The Train to Nowhere

A short story about an unexpected journey

Photo by Walter Lee Olivares de la Cruz on Unsplash

Carlton had never felt a knife against his neck, but he instantly knew what it was. He also instinctively knew what to do. Nothing.

“Who are you?” The words belonged to a woman. Her voice was as sharp and cold as the metal against his flesh. 

A chill swept through his body, freezing his vocal cords. He knew he had to reply but couldn’t. 

Her free hand reached for the knotted cord above him. She pulled, releasing a long, loud whistle. She jumped back, grabbed Carlton’s arm, and spun him around. His gray and white striped cap flew in the opposite direction like it had been lifted off his head by a tornado. 

“Did I do that?” she asked. 

Carlton gave himself a few seconds to assess the intruder, a woman in her twenties with auburn hair that flowed to her hips, one blue and one green eye, pretty, lithe, with defined muscles, barefoot, and pointing the knife at his belly. 

“Speak or I will cut out your tongue.” 

“You did that. You sounded the whistle.” 

“It’s the monster’s roar.”

“It’s only a whistle—like this.” Carlton reached for the signal cord, but before he could wrap his fingers around it, she closed the distance between them and pressed the blade to his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Her arms tensed, and her irises swapped colors. “I will do it.” 

She pulled the cord again. The whistle blared blended low and high tones that shook the trees of the forest to the east and echoed off the mountains to the west. She withdrew the knife tip from Carlton’s abdomen but continued to aim it toward him. Keeping her eyes fixed on Carlton, she sidestepped to the open window. 

“I’m going to look out now. Stay where you are. I can eviscerate you faster than you can blink. Understood?”

“Yes.”

She twisted her neck to look up. After several moments, she ducked back inside. “You make the smoke, too?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of sorcerer are you?” She lowered her weapon but kept a tight grip on the handle.

“May I ask you a question?” Carlton trembled. He was uncertain if his question would provoke the intruder. Maybe it's safer to just answer her questions.

“You may.”

“How did you get on board?”

She chuckled. “I jumped, of course.”

“The train travels at seventy-five kilometers per hour. Nobody can—” Nobody can run that fast, he was going to say.  That limitation has always kept intruders out. That and it's downright dangerous. But not today, not for her.

“Train?” She surveyed the engine room. “Explain.”

“I’m the engineer. I operate the train.”

“This is a beast.”

“No, it’s a vehicle, like a wagon, only more advanced. A train is supposed to transport people.” Carlton’s shoulders slumped. His bones creaked. He dropped onto the engineer’s chair and swiveled toward the woman. “But I’m the only person on board. I’ve always been the train’s sole occupant."

“It’s not a monster? You’re not a sorcerer?”

“No.”

The woman took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds. “This monster...this train...is what keeps the Salinet and Kenmawl apart. It’s what stops us from warring. Neither tribe dares cross its silver lines. The beast’s roar terrifies both Salinet and Kenmawl.” She slid her knife back into its sheath. 

“A whistle, not a roar.”

“Yes, the whistle.” She scanned the engine room. An assortment of brass pipes filled the space. Attached to the pipes were red, blue, and silver wheels of varying diameters. White gauges and levers emerged from cylindrical containers, and in a large box, a fire glowed. A series of six bellows coupled to pistons took turns blowing air into the firebox. The fire cracked, pipes hissed, and brass needles inside the gauges rattled as they changed orientation. “When the train passes, the earth shakes. We believe the ground will swallow us if we cross to the other side.” 

“Yes. My purpose is to preserve the peace.” 

“Why do you do this?”

“Because I do.” 

“Explain.”

“I drive the train up and down along the five hundred kilometer length of track, never stopping. It’s been my purpose for so long I don't remember how I began.” Carlton shrugged. 

“Thousands died in the final battle at the Vilika River. My great grandfather led the Salinet in that battle, where he perished.” 

“I’m sorry about your great grandfather.” He straightened his bolo tie and extended his hand. “My name is Carlton.”

She pressed her fingertips against his. “I am Lakoti, Princess of the Salinet.” The train swayed. Lakoti slapped her palms against the only section of the wall that wasn’t covered with instruments. After a few unsteady moments, she stood straight again. A puzzled expression crossed her face. “How do you eat? What do you hunt? Where are your cattle and chickens?” For the first time since she boarded the train, Lakoti’s face softened and her muscles relaxed. 

“The smoke heats a greenhouse in the next car through these pipes.” Carlton pointed to the line of copper from above the boiler to the rear of the car. “I grow all I need.”

“Greenhouse. That’s something else new to me.” She offered a smile. 

“I'll show you.” Carlton rose from his chair but instantly collapsed to the floor. He grabbed his left arm with his right and trembled. His skin turned ashen and his lips were blue. “My heart. It’s going to stop in a few minutes.” He breathed fast and tentatively. “No time.” 

Lakoti knelt alongside him. She removed a small cloth pouch from her pocket and placed the herbs it contained on Carlton’s tongue. 

“That won’t save me. Nothing will. My heart is nearly out of beats.” Carlton grunted and propped himself up. “Can you keep the peace, Lakoti? Can you drive the train and prevent the Salinet and Kenmawl from killing each other?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“I know you will,” Carlton said before he died.

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If you enjoyed The Train to Nowhere, I think you’ll also like my story, Shadow Puppets.

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