Walking Into The Unknown

by Ginny Dye

  Janie watched as the men rushed from one side of the train to the other, but she knew the truth. It was too little, too late.

  The screams rose around her as she felt the train car tip, and then fall from the track.

  Janie grabbed the seatback in front of her and held on with all her strength as the car hung suspended for a moment. “Matthew…” she whispered as the train began its rushing freefall.

  ******

  Matthew came to, his head spinning. “What happened?” Thaddeus and Susannah were both looking at him with stricken expressions. Suddenly, the continued clanging of the bell cut through the fog. “Janie!” He bolted forward, ignoring the pain in his head. “Janie!”

  Thaddeus grabbed him. “Matthew…”

  The raw pain in his voice cut through the rest of Matthew’s fog. He glanced back at the cluster of people in the rear of the car. “What is it? What happened?” Everything was confusion. “Tell me!”

  Susannah was the one to reach forward, her soft eyes blurred with pain. “The last two cars came off the train.” She opened her mouth to say more, but no words came out. Finally, she shook her head. “I’m… so … sorry.”

  Matthew had a flash of memory. They had been crossing a high bridge coming out of Angola. “The bridge?” he ground out. He had another flash of the rear car tumbling through the air.

  Thaddeus nodded. “Both cars went off the bridge,” he said in a voice of stunned disbelief.

  Matthew stared blankly at him, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “Off the bridge? Janie’s car?”

  Thaddeus returned his gaze but said nothing more. The pain and shock in his eyes were more eloquent than any words could be.

  Matthew doubled over as agony ripped through his entire being. He cursed and leapt to his feet. “I have to get to her!”

  Thaddeus continued to grasp his arm. “The train is stopping.” He reached for the bag Susannah was handing him. “As soon as we are stopped, we’ll go.”

  Matthew’s eyes locked on the medical bag in his friend’s hand. “Janie,” he murmured as visions swarmed through his mind. It took no imagination at all to picture people tossed like ragdolls as the train cars rolled from the tracks. All it took was memories of other wrecks to understand that hot coals from the pot-bellied stoves were also being spread through the wrecked cars.

  *****

  Janie prayed as she held tight to the seatback in front of her, her feet shoved against the same seat to hold her secure. Her prayers had no words or coherent thought. They were simply cries of her heart as she prepared to die. “I love you, Matthew.”

  She was dimly aware of bodies and a sundry assortment of belongings flying around her as the car tumbled through the air for what seemed like an eternity. It crashed into something solid and her face slammed into the seatback. Shards of glass filled the air as the train car tumbled along the ground, and splinters of wood from walls and floorboards mixed with the bodies and the screams. A sudden burst of light shot through the car as the roof split apart. The light was extinguished quickly as the roof parts crashed back together.

  Janie looked up, horrified to see a man’s body dangling from between the cleft roof. Determined to see no more horror before her death, she closed her eyes and waited for the movement to stop—waited to take her last breath.

  Finally, the rolling and tumbling ceased. There was a moment of stunned silence before the cries and groans became audible to her.

  Janie opened her eyes, shocked to discover she was still alive. She looked around slowly, trying to make sense of what had happened. She knew the car had come off the track, and that they had fallen from the bridge. As her head cleared, she realized the car was lying on its side, snow pushing in through the missing window frames. Her death grip on the seat frame had left her hanging almost suspended in air. It was the only thing that kept her apart from the crush of people piled on the side of the car below her.

  “Mama…”

  “I’m hurt…”

  “What happened?”

  “We’re all going to die…”

  The voices and groans rose from below her.

  Janie took a deep breath, still shocked to realize death had not claimed her. The cries for help began to filter through the shock. She moved carefully, checking for injuries. Her head and face hurt, but she didn’t feel any cuts or blood. She was aching all over, but she didn’t seem to have any broken bones.

  She was alive.

  Matthew! What had happened to the rest of the train? Had every car derailed on the bridge? Was he still alive?

  *****

  The main engine had traveled more than a thousand feet past the end of the bridge before it managed to slow and stop. Matthew and Thaddeus were among the first men off the train.

  Matthew was running as soon as his feet hit the ground. He was terrified at what he would find, but all he could think about was reaching Janie. He pushed aside images of what derailment from a bridge would do to a wooden train car. His breath came in gasps, frozen air floating behind him as he ran.

  He could hear the wreckage before he saw it. He was vaguely aware of a swarm of men coming from the other side of the bridge—residents of Angola responding to the tragedy. Matthew gritted his teeth as his innate reporter’s sense ripped through his terror. Derailment from a bridge could be nothing less than tragedy.

  Groans and screams lofted into the frigid twilight.

  Matthew slowed as he approached the end of the bridge. He took a deep breath and forced himself to gaze over the right side. His breathing stopped as he quickly identified the last train car, emblazoned with the word Toledo. His quick assessment showed the train was crushed almost flat in many areas. It was standing on its end, leaning against the northern embankment of the bridge. He could hear cries and moans, but there was another more ominous sound. He heard the crackling of fire and watched as the first flame, ignited by sparks from the stoves, licked from a window.

  He watched only a moment before he leapt to the other side of the bridge to locate Janie’s car. There were already people heading down the slope toward the Toledo, but his only thought was to find his wife.

  Thaddeus’ voice sounded behind him. “Is that Janie’s car?”

  Matthew nodded, but could not force words past his lips. Within moments, he was carefully working his way down the slippery slope. It would do Janie no good for him to fall; he could only help her if he could reach her.

  The Erie had landed only partway down the steep incline to the river below. It lay on one side, the snow littered with belongings…and bodies.

  Matthew grasped hold of small trees and brush as he half walked, half slid toward the wreckage. “Janie!” he hollered in a cracked voice that he almost didn’t recognize as his own. “Janie!” He was dimly aware that Thaddeus, his medical bag draped over his back, was following his course of descent. The only sound coming up to him from the wreckage was piteous cries.

  *****

  Janie, convinced she was not critically injured, began to look for a way to escape. She must find out what had happened to Matthew. If she could release her position on the seat she was wedged in, she would drop down into the tangle of crushed people. She forced her eyes to skim the bodies as she looked for a path to work her way out of the mangled car. She wished briefly for her medical bag, but her thoughts refused to stray from Matthew. What if he was in another car in need of medical care? The thought drove her forward.

  Janie squeezed her eyes closed when she glimpsed a woman who had been completely scalped during the fall. The skin of her head and her hair, drenched in blood, were attached to her skull by a slight web of tissue. The only blessing was that the woman was obviously dead.

  A young married couple that Janie had met briefly were lying close together, their bodies blackened by bruises sustained during the crash. The woman had vomited a pool of blood.

  Janie blanched and turned away. She had seen horrific wounds during the war, but this was a different situatio
n. These were innocent travelers who just minutes before had been merrily headed toward a Christmas celebration, a wedding, or the beginning of a new life. She scanned the floor carefully for Emma and Minnie, or Christiana and her two children.

  “Emma!” she cried as her eyes settled on a prostrate form. She couldn’t tell if Emma was dead or not, but she quickly realized her daughter was no longer clasped in the arms that hung loosely at Emma’s sides. “Minnie!”

  The only answer was the continuous crying and moaning.

  “Help me…”

  “Please…”

  “Where is my husband?”

  Janie bit back her cry of despair. Suddenly, she noticed passengers who were still conscious swatting at something. Her terror increased as she realized they were batting at sparks and coals from the overturned pot-bellied stoves.

  Fire!

  She had to find a way out of the train car before the sparks created an inferno. A shift in the air told her there was an opening not too far in front of her. Twilight was quickly swallowing any available light. Janie edged forward, allowing her body to drop until her feet were on the floor. Picking her way carefully, holding tight to the seats above her, she made her way toward the back of the train. Her hope soared as she saw a man in front of her slip through a narrow opening in the rear of the car.

  Janie moved as fast as she could, hoping help was on the way for the piteously wounded passengers.

  “Matthew,” she whispered.

  “Janie! Janie!”

  Janie gasped and held her breath. Was the voice real, or was she hallucinating?

  “Janie!”

  Janie released her breath in a gush and began to move faster. “Matthew!” she cried.

  “Janie! I’m here! Can you get out?”

  Janie reached the opening she had seen the man go through and stared. How had he made it through? A creaking, splitting noise told her the wooden car was collapsing in on itself even more. She gritted her teeth and leapt forward, biting back her cry as she used her feet to propel her way through the opening. Her arms and head were barely through when she felt someone grasp her arms and pull her out. Moments later, she was cradled in Matthew’s arms.

  Janie collapsed into his embrace. “You’re alive. You’re alive…” she murmured. She reached up to touch his face. Her hand, when she withdrew it, was wet with his tears.

  Thaddeus’ face loomed in her vision. “People are alive in there. How badly are they hurt?”

  Janie stared at him. “It’s bad,” she said. Safe in the shelter of Matthew’s arms she was suddenly able to think as a doctor again. “But some of them can be helped.”

  The grim look on the men’s faces told her they had correctly interpreted that many more were probably dead.

  *****

  Harold was enjoying a steaming cup of coffee when he heard the bell jingle on the diner door. He waited until the gust of cold air was swallowed by the warm heat, and then lifted the cup again.

  “Harold Justin?”

  Harold looked up, eyeing the gangly teenage boy calling his name. “That would be me. What can I do for you?” The boy eyed him, a strange sympathy in his gaze.

  “Davison sent me to get you. Said you need to come over to the station.”

  “Is the train coming in early?” Harold asked. He hadn’t heard a whistle announcing the approach.

  The boy shook his head. “Davison just said to come get you.”

  Harold pushed aside his uneasiness, pulled out a coin to pay for his coffee, and then left the diner. The unsettled feeling he had fought all day was back in full force. He strode across the snow-covered road and climbed the steps to the station. One look at Davison’s face made the knot in his stomach grow larger. “What is it?”

  Davison gazed at him for a moment. “There has been an accident,” he said carefully.

  Harold froze, waiting for whatever Davison had to say.

  “The New York Express lost two of its cars.”

  “Lost them?” Harold asked, not able to make sense of what he was hearing.

  Davison nodded reluctantly. “They derailed just outside of Angola.” He paused, the expression on his face saying he wished he was anywhere but standing in front of his friend. “The last two cars went off the bridge.”

  Harold stared at him, still trying to make sense of the words. “Derailed? Off the bridge?” His thoughts spun. The bridge just outside Angola was nearly fifty feet above Big Sister Creek.

  Davison nodded. “That’s all we know now. They wired for a relief train, and…” His voice trailed off.

  “And what?” Harold demanded hoarsely.

  “And all the doctors we can send,” Davison finished hoarsely. He forced a note of confidence in his voice. “There were two passenger cars that stayed on the track. Your brother and his wife could be in one of those cars.”

  Harold heard the words, but they didn’t register. He had pushed his brother out of his life ten years ago because of pride and greed. Was this the price he would pay? To never see his brother again?

  “Harold? Harold!”

  Harold jerked his eyes up, realizing Davison must have said something else he hadn’t heard above the roaring in his head. “What?” he asked impatiently.

  “They are taking reporters on the train.”

  *****

  Men begin to appear from the deepening dusk to give what help they could. Thick coats and hats could not mask the grim set of their bodies and faces. Janie had seen some of them come from beneath the bridge. “The other car?” she called. “How are the passengers?” She felt Matthew’s body tense. The agony on his face when she peered up at him told her all she needed to know, but something in her needed to hear the words. “Are there any survivors?”

  Matthew swallowed hard. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

  “There were a few who got out before it started burning,” one man said, his face twisted with pain. His haunted eyes roamed over the second car. “At least this one’s not burning yet.”

  The wind shifted, bringing with it screams and terrified shrieks Janie had not heard before. She shuddered and shrunk into Matthew’s broad chest. “All those people are burning to death?” The thought was more than she could comprehend as she envisioned the excited faces she had seen on the train platform in Cleveland that morning. Matthew’s only answer was to hold her closer. Janie pushed away from him. She could feel all the horror she wanted to later, but right now, there were lives to be saved.

  “Janie?”

  Janie pushed to her feet, ignoring the pain every movement shot through her bruised and aching body. She was alive. No bones were broken. She was not burning to death. “There is work to be done,” she said. She motioned to the men. “There are many people still alive in this car.” She didn’t add that at least there were when she crawled out. The cries and groans had diminished in the few minutes she had been free from the crushed coffin.

  Several of the men pushed forward with axes and began to chop at one of the walls. The collapsing car had closed off all escape routes, so they would have to create one.

  Janie turned to Thaddeus. “Whatever you think of the Homeopathic College, I have had quite a lot of experience with trauma during the war. I can help.”

  Thaddeus nodded with no hesitation. “We’ll need all the help we can get. I’m sure the station has wired for a relief train to bring doctors, but I imagine it will be at least an hour before they arrive. It will be up to us to keep people alive until we can get them somewhere warm and safe.” He motioned to the men gathered around. “We need to get as many people out of that car as possible. It could start burning at any minute. Bring the live ones first.”

  Matthew moved forward to help with the rescue effort. As the hole widened in the wall of the crushed car, the cries for help grew louder.

  Janie gestured to several of the men who had just arrived from Angola. “The injured will need something to lie on. Please gather all the clothing scattered in the wreckage an
d make beds from it. It will be better than nothing.”

  The men hurried to do her bidding. By the time the injured began to appear in the opening, there were makeshift beds waiting for them.

  “Look for more clothing inside,” Janie ordered. “We must cover them the best we can. Most of them will be in shock.” She grabbed the man closest to her. “Are you from Angola?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How far is the nearest house?”

  The man crinkled his brow. “Not very far, I reckon.”

  “I want you to go there and get some things for me,” Janie said. “I need water, apple cider vinegar and honey. As much as they have. And cayenne pepper if they have it. I also need jars or glasses.” She sighed impatiently as the man stared at her without moving. “I am a doctor,” she snapped. “Will you go get the supplies, or do I need to find someone else?”

  Thaddeus stepped closer. “Do what Dr. Justin has asked you,” he ordered.

  The man looked between the two of them and then nodded abruptly. “I’ll be back quick,” he promised.

  “I’m here to help.”

  Janie and Thaddeus turned toward the new voice.

  “And you are?” Thaddeus asked as he leaned over a young boy with what looked to be a badly broken leg.

  “Dr. Romaine Curtiss. Years of serving in the military has given me more experience than I wish I had. I’m the doctor in Angola.”

  Thaddeus nodded as Janie sighed with relief. “I suggest you take charge, Dr. Curtiss. These people will be staying here in your town, and you know your citizens. We are here to help you any way we can.”

  Dr. Curtiss nodded his acceptance, though Janie could not miss the haunted look in his eyes. She had seen that same expression on countless other doctors treating the wounded during the war. This man had seen more than he should have. She also saw his lips tighten with resolve, and she guessed he would do whatever was needed to care for the victims of the wreck.