by Neil Bullock
She yawns. “Wouldn’t have offered if I minded.”
I smile. “Then I accept.”
sixteen
The Hangover
A night in a bed was wonderful, and not just in terms of comfort. I felt about as secure as I’ve felt since all this began. I glance over at Lara and wonder if I can get up without disturbing her, decide I probably can’t, and resign myself to lying there until she wakes. Kyle appears to have left at some point, presumably to get something to eat, or shower, or take the train apart some more. As I lie there, I find myself thinking about things I thought I’d long since put to bed.
I never wanted children. Part of that was thanks to my dad. I was always terrified by the idea that I might turn out to be just as lousy at raising kids as he was. I thought maybe something about that was genetic. That wasn’t all of it, though. It just never seemed like something that was right for me. I came out to my family when I was eighteen, and it was a relief in so many ways, but one of those ways was that people stopped blithely assuming I was going to procreate. Of course, things have changed since then and maybe people wouldn’t assume that now, but I was glad of it at the time.
Lara seems to have changed something in me. She’s a lost kid running from her own shitty father, and she found me. That seems to have been good for her, but until now I hadn’t considered how much it’s affected me. Mathematically, I am probably old enough to be her mother, but I don’t know that she’s looking for a surrogate. Maybe she hasn’t considered it, or maybe she thinks we fit the roles of mother and daughter so well that it should be obvious what our relationship is. I never expected to feel anything like this, and I wonder if I should ask her about it, or if that would make things awkward.
She stirs next to me, then makes a sound like some cave dwelling monster. She sits up and looks around blearily.
“Good morning!”
She rubs her eyes. “Hey. Sleep better?”
“Much, thanks.” I pause, then find myself saying the rest of what I’m thinking. “I think… well, I think since Alice and Greg died, I’ve been worried that letting myself get too close to someone is going to end badly. Like, they survived, but then they were taken anyway, you know?”
She turns to face me and smiles warmly, then leans over for a hug. I oblige. When we part, she says, “The spot’s yours if you want it.”
I smile and nod. “How’s your head?”
She touches her temple with two fingers, then lifts her eyebrows. “Fine, actually.”
“Good. Water cures all ills.”
“And lets you see invisible people,” she says, and I grin. “Where’s Kyle?”
“Not sure. He was gone when I woke up. Dining car, maybe.” I start to drag myself out of bed.
We get up and I start to straighten up the room. Lara gathers pencils and paper and places them on the desk next to her bed. “For the crew questions,” she explains. “We should also keep a blank sheet of paper on us in case we get to go outside. Write down our ages and dates of birth and anything else the train might be blocking.” She looks at me for agreement.
“You’re full of good ideas lately.”
Lara beams. “I actually feel pretty guilty about last night. Making them bake that birthday cake. If we can start to figure out a way to make them visible again, it seems like the least we can do.”
“Oh shit. I hadn’t even thought about that.”
She grins. “And now that I’ve dumped my guilt on you, I’m going to shower. Back in a few.”
When she’s gone, I sit back down on the bed and sigh. Every feeling I have right now is tinged with something else. It’s very confusing. Lara and Kyle are fast becoming friends, and Lara invokes a completely alien but entirely pleasant maternal feeling in me, but I still can’t escape the idea that we’re trapped and everything about this life is somehow fake. I still haven’t completely let go of the idea that this is just my brain’s final nonsense dream before death. Occasionally I find myself just expecting this whole fantastic endeavor to stop.
Rather than receding into that muddled place in my mind where I overthink everything, I decide to go for a walk. I leave Lara’s room and head to car seventeen. The place is a mess since we dragged some of the crates out here to have more room to work on them and neglected to tidy up after ourselves. Thankfully, the crew haven’t done it either. I don’t want them to feel obliged. There’s a pile of blankets along one wall that I don’t remember seeing before, and I wonder if Kyle has decided he doesn’t want to room with the girls anymore. I wouldn’t necessarily blame him, though I would miss him. I enjoy the constant sleepover atmosphere we have. I gaze for a while at the heavy-duty door that blocks access to whatever else of the train exists. Surely there’s something back there, but what? Controls? Does Rona come back here? Can I make the crew visible again back there?
When I’ve made myself anxious with my thoughts, I head back the way I came, past Lara’s room and through car fifteen, the crate car, through the crew car, the passenger car and to our dining car where I expect to see Kyle. When I don’t, I keep going. He’s not in eleven either. I guess I missed him, so I head back to Lara’s room.
We can’t find Kyle.
When I got back to the room, Lara was sitting on the edge of her bed drying her hair. I was expecting to see Kyle with her, but she said she hadn’t seen him either. Given how little we know about pretty much everything, it seemed like a good idea to find him, so we started our search in the dining room in car twelve. We checked both bathrooms and we knocked on all the crew cabin doors, though none of them opened. We even went down all the compartments in car sixteen, where Lara’s room is, and pushed their doors open to reveal the howling voids behind. It’s possible Kyle could be in one of them, but we’d never know it, and I can’t imagine what would have happened to make him enter one of those rooms. We checked all the passenger cars and spent some time moving crates, just in case he’d gotten himself stuck behind a particularly big one. We checked Lara’s room repeatedly in case we just kept missing him.
He has disappeared, and I’m starting to become frantic about it. Lara sits at her desk while I sit on her bed. I don’t want to be sitting here, though it was my idea for us to stop moving around and see if Kyle returned of his own accord.
I can’t get the worst-case scenarios to stop swirling around in my head, though, so I blurt, “What if he’d had enough? What if he threw himself outside, or into one of those rooms with nothing in it?”
Lara looks up. “Eden, I don’t think he’d do that. He came here to escape death; do you think he’d give up on life so easily now?”
She has a point. He did escape death row for this. I doubt his will to live would reverse so quickly. I take a few deep breaths and try to calm down. “Yeah, okay. You’re probably right. But… where is he?”
Lara stands and paces. “There’s only one place we haven’t looked.” She holds my gaze until I get it.
“Shit. The front half of the train.” I hadn’t even considered it. I’d even been in carriage eleven and hadn’t thought to try the door. I stand up and experience a momentary appreciation for the fact that this teenager is managing to keep it together far better than I am. I’m just done with losing people. I don’t want to lose Kyle as well as everyone else.
We leave Lara’s room and head through the crate room. Since we searched for Kyle in here, it’s now just as difficult to get through as it was when we first met Lara. Even though we’ve already checked, I push open the bathroom door in the crew car and peer inside. Kyle isn’t there. I have to fight the urge to knock again on every crew door we pass on the way to the next carriage, which we just run through. The dining car is next and I’m disappointed to find he’s not here either. I wish I could stop torturing myself like this. Then we’re in carriage eleven. This is where we met Lara. This was where I spent so long fantasizing about getting to. The way back to the front half of the train.
I’m apprehensi
ve as I push the button next to the door, then I’m shocked when it opens.
“Shit,” I whisper. “How long has it been unlocked? Why isn’t the button lit up?” What if it was never locked in this direction?
“Don’t know. Come on,” Lara says. She’s right; it doesn’t matter.
We walk cautiously through and I say, “This is Kyle’s car. His room is here. Last door on the left.” We head there and I hesitate when we reach it. It still bears his name, which I hope is a good sign. Lara depresses the handle, pushes the door open and visibly deflates when she sees Kyle isn’t inside, or maybe it’s because of the awful interior design choices. The place is a prison cell, after all.
We find Kyle in the rear vestibule of the next carriage along. The door to the outside is open and there are tendrils of that awful gray stuff clinging to the edges of the frame, appearing for all the world like they are touching or tasting this new and interesting place, wondering about coming further inside. I struggle to understand what I’m seeing at first, because the sight of a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound guy being dangled out of the train by the elderly hundred-and ten-pound Mitch simply does not compute.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” I yell.
“Get back, Eden!” Mitch says, looking around and noticing us for the first time. The only thing holding Kyle inside the train is the balled-up fistful of Kyle’s shirt that Mitch clutches.
“Eden!” Kyle yells. His eyes plead. He’s closer to the gray stuff than anyone has been, and I don’t like it. It looks alive. It looks like it might decide to grab him.
“Stop it!” I shout, striding forward, intending to grab Kyle’s flailing arms and haul him back inside. Lara, after a brief hesitation, does the same. Mitch thrusts his left hand against the wall, blocking us both with his arm. I come close to just punching him, but if I do, we could lose Kyle. I take a step back. “Why are you doing this?”
“He’s a killer, Eden! He was on death row. He killed his entire family!”
We have to shout to be heard. The sound from the outside is deafening, but I can’t tell exactly what’s making it. It’s not the sound of air rushing past, it’s more guttural than that. Maybe it’s the gray stuff itself.
“You’re wrong!” I shout back. “He told us the story.”
Mitch laughs, though I don’t hear the sound. “And you just believe him? I knew I should never have…” I lose the rest of whatever he says to a particularly loud cry from Kyle. I watch helplessly as Mitch starts to lose his grip on Kyle’s shirt.
“Oh, Jesus, I don’t want to die like this!” Kyle babbles. The gray tendrils snake closer to him, bridging the gap between him and the door frame. I don’t know what to do.
“You should have thought of that before killing your wife and daughter,” Mitch shouts into Kyle’s face.
“So, you’re judge, jury and executioner?” I shout. “You get to decide? I thought God was the only judge.” I’m trying to appeal to his spiritual side, but his sneer tells me it doesn’t work.
“There is no G—" he begins.
Lara literally screams over him, her voice strained and manic, “If you let him go, you’re going straight after him!”
Mitch’s face registers a flicker of uncertainty. I try, “Come on, Mitch, let’s talk about this.”
He looks at me with disgust, then at Lara with something approaching hate, his eyes narrowing to slits. I don’t know this man at all. I can’t believe I ever thought he was nice. He shakes his head and Kyle jolts backwards half a foot.
“No!” I dart around behind Mitch, wrapping both arms around his neck as I go and pulling backwards, throwing him and myself to the floor. Lara darts forward to grab Kyle’s hand just as Mitch lets go of his shirt. She struggles for several seconds before I scramble to my feet and run to help her. Together, we get Kyle back inside the car and I hit the close button on the door.
seventeen
The Threat
I try to force my brain to slow down as I assess the scene in front of me. It seems the immediate danger has passed. Kyle gasps on the floor just inside the door to gray hell, interfering with Lara’s attempts to fuss over him, batting her hands away seemingly unaware of doing so. His hands shake and I watch as Lara grabs hold of them, gripping them hard. She whispers something to Kyle. She’s got this. She may have had what little sense of safety she’d gained snatched away from her – something I am mightily pissed off about – but she’s still able to give comfort, to remain calm enough to help others. It’s impressive to watch. I cast a glance Mitch’s way, just to make sure he’s not going to try anything, then I crouch next to Lara and Kyle. His haunted eyes meet my own.
“You okay, big guy?” I whisper.
He nods, closes his eyes, then says, “I think so. Thank you—”
I cut him off. “You’d have done the same.”
He nods again and I turn to Lara who is wiping at her eyes. “How about you, short stuff?” I’m amazed I can do the rounds so serenely. Underneath this facade of calm is a rough sea of murderous rage I have no idea how I’m controlling. Maybe I’m just too shocked to feel anything properly.
Lara nods shakily. “What are—”
I interrupt, pitching my voice low so that Mitch can’t hear. “Listen, can you take Kyle back to your room for me? Lock the door, but don’t let your guard down. Mitch may have keys to everything.”
Her eyes widen and, just for a second, I see a look of utter defeat before she reins it in, draws her lips into a thin line and nods once.
“Good girl. I’ll catch up shortly.”
“Wait… what if the door’s locked again?”
“Go to Kyle’s room.”
She nods. “What are you going to do with…” she tilts her head in Mitch’s direction. He’s still on the ground, looking confused.
“Just talk,” I say. I hope that’s all I’m about to do. I stand between my friends and Mitch, watching Lara struggle to help Kyle to his feet. I ignore the urge to assist because it would mean that nobody would be keeping an eye on Mitch. I watch them go, Lara trying her best to hold Kyle up as he leans on her. Then I turn to Mitch, and he visibly recoils.
I crouch down beside him and speak slowly and quietly.
“Would you like to explain that to me?” My tone makes it clear it’s not really a question. I think it must be obvious what I want to do to him and how much effort it’s taking to not just give in and do it. My fists are clenched, but I force them to relax.
“I… I’m sorry!” he starts to babble. It’s not how I expected this to go. I thought he’d have some bullshit reason prepared. “I didn’t think. I just found out that he was on… death row, you know? I jumped to conclusions. I can’t believe… oh, God, I can’t believe I was about to…” he shuffles back so he’s sitting more upright, but he doesn’t try to stand.
I stare at him, not sure if this is an act or if he’s being genuine. It’s a good act if that’s what it is. “You’re going to give me some answers.”
He nods frantically, as if placating me is the only thing on his mind.
“First, how did you even know Kyle was on board?”
“It’s like I said, word travels fast. Rona saw you board and told me, right? She keeps watch over the train pretty well.” I don’t ask if this is because she’s in charge of it. I don’t want to lose control of the conversation.
“Does she know about your murderous tendencies?”
“Oh, God. Oh, God, Eden. Promise me you won’t tell her! She’ll never talk to me again!”
I ignore his pleading. “Why was the door to carriage eleven locked?”
“I don’t know.”
I lean forward just a little farther. “I don’t believe you, Mitch. You’re going to want to make me believe you.”
“Eden, I swear I’m telling you the—” he pauses for a second, seeming momentarily breathless, “—the truth! I swear it. I don’t know what happened. I… I just saw red when I l
earned about Kyle’s past and—”
I hold up a hand. “And how did you do that?”
His eyes widen a little. “Do what?”
“How did you learn about Kyle’s past?”
“I… I don’t remember. Rona, I… I think.”
I shake my head and bite my lower lip. “Not good enough, Mitch.”
He exhales a shaky breath. “I swear— I don’t know what’s happening to me. I can’t… I don’t know. Oh, God, Eden. I can’t…”
I’ve seen my dad act like this. I remember confronting him about stealing my college fund, and his reaction to being caught and confronted reminds me of this. It’s a good act, but I feel sure it is just an act. I just can’t figure out what purpose it serves, and that’s driving me crazy. Is he trying to make peace so that we let our guard down and he can try again? Or maybe Lara is next. Maybe he’ll kill all of us.
“All right, Mitch. Calm down.” I try to remove any sympathy from my tone, making it a demand, not a suggestion.
He nods and looks at me gratefully. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and he does look sorry. He looks wretched, actually. He looks broken. A lot of people might even believe him. I do not, but I recognize how tenuous our situation onboard is. We are trapped. If Mitch has keys, he can kill us whenever he wants. We’re never safe. If he’s going to pretend to play nice, that gives us time to work out a counterattack for next time.
“Do you have keys to the doors on board?”
He shakes his head, and I sigh melodramatically. “I swear! I don’t have keys!”
“So, the door to eleven just magically unlocked when you decided you wanted to murder someone?”
His face crumples, and I fight a fleeting moment of pity. I don’t want to pity this man, I want to hate him.
“I…” he stops, shakes his head like he knows there’s only so many ways he can say it and he’s exhausted his repertoire. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”