Off Track

by Neil Bullock

  seven

  The Surprise

  We talk some more, but Mitch and Rona eventually take their leave of me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m alone. Talking to them, trying to decipher their weird dynamic, was exhausting. I sit there quietly for some time trying to work it out. Mitch interrupted at least twice that I can remember, steering Rona away from a particular avenue of conversation. What was that about? How did Mitch know I was originally from California? Was that just a lucky guess?

  What was Rona about to say when Mitch interrupted? We were talking about the food just appearing on the table, and she started to say she remembered a time when… what? When that didn’t happen? When it was delivered normally, by some sort of waitstaff?

  I wonder about the relationship they have. Do they like each other, or merely tolerate each other? Is that what I have to look forward to? A life of merely tolerating people I’d rather not associate with?

  When I’m sure Mitch and Rona must have reached their respective rooms, I take off in the direction of my own. I need to figure out if there’s a way through into carriage eleven. Maybe there’s something in my room I can use to open the door. I search and I search, but there’s nothing. Not even a paper clip I could use to pick the lock. Of course, not knowing the first thing about picking locks would be a bigger problem. I’m not even sure what type of lock it has. Maybe it’s electronic. Instead, I decide to just head down to carriage ten and see what I can see. Perhaps I’ll figure something out. On impulse, I grab the bottle of water I boarded the train with. It’s good to stay hydrated, and I don’t think I’ve completely recovered from my hike across Oregon.

  I hurry past Mitch’s room, aware that hurrying is unnecessary but not able to stop myself. I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t. It’s not Mitch’s train. It’s not Rona’s train either. Just because they have no obvious interest in figuring out its secrets doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to. I pause in car six, eying the crates. Most of the wooden ones have lids that are nailed shut. I could probably get into one given enough time, but it wouldn’t be easy. I would need to find a crowbar or something.

  Carriage seven has a green line running around its interior today. I walk through slowly, checking the walls for anything that might tell me the purpose of the space, or failing that, some way to access the light for maintenance. There’s nothing. On closer inspection, I see that the green line is hovering a half an inch from the wall like the text on the noticeboards. I sigh and move on.

  I hesitate as I pass Rona’s room. I could knock. I could ask what she was about to say before Mitch interrupted her.

  But I don’t.

  In the next carriage – a passenger carriage – I pause and turn back to face the way I’ve come. The blinds are up in here and I can see the swirling grays and whites and blacks on the other side of the windows, but I think it’s become less awful. It’s still unpleasant to look at, still evokes a visceral reaction, but it’s starting not to bother me that it’s there. I’m learning to ignore it. Or maybe it’s letting me ignore it right now, I don’t know.

  In carriage ten, I get a few paces down the corridor then stop in my tracks. Something is different. Something I caught out of the corner of my eye. What was it?

  I glance around slowly, trying to figure it out, then I take a few steps back.

  The first door on the right now bears a name.

  Kyle Jacob Kinney

  I stand there dumbstruck for several seconds. Then I knock.

  The man who opens the door is nearly a foot taller than me with a long angular face and an expression evoking melancholy. His eyes are dark chocolate and look haunted, his skin a rich shade of brown. His hair is mostly black, but the smattering of gray at his temples makes me think he’s probably a couple of decades older than me. He wears a khaki shirt and matching pants and gazes at me disinterestedly.

  “Uh, hi,” I say. His height hurts my neck and I take a step back. He frowns fleetingly as I do.

  “What do you want?” He has the deep booming voice I expected would go with a gentleman of his stature. It’s hard not to be intimidated by him.

  “I just noticed this room was occupied. It wasn’t the last time I checked, and I just wanted to say hi and make sure you were okay.”

  He stares at me but says nothing.

  “I’m Eden. Eden Lucas. I have a room a few carriages ahead.” He continues to stare, and I can feel my cheeks starting to burn. I blink. “So, you’re new. You weren’t here yesterday.”

  “Hm,” is all he says, and accompanies it with another frown.

  I’m not sure how hard to push. I decide maybe he needs to be left alone to come to terms with his new surroundings having survived an apocalypse. “Okay, I get that you might be feeling disoriented or sad, any number of things. I’m going to leave you alone, but if you want to talk, my room’s in the second carriage from the front.” I smile tentatively, then turn to go.

  “Wait.”

  I turn back.

  He stares at me some more, but he looks uncertain now rather than disinterested. Suddenly, he steps aside holding the door open for me, and I enter a literal prison cell. The floor and walls are gunmetal gray, the ceiling white. There’s a bed bolted to the floor in the same corner mine occupies and a window opposite with its blind pulled down. Diagonally opposite the bed are a toilet and a tiny washbasin.

  “What the… what is this?”

  “It’s a prison cell.”

  “I… yeah, I can see that. Why, though?”

  Kyle deflates, crosses the room in two massive strides and plops himself down on the uncomfortable looking metal-framed bed. “Yours isn’t like this?”

  I’m still looking around confusedly. “It’s not, no.”

  Unexpectedly, Kyle begins to cry. My eyes go wide and I’m not sure what to do. I don’t know if he wants comforting, or even if he’d accept comfort from a stranger, but it’s not in my nature to ignore someone in pain. I go over and sit down on the bed next to him, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” I whisper. “What’s wrong?”

  He sighs a deep, shuddering breath. “I thought I was free,” he says. “It was almost my time. Then this train comes, and it seems like I can escape the… the…” He shakes his head. After a moment, he goes on. “For a while, I thought I had escaped. I sat in the passenger car ahead of this one and enjoyed the luxury. I couldn’t believe my luck. Then I found a room with my name on it, opened the door and—” he gestures around the room, “—this.”

  I can’t stand seeing the big guy crying. “What do you mean it was almost your time?”

  “To die,” he says. “I was on death row.”

  “Oh.”

  I’m opposed to the death penalty. I’m also firmly of the belief that people can change if they want to, even despite all the evidence I’ve seen to the contrary. I’m nothing if not stubborn. Kyle’s revelation is a surprise, but I keep my hand on his shoulder and I don’t make any kind of move to get away from him. I try not to think about the kind of things you have to do to end up on death row, but I find it’s not that hard. This man doesn’t seem dangerous, he seems beaten down.

  “Most people would have run a mile at this point,” he says. “Escaped death row inmate and all.”

  “Not most people.”

  He turns his head to the side and gazes down at me, then laughs a trifle uncertainly. “Maybe this is freedom after all.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. It’s… well, it’s weird here,” I say with a half-smile. Judging that my hand has been on his shoulder long enough, I withdraw my limbs back into my personal bubble.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Okay, so… life was basically normal for you?”

  “As normal as death row gets, sure. Lots of sitting around and thinking.”

  “But everyone else was fine?”

  “Fine how?” He rubs his chin.

  “Alive.”

  A pause,
then, “Everyone was alive. What aren’t you telling me?”

  I think about it for a second, twirling my hair around my finger. “I don’t actually know. I’m here because I thought I was the only survivor of an… apocalypse, I guess. Everyone died. I’m pretty confident it was everyone, or nearly everyone, in America. But now you’re here. So, that’s another thing for my ever-increasing list of shit that doesn’t make sense. Do you know how long you’ve been aboard?” I shake my head. “No, sorry, of course you don’t.”

  He frowns. “What do you mean? It’s only been… uh…” His eyes widen and dart around.

  “Okay, so that’s lesson number one. Time doesn’t work here. I can’t even tell you what year I was born. Any idea when the declaration of independence was signed?”

  “No,” he says, drawing out the word for a couple of seconds. He looks puzzled, but not worried. That’s probably a good thing. “That’s stupid.”

  I grin and nod. “It is. Second lesson: don’t look outside when we’re moving. Have you… have you looked already? It’s kinda unsettling, but I don’t think it’s dangerous.”

  He looks confused. “I saw outside in the passenger car…”

  “Ah. Yeah, this is different and only happens after we’ve been moving for a while. Do you want to see what I mean?”

  “No, but show me anyway.”

  I like that response, so I get up and walk over to the window. “Ready?”

  He nods and I pull the blinds up. I don’t look out myself because I’ve seen it enough already. I try not to study Kyle’s reaction, instead fixing my attention on his cell’s door. I hear his sharp intake of breath and he gasps, “What the hell is that? It’s…” He pauses for some seconds before whispering, “It’s like they’re coming for me.”

  “The shapes outside? Yeah. I felt like they were trying to get my attention.” I pull the blinds back down. “Still, we don’t have to look at it, whatever it is. I may not know when I was born or when I boarded the train, but I do know I haven’t been here that long. I haven’t figured out the ins and outs yet, and the other two people on board don’t seem interested in helping me.”

  “I’ll help,” he says immediately, and the look of child-like excitement on his face melts my heart. I assume it’s because he’s not used to being able to do things, any things. His grin suddenly falters and disappears, then he adds, “If you want me to.”

  “I absolutely want you to,” I respond, then walk back to the bed and rest on the edge. “I’m guessing you got on when the train stopped earlier. What prison were you in?”

  “Florida State, near Jacksonville. Why?”

  “I was hoping you’d say somewhere covered in marshland. That’s what I saw out of the window when we stopped, plus a bunch of ruined red brick buildings and maybe an alligator. Not where you were?”

  “Nope. It was pretty where I was. A lot of trees. Florida does have gators, though.”

  “Just another mystery for the list. I can give you a tour if you’d like.”

  “In a minute. I’m kind of enjoying talking to someone real. It’s been a long time.”

  “How long?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

  He smiles. “Yeah. No clue. The feeling of weight the memories carry, though… it must have been a long time. For what it’s worth, I didn’t do it. I guess that’s what they all say, but I genuinely didn’t.”

  I don’t know what to say. I’d already accepted him, flaws and all. I don’t need reassuring, but he seems to care what I think. I guess a prolonged period having your only human contact be with guards and other inmates must take a mental toll. Maybe he had visitors, but I don’t want to ask. “I believe you.”

  He gives me a grateful look, then continues, “So… you mentioned something about an apocalypse?”

  eight

  Gossip

  After a little squirming, I tell Kyle I’m going to grab some food and that I’ll be right back, then I excuse myself. I’m not eager to relive the end of the world, and I have some reservations about my story now that someone else has boarded. From the little I’ve heard of Kyle’s story, the world seemed to be functioning pretty much fine when the train found him.

  Once I’m outside Kyle’s room, I lean against the opposite cabin’s door and exhale.

  There are a few possibilities to explain his presence, but I don’t like any of them. First is that I simply didn’t notice his door had a plaque on it and Kyle has been on board longer than I have. That would directly contradict Mitch telling me that there was only one other passenger, though. I also remember checking the doors as Mitch and I walked through this car. I don’t believe Kyle could have been on board and we just missed bumping into him, which was another of my ideas. That just leaves the outlandish ones. Can the train travel through time? That’s a nice, neat thought, at least until I think too hard about it. It might explain why time on board doesn’t work. Maybe it explains everything. The train simply picked Kyle up earlier in time than it picked me up; before the world ended.

  My other theories require mental leaps I’m not willing to make right now.

  Time travel, though… if it’s possible, I could see my family again. All I need to do is take control of the train, and from everything I’ve seen, it’s fully autonomous.

  Another problem for later, then.

  I walk to the dining car intending to order Kyle the steak dish I had the previous night, belatedly hoping he isn’t vegetarian, and find Mitch alone reading a newspaper.

  “Whatcha reading?” I ask brightly in lieu of a greeting.

  He looks up. “Hi, Eden. Just an old newspaper.” He folds it and holds it out to show me. I take it and look at the date. It says March 19th, 1907, but I have no frame of reference. Is that when Mitch is from? Maybe it’s when I’m from too. I just have no way of knowing. I guess I could rule it out by looking at some of the grainy pictures or reading some of the stories. Maybe I’ll try it later.

  “Cool,” I say, handing it back. “Where did it come from?”

  He takes it back and places it on the table in front of him. “Another passenger, I think. Long gone now. What are you up to?”

  “I’m just getting some food. There’s a new guy in carriage ten.”

  Mitch looks at me a beat too long. “Ah, yes. Kyle, is it? I haven’t had the pleasure.” He sounds vaguely disappointed by this. Or… something else? Displeased, perhaps. Maybe he considers himself the train’s welcome party and is annoyed that I got there first.

  “How did you know he was here?”

  “It’s remarkable what you can see on board if you spend some time looking,” he says with a wry grin.

  I nod as if I know what he’s talking about, then try to fill my mind with thoughts of steak, mashed potatoes and carrots, as well as a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese for me, since I only had coffee earlier. As an afterthought, I conjure up an image of two cups of coffee as well.

  Then I wonder if Mitch is trying to drop a hint of some kind. Maybe I should be doing more poking around. I haven’t done any, not really. There are twenty-seven other sleeper compartments that I haven’t even considered looking in. There’s the kitchen in here. There are more bathrooms than the one I used.

  There’s whatever’s beyond carriage ten, too. Maybe something about carriage seven needs puzzling out? It’s a lot of open space that seems like it might have a purpose, but no way to tell what that might be.

  For a second, I consider asking if Mitch knows how long the train really is, but something stops me. Instead, I offer him my best smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “About earlier,” he says. “Rona can be… I guess a little blunt. She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind, too.”

  “You do that,” he says with a smile, then stands with obvious effort. “Right. I think it’s about time for my nap.”

  “Enjoy.�
�� I watch him shuffle out of the room. Shortly after, my food and coffee appear in front of me. I hunt around for a tray, finding one behind the bar, then carry everything back to Kyle’s compartment.

  “This is great!” Kyle remarks sometime later.

  I smile. My bagel is ancient history and I’ve nearly drained my coffee, too. “Food’s no good on death row, huh?”

  “My last meal was pretty good.”

  My mouth drops open. “Wait. You had your last meal? Like your last last meal? The one you get before they…” I trail off.

  “Yeah. Well, it’s usually a couple of days before. Not immediately. I had pizza. That was nice. Do they have pizza here? I could really go for a Chicago-style deep dish pizza right about now.”

  “You’re cheating on your steak. Don’t be that guy.”

  He laughs and it’s deep and pleasant and slow. I wonder when he last had cause to laugh about anything. “Don’t think it’s cheating if it’s just in my head,” he says.

  I know he’s eager to hear about the end of the world. Just as eager as I am to never have to relive that experience, but I guess he has a right to know about the fate of his species, at least as I understand it.

  “So, the end of the world went something like this...”

  And I tell him.

  When I’m finished, I’m crying.

  “Hey,” Kyle says. “It’s okay. Wherever they are now, they’re in a better place.” He’s referring, of course, to Alice, and my mom and Nana. I screw up my face and cry more at his kindness, but I don’t tell him that I think he’s wrong. I think they’re just dead. Maybe they’re still out there somewhere in time, but I don’t know.

  “Thanks,” I say, then spend some time sniffling before deciding to change the subject. “So, how about that tour?”

  “Maybe later. First, tell me about the other people on board.” His expression speaks of eagerness, but some apprehension.