…All of him, complete with his right arm and both legs.
Czes’s mind had never fully shut down, although it had been a close thing. During that interval, he’d felt something he’d thought he’d lost forever.
He was sure now that neither Isaac nor Miria knew a thing about immortality. They had apparently become immortal through a coincidence of some sort. From the fact that, although they’d fallen off a train, there wasn’t a scratch on either of them, it seemed likely that Miria was an immortal as well.
Right now, they were both defenseless. It would be easy for him to set his right hand on their heads. However, he really didn’t want to. On seeing that he was fine, they were elated, almost in tears. Czes couldn’t bring himself to eat people like them.
He had no intention of pretending to be a good person this late in the game. It was only that, if he looked into their hearts… If he shared their memories and compared them to his own mind… If he did that, then this time, Czes truly wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. Living with feelings like those, forever… That would be terribly painful.
He thought it would hurt far, far more than the pain the red monster had inflicted on him.
Isaac and Miria were crying and rejoicing over the fact that Czes was all right.
“Oh, that’s great! That’s really fantastic!”
“Yes, it’s great! But why did Czes’s injuries get better?”
“That’s simple, Miria.”
“Why?”
Isaac had regained his usual rhythm, and he responded with absolute confidence in his answer.
“Listen, the Rail Tracer eats bad little kids, remember? I bet after he ate Czes, he realized he was really a good kid, so he came to give back what he’d eaten!”
“I see! Yes, that makes perfect sense!”
“No.”
It was Czes himself who’d raised an objection to the delighted pair. However, he wasn’t arguing about the reason he’d regenerated.
“I’m not a good kid… I lied.”
“You lied?”
“I said I was going to New York to meet my family, but I’m really just going to see a friend.”
After a little silence, Czes went on:
“I don’t have a family. I didn’t before—”
He was about to say, And I never will, but before he could, Isaac and Miria cried out:
“Is that right!”
“You really are a good boy, Czes!”
“Huh…?”
Czes was bewildered, but Isaac and Miria moved the conversation forward all on their own.
“To think you lied like that to keep everyone from worrying about you…even though you’re the one who’s hurting the most.”
“Yes, you’re a really strong, good kid, Czes!”
Without giving Czes a chance to argue, Isaac confidently thumped his own chest.
“All right! Just leave everything to me!”
“Lucky you, Czes! If you leave it to Isaac, you won’t need to worry about a thing!”
Miria nodded firmly, gently patting Czes’s cheek.
“So, listen, it’s okay to smile!”
Claire stood quietly on the roof. The morning sun was at his back, and he was gazing at the man and woman in front of him.
The things the guy with the tattooed face was holding were probably the new explosives Czes had mentioned.
Apparently, that big man had been dumping the car’s hidden cargo into the river. Claire had been wondering whether to collar him for it when he’d remembered what Czes had said:
—“Selling explosives to the Runoratas”—
In other words, that cargo was packed with weapons for the Runorata Family. If it disappeared, the war might turn in the Gandors’ favor.
At that thought, Claire had decided to turn a blind eye to Donny and the others. Either way, there’s no way I’m letting the train run with something that dangerous onboard. —That thought had crossed his mind as well.
And now, here was the boss of the robber gang, in the flesh. The guy with the tattooed face was running at him with a firm resolution in his eyes.
Claire already knew what he was planning to do.
He was probably attempting to slay the monster. The monster known as the Rail Tracer.
He was doing it to save the train. He’d picked this up, in a vague way, by thinking about previous situations and conversations.
The guy stood right in front of him, gazing straight into Claire’s eyes. He was meeting Claire’s eyes, right now, without showing the smallest sign of fear. Ah, what terribly gentle eyes. He’s got the eyes of a pushover. He has a tattoo like a devil, he’s on a living hell of a train, and he has stronger, kinder eyes than anyone.
Abruptly, those eyes struck Claire as unbearably beautiful. If Claire’s own eyes were like mirrors that trapped all light inside themselves, this guy’s eyes seemed to hold a quiet ocean.
Just about then, behind Claire, the sun was beginning to rise. The light reflected into the young guy’s face, and it felt as if even that sunlight was being absorbed into Claire’s eyes.
I hate to admit it, but his eyes are much stronger than mine. They’re the eyes of some hero straight out of a story. The eyes of a hero who slays monsters. If I take in a light this strong, my eyes might burst and vanish.
As he was absently thinking things like this, Claire decided to let the guy defeat him. He was the Rail Tracer. He had to disappear in the morning sun, just like the legend said. That was the duty of someone who’d told a story and pulled other people into it.
He took the body blow, and they rolled, tangling together.
Then they both fell down the side of the train.
As they fell, the young tattooed guy pulled the pin from one of his grenades. At that, for the first time, Claire spoke to him:
“Ready to go out in a blaze of glory? I don’t like that.”
“—Huh?”
Hugging the startled lad to him, Claire stopped himself on the side of the train. He didn’t know how many times he’d done it that night, but he was tired of hooking his legs between the wheels. Maybe he’d think up some other way next time.
While he thought this, Claire spoke to the youth:
“If you don’t throw that away fast, the girl up there is going to die, too.”
The tattooed guy startled, then hastily flung his cargo onto the tracks. The clay was highly resistant to impacts, and the live grenade rolled over and over on the gravel—
An explosion, and then a shock wave.
Still holding the inkhead, Claire made it through the blast without any trouble.
After the wind from the blast had settled down, Claire traveled along the side, carrying the tattooed guy, then entered the conductors’ room through the door in the side of the train.
He passed through the blood-soaked conductors’ room, then set the young guy down on his feet in the corridor. There, Claire muttered the rest of what he’d started to say a moment ago.
“Only idiots think about going out in a blaze of glory before they start fighting. First you try fighting, and if it feels like you’re probably not gonna make it, then you think that. Not before.”
Grumbling, Claire gave the young guy’s wounds a once-over. He’d been shot in the legs, but if he was able to stand, he was probably all right. Coming to an irresponsible conclusion, he gave him what was, in a way, appropriate advice:
“In Room Three of the second-class compartments, there’s a guy in gray who looks like a magician. That guy’s a surgeon. Have him take a look at you.”
“B-but…”
“Don’t worry. The loon in the white suit and the scary doll in black are gone. I think the one you took out was the last one, so relax and get some sleep.”
As he spoke, Claire toyed with the item he held in his right palm. It was one of the grenades made with the new explosives. When the tattooed guy had flung all of his away, Claire had deftly caught the one that hadn’t had its pin removed.
/> “It’s fine. Just go. And don’t forget about the girl up there.”
The guy’s tattoo warped as if he was confused, but he nodded to Claire once, politely, then went back to the train’s connecting platform. He was probably planning to climb up to the roof again from there.
As he watched the young guy go, Claire said just one thing to his receding back:
“Don’t keep girls waiting. Once they go off somewhere, nothing’s harder to find again.”
Those words were partly directed at himself.
After watching the young tattooed guy until he’d vanished, Claire twisted the stopper on the grenade and removed the fuse.
“Judging from that explosion, this should do it.”
He sprinkled a decent amount of the explosives it held over the faceless corpse. He didn’t need to blast it to smithereens. He only needed to make it possible to mistake the corpse for himself. Leaving it like this, with just the face ground off, made him feel highly insecure. Hopefully the forensics officers would be dimwits.
He’d make it so that Claire Stanfield had died today. That would make the next job easier as well. Harboring such calculations, Claire took out the middle-aged conductor’s pistol.
“…Ah. I’m not sullying the train or anything. This is my way of saying good-bye.”
Making excuses to an individual who wasn’t there, he aimed the gun at the powder he’d scattered over the floor and fired.
“Czes!”
When Isaac’s group returned to the dining car, the Beriams were waiting there.
“Oh, you’re all right! Isaac and Miria were with you, weren’t they!”
“I’m so glad! I’m so, so glad you’re okay, Czes!”
As he looked at the young girl who clung to him innocently, Czes had very mixed feelings. How could children open their hearts to people so easily? Of course, there were children who didn’t, but the difference was an extreme one.
Oh. I suppose Isaac and Miria may be like children, too.
The sight of Mary’s smile made Czes feel relieved, somehow.
He was really glad he hadn’t killed the people in the dining car. Glad he’d managed to get by without betraying this child.
At the time, he couldn’t fathom why he was glad about that.
Although his expression still hadn’t returned, Czes said just one thing to her: “I’m sorry.”
Up on the now-deserted roof: The figure that came to stand there wasn’t a human being. It was a single Rail Tracer that had caught up with the train.
He’d just blown up the two corpses dressed like conductors and had returned to the roof.
The message was near where Chané had been sitting.
It had been carved directly into the roof of the train with a knife.
I’ll be waiting in Manhattan. I’ll wait for you forever. Please, please look for me. I’ll look for you as well.
On seeing it, the red monster heaved a sigh.
“Manhattan. That’s great, but…for a rendezvous spot, it’s way too vague. Same goes for the time… And anyway, I didn’t tell her my name, and I didn’t get hers… I think that white suit called her ‘Chané’ or something, but…is it her real name? Dammit, looking for her really is going to be a pain.”
Gazing at the smoking conductors’ room, Claire smiled a bit self-consciously.
“Besides, seriously, I can’t tell from this. —I mean, is she planning to hire me, marry me, or kill me?”
Taking another long, hard look at the words, Claire rolled his shoulders, wrapping up his soliloquy.
Still… She writes a lot more politely than I expected. She might be an unexpectedly ladylike girl. Or did she fall in love with me at first sight or something? Man oh man… Would that make this a first love letter, then? Depending on the response, I think I’d like to keep this roof as a souvenir.
Arbitrarily building up his expectations for a woman he’d just met, he descended to the connecting platform.
“Sure, I’ll look for you. It’ll have to wait until after I’ve done my duty by the Gandor brothers, but…”
He wasn’t muttering to himself. He was talking to the distant Chané.
“I will. Count on it.”
And then the monster vanished.
The Rail Tracer was no more.
Everyone believed in the monster, and as in the legend, it disappeared in the morning light.
No one watched it go. It simply dissolved into the rising sun.
Express—The End
EPILOGUE
THE WOMAN IN COVERALLS
After that, the Flying Pussyfoot’s journey continued without incident, and it neared the area in Manhattan in which steam engines weren’t allowed.
At this point, they would be switching the lead car for an electric locomotive and—smokeless and clean—would head for Pennsylvania Station. However…
Waiting for them at the switch point was a veritable horde of police officers.
The train was immediately occupied by the police. Ironically, they did it much more briskly and efficiently than either the black suits or the white suits had.
Subsequently, the surviving black suits and white suits on the train were marched away, and after a two-hour investigation, the passengers were released. Finally, they were told that they would be generously compensated by the train’s sponsor, the Nebula Corporation, on the condition that they were to speak of this incident to no one. For some reason, the government and the corporation didn’t seem to want the incident to become public knowledge.
Rachel’s ticket was half-dyed with blood, but the police and the station employees seemed to accept that the blood was her own.
Ironically, it was an excuse she was able to use precisely because her leg was injured.
They’d finished the first aid treatment for her shot-up leg, and with nothing to do, she was sitting in a chair when a man with a dignified air approached her.
“I hear you helped my wife and daughter. You have my thanks.”
At first, she had no idea what was going on, but apparently, this was the husband of the mother Rachel had saved. In other words, he was Senator Beriam. Even though she was a low-level worker at an information brokerage, she hadn’t picked up on Mrs. Beriam’s identity until after she’d saved her. As she listened to him, thinking she still had a lot to learn, she was abruptly handed a thick paper envelope.
When she looked inside, it held a bundled stack of hundred-dollar bills.
“There. That’s yours.”
“Wha…?!”
Senator Beriam turned his back on Rachel and walked away. He hadn’t even asked her name.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t need the money, but this was just too infuriating. It felt as if he thought she’d done what she did in order to get a reward, and Rachel flung her hand up, preparing to lob the money at his back.
However, someone gently clasped that hand. It was Mrs. Beriam herself.
“My husband’s been very rude to you. Even so, please do take that money from him.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“No, it’s all right—he’s clumsy, that’s all. Money’s the only way he knows to express his gratitude. It often causes misunderstandings, but…”
She couldn’t very well throw the money at him after hearing something like that. She wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have married that sort of guy, but she kept the words shut away inside.
“Besides, I really should have been the one to say it first. I truly can’t thank you enough.”
At that, Mary peeked out from behind the woman and thanked Rachel as well. The girl had been very shy earlier, but as she looked at Rachel now, her eyes were shining openly.
“Miss Rachel, really, thank you very much! I’m going to be as good a person as you are!”
On hearing what this slightly precocious girl said, Rachel finally felt uncomfortable. The fact that she’d been stealing a ride made her feel as if she was tricking the girl, and it pricked her con
science.
After that, in the end, she did take the money. Once they reached Pennsylvania Station, she went straight to the ticket window. After giving it a little thought, she took half the money from the envelope and bought as many tickets as she could. Then she took her bushel of tickets and left the station.
She’d already decided how she was going to spend the other half of the money. For now, in order to get her leg treated properly, she set off for a local surgeon’s. The pain was the same as ever, but she walked firmly, as if she’d been set free from something.
EPILOGUE
COSTUMED BANDITS
New York Pennsylvania Station
The doors of the train opened, and the passengers were finally released from their long, turbulent journey.
They hadn’t been able to send on the cars that had served as the stage for the incident as they were, and so a different train had taken them to Pennsylvania Station.
Shadows stood on the lively, bustling platform, quietly searching for the people they were waiting for:
Firo and Ennis, waiting for their friends Isaac and Miria.
Maiza, waiting for Czes, his old colleague.
And the three Gandor brothers, who were waiting for a hitman who happened to be a family member—Claire Stanfield.
The people they were waiting for didn’t appear, and the figures exiting the train were growing few and far between.
Finally, a woman in coveralls with an injured leg disembarked.
After her came an individual dressed in gray from head to toe, and a man who seemed to be his assistant. Then a guy with a tattoo on his face, a girl with an eyepatch and glasses, and a big guy who was over six feet tall.
Their eyes were drawn to the odd group, just a little, but Firo and the others kept right on waiting.
Then, the very last ones to emerge from the train were—
—A western gunman in badly torn clothes, and an equally tattered dancing girl.
“Hey! Ennis and Firo and Maiza! It’s been a long time, my good people!”
1931 The Grand Punk Railroad: Express Page 15
