel a heavy sense of dread in my chest. Sometimes, when I'm not looking out the window, the train seems to miss out sections of track. I have no idea how the process works, but I do know that it always means one thing. We're approaching the stretch of track near the sea on the eastern seaboard, and this is where – at the moment – there's someone who leaves bodies on the track for the train to consume. I guess this is the person who came after me, once I became the driver. The train and track reached out and anointed another servant.
I make my way to the chair and look out. For a moment, I stare at the beautiful, glittering blue ocean. I have to admit, there are times when being on the train isn't so bad, when I see the most stunning views. The railroad seems to pass through every conceivable panorama, and some stretches are downright captivating. As I watch the ocean, however, I know that we're hurtling closer and closer to the spot where the sacrifices are always made. Is this how Stephen Armitage used to feel whenever he approached the Sobolton cemetery, or when he was getting close to the rails near the snowbound shack?
Looking ahead, I can already see a figure tied to the rails. The sound of the engine is too loud for me to hear any screams, however, so I simply watch as the train rushes onward. There's another figure standing back from the side of the track, and that's who I watch as we roar past. I feel the train crunch over its latest victim, and for a fraction of a second I get a glimpse of the person who brought this sacrifice. It's a guy, maybe in his late teens or early twenties, and I feel nothing but pity for him. At the same time, I also know that I'd happily trap him on the train if that meant I could go and find Milly. Hopefully one day I'll get the chance.
I sit back down in the chair, and now the train seems to be racing along faster than before. That always happens after a sacrifice. The train is simply more powerful, and I guess there's another face on the underside.
“I'm going to find you,” I whisper, as I think back to the sight of Milly just before she died. “Wherever you are, whether you're under the train or you managed to break free, I'm going to find you. I won't rest until I see your face again.”
Chapter Fifty
Richard
Five years later...
“Where is she?” I scream as the train crunches over another victim, on the same stretch of track as always, next to the ocean. “Find her for me!”
It's too late, of course. The train rushes past and I know the guy by the track would never have been able to hear me. Still, if I can't just find some way to get through to him, I might be able to enlist him and get him to help me. At the same time, I can warn him and make sure that we both manage to escape the train's curse. I know Milly's ghost is out there somewhere, I know she's waiting for me. Isn't that what she said as she died? Something about waiting for me?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I've been trapped on the train for ten years now, rattling along these rails with nowhere else to go. I remember my father once telling me that life's like that, that as you get older your choices narrow until you only have one way to go. I always thought he was a fool, but now I'm starting to think that he might have had a point. Here I am, going backward and forward, with the illusion of movement despite the fact that I spend most of my time sitting here in this chair. Occasionally someone gets hurt, but other than that I just keep retracing the same old lines while I desperately search for my one true love. I guess destiny is a cruel joke.
Destiny is the real beast on the tracks. Or fate. Call it what you will. Everyone ends up like this eventually.
As the train follows the track around a curve, I realize that we're getting close to the loop. There are two loops, two large yards, one at each end of the line. This is where the train turns so that it can begin yet another remorseless journey across the country. I tell myself that this is going to be the last time, that somewhere before the other loop I'll finally find a way to break free. I've told myself that so many times already, but deep down I know that this time is going to be different. This time I'll find a way.
I can see the yard up ahead now. It's a real, working yard for trains that run on other lines. Why this particular cursed line is still intact, I have no idea, although I assume that the rails themselves have found some way to keep me from paying them too much attention. Even as the train slows for the yard, I can see people ahead, working on other stock. I know what's going to happen, because it's the same thing that always happens: we'll make our way slowly through the yard, running around the loop, and then we'll set off back the way we came. All the while, nobody will notice that we're even here.
Unless...
Getting to my feet, I tell myself that this time I'll make them notice. The train isn't a ghost, it's not silent or see-through, it just has some strange way of keeping itself unnoticed. This time, however, I'm going to make such a loud noise, they won't be able to ignore. And this time, I'm going to make sure that I have some help.
Hurrying over to the door, I drop down and lean toward the floor. I can hear the voices wailing and sobbing beneath the train, but I need them to be louder. I need them to attract attention.
“Hey!” I yell. “If you can hear me, make as mu
ch noise as you can! We need to do everything in our power to make them notice us!”
Although I know that part of the plan is unlikely to work, I have other options. Scrambling to my feet, I grab the wrench that's been knocking about in here all this time and I head to the window. I've tried breaking the glass so many times, and I've never had any luck, but this time I'm simply going to cause a commotion. I watch as the train eases into the yard and starts going round the loop, and then I fix my eyes on a group of men who are working on one particular train. Then, leaning forward, I start hammering the wrench against the glass while shouting at the top of my voice.
“Help me!” I yell. “Somebody! Over here! Help me!”
The train continues to make its way around the loop, but somehow nobody seems to have noticed. I continue to slam the wrench against the glass, but it's as if the entire train is invisible. I tell myself that I can't give up, not yet, so I keep banging against the window even as the entire situation starts to feel futile. Finally, as we move past the people and head around to exit the yard, I feel my frustration start to boil over.
A moment later, I head a sudden flapping sound, and I turn to see that one of the wall panels has fallen open, hanging from a hinge at the bottom. As I watch, the panel swings back up, and then it starts flapping wildly, creating a loud banging sound that seems almost to be mocking my efforts. I take a deep breath, telling myself that this is just a coincidence, but now the panel is starting to look a little like a mouth, and I start to think that the train is actually laughing at me. I tell myself that this is nonsense, but gradually a sense of resentment rises up through my body until I'm convinced that the panel is the train's way of trying to humiliate me.
