Hell Train

by Christopher Fowler

  It was an unfortunate time for the girl to awaken. She began to scream and struggle, to no avail. Nothing could prevent her from being slowly fed to the great mechanical beast. The wheels ran over her, tearing her sinews, crushing her bones, until she was wholly devoured by the great engine, and the ritual was complete.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  THE MAIDEN VOYAGE

  THE LITTLE GIRL who had been outside the engine shed, watching the ritual, ran away in terror. She ran until she could find no more breath, collapsing in the wet graveyard at the edge of the town.

  ‘But what about the maiden voyage?’ asked Isabella, reaching up to touch the photograph on the wall of the Conductor’s alcove—the same picture that had once hung in her uncle’s house, the picture no-one would ever talk about.

  ‘Well, of course, this was long before the war,’ said the Conductor distantly. ‘But even then, the world was changing. Borders were moved. Suspicions were rife. Every advance is beset by protestors. Something had to be done.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  The Conductor raised his hands and pressed his fingers on either side of Isabella’s head. ‘See what I know about the Arkangel’s maiden voyage,’ he said.

  HER GRANDPAPA SHOULD have been proud to be selected for such an important position, but a sense of foreboding crept through his bones every time he hauled himself up onto the footplate of the Arkangel. Men had died building the train, and what was this grand machine to be used for on its first outing? Ferrying the directors and a lucky handful of the town’s best families on a pleasure trip to the seaside!

  Food had been scarce in the town of late. Even the price of turnips had soared so much that people no longer fed shavings to the pigs. But no expense was to be spared on the train. The priests said it would bring new prosperity to the town, but lately they had been proven wrong every time they opened their mouths.

  And still the great locomotive went nowhere. It sat in the siding at Chelmsk station to await its duty. Finally, when things got really bad, it was announced that the train would make her maiden voyage...

  Sighing, grandpapa adjusted his cap and signalled to the driver. With an angry blast of steam, the shining behemoth rolled forward out of the station.

  The first journey of the Arkangel took place on a day of glorious windswept skies. The engine was draped in fluttering red and blue flags: to many, a source of national pride, but there were others who gathered on the street corners at dusk to mutter darkly about its sinister origins.

  The directors occupied the front carriage. Their respected guests spread through the second and third. As the train chuntered amiably out of the station, the parents proudly pointed out the Chelmsk Foundry to their children; this was where the carriages had been so expertly crafted.

  Sandwiches and cakes were consumed as the train plunged on through dense forest. Lemonade and beer was drunk. Conversation became more sporadic. The fathers fell quiet while their wives tended to the children. It was only when the Conductor passed through the car with two officers at his back that the mood changed to faint uncertainty.

  The papers handed out to the passengers had a strange request printed upon them. For the sake of safety, it was desired that all valuables were to be handed to the officers for safekeeping before the train’s arrival at the Eastern depot. This included all wrist and pocket watches, wallets, fountain pens, rings, brooches, necklaces, tie-clips, bracelets, earrings, cufflinks, money clips and loose change. Furthermore, any important documents, including all identity papers, deeds of covenant and documents pertaining to property or wills should be handed in at the same time. In certain cases, the gentlemen would be required to write a short note of explanation to their nearest relatives in Chelmsk.

  The uncertainty turned to fear now, especially when one of the children saw his family’s precious belongings being unceremoniously tipped into a leather station bag and carted away on a trolley.

  The mood on board was suddenly very different. Even the children had begun to sense that something was wrong. A couple of them cried that they wanted to go home, but were sternly admonished by their parents. The countryside continued to roll past. The sun continued to shine down on the carriages. Some of the fathers continued to read newspapers. In one of the carriages, there was a mechanical doll of a young girl that moved its arms and sang pretty songs to keep the children amused. No-one could truly believe their worst fears. It was the modern world. An explanation would be proffered, belongings would be returned with profuse apologies, the day would end well enough. Calculations were made about how long it would take to reach the coast. The fathers attempted to jolly their wives and children into happier moods.

  Then, as the Arkangel slowed across the windswept plain toward its final stop, they saw the great dark bulk of the terminus approaching and began to fear for their children’s lives.

  When the officers demanded that they strip their children and then themselves, a raw terror set in. Clothes were to be folded and left at the end of each compartment. From the windows they could see the passengers in the carriage ahead of them stumbling onto the platform. Their bare white nudity was profoundly shocking. The children were screaming and sobbing now, their naked mothers pawed and prodded by the guards, the men sometimes punched with the butts of rifles if they questioned what was happening. Some of the older ones fell, and were trampled underfoot. An old man with bloody dentures hanging from his mouth lay screaming and clutching at the passing legs until one of the train’s officers stuck a bayonet into his lower belly and dragged it upward, eviscerating him.

  The directors felt that mistakes were made. No-one should have been killed on the concourse; it made the terrified passengers too difficult to control. Lessons were quickly learned in the management of the damned.

  The train returned empty to Chelmsk. All those who waited for news of friends and relatives waited in vain.

  And thus all those in the town who had expressed disapproval over the building of the Arkangel for the past thirteen years, all those bitter men who had whispered about the growing wealth of the foundry’s directors, all those pious creatures who had gathered in the church to speak of the foundry’s blasphemies, were removed in a single stroke. Generations of dissent were obliterated, and the children were taken to make sure that the seeds would never grow again. If there was nothing to remember, no voices could be raised against the evil they had bred in their midst.

  The Conductor removed his hands from Isabella’s head. She was crying. ‘And now I think you understand the purpose of the Arkangel,’ he said gently. ‘It is a kind of great sieve, shaking out the righteous from those who sit and watch. Our purpose is more suited by inactivity in the population. All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE DEAL

  ISABELLA REMAINED BEFORE the Conductor as the memory came to an end, unable to move. ‘Why?’ she demanded to know, angrily wiping away tears. ‘Why would you wish for this?’

  ‘Our town was dying. The train was good to us.’

  ‘But why this vessel of misery? How could you volunteer to be part of such an obscenity?’

  ‘We have helped to create the modern age,’ the Conductor replied. ‘A world without a heart, as pure as a machine. There is no room for sentiment in this new century. There is no room for God.’

  ‘But what on earth did you do it for?’

  ‘To reveal the Devil to mankind. To prove the futility of the divine. To become a keystone of the future, instead of being a remnant of the past.’

  ‘And I was there when it was born? I saw all this?’

  ‘Yes, but you did not remember until now. You were six years old.’

  ‘Is that why we are here? It was no accident we caught this train. We’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Young lady, I think you know the truth.’

  ‘Josef—the man to whom I was promised—he was to become a director at the foundry.’


  ‘More than that. He will one day inherit it. And you were to bear his children. You were to be the mother of the foundry’s future keepers. The train must always be maintained,’ the Conductor added. ‘There are big plans for the Chelmsk Foundry. A munitions manufacturer is required in Eastern Europe. Someone with the ability to precision-engineer new mechanised instruments of death. Instead, you derailed our plans. You used the foreigner to escape.’

  ‘I used no-one! Fate took a hand—’

  ‘We only wanted you, Isabella; you were the one to be tested and punished. You brought the others with you.’

  Isabella saw it again. The moment they boarded the train. The hands of Thomas and Miranda connecting as she helped them to climb up into the Arkangel. The spark of conjunction. Destinies that entwined forever. The chain of fate, newly forged along a different path.

  ‘No,’ she insisted, you cannot use this as proof that I failed. I didn’t know the result that my actions would bring. I had to get away, and Nicholas was there to help me.’

  ‘Perhaps. People always profess to be unaware of the consequences of their actions. You have won, but you have passed your test alone. Nicholas is dead. It is time to decide what is right.’

  ‘No! Dead!’

  ‘He chose well but not wisely. And now it has all reached an end.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Isabella cried. ‘I thought the Devil loved to bargain.’

  ‘And so he does. The train tries all who climb aboard. The ones found wanting are doomed to ride forever. You were each tempted, shown visions of your other lives, the worlds that might be, that might already have been. The rules of the Arkangel are very simple. If those who board it fail their test, their souls are taken and they remain for eternity. If they succeed, they are free to return to their old lives. Everyone who boards the Arkangel must face this ordeal.’

  ‘But how do you judge failure?’ asked Isabella.

  ‘That is the beauty of the process. You can only act in accordance with your nature. The vicar’s wife revealed her greed. Her husband could not control his lust. Your adventurer—’

  ‘You could not charge him with cowardice. He fought bravely. He returned to redeem himself.’

  ‘He understood the nature of his test and chose the right solution, but that was also his undoing. I always knew that you would be our greatest challenge, for I could only find one flaw in you—your insatiable curiosity. You wanted to see the world beyond your town. You wanted to look inside the box.’ He looked up and sniffed the air. ‘Smell the brimstone? We’re almost there now. So close. I felt sure you would fail.’

  ‘But I prevailed. You know I did. I won, and now I want you to keep your side of the bargain. Let the others go, all four of us.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. The others spoiled their chances, and they’ll stay with me to tend the train. In place of the children you failed to deliver.’

  ‘But I passed my test. I should be free to go.’

  ‘Then perhaps I will make a proposal.’

  Isabella stood her ground. ‘It must be fair. You know as well as I that evil must be balanced by good. You have to let me go.’

  ‘But suppose you could save your lover as well? How would you feel then?’

  ‘What must I do?’

  ‘I can bring him back.’

  ‘And you would save him?’

  ‘No, you would.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I cannot tell you that. You know your adversary. You would have to find a way.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘The decision is yours,’ the Conductor told her, checking his pocket watch. ‘Better hurry, though. The train is approaching its final destination.’

  ‘Surely it should be slowing down.’

  ‘No. It must reach its maximum speed to break through the wall.’

  ‘The wall?’

  ‘Between this world and the next. Between Heaven and Hell. You must decide whether or not to accept the wager, Isabella. We like wagers.’

  ‘Then I take the challenge,’ she said, trying to sound confident.

  ‘Very well.’ The Conductor clapped his hands together. Standing behind her in the corridor was Nicholas, dazed and bleeding badly from his chest wound, but alive.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  THE HORDE

  SHE RAN TO Nicholas and took him in her arms. ‘You are safe,’ she told him. ‘Tell me you’re real and not one of the Devil’s illusions.’

  ‘I think I’m real,’ said Nicholas. ‘I don’t know what happened. I feel bloody terrible.’ He raised his bleeding wrists, chafed from the handcuffs, and touched the wound in his chest. ‘I jumped from the train and lost consciousness. Someone helped me—a kind man. How did he get me back on board?’

  ‘He brought you here on his horse. You survived, but by leaving the train you nearly forfeited your soul. You returned.’

  ‘Oh, God, my son. I saw my son, Isabella, the little boy I was too selfish to stay with. I tried to save him but he was already dead. They tricked me into taking my own life. I should have joined him in the afterlife.’ He dabbed at the chest wound. ‘I’m losing blood. What happens now?’

  ‘The Conductor has brought you back, on the condition that I beat the Devil.’

  ‘Beat the Devil?’ Nicholas tried to understand, but was struggling with the idea. He looked at her tattered undergarments. ‘What happened to you? Where are your clothes?’

  ‘We have each of us faced the Dark One. The Red Countess, Mr Scheffen, Mr Freely, Professor Io, all those who helped in their charades, they’re all Satan’s passengers, doomed to ride the train forever, enlisted to perform their roles in ensnaring us. The Arkangel is nothing more than a giant soul trap. But you’ve been given another chance. I survived, but your fate hangs in the balance.’

  ‘Then what must we do to save ourselves?’

  ‘I wish I knew. We’ll soon be reaching our journey’s end. There are no more stations on the line. I don’t think there is anything we can do.’ The wind from an open window was blasting their faces. The train was moving faster than it ever had before. The sky was turning purple above the treeline. ‘The Arkangel will never let us off.’

  ‘What about the Conductor? He could stop the train. Where is he?’

  Isabella turned around. ‘He was here a moment ago.’

  ‘Come on, we know where to find him.’ Nicholas led the way back along the corridor of the carriage, but the Conductor’s alcove was empty.

  ‘He said I would find a way to challenge my adversary,’ said Isabella. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nicholas admitted, touching his bleeding chest with concern, ‘but you’d better think of something quick. This wound is starting to open again.’

  The Arkangel hammered over several sets of points, the entire carriage juddering. Outside, the purple clouds began to redden with hellfire. The fir trees at the horizon appeared to have small furnaces flickering among them.

  ‘We’re getting close,’ said Isabella. ‘I suggest we go through the train carriage by carriage. Perhaps I’ll think of something and understand what I have to do.’

  As soon as Nicholas and Isabella had left the corridor, the Conductor appeared and began opening the doors of the compartments.

  ‘Time for you to earn your keep,’ he told the dead passengers, forcing them to raise themselves. Slowly they stood throughout the carriage, answering his call. Farmers and foundry workers, housewives and shopkeepers, they shuffled toward the front of the train in anticipation of arrival.

  ‘There is only one remaining traveller left alive on board. She has a chance—the slimmest chance—of beating us. You have to make sure that she does not have time to discover how.’

  The undead passengers stared at the Conductor, awaiting his command.

  ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’ he shouted at them. ‘Kill her!’

  ‘CAN YOU FEEL it?’ said Isabella. ‘The train is a living t
hing now. Hell is calling us to eternal damnation.’

  ‘Thank you for that cheering thought. I don’t know whether I ever mentioned this, but I’m not a Christian. Church to me is just a hard bench, a cold arse and a dim man in a robe spouting rubbish.’

  Nicholas walked unsteadily through the rushing train. In the compartments around them, the dead passengers were slowly waking, responding to the Conductor’s invocation. Nicholas realised that they were staring at him. ‘Well,’ he shouted, ‘what are you peasants looking at? Yes, I’m English, sorry if my natural superiority offends you, you brainless shit-shovelling imbeciles.’ He turned to Isabella. ‘I don’t like this, they’re waking up. I think they may mean to do us harm.’

  ‘We can’t fight all of them, Nicholas. I have yet to come up with a plan.’

  The first of the undead reached out to Isabella. Two farmhands in smocks and straw hats attempted to paw her. Clad only in her underwear, covered in blood and slime, she was hardly in a position to fight back. Slapping their hands away angrily, she wondered what she could use to fight them off.

  ‘We need weapons, urgently. There are too many of them.’

  ‘They’re slow-witted,’ said Nicholas. ‘They shouldn’t be too hard to keep at bay.’

  ‘Nicholas, you can’t kill what’s already dead.’

  ‘We have one advantage. We have our brains. We’re still alive. And we’re getting off this bloody train.’

  ‘No, I’ll find a way to do it. I got you into this. It’s my fault. I’ll get you out.’

  ‘I don’t see what you can do. Get away from her, cabbage-breath.’ He swatted away an undead farmer’s hand as it reached for Isabella’s breast. The passengers were now filling the corridor and moving toward them.