looked out for a moment at the still-rising sun over the green hills in the distance.
The thing she picked up from the floor in the room was still in her dress pocket, and the strawberry-frosted cupcake was still tucked snugly inside her bosom.
‘I hope Astor is okay,’ she thought, as she jumped over the gap between another of the two cars. She was over the third to last car now. She crouched down and crawled to the side and stuck her head over the edge and peered inside the car through the long panes running along the outside. The car was completely empty save for the pork chops, the turkey legs, and all the other assorted foods scattered randomly about.
Race Williams hooked her fingers into the lip lining of the train car roof, braced her muscles, stomped the low heels of her black-and-white saddle oxfords, and gave a quick silent prayer to the magic god Mabi.
Then she sprung out and swung down, gripping the lip of the car, and crashed feet-first through the large window and into the car.
Inside she bounced off a table, rolled, and sat up on her haunches—little pieces of glass sprinkled around her.
She brushed herself off and got up.
She had a few minor cuts and scratches, and her light-blue dress was ripped and torn in spots, but other than that she was alright. She was back inside the train now, free to move on towards the front … Free to face the man in black.
Cautiously, yet hastily, Race Williams made her way through car after car, with each one moving closer to her destined confrontation. Before the car where the initial showdown had happened, she paused and stood on her tip-toes. She peered through the little window in the door she looked for the gorilla with the rod who had been stationed there.
In his spot was a large red-bell pepper, half crushed, the pistol nothing but a lollipop next to it.
‘He even turned his own henchman in the end …’
Then Race’s eyes darted to the rotisserie chicken off to the side, no longer steaming.
“Astor!” she whispered, the name getting stuck in her throat.
She slipped through the door and darted over to the chicken and crouched down next to it.
‘Just hold on, Astor …’
Presently she was up again with her feet moving. After several more food-filled cars, she was one car away from the conductor’s cabin. She inched to the door, pushed up on her toes, and stuck a big blue eye next to the bottom corner of the little window.
From it she could see the brooding back of Nico’s long, shiny coat, his black wide-brimmed hat.
The conductor was backed against the console board, facing the looming man. His face was pale and ghastly, his eyes large and dark. His face was twisting while his whole body quivered.
Nico was stepping towards him, the satchel around his body.
The two men were talking, though Race couldn’t make out what was being said.
Race’s heart thumped hard in her chest. Pounding. Knocking, like it wanted to come out and go somewhere else. Her blonde coils of hair were wet against her neck, the red ribbons in her head darkened from all the sweat. She tried to control her breathing, muscles in her arms and legs jumping.
She removed the thing she had picked up back in the office from her pocket and held it behind her back. Then she placed her other hand on the handle of the door and continued to watch. She tried to control her breathing. It wasn’t much use.
Nico was pointing at the conductor, yelling. Then he bit off the black glove that was back on his left hand, took another step forward, and grabbed the conductor by the throat, knocking his square navy hat off.
Race watched with one wide eye as the conductor’s physical makeup wobbled and distorted in that terrible way. Then she watched the man shrink down and down—into a peaceful, whipped-crème-topped banana split.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her slick hands trembling.
Nico stepped past the banana-split, slipped back on his black glove, and placed his hand on one of the train levers. He was about to push it forward to speed the train up, when Race thrust the door open and burst into the cabin.
“Hey, mister! Where do you think you’re going with that satchel!?”
Nico wheeled around, wide-eyed and alarmed.
“YOU!!” he cried, bracing back against the console. “I knew it was too much to leave you locked in that room! Now I’ll do what I should have done in the first place! KILL YOU!!!!!”
With the utterance of the last word he lunged for her—his one bare hand large and looming, heavy, paste-white and powerful, raging at her with demonic, furious speed.
Race fell back and to the floor, her hands instinctively going up to shield her as the large white sinister hand pressed against her.
It met its target.
“NYAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” roared Nico. “That does it! Now nothing can stand in my—eh?”
He looked down at the girl, who had failed to change shape whatsoever, if only a little more at ease now.
“WHAT!?!?”
Suddenly he realized his hand wasn’t against flesh—the freckled soft meat of the girl’s face he thought he was touching—but instead was on something different. Something smooth. Glossy.
Glassy.
“Gl— Gla—”
Nico’s lips quivered, his face twitching. He was afraid to pull his hand back.
“I figured it out back in the office,” Race said calmly, her coiled hair down over her eyes, covering them. “It was the way you jumped back when the mirror broke all of a sudden. I saw your face. I saw the sheer panic and fear on you for that split moment. You weren’t just worried about getting cut. It was something far worse. That’s when I realized what it was all about: That you couldn’t touch glass with your magical hand. Am I right?”
The jaw on the tall dark man twisted into something else, as his worst fear was confirmed and he finally noticed the jagged piece of mirror the girl held between his hand and her cheek.
“YOU BITC—!”
But he didn’t get to finish his sentence. His composition was already changing, as he shrunk down. The satchel flew into the air in all his wild commotion.
By the time Race stood up, and caught it by its strap, there wasn’t much left of the man named Nico anymore.
Then something rumbled in her dress—
POP!
RIIIIIIIIIIIP!
With a roaring tear of material and a thud on the floor, Chick fell out of Race’s dress.
Race yelped at her sudden exposure, covering herself embarrassedly.
Then she gathered the torn dress and tucked it in, and leaped on the boy from Spain, throwing her arms passionately around his neck.
“Oh, Chick! You’re safe!! You’re safe!!!”
The banana-split at the train controls was just coming into consciousness, fixing his conductor’s cap, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Race Williams turned then and looked at the conductor, still disheveled, and applying the break now, adjusting the accelerator as he realized the train was traveling almost twice its proper speed.
They were approaching the destination.
“Look, Chick!” she said pointing. “It looks like his spell is wearing off! The people are turning back! Let’s go find Astor!!”
She grabbed the boy by the hand and the two raced out of the conductor’s cabin. Down the aisles they flew, car after car, past all the freshly awakening people, until they came to a whole roasted chicken, complete with roasted potatoes and a side of asparagus.
It was faintly beginning to take on the shape of an elderly bald man now. The white beard came into view. The dark-green suit.
By the time he sat up, and was realizing where he was, and what had happened, the kids were diving into his arms, screaming his name, tears running down their cheeks.
Astor let out a hearty laugh, almost falling over backwards, his arms around the children. His old eyes settled on the weighted satchel around the girl’s neck.
The train was just pulling into the
station at Trux.
Several safety pins from inside Astor’s jacket temporarily solved the issue of Race’s torn garment.
“When we get into town we’ll buy you a new dress,” Astor told her pleasantly. The two children smiled at one another, then up at the old man.
He crouched down, put a hand on both of their shoulders. In a soft whisper, he said:
“You did great, you two. Just amazing. There is hope for the Order yet.”
Race’s blonde-freckled cheeks tugged back and bubble-gum-pink lips spread from ear to ear over white teeth. Chick’s swarthy skin had a shade of red to it now, as he too smiled coyly.
The people around them were grabbing their luggage and shuffling out of the train, bemused and disoriented, each wondering how they must have dozed so deeply for the ride.
“Good,” said Astor. “They do not remember anything.”
The old man adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses.
“But I wonder what happened to—”
Suddenly he was interrupted by the conductor behind them. The man was holding a large chocolate-mousse cake.
“Excuse me, mad’moiselle,” he said to Race, holding the cake out, “I believe you left this in the control cabin. I had the strangest dream, most strange indeed, and I believe I passed out for a moment. While you certainly shouldn’t have been playing around in there, maybe if not for you I wouldn’t have woken up and who knows what would have happened then. You may have just saved this entire train from disaster. I am in your debt.” He bowed slightly. “Appreciate it if you didn’t mention this, though,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly. “I don’t know what came over me. Anyhow, here’s your
The Dangerous Train Ride (1 of 4) Page 6