Off Track

by Neil Bullock

  How many cars did we visit on Mitch’s tour?

  The first passenger car, this car, the dining car, another passenger car, Mitch’s car, the room with the crates, the room with the white light, then Rona’s car, another passenger car, and then a final sleeping car. That was ten carriages. I can see… it must be double that number at least. I don’t have time to count all the way to the end because we straighten out and I lose sight of the back.

  I wonder if Mitch knows. Or Rona, for that matter. I’m not a naturally suspicious person, preferring to listen to the words people say and take them at face value rather than trying to infer hidden meanings; but how can you be on board for as long as Mitch and not notice how many cars the train has? All our rooms are in the same position in their respective cars. Maybe Rona wouldn’t be able to see the back — she’s closer to what I now believe to be the middle of the train — but I’m fairly sure Mitch would. How can they not be interested in exploring the train fully? Maybe they know how long it is and just can’t get through the locked door. It’s not like Mitch specifically told me how many carriages there are, just that we’d reached the end of the accessible ones.

  Maybe it boils down to the fact that Mitch isn’t looking for answers because he thinks he already has them. I, on the other hand, find my to-do list increasing with every new thing I notice. My immediate question, though, given that the train appears to be making a stop, is: should I get off? So far, I’ve seen nothing to suggest that I should.

  I open my compartment door and find the carpet is spotless again, all traces of the shredded napkin gone. The train AI is responsible for cleaning, too, then. I’d thought it might be. Maybe there are little cleaning robots that run around after everyone’s gone to bed. I wonder if there’s a way of monitoring how it happens, but there’s every chance it’ll happen the same way food is served in the dining car; something so close to magic that I can’t think of a better word.

  I arrive in the vestibule at the front of the first carriage and watch more of the world pass by. Where are we? It’s much the same as the landscape I’ve already seen, I’m just closer to it now. Large bodies of water with tracts of land snaking their way through it, adorned with trees and ruined buildings.

  Then I see it.

  There’s an animal down there! Something thrashing in the water. A crocodile, I think. Or an alligator? I don’t know how to tell the difference. I didn’t think there was anything left. What if I was wrong? What if this is somewhere far away from Oregon and there are still people here? What if life is going on as normal out there?

  The rate of our descent increases, and I feel the train’s forward motion slow to a crawl. I need to think quickly. Are we stopping for supplies? Maybe the train’s artificial intelligence needs an upgrade. Who knows? Perhaps we are going to pick up another human person after all. If there are alligators out there, maybe there are people. Maybe I was wrong about the end of the world.

  Is it possible that the train has brought me here specifically because there are other people? Maybe it’s coming to a halt because somehow the AI that runs the place knows what I’m looking for and has delivered me here because it knows I can find it. If that’s the case, as soon as I step off, the train might depart. Is that what I want? I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to puzzle the train out.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I scan the vista for more signs of life and see none. If I saw an actual human, I think I’d get off in a heartbeat, but so far the alligator is the only living thing I’ve seen, and those things outlived the dinosaurs. The fact they also outlived humans doesn’t tell me enough. The train finally comes to a halt. There’s a soft chime from behind me, and I turn and find the noticeboard’s display has changed.

  Passengers may not exit here.

  The doors remain closed. The buttons for opening and closing them do not light up. I couldn’t get off if I wanted to. Still, I grab the handle and give it a shove. It doesn’t move, not even a little bit.

  Sometimes it’s nice to have a decision taken out of your hands.

  six

  Breakfast

  I make my way from the vestibule to the end of my sleeper carriage and stand facing the door leading into the dining room. I take a deep breath, hold it, let it out. This, apparently, is how I prepare to speak with the only other members of my species.

  I press the open button.

  Mitch and Rona are already sitting at a table. They look up as the door slides open and smile at me, Rona rather more warmly than Mitch. The smell of fresh roasted coffee hits me immediately.

  “Eden! How did you sleep?” Rona asks.

  “Pretty well, actually.” I step into the room and make my way to the table, pull out a chair and park myself. Rona has a half-finished plate of scrambled eggs while Mitch has a clean plate in front of him. They both have mugs of coffee and I conjure up an image of one for myself, not believing for a second that such a thing will work.

  “Good! That’s good. The first night can be… trying,” Rona says.

  “Not being able to turn the lights off probably doesn’t help,” I say.

  “No, that is something of an oversight,” Mitch agrees.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Rona says. “Perhaps you can settle our little argument.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “I can try.”

  “Eden doesn’t need to hear about our squabbles,” Mitch says, and Rona casts her eyes to the table for a moment.

  I glance from Mitch to Rona and back, wondering what I’m walking into the middle of. “You were squabbling?”

  “No, not really,” Mitch says.

  “We were trying to guess where you were from based on your accent,” Rona admits, and this time both of my eyebrows reach for my hairline.

  “So, you were squabbling about me.”

  Rona fixes me with a stare for a second and I think I see something pass over her face. An expression I can’t read. It’s gone almost as soon as it appears, and she breaks into a wide smile. “I suppose we were!”

  I frown. “So, what’d you guess?”

  “Florida,” Rona guesses immediately.

  I chew my lip. “Not exactly.”

  Mitch suggests, “California, right?” He says it as if he knows, not as if he’s guessing, and I frown again. I wouldn’t introduce myself as being from California. Oregon has been home for two thirds of my life.

  “Yes, actually. Originally, I mean. I haven’t lived there for a long time. I live in Oregon now.” I pause, then add. “Lived.”

  “That’s a very good guess, then, Mitchell,” Rona says.

  “I’ll second that.” I don’t think I sound like I’m from anywhere in particular. Mitch shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I’m not sure where to look.

  Rona’s gaze lands on me again. I lock eyes with her, and she stares at me almost vacantly for several seconds before she seems to come back to life. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, dear?”

  I blink. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Oh, come now. Everyone has a story.”

  This is starting to feel like an interrogation, but I decide to go with it. “Born in California. Moved to Oregon when I was young because my mom wanted to be close to her mom.”

  “Family is important,” Rona supplies.

  I nod. “I studied music. I played violin in an orchestra in Oregon. That’s pretty much me.” Sure, I’ve glossed over pretty much everything, but talking about anything from my life in any great detail is going to make me sad. Any people I could talk about are dead now, any places are long gone.

  “Oh, how wonderful,” Rona says, clapping her hands together. “I haven’t heard a violin for, well, a very long time! They’re such moving instruments, don’t you think?”

  I nod. “I guess they are.” Then, despite knowing she can’t answer, I find myself asking, “How long is a very long time?”

  Mitch jumps in. “What were your
favorite things to play?”

  I blink at the unexpected derailment but turn my attention to Mitch. “Can’t beat the classics. But I played some show tunes and movie scores in college. That was fun.”

  My coffee pops into being on the table in front of me and I pick it up and inhale the aroma deeply. It relaxes me a little. “Not sure I’ll ever get used to that.”

  “Things appearing from nowhere?” Rona asks. “It startles me every time. I remember a time when—”

  “Rona,” Mitch says, and my spine tingles at the calm tone of authority he uses. “Eden doesn’t need to hear about our nostalgia.”

  I want to tell him that actually, I’d love to hear more about them. I don’t want to talk about me. It’s too painful right now. I need more time to come to terms with everything that’s happened, but I don’t want to go against Mitch’s surprisingly firm assertion. I glance at Rona who is scowling at the table, but then she notices me looking.

  “Forgive me. So, would you care to tell us how you came to be here? It’s different for everyone, but I like to keep track.”

  Like you keep track of who boards and leaves? I almost say, but manage to stop myself. I don’t want to talk about this, but as she’s asking directly, I don’t feel like I have any other choice. “Well, everyone I knew and loved died when the world ended, then I saw the train. Figured what the hell, you know?”

  I catch Mitch’s wince out of the corner of my eye and find myself smiling inwardly. I blow across the top of my coffee and take a tentative sip. It tastes wonderful, just the way I like it.

  “My goodness,” Rona says when she sees that I don’t plan to say anything else. “You poor thing, that sounds terrible. I can’t even imagine.”

  “Yeah, it sucked pretty hard.”

  Mitch asks, “What happened, exactly?”

  “I don’t know. People started screaming, then bleeding from their eyes and noses and fingernails. Then they kind of melted into puddles of black stuff. Me and a couple of others survived, and we traveled together for a little while, but then they died too. I think everyone is dead. The animals, too.”

  “Wow. That’s…” Mitch begins. “Do you… I’m sorry, this is probably very insensitive, but do you have any idea why you survived?”

  I shake my head, then wait for the threat of tears to pass. “No,” I say eventually, and take another sip of my coffee. I want to end this conversation as soon as humanly possible, so I figure monosyllabic responses are the way to go.

  As if Mitch has sensed my thoughts, he says, “Well, I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

  Rona adds, “You seem like you’re doing okay, though?”

  I stare at her. Talk about tone-deaf. I’m not okay. I’m far from okay. If it looks like I’m doing okay, that just means I’m better at pretending than I thought I was. “Have you ever lost your entire species?”

  “I… no, I haven’t. But neither have you. You have me and Mitch!” She sounds altogether too pleased with herself about this revelation. I stare some more while Mitch shifts in his seat again.

  “No offense, Rona, but I don’t know either of you. And, again, no offense, but you’re not my mom, you’re not my Nana, you’re not Alice. You’re not anybody to me. You are just two people I stumbled on in this fucked up end of world nightmare.” Half a sob escapes me before I can stop it, and I slam my palm down on the table, causing the coffee cups to shake and Rona to jump. I stare into the middle distance, trying to dry my eyes.

  When Rona puts her hand on mine, I fight the urge to snatch it away and shout don’t touch me! I don’t want to be here. On this train, at this table, with these people. They’re both just a reminder that everyone I had in my life is gone. Rona whispers, “Just remember, you have options,” then removes her hand from mine and glances at Mitch. I see something I don’t like in that look, but it’s gone before I can figure out what it means.

  I remain silent for some time, calming myself down, waiting for it to feel like I won’t start crying as soon as I open my mouth, then I change the subject. “Do you know why the train stopped just now?”

  Mitch answers, “The train stops from time to time. Sometimes it picks up passengers, as I said yesterday. Sometimes it drops them off. Sometimes it doesn’t seem to do anything, just sits there for a little while, then starts moving again. I think it’s maybe refueling, or something like that. Occasionally, people will load or unload some of the crates you saw in carriage six.” It sounds like a canned response he’s used on every passenger he’s ever met.

  “What’s in the crates?” I ask, not for the first time.

  Mitch shrugs. “I don’t know for sure. I assume supplies for the meals.”

  “The train runs its own inventory? Orders its own stock, then makes stops to pick it up?”

  He smiles. “I guess so.”

  I really wish I knew how long they’ve both been on board. I want to know how much effort they’ve put into finding out the answers to some of the questions that burn in my mind. I want to know why the train stops. I have no use for their idle speculation about it. The more time I spend on board, the more I need answers. I think the general impossibility of the train itself has made me wonder what else might be possible. If a flying autonomous train can exist, and I can be on board, what’s to stop even more fantastic things from being possible? I’ve been reluctant until now to even acknowledge this thought because I don’t want to get my hopes up… but what if there’s some way the train can reunite me with my family? Who knows what the rules are? Mitch and Rona clearly don’t, but I need to.

  “What about carriage seven?” I ask. “Anything ever happen in there when the train stops?”

  Mitch’s eyes narrow for a second, then he shakes his head. “Not that I’ve seen, no. Why?”

  “Just feels like the odd car out. Everything else seems to have a purpose.”

  They both smile at me, and both smiles feel forced. Mitch says, “I guess you’re right. But no, I’ve never seen anything happen in there. Rona?”

  Thoughtfully, Rona drawls, “No… No, I think it’s just one of those inexplicable things we’re not supposed to understand.”

  I nod, and decide that based on their answers, I need to check out that carriage further. I change the subject again, because I’m getting a little weirded out by the vibe in the room. I’m not sure what I’m picking up on, but there’s more to these people than meets the eye. “Do you think it’d be possible to get off the train the next time it stops, but get back on again before it leaves?” I ask, thinking specifically of the number of carriages I saw out of my window versus the number of carriages Mitch took me to. Maybe I can get off the train the next time — that is, if the doors actually open — then run along to carriage eleven and get back on.

  Mitch makes some considering sounds and rubs at his face. “I think it’s probably risky. What if the train leaves without you? I doubt it’d find you again.”

  I ignore the implication that I’m an idiot who wouldn’t have considered that and change the subject again. “So, Rona,” I say, and she looks surprised. “I’ve heard Mitch’s story. How about you? How did you come to be aboard? Everyone has a story, right?”

  It feels petty to repurpose her words, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t get some measure of satisfaction from it. Rona glances at Mitch, then throws another of her unsettling gazes at me. She inhales deeply.

  “I lived as part of an island community. It was thousands of miles to the nearest landmass. My people were starving, and disease was ravaging the island. The seas were often too stormy to catch fish, and we didn’t have enough wood to repair our boats.”

  I can feel the isolation in her words as she speaks them. Once again, this story feels completely alien. I would never have guessed at it, much like I would never have guessed at Mitch’s.

  Rona continues, “I discovered a book in our town hall. I couldn’t read it, but I could feel a sort of power coursing through me a
s I held it. I took it, and I learned to read it over the following months or years. Some of the letters were like ones I was used to, and some were pictographs which I eventually puzzled out. By the time I was done, the population of the island was less than a third of its peak. But I learned something from that book. I learned of a… a ritual, I suppose. It seemed like it might help.”

  I frown. It’s starting to feel like a work of fiction, but I suddenly realize I have no idea what time period we’re talking about. If time doesn’t mean anything, maybe Rona has been here fifty, sixty years. She looks like she could be old enough.

  She goes on. “It took a long time. We had to dig down into the earth and erect big stone tributes, I guess you’d call them. They were really focusers of energy, I think. Anyway, one day when I was at the bottom of the hole we were digging, a man I had never met descended the slope from the surface and greeted us. Recall that this is an island thousands of miles from anywhere, so this was unexpected, but I felt the same power flowing off him in waves that I felt when I held the book. He offered to help. He claimed to know something of the ritual.

  “Sadly, tragedy struck. The excavation collapsed in heavy rains, killing many of the men and women I had recruited to help, and trapping me. The strange man found me, spoke words of comfort to me, then he departed. Sometime later – it may have been moments or days – I saw this train.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry,” I say. “Why do you think the train came for you?”

  She glances at Mitch, then returns her gaze to me and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

  I try to keep my expression neutral at the obvious lie and when it becomes clear nobody else is going to speak, I say, “Well, that’s quite a story.”