Night Train

by David Quantick

  “There is,” Poppy said heavily, “no danger of that happening.”

  And before Banks could stop her, she shoved the door open and went in.

  * * *

  A moment later, she was back. She looked terrified.

  “You’re right,” she said to Banks. “We should have waited.”

  Banks went pale. “Oh God,” he said. “What’s in there?”

  “I can’t say,” said Poppy. “It’s just –”

  “Stop it,” said Garland, as Poppy collapsed into giggles.

  “Great,” Banks said. “You got me.”

  “There really was no need for that,” Garland said, as Poppy went a sort of purple.

  “Sorry,” said Poppy. “It’s been a long day.”

  “So what is in there?” Garland said.

  “Come and have a look,” Poppy said. “It’s really nice.”

  Banks looked at Garland.

  “Nice? I’m not sure I can handle nice.”

  But he followed them anyway.

  * * *

  The next carriage was long, and bright, and its walls rippled with blue and silver light. It smelled, somehow, of rose petals and it was pleasantly warm. As they entered they went up a small flight of steps, because the entirety of the carriage was raised up on a platform. The reason for this became apparent immediately: most of the space in the carriage was taken up by a long, and shallow, pool. The sides of the pool were tiled and here and there were small baskets of something.

  They walked around the edge of the pool and stood there, looking in.

  “Is it a swimming pool?” Banks asked.

  “I don’t think it’s deep enough,” said Poppy.

  “Oh God,” Banks said. “It’s a shark tank.”

  “Again,” Poppy said, “not deep enough.”

  Garland crouched down.

  “Oh my,” she said.

  Looking back at her from inside the pool, its head peering out of the water, was a very small turtle. Garland reached a hand into the water and picked it up.

  “Careful,” Banks said. “It might take your hand off.”

  “It’s a baby,” said Garland. She stroked its head with her finger. “And I think it’s hungry.”

  She reached into one of the baskets and brought out a small packet, similar to the juice boxes in the buffet car. Garland tore open the packet and poured its contents into her free hand. The baby turtle snuffled around and began to peck her palm.

  “Not taking my hand off yet,” she said.

  “Look at its shell,” said Poppy.

  Under the dappled light of the pool, the turtle’s shell seemed to be glowing.

  “It’s…” Banks was searching for a word.

  “Iridescent,” said Garland.

  “Like a rainbow,” Poppy said.

  “Both of those things,” Banks agreed.

  * * *

  More baby turtles swam up to the side of the pool. Poppy and Banks opened more packets of food. Banks tipped his into the water. Poppy scooped up a couple of turtles and fed them in her hands.

  Garland studied the schematic.

  “You’re looking at that now?” said Poppy.

  “I want to try something.”

  Garland walked to the central part of the carriage. She slid back a panel in the wall.

  “Nobody move,” she said, and reached a hand inside the panel.

  A moment later, the lights went out.

  “What did you do that for?” said Banks.

  “Shh,” said Poppy. “Look.”

  They looked.

  * * *

  The pool was full of tiny shining objects.

  “They’re glowing,” Poppy said.

  The baby turtles swam in the dark, their shells giving out pearly rainbows of light.

  “Over there,” Garland said.

  A larger light was moving slowly towards them. The smaller lights began to swim towards it.

  “No one turn the light on,” Poppy said. A second or two later, there was a small splash.

  “What’s she doing?” Banks said. “Oh,” he added, as he heard something move through the water.

  * * *

  Although the pool was shallow, Poppy found she could swim in it. With a packet of food in her teeth, she made her way to the mother turtle. Slowly she sat up in the water, filled her hands with food, and chuckled as the turtle, shell glowing in the dark, nibbled her hand. Then she dropped the remaining food in the water, lay back and let the turtles swim over her.

  * * *

  “Don’t give them too much to eat, it’s bad for them!” Banks called out.

  “Be quiet,” said Garland.

  Banks grumbled into silence and they watched the turtles swim around Poppy, making patterns like tiny swirling constellations in the water.

  * * *

  “I don’t know what to make of this,” Garland said, as Poppy and the turtles circled one another. “I don’t mean the last few hours, the blood and the mess, I mean –”

  She waved an all-encompassing hand at the carriage.

  “– this,” she finished.

  “This sudden beauty,” Banks said, as if quoting. “I know.”

  “It’s from nowhere,” she said. “On this thing.”

  “You know how trains got their name, right?”

  “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  “It’s ‘train’ as in ‘train of thought’,” Banks said. “As in a load of things being pulled along, one in front of the other. Or behind.”

  “If this is a train of thought,” said Garland, “it’s a train of particularly horrible thought.”

  “With something beautiful in it,” Banks said. “The pearl in the oyster.”

  Poppy waved goodbye as the mother turtle began to nudge her babies away from her.

  Garland corrected him. “The pearl in the monster,” she said.

  “That makes no sense,” said Poppy as she climbed out of the water.

  * * *

  When Poppy was dressed, they made their way to the end of the carriage. Poppy turned before Banks opened the next door.

  “Bye, turtles,” she said. “Stay safe.”

  * * *

  The next carriage was ridiculous. It was just a train carriage. In fact, it was so much like a train carriage that they felt uneasy.

  “This is like being in a museum,” said Banks. “Or a reconstruction.”

  There was nothing odd at all about the carriage. It had a full complement of seats, and tables. It didn’t smell of anything unusual, and it was averagely clean.

  Poppy clambered onto a seat to put her skis in the luggage rack. Garland explored a bin.

  “Look at this,” she said, holding up a paper coffee cup and sniffing it. “Cold,” she said.

  “Anything else?” asked Banks. Garland shook her head.

  “Wait,” said Poppy, still standing on the seat. She reached into the luggage rack and pulled something out.

  It was a book.

  * * *

  They sat down at a table and read the book.

  “I thought you couldn’t read,” Banks said to Garland.

  “I couldn’t,” said Garland. “But now I can. Some things, anyway.”

  “Books are boring,” said Poppy.

  “No they’re not!” Banks said, shocked.

  “Name one good book,” Poppy demanded.

  There was a pause.

  “I can’t think of any books,” said Banks.

  “Exactly.”

  “No,” Banks said. “I mean at all. I can’t think of any books at all.”

  “Neither can I,” said Garland. “That’s not good.”

  “And you two are book fans,” said Poppy. “I don’t believe I’ve ever read a book,” she added with dumb satisfaction.

  “I’m sure I’ve read hundreds,” said Garland.

  “Well, you can read this one then,” Poppy said unsympathetically.

  * * *

  Garland opened th
e book. The first page she turned to began with words in bold type.

  “Make-up is a skilled creation,” she read out.

  “I’d agree with that,” said Poppy. “Go on.”

  “It is the role of the actor whether in cinema or elsewhere to show the emotions and mental processes of a character,” Banks read, “as well as that character’s look.”

  “Wow, boring,” said Poppy. “Are there any pictures?”

  “No,” said Garland with satisfaction. She read on. “The outside and the inside, the look and the content, thus must interweave to be a successful portrayal.”

  “Stop there,” Poppy said.

  “I’m with her,” said Banks.

  Garland sighed and closed the book.

  “It might be a clue,” she said.

  “It might be a murder weapon,” Poppy replied. “And you still can’t name a good book.”

  Garland wasn’t listening. She pulled out the map again.

  “You think this will get us to Narnia?” said Poppy.

  “What’s Narnia?” Garland said.

  Poppy looked abashed.

  “It’s a book, isn’t it?”

  “It’s in a book.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Not.”

  Garland shook her head and spread the map out on the table. Then she fished out a pencil and began making marks on the paper.

  After a while she stopped and said, “There are at least forty symbols on this map and I can’t make head or tail of them.”

  “Then how do you know it’s a map?” asked Banks.

  Garland stared at him. “Because that’s what it looks like,” she said. “See here, where the two loops of the figure of eight cross over? That’s obviously a bridge. And there –”

  She pointed to a wobbly blue line.

  “– that’s a river.”

  “It’s a line.”

  “A line representing a river.”

  Banks made a face.

  “Or a border. Or a road.”

  “You agree it’s a map then.”

  “Not much of a map, without a bit where it says ‘You Are Here’.”

  Garland shook her head and pushed the map at Banks.

  “You find it, then.”

  “Woah,” said Banks.

  “That was a bit harsh,” agreed Poppy.

  “No, I meant, we’re going uphill,” Banks said. “I can feel it in the pit of my stomach.”

  “It’s getting steeper,” Poppy said. “I can feel it too.”

  Banks stood up.

  “I wonder if I can see anything,” he began, just before Poppy pulled him back into his seat again.

  “Look out!” she yelled, pulling him towards her.

  “What is it?” Garland shouted.

  Suddenly something fast and metal shot past them.

  “It’s –” said Banks. He stood up.

  “Be careful,” Poppy said.

  “What is it?” repeated Garland.

  “It’s a buffet trolley,” Banks said, and began to laugh.

  * * *

  The trolley was metal, about chest height, and had been on four small wheels, one of which was now broken.

  They approached it with interest.

  “Those are nuts,” said Banks, indicating some small blue foil packets. “And those are pastries.”

  “They look pretty stale to me,” Poppy said.

  “Is that whisky?” Garland said.

  Banks reached a long arm into the trolley and scooped everything out into the kitbag.

  “This is more like it,” Poppy said, grabbing a handful of miniatures. “Let’s get smashed.”

  “No,” Garland said.

  “All right,” Poppy said. “I’ll get smashed. You stay boring.”

  “Fine,” said Garland. “When whatever killed those soldiers turns up again, we’ll run away and you can divert it by being eaten.”

  “Fuck,” Poppy said after a moment. She dropped the bottles back into the kitbag.

  * * *

  They sat down and enjoyed their alcohol-free snacks.

  “We’re really high now,” Banks said.

  “Speak for yourself,” said Poppy.

  “High up,” said Banks.

  Poppy gave him a special look and turned to look out the window. Something silvery spattered itself on the glass.

  “Snow?” Garland said.

  Banks shook his head.

  “Ash,” he said.

  * * *

  Further down the train, where something had torn a hole in the roof of the carriage, a freezing wind began to tunnel back in. Clouds of silver, glittering ash fell rapidly into the carriage.

  The thing on the roof began to howl.

  * * *

  “It is snowing ash,” said Garland.

  “Good Lord,” Banks said, “you’re right.”

  “When I say it, it’s not true, but when she says it, it is,” said Poppy. “I might as well not be here.”

  “Be quiet and eat your nuts,” Banks said. Poppy pointed up at her skis.

  “I might put those on and get out of here,” she said.

  Banks ignored her and turned to Garland. “This is bad,” he said.

  “Your catchphrase,” Poppy muttered.

  Garland asked, “Why is it bad?” and Banks said, “Because giant drifts of ash and trains don’t mix. We could break down. We could get stuck. There could be a power outage, which means we’d freeze.”

  “Or,” said Poppy, “none of these things could happen and we could just carry on happily to our destination.”

  Garland leaned over and sniffed Poppy’s breath.

  “You’ve been drinking,” she said.

  “I only sneaked a couple when you were looking at your stupid map,” said Poppy.

  Banks looked in the kitbag.

  “A couple?” he said. “You’ve had six.”

  “I’m fast,” said Poppy. “Bit tired,” she added, and passed out.

  “Well, that helps,” Garland said.

  Banks said nothing. He had fallen asleep.

  Garland made a face, took out her pen again and began making more notes on the map. After a few minutes she leaned over into the kitbag, gently pulled out the last whisky, and drank it slowly. Then she too fell asleep.

  * * *

  Outside, the silver ash fell more and more deeply by the minute. The thing on the roof, its systems frozen, went to sleep as well, which probably saved their lives.

  * * *

  Garland woke first. She remembered that she was on a train, that it was snowing silver ash, and that her name might be Garland. She looked out the window and saw the ash, deep in piles outside. The train wasn’t moving any slower, so she presumed the tracks ahead were fine.

  She took out her map and continued to make notes. After a while she stopped, because the notes were just lists that made no sense. She opened the book again, but this only made her sleepy again.

  Garland was thinking of waking the others, partly to annoy them and partly to have someone to talk to, when she noticed that the train was going downhill again. She noticed this firstly when the buffet trolley slid past, hampered by its broken wheel, and secondly when she felt the acceleration of the train.

  * * *

  “We’re picking up speed,” said Banks.

  Poppy woke up.

  “Is it me,” she said, “or is everything wider?”

  “It’s the ash,” Banks said, and indeed the silver expanse outside the window did seem to make the world outside broader. “That, and the moonlight.”

  “A moonlit night,” Garland said, wonderingly. “How long has it been that?”

  “Night, or moonlit?” Banks said. “I’d say the moon has only just come up. But as for how long it’s been night…”

  He looked at them both.

  “How long do you think it’s been night?”

  Poppy frowned. “I’ve only been awake a few hours… I think. But it’s been night all that time
.”

  “Me too,” said Garland. “Banks, you’re the veteran. How long has it been night?”

  Outside, in the silver-lit night, something red exploded in the sky.

  “As long as I’ve been here,” said Banks. “Weeks. Months, possibly.”

  “Months,” Poppy said. “You’ve been here for months.”

  “Maybe,” Banks said. “Does it matter?”

  Poppy shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you want from a train ride,” she said.

  Another red burst went off in the sky.

  “Fireworks?” asked Garland.

  “Could be,” Banks said. “Could be anything. Distress flares, explosions…”

  “The end of the world,” Poppy suggested.

  “I think we’d know if it was the end of the world,” said Banks.

  Garland looked at the red flowers in the sky.

  “Would we?” she said.

  * * *

  Time passed.

  * * *

  Garland shoved Banks on the shoulder.

  “I was asleep,” he said.

  “Sorry,” she began.

  “And,” Banks continued, “I was actually having a dream in which I wasn’t being tortured, or torturing someone else.”

  * * *

  “I think it’s stopping,” Banks said, a few minutes later.

  “The train?” Poppy asked excitedly.

  “The ash,” replied Banks.

  * * *

  After that, nobody said anything for quite a while. Banks opened a pack of juice. Poppy practised scratching her name into the table, and Garland made notes.

  * * *

  “It’s stopping,” said Banks.

  “You said that an hour ago,” Poppy replied.

  Garland stood up.

  “Not the ash,” she said. “The train.”

  * * *

  Poppy clambered onto her seat and began to punch the ceiling.

  “I’d wait a minute if I were you,” Garland said.

  Poppy continued to batter upwards.

  “We’re not fucking this up again,” she said.

  * * *

  Garland and Banks remained in their seats, looking out for any signs of activity outside.

  “The windows are clearing,” said Banks. “I can see something.”

  “Buildings,” Garland said.

  * * *

  Outside, in the distance, there were towers, somehow both tall and squat. The towers were unlit, and grey, and stood in fields of unbroken ash.

  Poppy took a break from punching.

  “Anything else?” she asked.