Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  “Well?”

  Leroy wasn’t equipped for this situation. “Well what?”

  “What you need?” he growled.

  “I… I don’t need any—”

  The man reached into his waistband and pulled out a sleek black gun, small enough to conceal but big enough to scare the hell out of Leroy, then slammed him onto the door with one arm, poking the weapon stiffly into his chest. The brute beckoned to his partner. “Check the window.” Tilting his head, he sneered at Leroy, beer-smoke breath fuming out. “You one of Fowler’s goons, you goin’ back to him in a box, boy.”

  Leroy couldn’t even begin to form a sentence with the prospect of death sticking in his ribs. All moisture had fled his mouth. He shook his head weakly.

  The other man slunk over to the window, peeled back the edge of the blinds and peered outside. “What am I looking for, here? A car?”

  “Yeah, a car, dammit.”

  “No car.”

  Face inches from his, the man said, “I’ma ask one more time: what you need?”

  Leroy took a second to collect himself, surveying the nearly empty domicile, but all he could croak out was “Got the wrong house.”

  The hulking man grabbed Leroy by the arm and shoved him further into the room. “You damn right about that, boy. Get over there.”

  The Hispanic spoke up as he found his way back to the table and pressed a button on the scale. “Woods, man, kid’s like twelve. No threat.”

  Woods grabbed Leroy’s backpack and ripped it off him from behind, extending Leroy’s arms just a bit too far. He sucked in air at the pain.

  His possessions tumbled out of the bag as Woods upended it. “What’s this? You goin’ to a slumber party or some shit?” He laughed at his joke as his partner smiled meekly, then tossed Leroy the bag. “Get out. Now.”

  Leroy quickly reversed the process that Woods, an appropriate name for a man of his size, had just put his items through and shouldered the bag. He stepped to the door and stopped in front of it, looking back.

  “What you waitin’ on, man?”

  Leroy twisted the handle and slipped out as quickly as he was pulled in.

  * * *

  He didn’t stop running until he was outside the neighborhood, and was out of breath long before he got there. A quick glance behind him revealed a lack of pursuers, which was reassuring. He hadn’t realized running away required actual running, and especially not from big men with guns.

  Ambling along the sidewalk, catching his breath, he tried to convince himself it was just happenstance. He’d chosen that house, and randomly. Could’ve picked any of them. It was the luck of the draw. Once he got to the train yard, things would get better.

  That last thought surprised him. On one of the many occasions he had threatened to run away from home, his mother said something that stuck with him. “You leave, and then what? You gon’ be a hobo, ride the rails, boy?” At the time he had emphatically denied it, but the idea of riding a train right out of his hated life had grown so enchanting and romanticized that somewhere deep down, he supposed he’d always known the plan.

  He wasn’t sure which way the train yard was, so he headed the direction Ms. Stacey had come from. During the ride back to Barstow with Tim, he’d seen a train yard a few miles out that seemed about as empty and inactive as possible. Bad for catching a ride, maybe, but good for not getting caught. He’d rather wait a day or two if need be than get sent back where he’d just left.

  A mile or so down the road he became aware of how sweaty he was. Must be at least ninety-five degrees, he figured, and the hot rush of exhaust from cars cruising by didn’t help. Leroy stopped a moment to grab a water bottle from his backpack, but the warm liquid left him dissatisfied.

  It was a minor inconvenience in light of the life-threatening situation he’d just endured, but enough to make him stop in when he reached a gas station.

  A middle-aged woman greeted him from behind the counter as he entered. He searched his pocket, emerging with a few dollars. He spotted a row of maps on a shelf and scanned the selection. His sweet tooth almost got the better of him as he briefly considered buying a candy bar or two and just winging it, but ultimately, he grabbed two maps — California, and the United States, though he hoped it didn’t come to the latter. Looking up, he handed them to the woman, and watched as her confident hands, tipped with dirty fingernails, slid the items over the scanner.

  “How are you today?” She looked up from her register at him.

  “Just had a gun pointed at me, but can’t complain.”

  The woman eyed him, unsure if he was joking. “It’ll be three-fifty.”

  Leroy forked over his money and received two quarters and two maps.

  Outside, he sat against the wall. It was difficult to see the tiny details, but near Barstow there was a line with three hash marks through it he gathered from the legend was a railroad. A nearby street sign informed him the gas station sat at Rimrock and Montara. He scanned the multitude of colored lines on the map, and after a moment, fixated on Montara Road. Tracing it south, he found Rimrock Road. Comparing the distance to the legend, he determined the train yard was only about three miles out. Not bad. He’d be there in an hour or so if all went well. From there, it was northward bound.

  Filing the maps into his bag, he set off.

  * * *

  The sun was merciless, a spotlight shining only on him. Drenched in perspiration, Leroy sauntered along the tan, sandy landscape. In the distance ahead, blurred by the haze of the heat, rows of train cars lined the ground as if the desert shrubbery had bucked its sporadic nature in favor of order.

  As he approached the yard, he began to appreciate how massive it was. Parallel tracks scarred the earth for miles in each direction, extending outward from the heart of the station. The place looked beyond secure. It was sectioned off with high metal fences, some even topped with barbed wire. Dozens of cars sat parked along the various buildings and warehouses. Still, he couldn’t imagine it would be that hard to hop a train. People did it all the time, didn’t they?

  Leroy came to the fence. He stared it up and down, estimating it at eight feet. Before he made his move, he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t get caught as soon as he got over. His little expedition would be over before Ms. Stacey even knew he was gone.

  On the other side of the fence, the yard was busy with a slow drone of activity—railroad workers unpacked cargo, road gangs inspected lines of track, and brakemen threw hand switches, redirecting long strains of freight cars to sit dormant for unknown periods. He gazed up at the towers, imagining how it felt to be lord of this impressive herd of iron horses.

  Ahead, the yard narrowed, and the various tracks fused into two—outgoing and incoming, if he had to guess. The fence near that part of the yard was more worn than elsewhere. Evidently, this was as good a spot as any to get in.

  He lifted his foot, placing it in one of the holes in the fence, and stepped up to grab onto it when the sound of a man speaking behind him caused him to slip off and land hard on one leg.

  “We got a climber near departure.”

  Leroy turned to find a wiry man wearing a wry grin and a rent-a-cop uniform at the helm of a golf cart. He let out a lemony snicker into the walkie-talkie he held. “I got him.” The security guard stepped out of the cart, tube socks and cargo shorts sandwiching a set of knobby knees. He pocketed the walkie and shuffled up to Leroy, hands on his hips.

  Leroy knew that if he stopped biting his lip for more than a moment, he’d burst into a nervous giggle at the sight of this silly man. He knew, too, that he was caught, and that put together, these two elements could react explosively. He trained his eyes on the ground.

  “Whatcha up to there, son?

  “Just checking out the trains, sir.” He stifled a final laugh.

  “Ah, railfan, are ya?”

  He’d never heard that term, but it made sense so he went with it.

  “Yes sir, ever since I was a child.”


  The man nudged his sunglasses down his nose with his finger. “That’s real cute. Might’a believed it if ya weren’t wearing that backpack. Ya know how many tramps I catch every day?”

  Leroy thought fast. “Half day. Just got out of school.”

  “Do ya take me for a fool, son? It’s summertime.”

  “Math tutoring. Numbers ain’t my thing.”

  “I caught ya climbing the fence, y’hear? I hadn’t stopped ya, you’d be sittin’ pretty on an outbound hopper right now.”

  It’d given him hope when the guard had referred to their location as ‘departure’ earlier, but that was confirmation he was in the right place.

  “Just looking to get a better view, sir.”

  “Now don’t lie to me, son. Nobody climbs a fence topped with barbed wire just for the view. Look, you can come with me and make this easy, or we can get the police involved. Which’s it gonna be?”

  Going with him sounded sketchy, but Leroy did not want the police involved, so he reluctantly opted for the easy way. He nodded to the man, who started back to the cart.

  “Smart choice. Hop in.”

  Leroy took shotgun and the cart started with a stir, the engine whining as it pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn.

  Leroy having complied, the guard seemed to lighten up a bit.

  “Ya know, I was just like you at your age. Not quite so dark, though. Heh!”

  Leroy forced a smile. He doubted that. The cart was headed straight back the way he’d came, erasing his progress by the moment.

  “Anyway, I used to sneak out to the yard every weekend, shoot the shit—beg pardon—with the crew, get up close and personal with the trains. They are amazing machines. That’s why I took up working here.”

  Leroy nodded, watching a train crawl across the yard like an ironshod caterpillar searching for somewhere to cocoon.

  “That was the past, though. Things is different nowadays. Security’s clamped down like a puppy waiting to get his bits lopped off.”

  The station was just ahead. Leroy wondered if he’d be taken into custody.

  “Ya know, we got an observation deck in the main building. Just ten bucks, and ya can stay out there all day long if you’d like.”

  Leroy was done observing.

  “Didn’t know that, sir.”

  As they came to the intersection of the station parking lot and the exit, the cart turned right and stopped at the main road.

  “Ya seem like a decent kid, so I’m gonna let ya out here. Come back and see us sometime, hear? The right way.”

  “I got the afternoon off, so I’ll stop by home and get that ten bucks.”

  The guard smiled at him.”That’s a true railfan. We’ll see ya later.”

  Leroy hopped off the golf cart, waved to the man, and crossed the street, scanning the strip mall before him as he wove a plan for progress.

  * * *

  It was all about the towers, he figured.

  Security wouldn’t be a problem if he wasn’t lost in a daydream. Assuming he could get in unseen, he’d have a golden chance of holing up in a car until one of the trains left. If it wasn’t his, he could easily bail before it hit dangerous speeds. How to evade the towers’ all-seeing supervision was another issue.

  A little diner called the Railway Cafe, starved for customers as Leroy was for real food, was located on a corner that allowed him to keep an eye on the departure yard while he chewed beef jerky at a table out front. The stuff might have protein, but it didn’t leave him feeling full. Maybe he hadn’t eaten enough.

  His best idea relied on the cover of night. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was a start. It was only one o’clock, though. There he was, wasting half a day pretending to read a free local newspaper. He’d already been caught there once. If it happened again, it’d expose his lies from earlier and likely be the end of the line.

  For a moment, he thought that might not be the worst outcome. In one day, he’d had a brush with death. Was this woman worth his life?

  Leroy tugged at a strip of beef between his teeth until it ripped in half. It was worth the life he’d been living. He hoped to change that.

  He lifted another piece of dried meat to his mouth, then dropped it as a train horn, deafening and robust, blared from the yard down the street. He craned his head to get a better view as a train slogged out of the yard, puffs of white escaping the vertical exhaust pipe like a string of pearls being pulled into the sky, growing blurrier and more ethereal as they ascended.

  That could be the only north-bound till tomorrow, or the day after. He didn’t know how often trains ran, or how far they went.

  Through the glass of the diner, he noticed the owner scowling in his direction. The last thing he wanted to do was offend or annoy anyone. Leroy packed up the jerky and the newspaper, in case he needed insulation at some point, pushed his seat in and vacated the premises.

  He needed to kill time, but had no idea how. If there was anything around besides a few local businesses, the rail yard, and an ocean of ankle-height shrubs, Leroy couldn’t see it. He regretted not grabbing one of Ms. Stacey’s word search booklets on the way out.

  The first task was to get out of the heat, or at least out of the sun. One of the few buildings nearby was a clothing store called Overall’s. Leroy had never been a beacon of fashion, as most of his clothes came from the same budget superstore from which his mother bought groceries, but he assumed a clothing store would have dressing rooms, air-conditioned and perfect for hiding.

  He headed down the short road toward the shop, his shadow thick and black beneath him in the overwhelming sunlight. A bell dinged inside as he pulled the door handle, and was awash in a gust of air, refreshingly chilly on his sweaty skin. The place seemed to specialize in rail workers’ clothes, and it looked the part, painted in earthy tones, walls lined with fake railroad track. Jumpsuits, slacks, and hard boots covered the shelves, and strange specialized gloves, the function of which escaped Leroy. The featured item: overalls.

  A young man near the back spotted him. “Welcome to Overall’s, home of the overall. Can I help you find anything today?”

  Leroy focused on the T-shirts he pretended to sift through. “Just looking.”

  “If you need help, let me know.”

  Leroy doubted the man would help him if he told him what he needed. He continued to shuffle through the shirts until the employee lost interest in him. Halfway between the front door and the fitting rooms to his right, Leroy slipped his shoes off and held them in one hand, then crept over to the front door, his eyes never leaving the employee. He placed a hand on the door, readying himself, then shoved it open. The bell rang as he sprinted silently to the fitting rooms, then peered around the corner at the young man, who threw a lazy glance to where Leroy used to be, then resumed folding shirts.

  He cracked a fitting room door open and slipped inside, releasing the doorknob slowly to avoid the click it made when it closed. A small bench jutted from a corner of the cramped room, decreasing the space he had to lay down, and the bright fluorescent lighting wasn’t very restful, either. Still, Leroy managed to curl up around the bench, laying on his side, which is how he liked to sleep anyway. If he couldn’t catch a train and get moving, he could think of no better way to spend the day than sleeping in the air conditioning.

  * * *

  When he awoke, the store was still and dark.

  He scampered to the front door, but it wouldn’t open, until he found a deadbolt at the bottom and yanked it upward. Outside, night had fallen, daylight replaced by dark and stars, as if the sun had split into trillions of tiny fragments.

  The plan worked even better than Leroy had hoped. He was well-rested, awake, alert. Which could prove to be an issue later, in the midst of a lengthy train ride, but he’d just have to grin and bear it.

  A mile out, the golden glow of the rail yard’s floodlights looked, fittingly, like a forcefield, protecting it from penetrators such as himself.

  He couldn’t wait
to get on a train and make this place his past.

  Eager to leave as he was, Leroy knew he couldn’t rush things. Caution was key. He wasn’t sure if guards scanned the property at night as well as during the day. A yard this big, it was likely they did. Couldn’t be that hard to see them coming though, he hoped. It was his own fault that he’d gotten caught anyway. He wasn’t paying attention. He fumed at himself.

  Leroy hiked parallel to the yard, keeping a lucid awareness. He couldn’t see a car in any direction, and the terrain permitted sight for miles.

  The scent of the evening desert intoxicated him; he found himself nearly hyperventilating to fill his lungs with an aroma that was soft and pungent, lush and crisp, floral and piney. It was vaguely similar to a laundry detergent his mother had used a long time ago, but there was something missing in those chemicals that could never be manufactured, the special ingredient that only nature could add—a whiff of life.

  And if he couldn’t smell the life of the desert, he could certainly hear it. The wind blowing through the various types of brush produced a distinct sound, a constant dull roar, which Leroy found relaxing. Countless insects and frogs added layers of high-pitched chirping and thick, textured buzzing to the concerto. Occasionally an owl or a coyote would take a solo, the latter of which grew somewhat worrisome to Leroy as he lumbered down an unlit, undeveloped street on a clear but nearly moonless night.

  A cursory glance across the way told Leroy that he was nearing the departure section of the yard, as he recognized the worn section of fence he’d begun to climb. But, it might be better, he reasoned, to reach the edge of the train yard and scale the fence there. He doubted any security guards would be positioned at the furthest point from the station, and once he was in, there would be a vast number of places to hide, were he to encounter trouble.