Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

Catching a whiff of Ted’s breath, Leroy had to turn away to not gag, while making it look coincidental. It amazed and repulsed him that a living human mouth could produce a scent like that—a horrid blend of cigarettes, vomit, bourbon, and sickness.

  Ant clasped his hands together. “I simply have a limited tolerance for games of chance. Life deals them out on a daily basis.”

  A rogue gust of wind sent ash and smoke and heat into Leroy’s face. He spun around but had already inhaled too much, sending him into a coughing fit. He jumped up and away from the fire.

  “They say the smoke blows toward bodies. You have never camped?”

  Leroy ignored Ant’s question, breathing deeply the cool air outside the fire’s range. First he’d burnt his tongue, then his lungs. He was starting to think the biggest danger he’d have to overcome was himself.

  The boom of train cars connecting echoed in the distance.

  Ted gathered the cards from John and slid them into their box, kicking his leg out to loosen his pocket so it’d fit inside. “That’s my cue. It’s been a gas, y’all, but I’m fixin’ to go.”

  “Look at my little Teddy, going off all on his own! I am so proud.” Ant rose to his feet, the tallest by inches. “Where are you headed?”

  Ted stood and brushed the dirt off the seat of his pants. “One guess.”

  Preempting Ant, Leroy called out “Texas.”

  “Where else?” Ted grinned.

  Cracker John, then Leroy shook Ted’s hand.Ant pulled him in for a begrudged hug. “Be safe,” was all he said before Ted wriggled out of his grip.

  “Don’t go queer on me, now.” Ted clomped off, never looking back.

  Ant filled his paper cup with chili. “Anyone else? There is plenty.”

  Leroy practically leapt up. No need to ask him twice to eat free food. He handed Ant the cup and a moment later received it full of warm chili.

  “I can put it on the fire if you require it scalding, Leroy,” Ant snickered.

  It was the first time Leroy had genuinely laughed in so long he couldn’t remember. His smile felt almost unnatural, requiring effort to execute correctly.

  “John, would you like some more?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be here a while. Have some later.”

  Another boom of train cars crashing rumbled its way to the jungle.

  “As you wish. Leroy, we should probably head back, as well.” Ant turned to Cracker John, who stood. They came together for a brief hug and patted each other on the back. “Take care, my friend. I will see you again soon.”

  “Good to meet you, Cracker John.”

  “Indeed, Leroy,” John nodded. He settled down next to the fire, laid back, head propped up on his bag, and tipped his hat over his eyes.

  Leroy grabbed his backpack and again trailing behind, just in case, although he more or less trusted Antoine Bevilacqua at this point. At least enough to help him find a northbound train. And he’d provided valuable information about jungles.

  The heat of the day burned through the tree tops, stagnating the air.

  “So, how you tell which train is the right one?”

  “First of all, you must know where you are going. Do you?”

  “North.”

  “In that case, it is simple. Just ask the crew.”

  “Yeah, but what about the bull?”

  “If you do not wear red you will be fine,” he grinned. “They are lazy creatures. They sit in their little hut all day until they are alerted to trouble.”

  They rounded the enormous oak tree.

  “Crews really don’t give tramps a hard time?”

  “That depends. If you act irresponsibly, you will face the consequences. In my experience they are unusually kind and understanding. Whether that is due to meeting so many travelers, or whether their benevolent nature attracts them to a job at which they may meet them, I have often wondered.”

  That was one more thing he could cross off his long list of concerns.

  Patches of sunlight grazed them as they trooped along the path, one marching toward his future, the other toward his past.

  * * *

  Ant peered out from the edge of the trees. He checked both directions, then waved Leroy forward. They meandered along the barren tracks.

  As he trudged along the tracks, Leroy appreciated the wood they were built upon. Each plank had a lifetime of history etched into it, probably older than he was. They had to be durable, which meant they must be heavy. He imagined the workers who had constructed the system, and how weary they must have grown lugging the slabs of lumber under a sweltering sun. He was uncomfortably warm just taking a morning stroll. Leroy would take a mean momma over slave labor any day.

  They found the yard mostly empty. The few cars that were left sat atop the hump, waiting to careen over and find purpose on the other side.

  He hadn’t realized how green California could be. Just a short hour away from there, his childhood residence rotted in a ratty apartment complex and equally run-down town. He was not well-traveled, but his parental situation had permitted him some long walks, and he’d never seen so lush an area. As well as the pines, junipers, and cypresses of his youth, before him were sycamores, willows, oaks—leafy trees. Bushes tangled with ivy vines, and wildflowers speckled the lawn. The sight set his mind to work, and for a moment everything seemed right; he could picture the wild landscape before him juxtaposed with the cold orderliness of the tracks, painted and framed to perfection. A creative impulse coursed through him.

  The sudden impact of two cars locking together brought him back to reality. At the top of the hump, a crewman stood outside a cramped shack. As they climbed the incline, Leroy had to ask. “You sure they ain’t gonna call the bull on us?”

  “No,” Ant admitted. “But we know where to go if they do. And please, do not say ‘ain’t.’ It makes you sound uneducated.”

  The crewman turned around at the sound of their voices.

  Ant slowed to a stop. “Hello. How are you?”

  The crewman’s greasy hair splayed from under his cap and into his eyes, causing him to blink often. He was no more than a kid, Leroy noted, still unable to grow facial hair. “Me? So-so, I guess. Long day, but ain’t they all?” He took a long swig through the straw of a Big Gulp.

  Ant and Leroy locked eyes for a moment.

  “Too true. My friend here is trying to catch out northbound. Might you be able to point us in the right direction?”

  He sized Leroy up. “Little young to be catching out. How old are you?”

  Leroy was getting tired of hearing that question. He had somewhere to go, and he’d be damned if he was going to let an arbitrary number change that. “Fifteen.” There was more saltiness in his response than he’d intended. He didn’t want to jeopardize this man’s willingness to help.

  “Your ma and pa know you’re out trampin’?”

  Ant peered at Leroy from the corners of his eyes.

  “Momma died.”

  “What about your pops? Don’t tell me he split when you were young. Ain’t nobody’s life that cliché,” he guffawed.

  Leroy shook his head. “I… ”

  He patted Leroy on the back. “My bad, man. Didn’t mean it.” The crewman turned to Ant. “You’re going with, right?”

  Before Leroy could begin to consider the implications, Ant responded.

  “Of course,” he lied.

  Or at least Leroy hoped he was lying. This was a mission. His mission. He didn’t need some adult coming along, thinking he knew what was best. He’d begun to trust Ant, but had also learned from him earlier to be careful around others. Leroy had no interest in staring down the blade of a knife, or worse.

  The worker wiped his hair to the side, only for it to fall right back into his eyes. “Track three is headed for Portland. ‘Bout as north as you can get.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  He nodded to Ant as they shook hands. “You got it.”

  As they left the crewman to h
is panel of switches and lights, a gondola glided by, leisurely descending the tracks to a string of cars below. It was like watching a snail crawl. They could probably halve the time it takes to classify all this if they sped things up, Leroy figured.

  At the bottom of the hill, the track split into two sets of three, each occupied with a different length of train. Theirs was the last in the third set, a long series of grainers and gondolas.

  Ant scanned it. “No boxes… Damn. We ride outside this morning.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “I suppose if you sun burn easily. Or if you are a vampire. Look at it like this—at least you can not lock yourself in.” Ant gave Leroy a playful shove.

  “Hilarious. The driver said he’d leave the door open. It shut on its own.”

  “One of the first rules of hoboing,” Ant asserted, removing a length of wood from his rucksack, “is always be prepared. Unfortunately, we will not be needing this today.” He slipped it back inside. “But you see the point, no?”

  Leroy nodded and said “No.”

  “Good. You are in the wild now. Anything can happen.”

  ‘Rape van’ was the first thing that came to mind.”But such is the beauty of this lifestyle. Each is his own man, unfettered from society. Yet in this lawlessness we may observe the human condition at its purest. One is free to act as he wishes, guided by only inherent morality. Still, it is out here I feel safest. Once in a while you get a knife pulled on you, but you take the bad with the good,” he laughed. On his raised hand, his pointer finger protruded. “He who lives without peril is never truly secure.”

  They continued along the tracks in silence. That last sentence seemed like a contradiction to Leroy. Admittedly, the rest of what Ant said did sound pretty appealing. Leroy had lost count of the times he wished he could just go hermit. He had it all planned out—a small house with a small garden in the middle of nowhere. Maybe some paper now and then so he could draw and paint, but he could sell extra produce to pay for it. It was a static way of living. Some might call it monotonous, but to him it sounded downright carefree. He longed for that life.

  As they approached the rear of the train, Ant analyzed the last grainer. The thick metal thudded under his palm as he patted it. “This is our ride.”

  Whoa, now. He didn’t like the sound of that. “You ain’t—”

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Ant scolded.

  “You aren’t actually coming, are you?”

  “Naturally, I am.”

  Leroy didn’t know what to say. It was clear that this man was brazen, but to force his way into Leroy’s plans like this was too much. “Look, it’s just… this is kinda personal, my situation, and I think I should take care of it myself, is all.”

  Ant placed a hand on Leroy’s shoulder, nodding his head. “Of course. I understand. But I am still coming.”

  “I mean, it’s nothing against you or anything. It’s me.”

  “No,” Ant rebutted, “it is me. If I let you leave here alone and something happened to you, I could not forgive myself.”

  ”You’d never know.”

  “Word gets around.” They were a yard apart, a red light on the back of the grainer blinking between them. “I am going to speak frankly, Leroy. I assume you have run away from home.”

  Leroy crossed his arms.

  “I am experienced. I know how to stay safe in the wild.”

  “You said anything can happen. You coming won’t change that.”

  Ant grinned. “Sharp mind. But one can be prepared. And I am. Further, there is power in numbers. This is no longer the golden age of tramping. Hobos nowadays are often ex-cons, violent people.”

  “I can take care of myself.” He said this despite the chord of fear what Ant said had struck in him. He was going to need a bigger knife.

  “I bet you can.”

  He couldn’t tell if Ant was being sarcastic or not. “I made it this far, didn’t I?” He said it as much to convince himself as Ant.

  “Yes, with my help.”

  “Didn’t even need it. The bull didn’t follow.”

  “You would be in that boxcar still were it not for me.”

  “Someone else would’ve helped me out.”

  “And right into a jail cell. Listen, I am not claiming you need me. You are a capable young man. I respect that. I am saying I will regret it if I do not see you to your destination. Besides, I could use a good adventure.”

  A shiftless apathy overtook Leroy. He didn’t feel like moving, let alone continuing a journey of unknowable distance. The pitch black bedroom at Ms. Stacey’s foster home didn’t seem so bad as he thought back on it.

  “We may spend the ride in silence if you wish,” Ant strained as he climbed the grainer’s side ladder, “but my presence is not negotiable.”

  An adult imposing his will. What a surprise.

  At each end, the grainer slanted inward, with a platform jutting out from the base, creating a cubby in which Ant settled with a content smile.

  Leroy stood off to the side, pouting in disbelief of his situation. He was about to ride a moving vehicle on a tiny platform from which he could easily be jounced, for an unknown stretch of time, with an unintended companion.

  “If you do not wish to remain in Boron, and I assure you that is the case, it would be wise to board.” He held out his hand to help Leroy up.

  All Leroy wanted was to find the one person who had ever truly cared about him. Now he was getting wrangled into a sidekick role.

  With a resonant sputter and a puff of coal-colored smoke, the train started.

  Leroy remained immobile.

  “Well, it is your choice.”

  For a moment Leroy thought he’d won, then Ant propped himself up and hopped down from the grainer. The procession of cars shook hard, then began to inch away. “Shall we join Cracker John back at the jungle?”

  His bluff had been called. He had to get on. The police could be looking for him right now, and he’d spent a day and a half going nearly nowhere.

  With each second, the walls of anxiety closed in. Maybe he could wait until the train was moving, then dash for it before Ant could react.

  As the train crept away from them, Leroy held his ground, and Ant did the same. Leroy stepped toward the train, and Ant followed. He stopped, and Ant stopped. They waited in stillness for a few seconds, then Ant brought his hands up to mime an invisible wall.

  “You ten years old?” Leroy snapped.

  “Are you?” Ant jeered, his voice barely audible over the racket the train was making as it picked up speed.

  Leroy watched in distress as it drifted away. “Just lemme go! Please!”

  “I can not.” The silliness faded from Ant’s face, giving way to rock-hard resignation, his eyebrows arched. He focused his solemn gaze on Leroy.

  “This is our ride,” Ant yelled. “Are we going or not?”

  A silent moment passed for Leroy amid the noise. Then, he sprinted after the train, his sneakers crunching and grinding the ballast beneath, until he caught up. He leapt and clutched the side ladder, then mounted the rungs and pulled himself atop the platform. As he settled back, breathing heavily, he turned to his left to find Ant wearing that million dollar grin, legs extended and hanging off the edge of the platform.

  “So, where to?”

  * * *

  It was twenty minutes into the ride, and Ant had talked through all of them.

  Despite his vow of silence, he spoke of many things: the types of train cars best suited for riding, the gorgeous landscapes along the Pacific Northwest, the characters he’d encountered. He spoke at length about the people, places, and things in his life, but never of himself.

  It was just as well with Leroy, who hadn’t wanted to talk about anything to anyone. He leaned on his closed fist, apathetic on the outside, but seething inside. Every word Ant spoke was a reminder that he’d breached a barrier, invaded Leroy’s personal space. He had no right to tag along. Leroy bristled. This was the future of his life,
not some whimsical adventure to entertain a jaded middle-aged man.

  How silly he’d been to believe Ant’s little speech about not calling him ‘sir,’ to think that he was any different. When it came down to it, how to refer to him was irrelevant; he was an adult, same as the rest of them. All he wanted was to control Leroy, and that was exactly what Leroy sought to avoid.

  Leroy gripped the ladder, transfixed by the passing low-income housing, smoldering from Ant’s ramblings.

  It wasn’t all bad, though. In the short time he’d been riding, Leroy concluded that grainers were better than boxcars. The slanted walls at each end of the car were ideal for more than just cover and a place to sit—the lack of enclosure permitted a much fuller view of the surroundings breezing past. And Leroy could see everything he was leaving behind for miles. He liked that.

  He liked that, as Ant had taunted earlier, he couldn’t get locked in.

  He also liked that there was a giant iron V separating his side of the platform from Ant’s. It gave him some notion of privacy. But best of all, if he really wanted privacy, he could go inside the grainer.

  Through a hole in the end of the car, big enough for any reasonable-sized human, was a near empty sanctuary from everything outside, present company included. A foot-high layer of old grain padded the floor. It would be easy to sleep on such material.

  As he spent more time in there, he noticed an emergent sense of dread blooming within. His breathing accelerated. The shadows in the container seemed to grow longer, larger, even with light bleeding in from outside. That sense of claustrophobia he experienced in the closed boxcar shimmered through him, and he scrambled out of the hole and back to his seat. No reason to hang out in there. Besides, he didn’t want to be rude to Ant. His savior.

  “Coming back to the party, eh?”

  “Never been very social. Even at parties, I just sit in the corner.”

  “Was it your father? Did he hit you?” Ant’s eyes drilled into Leroy.

  Leroy was blindsided by the question.

  “The reason you ran away, I mean. It is nothing to be embarrassed about. Him, on the other hand…” Ant trailed off, a sneer on his lips.

  “Not for a long time…” Leroy wrung his hands together. “I mean, I haven’t seen him. Not for a long time. I don’t wanna talk about it.”