Night Train

by David Quantick

  “That’s her,” Banks said. “She’s trying to open the door.”

  “Are you sure? It’s hardly moving.”

  “That would be my point,” Banks said, drily.

  * * *

  Poppy shook and shook the door, but it didn’t seem to move at all.

  “Fucking doors!” she shouted, and battered the door with a few kicks.

  * * *

  “What are we going to do?” Garland asked, once the door was entirely still again.

  “This,” said Banks. “Hello!” he shouted. “Hello! Poppy, can you hear us?”

  No response.

  * * *

  “Garland!” Poppy shouted. “Banks!”

  Nothing.

  * * *

  “She can’t have gone,” Garland said.

  “She’s still there,” Banks said. “She just can’t hear us.”

  “That’s ridiculous. She’s only on the other side of the door. There’s just a few centimetres between us.”

  “She’s there,” said Banks.

  * * *

  “Can anyone hear me?!” shouted Poppy. “They’ve gone and left me,” she told Teddy.

  Teddy said nothing, but Poppy fancied he looked doubtful.

  “Well, if they haven’t left me,” she said, “then why aren’t they doing anything to help me?”

  She studied Teddy’s face.

  “Oh,” she said. “Right. Shit.”

  Poppy sat on the floor, the better to think.

  * * *

  “Let’s be logical,” said Banks.

  “Oh, let’s,” said Garland.

  “She’s behind the door. She’s probably not dead –”

  “Nice.”

  “– so now she’s given up banging on the door or shouting for help –”

  “How do you know she has?”

  “We did, so she will.”

  “OK.”

  “She’s not going to hang around. She can’t open the door she came in through, so she’s going –”

  “– to find the exit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Which means…”

  Banks looked at the other door.

  “We have to go through this door. Which was the plan in the first place.”

  Garland looked at the other door.

  “We don’t know what’s in there.”

  “We didn’t know before. Nothing’s changed.”

  “All right.” Garland took a deep breath, then:

  “You open it.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  Banks opened the door.

  * * *

  Poppy sat and thought.

  “There’s no way back,” she told Teddy. “So we go forward.”

  She stood and, for the first time, looked around. The corridor was, understandably, fairly narrow, being only half the width of a regular train carriage. This half of the carriage was also empty, and dimly lit. There were no seats, or racks, or tables. The windows, too, were blacked out, so only the noise and the constant shaking gave any indication that she was still on a train.

  She now saw that the carriage wasn’t entirely empty. A few metres ahead of her was something bulky, and square.

  Pushing Teddy safely inside her jacket, Poppy moved forward.

  * * *

  Banks and Garland looked through the doorway but couldn’t see anything. The carriage was narrow and not well illuminated.

  “There’s nothing here,” said Garland. “It’s just a carriage.”

  “No,” Banks replied. “It’s been divided in two, and that means it’s not just a carriage.”

  “There’s no need to be pedantic,” Garland said.

  They went in. The door slammed behind them immediately.

  Banks rattled the handle.

  “Just to be sure,” he said.

  The handle didn’t move.

  “Locked in?” Garland asked. Banks nodded.

  “Let’s go then,” she said.

  * * *

  Poppy approached the large object. It reached from floor to ceiling, and it was made of some kind of plastic. The plastic was glossy, and dark. Poppy felt along the front of the object – it’s a box, she thought – and could find no seams or handles. She tried the sides, and her fingers brushed over a small protuberance. She felt it gently. It was round, and almost set flush into the wall.

  “It’s a button!” she said, and pushed it.

  Immediately she was blinded.

  * * *

  Garland and Banks made their way down the narrow corridor. The carriage was poorly lit, and seemed to be empty.

  “This is weird,” said Garland.

  “Which makes it normal,” Banks pointed out.

  “Ooh, paradox,” Garland said.

  She stopped. In front of them was a large, box-like structure.

  “What’s that?” she said.

  “Whatever it is,” Banks said, “I don’t like the look of it.”

  * * *

  When her eyes had returned to normal, Poppy realised that the light which had blinded her was coming from inside the room. The button was a light switch, and the room, which she had thought was opaque, was in fact made of some kind of transparent plastic. The plastic was scored with scratches and dents and bumps: she felt the outside, which was entirely smooth, and saw that the damage was all on the inside of the room.

  Inside the box, something was lying on the floor.

  It’s not a room, Poppy thought, it’s a cage.

  * * *

  Garland and Banks approached the structure. It was made of a thick, dark plastic and seemed to be all of a piece.

  “I vote we ignore this and move on,” said Garland.

  “It might be important,” Banks said.

  “True,” said Garland. “It might also be dangerous. In fact, given that everything – and I do mean everything – that we have encountered so far has been dangerous, I’d be very surprised if it wasn’t dangerous.”

  “All right,” said Banks. “But –”

  “But what?” Garland replied, testily.

  Banks pointed at a nub on the door.

  “These open the doors, if you know what to do.”

  “And do you know what to do?”

  Banks grinned.

  * * *

  Poppy looked at the inert form lying on the floor of the cage. It had been crumpled into a vaguely foetal position, but she was pretty sure it was human. She couldn’t see any fur, and besides, as far as she was aware, killer mutant animals didn’t wear shoes.

  After a while, when she was absolutely certain it was a human being, of average size and, presumably, strength, she rapped on the wall.

  The figure stirred.

  * * *

  “Oh fuck,” said Garland.

  “Key,” said Banks. He indicated a tiny hole in the side of the structure. “And – keyhole.”

  “No way,” Garland said.

  “Aren’t you even curious?”

  “Yes, but not in any way which would make me want to open that door.”

  “We don’t know what’s in there.”

  Garland looked at Banks.

  “That,” she said, “would be my point.”

  * * *

  Poppy stood back. She watched the figure move its legs, put its hands on the ground to steady itself, try and get upright. It seemed to be broken in a couple of places, and she waited to see if it could stand.

  It pulled itself across the floor, put its hand on what looked to Poppy to be some kind of small plastic object with straps, like a cool bag, pushed the bag away, and tried to stand again. Eventually the figure managed to get to its feet. It put a hand against the wall to steady itself, then, using the wall to balance, began to turn around.

  There was a crackle from above Poppy’s head. She looked up to see a speaker in the ceiling that she hadn’t noticed before. Inside the cage, the figure coughed into its fist, and the cough echoed out of the speaker.

  Poppy won
dered if the sound worked two ways.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you hear me?”

  The figure looked up at the speaker in the roof of the cage. Then, as if understanding, it turned around to face her. Its eyes scanned the wall, but didn’t alight on her face. Poppy realised that while she could see it, it could not see her.

  “Who’s there?” said the figure, and at that moment Poppy recognised the voice. The face was different – bruised, unshaven, one eye swollen – but the voice, cracked and dry as it might be, was the same.

  Instinctively, she took a step backwards.

  “Who’s there?” said Denning again.

  * * *

  “We’re not opening it,” Garland said.

  “OK,” said Banks. “I concede that it might be dangerous. As you say, everything here is dangerous. It is the nature of this place to be dangerous. And I concede that there are other things we could be doing.”

  “Should be doing,” Garland corrected. “Like just walking past these things, and getting out of here and finding Poppy. And the whole making our way to the front of the train to find out why we’re here and escaping bit.”

  “Sure,” said Banks. “But what if whatever is in there is the key to the whole finding out why we’re here bit?”

  “Here?” asked Garland.

  “Yes,” said Banks. “Why not?”

  Garland considered the idea.

  “I suppose I just assumed that the important stuff would be at the front of the train,” she said. “I mean, it normally is.”

  Banks looked at her. “That’s trainist,” he said.

  After a moment, Garland said, “That was a joke, right?”

  “You are making a majorly big assumption,” Banks said.

  “I know,” said Garland, “That’s why I said ‘assumed’. And it’s not a big assumption. Whatever is driving this is going to be at the front of the train. That’s where driving happens. Nobody drives from the middle of anything, do they?”

  “Driving isn’t everything,” Banks said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that whatever’s in there could be, I don’t know, an electronic brain. An archive. Something useful, anyway.”

  “In there?”

  “Yes.”

  Garland sighed. “All right,” she said. “What have we got to lose?”

  “Attagirl,” said Banks, and put the key in the lock.

  * * *

  “Do I know you?” asked Denning.

  “No,” said Poppy, unconvincingly.

  “I do know you,” said Denning, and even on the bruised and battered face she could see the cunning in the man still intact. “Say something else.”

  Poppy said nothing.

  “Well,” said Denning. “There are plenty of people who don’t want to talk to me, so that doesn’t really narrow it down. But your voice – it’s very familiar.”

  He looked directly at Poppy, so directly that she found it hard to see him.

  “This material, it’s very clever,” he said. “You can see me, but I can’t see you. It’s a one-way mirror, I suppose, but stronger.”

  He held up a hand. The nails were ragged and bloody.

  “A lot stronger,” said Denning. He exhaled.

  “Let me think,” he said. “A woman’s voice. Young, too. Which narrows it down a little. Well spoken. But the odd thing is –”

  Denning stopped. After a moment, he said:

  “The odd thing is, I know your voice from hearing it, I mean, hearing it in person, but also from somewhere else.”

  He put his bloody finger on his chin and looked thoughtful.

  “I have it,” he said. “You were someone I worked with – or on – but you were also famous. Well known in the outside world, when there was such a thing.”

  Poppy found that she was holding her breath. She tried to exhale as quietly as possible.

  “This is quite a fun game,” said Denning.

  He began to pace, frowning as he thought. He paused for a moment to gaze at the small bag on the floor, as though the answer might be inside it.

  “Wait,” he went on. “There was someone – she escaped. They think she –” and he began to giggle. Denning giggling was not something Poppy had ever expected to hear, and she didn’t like it much.

  “They think she caught a train!” said Denning.

  Suddenly he walked up to the wall, up to where Poppy was standing. He thrust his face right up to hers.

  “Poppy,” he said. “Welcome to hell.”

  * * *

  Banks turned the key in the lock and the door opened. Instantly the space was flooded with light.

  “Ow,” said Garland.

  “Bright,” confirmed Banks.

  They stood in the doorway for a moment and looked into the room. It was empty.

  “Well, that was useful,” Garland said.

  “Over there,” Banks said, and pointed.

  By the wall was a squat white bag. It was made of plastic, and had two carrying handles.

  “Not empty at all,” said Banks.

  He turned to Garland. “You hold the door open, and I’ll get the bag.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Garland. She curled her fingers round the edge of the door and gripped it hard. Just to be doubly sure, she wedged her foot in the gap between the door and the wall.

  “We are go,” she said.

  Banks looked at her. “‘We are go’?” he said.

  She shrugged. “‘Attagirl’?” she replied.

  “Fair point,” said Banks.

  He walked across the room and squatted down next to the bag.

  “What is it?” said Garland.

  “It’s a bag,” replied Banks.

  “I’ll walk out of here and close this door on you,” Garland said.

  “I don’t want to open it in here,” Banks said. He grabbed the straps and lifted the bag up. He looked puzzled

  “Heavy –” he began, but got no further as Garland yelled and fell to the floor, holding her spasming hand. The door slammed shut. Banks dropped the bag and ran over to her.

  “It electrocuted me,” said Garland. She was shaking uncontrollably. “When you lifted the bag, it electrocuted me.”

  “It’s OK,” said Banks. He looked at her hand. “Does it still hurt?”

  Garland sat up. “No,” she said. “The door’s closed,” she said.

  “No shit,” said Banks. He looked back at the bag. “I think this was a trap,” he said.

  “As you say,” Garland replied, “no shit.”

  * * *

  “Hello,” Poppy said, after a while.

  “Ah, lovely,” said Denning. “It’s always nice to know who you’re talking to. It’s also,” he said, leaning against a wall now and wincing, “nice to know that you’re fine.”

  “I wouldn’t say I was fine,” said Poppy. “And go fuck yourself,” she added as an afterthought.

  “That I think I have already done,” said Denning. “As you can see from our relative positions. I imagine this is pleasurable for you, seeing me in here for once.”

  “Do you,” Poppy asked cautiously, “know where you are?”

  “Of course,” Denning said. “I presume from your question that you do not.”

  “I’m on a train,” said Poppy.

  “Well, yes,” said Denning. “A moron could deduce that. And that’s it, is it? That’s the boundary of your knowledge?”

  “I’m on a train and I’m not in a cage,” Poppy said.

  “If you say so,” Denning replied. “If you say so.”

  Then, to Poppy’s surprise, he began to sing.

  “You know this one?” Denning asked. “It’s funny isn’t it? That’s what I did. I built a railroad and I made it run!”

  And he laughed.

  * * *

  Banks and Garland stood in the middle of the room for a minute or two, occasionally turning round or lifting their heads to see if there were any gaps or seams
in the room.

  “Nothing,” said Garland.

  “There’s never nothing,” Banks said. He went over to the wall and ran his fingers over the plastic. “I’ll go over every millimetre of this if I have to.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Garland said. “Even if you do find a crack, what are you going to do? Prise it open?”

  “Make yourself useful,” suggested Banks. “Look in the bag.”

  Garland squatted next to the bag and unzipped it.

  “Interesting,” she said. She stuck her hand inside and pulled out a fistful of small glass bottles.

  Banks came over to look. The bottles were all unlabelled and filled with transparent liquid.

  “Medical supplies?” he asked.

  “Could be,” said Garland. “Could be stock for the minibar. Seems unlikely, though.”

  Banks took a bottle and held it up. Then he did the same with a second bottle, and a third.

  “No way of telling what’s in here at all,” he said. “They could all be the same stuff or they could all be different.”

  “Maybe someone should have labelled the ones we need DRINK ME,” said Garland.

  “OR DON’T DRINK ME,” said Banks.

  Suddenly he threw a bottle across the room.

  “What the fuck!” shouted Garland. The bottle hit the wall, and bounced off.

  “Just testing,” Banks said.

  “Well, don’t,” said Garland, going over and retrieving the bottle. “It could be anything in there. Acid, nitroglycerine…”

  “Both of which would come in handy right now,” Banks said. Before Garland could stop him, he threw two more bottles at the wall. As before, they bounced off and rolled to the floor.

  As Garland picked them up again, Banks said, “You know, someone wants us to open these bottles.”

  “What makes you say that?” she asked.

  “No labels, can’t break them,” he said. “All designed to arouse our curiosity.”

  “Major cause of death in ninety-nine per cent of all cats,” said Garland, placing the bottles back in the bag and zipping it up again.

  * * *

  When Denning had stopped singing, he leaned against the wall again and coughed.

  “How long have you been in there?” asked Poppy.

  “Long enough,” said Denning.

  “What – how are you staying alive?”

  “Am I?” Denning asked. “Staying alive?” He laughed. “Mints!” he said.

  “Mints?” said Poppy.

  “Mints,” said Denning. “I used to like mints. Or I didn’t, but I smoked so they were useful. I forget. I sucked them anyway.”