An Unexpected Ride

Jonathan peered into the darkness that surrounded him. What had happened? Where was he? His heart raced as he struggled to understand.

Okay, he thought, calm down. What do I know? He had been lying on his back when he had become aware of his situation. The ground was cold and hard beneath him. A steady, familiar sound filled the air. A train! He was on a train!

Okay, that was something – something he could build from. Now, what was he doing on a train? He struggled desperately to remember something, anything, about going on a train, but nothing came to him. His head pounded along with the rhythm of the train.

His eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness, so he looked about himself again. Vague shapes loomed up around him. He stared at them until they resolved themselves into stacked crates. Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, then stood. Might as well have a look around.

Surveying the crates, he discovered that the ones nearby were mostly empty, filled only with cobwebs and dirt. Much of the wood was broken, lying in various states of decay. Not much sense scrutinizing those more closely. Dust filled the air as he moved within the confines of the . . . well, it must be a freight car.

He saw a door at one end of the car and headed for it. The door creaked open when he turned the handle, revealing a desolate wasteland. Desert sands rolled by to either side of a fast-moving train. Across the open platform, a door to a passenger car stood shut. Nothing to see here, he thought. May as well keep moving forward.

Crossing the threshold that separated the cars, he quickly opened the door, uncertain of what he may find within. What he did find went beyond anything he could have predicted. The passenger car was filled with children, ranging in age from perhaps three to a maximum of around eight years old. All the seats were full.

The small, silent faces gazed back at him, fear written plainly across each one. Tears ran down some cheeks, but not a single snivel sounded within the enclosure. Jonathan began to speak, but his throat was too dry to make any sounds beyond a low croak. How long he had lain on that dusty floor, he didn't know. He cleared his throat and swallowed, then tried again.

“Where are your parents?” he asked, loudly.

Not a single mouth opened to respond, although some of the children recoiled from the sound of his voice. Jonathan looked from one to the next, but each pair of eyes dropped when his met theirs. “Okay,” he muttered to himself, “may as well move on, I guess.”

He walked down the aisle, peering into each row of seats as he passed, but still getting no responses. All was still and silent. At the end of the car, another door awaited him. He went through and saw another passenger car ahead. Nothing to do but go on. When he opened the door, he was met with a very similar scene as in the first car. He tried again.

“Do any of you know where your parents are?” he asked, trying to project his voice without frightening the children further. Clearly, they were already terrified enough.

No response. He pushed on, hoping to find something more useful in the next car. As he approached, the youngest girl he had seen so far broke down and began to shriek. The children around her tried to hush her, begging her with both words and actions to be quiet before anything bad happened. Jonathan stopped where he was, suddenly quite certain that their parents were not here.

“It’s okay,” he assured the young girl and her friends. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just don’t know what’s going on. Can you help me?”

The girl’s sobs slowed to a stop, and the group stared at him with horrified eyes, clearly uncertain what they should do.

Jonathan saw that this could be his chance. “Look,” he said, holding out his open hands, palms up in supplication, “you all know more than I do. I just woke up, and I don’t remember anything. If you can tell me anything – anything at all – I’ll do my best to help you if I can.”

The girl’s big blue eyes stared into his. “I want my mommy,” she said, her bottom lip quivering.

A much older, dark-haired boy nudged her and hissed, “Clara, don’t talk to him! He’s not our friend!”

“But–” she began.

“Clara,” Jonathan interrupted her, drawing her attention back to him. “Look at me,” he said gently. She complied. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “Please, do you know where we’re going?”

Clara gazed into the distance and said, “That guy got me . . . ,” she drifted off.

“No,” the dark-haired boy said firmly, putting himself between Jonathan and Clara, “we don’t know anything. We were taken, and that’s all we know.” The fear remained in his eyes, but now it was mixed with defiance. Jonathan had been effectively cut off from his source.

“Okay,” he said, “that’s fine. I’ll just see what I can find out.” He started to move away, then looked back and said, “Thanks.” The boy continued to watch him with guarded eyes, a protective arm slung around the young girl.

Jonathan continued on, turning the handle, crossing between the cars again, opening the next door, and being greeted once more by a silent car of traumatized children. He didn’t slow down in the passenger car this time, determined to find the conductor of this train. Whatever was going on, he must know something. Dozens of eyes watched him pass.

Through the next door he went, and to his surprise, was greeted by the door to the cab on the other side. However, when he tried to turn the handle to that door, it was locked. He stood at the rusty metal door for long moments, mulling over his options. Then he began to beat on it with his fists.

When there was no response, he yelled, “Hey, open up in there! I need to know what’s going on here. I need some answers!” Only silence returned his calls. He glanced around at the landscape flying by. Still desert, but no longer a wasteland. Here and there, green spots appeared in the scenery. In the distance, mountains loomed.

Jonathan stood at the door uncertainly, considering his circumstances. Why, he wondered, was he on this train? Where were they going? Clearly, other than the mysterious conductor, he was the only adult on the train.

An idea occurred to him and he leaned out over the rail on one side, looking back along the train’s length. He counted three passenger cars and one freight car. No dining car. No caboose, although that was to be expected. Cabooses had gone out of use well over a century ago. Still, there must surely be water somewhere, and maybe food. Was it in the cabin? There wasn’t enough room there, surely. It must be in the freight car he had woken up in.

There must be a town near those mountains, he thought. I can get off there and file a police report about this train. After that, I’ll figure out what’s going on with me – who I am, what I’m supposed to be doing, all that. With that thought came the realization that he should have his ID somewhere in his pockets. Why didn’t I think of that before? he scolded himself, patting himself down.

Unfortunately, the only thing his search produced was a metal key. He studied it for a moment, then tried using it in the cabin door. To his surprise, it turned. However, when he tried to open the door, it didn’t budge. He examined the door more carefully and found that it had been sealed shut. No wonder the conductor didn’t open the door; he couldn’t!

Okay, he thought, I have a key that turns locks on this train. So, I must work for the railroad company? Somehow, that didn’t feel quite right. But what else made sense? The train was odd. Something was wrong about it, something beyond its lack of a dining car. Everything about it seemed old and worn, and the sealed cabin door was baffling. Well, he thought, either way, I better find some water before we all start getting dehydrated.

Jonathan retrieved the key and went back through the train, one silent car after the next. In the second car, he tried to catch Clara’s eye, but she stalwartly looked away from him, gazing out the window instead. The dark-haired boy watched him carefully as he passed and, in fact, until he left through the back door.

When he reached the door to the freight car at the end, he was surprised to find it locked. He thought back. When he had been in it before, it hadn’t been locked, and he hadn’t locked it behind him when he left. Must be one of the auto-locking kind. Which meant that even though the train was rusty and appeared to be quite an old model, it must have been updated to include some newer features. Strange.

He pulled the key out of his pocket and tried it in the door. Click! The locking mechanism released, and he removed the key as he opened the door in one smooth motion, as if he’d performed this action many times before. He stopped and considered that possibility. Perhaps he did work for the railroad company after all?

Leaving the door open to let in some light and putting the key back in his pocket, he walked into the dark room. This time, he walked all the way to the back of the train car, to an area he hadn’t explored when he was there before. Near the back, in the dim light, he could see that these crates were distinctly different than the ones near where he had woken up earlier that day. These were new, mostly unopened. The ones that had their lids off contained drinks and snacks. Nearby, he could just make out a small crowbar on the ground.

He picked up the crowbar, and it felt familiar in his hands. For some reason, he had been here before, done this before. That must have been what he was doing when something went wrong. He struggled to remember, to think of any plausible reason that he would’ve been here, doing this, without painting himself in a very bad light. He didn’t feel like a bad guy. Perhaps, he thought, it isn’t what it looks like. Perhaps I was trying to save them.

Then again, he realized, if he had been trying to save them, why were they afraid of him? No, the most logical answer was that he, for some reason, had been doing something quite bad indeed. But, he thought, that ends now. Whatever happened, whatever I was involved in, I have the chance to fix it. I just need to get into the car with the conductor. But not in this desert. No sense trying to stop the train here. When we get near a town.

He set the crowbar on top of a crate, then grabbed three cases of water and deposited one in each train car. That got the kids’ attention. They didn’t run to grab them, but he could see that they wanted to, and when he walked back through on his way to the freight car, they were passing them out to each other and gulping them down. He wondered how long it had been since they had last had a drink. After the first three cases, he hefted up three more and distributed those as well.

Next came snacks. Chips and pretzels were on the menu, it seemed, so that’s what he delivered, case by case. He didn’t bother speaking to the children, understanding that it would do more harm than good at this point. He simply fed them and watered them, and then ate and drank himself, sitting in a corner of the aisle near the lavatory.

When he finished his meal, he stepped out onto the front platform to see how the scenery had evolved. The sands of the desert were falling behind them now, giving way to small rolling hills and grass. Okay, he thought, now how am I going to get into that cabin?

The door was clearly relatively impassible. The next best choice would be the door on the side of the cabin, but getting over there and then opening the door while the train was barreling down the tracks would be an interesting endeavor, at best. The other option would be to try to go onto the front of the train and break through using . . . the crowbar, maybe?

Of course, there was also the distinct possibility that the conductor would have a gun, particularly since he was transporting presumably stolen children. Then why don’t I have a gun? he wondered vaguely. He shook his head, then rose and crossed the threshold. He looked around the rail on the right side to verify that the door was there. It was. Okay, he thought, no time like the present!

He leapt up onto the railing, balancing carefully. He could see the runner below and in front of him, but he could also see the ground rushing by beneath it. Tuck and roll, he thought, if I have to. And if I survive that, I can surely make it to a town and tell someone about this train.

Holding onto the rail with both hands, he swung his body down and around, seeking – and finding – purchase with both feet. His heart tried to burst through his chest as he hung diagonally like that for a moment, feet on the runner, sweaty hands gripping the railing above, until he felt stable enough to release his right hand and grab hold of the door handle beside him. He pulled desperately, but nothing happened. The door didn’t give at all.

With dismay, he realized that this door, like the metal one he had tried before, was sealed on all edges. The murky glass was difficult to see through, so he pressed his face against it to look inside. Nothing. There was no one in the cabin, at least not where he could see. His mind reeled. Where was the conductor? And how did he get inside?

The train shifted, and Jonathan held on with gritted teeth as the tracks curved up and around a small hill. When it straightened out again, he took the opportunity to move his right hand back to the railing, then pulled himself back aboard, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He stayed still for a few moments, calming himself and watching the sun drop toward the horizon.

As he went back toward the freight car, he stopped in the first passenger car and told the children, “One way or another, I’m going to be stopping this train. Make sure to stay seated until it comes to a complete stop. When it does, be ready to go. I’m going to get you help.”

Hope sprang into some of the children’s eyes, while others remained guarded and suspicious. A few cheers went up but were quickly shushed. Jonathan continued on to the next two train cars, where he delivered similar messages with equally similar responses. Then he grabbed his crowbar from the freight car and hooked it into his belt loops.

When he made it back to the cabin, he hesitated. He could try to get back onto the runner, bash the door’s window in, and enter the cabin that way. Or, he could climb over the top of the train. Both options carried risks. However, in the end, he couldn’t see himself hanging off the door with one hand while he tried to smash the window in with a crowbar held in the other. So over it was.

Slowly and carefully, he ascended, constantly checking to ensure that the crowbar wasn’t loose or in danger of falling. If he lost it, he would have to find something else to try to use, which would not only slow the process, but would almost certainly be more difficult, if not impossible. When he reached the top, the wind was fiercer than he had anticipated. He lay flat and inched his way to the other side, then lowered himself feet first to the front of the vehicle, in front of the large glass windows.

Crouching, he maintained a low profile while he removed the crowbar from his belt loops and plunged it with all his strength into the middle of the glass on the right side, where the conductor would normally sit. The years-old glass broke after only two thrusts, sending him tumbling through the window along with the crystalline shards.

Once inside, he examined himself to ensure that he had suffered only superficial injuries from the glass on his way in. Then he surveyed the interior. As he had thought, no one had been in here for some time. However, panels blinked and buzzed on the front console. Examining them more closely, he saw something like a GPS on one screen. It showed their current location, as well as a destination some 200 miles to the south.

“Damn,” he muttered, searching for some way to stop it. Of course there was no conductor. No conductor was needed when the train could be controlled electronically from some basement possibly thousands of miles away. The outdated appearance of the train had lulled him into a false belief regarding its capabilities. He should’ve known better.

He tried pressing some buttons, to no avail. An option for manual override appeared on the screen, but it required a code he didn’t have. Rather than wasting time entering random numbers, he began to search for the wires that must control the input to the train. He found a few and hacked at them with the crowbar, breaking them. He wasn’t sure, but he thought the front light went out.

Time was passing quickly, and Jonathan saw what appeared to be a town rising up in the distance. He began prying panels off the console, smashing through any wires or cables he could find to break them apart or disconnect them from their source. The sun had sunk below the horizon and it was clear that the train lights were definitely out now.

As various wires were cut, the train at times lurched forward, sending him dangerously close to sparking wires within the machine. Nevertheless, he continued until, finally, the train slowed and ground inevitably to a halt. When it stopped, Jonathan climbed, cut and bruised, out the broken window and then slowly, carefully, to the ground below.

The town was behind them now, but he could see its lights shining in the distance, beckoning him. He climbed back onto the first platform and checked on the children within the car. They were shaken and afraid, but no one was seriously injured.

“Okay,” he announced. “I’ve stopped the train. It’s time to get you guys back where you belong.”

Many of the children had been looking out the windows, and one asked, “Where are we?”

“I’m not sure,” Jonathan replied, “but there’s a town not far away, and I’m going to take you to the police. They’ll help find your parents, I’m sure.”

That seemed to be good enough for them. In the next car, he met with more resistance. Most of the children were eager to get off the train when he explained to them his plan, but the dark-haired boy said, “How do we know this isn’t just a trick to get us to go with you?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Stay here then, if that’s what you want. I’ll tell the police where you are, and they can come pick you up.” Then he continued toward the next car. By the time he opened the door at the end of the car, the children were all getting up and preparing to come with him, even the dark-haired boy.

Once he had gathered all the children, he helped them off the platform at the back of the third passenger car with firm instructions to stay together and grab a buddy’s hand. By the time night had fully fallen, all of the children stood close by the train. Mutterings and murmurings ran through them, the most noise Jonathan had heard them make yet on this long, wearisome day.

He turned to address the crowd. “Okay, kids, here’s the deal. I’m going to bring out cases of water. You guys are going to each take one bottle to carry with you on the trip. Then I’ll throw out boxes of pretzels and you’ll each take one package of those. If you’re able to carry more than one of something comfortably, do so. But take one of each, at minimum. Got it?”

The children nodded their heads and murmured their assent. Fifteen minutes later, they were ready to go. Jonathan lined them up along the side of the tracks and led them toward the city lights. Along the way, they tripped and sometimes fell, carrying with them bumps and bruises in addition to water and pretzels, but within an hour, they reached civilization.

The few cars that were still zooming along the street by the time they arrived in the secluded town slowed or stopped to gawk at the dozens of children emerging from the wooded tracks. Some pulled out their phones and called the police. As the group headed for what Jonathan assumed was the center of town, a police car pulled up beside him.

“What’s going on here?” the officer inside asked.

“I’m honestly not sure,” Jonathan replied, walking stalwartly onward, “but I’m leading them to the station. I found them on a train along the tracks south of town.”

The police officer scoffed, matching Jonathan’s pace with his car. “There haven’t been any trains runnin’ on those tracks in years,” he said.

“Well, there was one today,” Jonathan said.

The officer glanced back at the line of children. How else could they have appeared here, if what this man said was a lie? “I don’t guess you’ll mind if I just accompany you to the station, then?” he asked.

“That’d be great,” Jonathan replied. “In fact, it might not hurt for you to call ahead and let them know we’re coming. They’re all going to need food and medical care and somewhere to stay for the night.”

The officer nodded. “Not a bad idea at all,” he agreed, picking up his radio and calling to update the station regarding the initial call he had put in about suspicious persons when he had first spotted them. The station indicated that they were already aware, due to an influx of similar calls over the last few minutes.

Slowly, they progressed, Jonathan and the children on foot, the police officer cruising quietly beside them. When they reached the station, the police officer exited his vehicle and handcuffed Jonathan, who didn’t protest at all. The officer apologized, saying, “Just until we know what’s going on,” and Jonathan nodded his approval. He wouldn’t trust him either, if he were them.

Inside the station, their skepticism became even more pronounced when they discovered that he didn’t have any kind of identification, or anything else except a single key, for that matter. Without mincing words, he explained to them what had happened.

Of course, they decided he was definitely a person of interest and put him in a cell while they “checked out his story.” They sent a couple of officers, Ramirez and Hickman, to verify what he had told them about the train. Meanwhile, they fed him while they interviewed the children and began making phone calls. It didn’t take too long to discover that at least some of these children had been reported kidnapped.

By the time Ramirez and Hickman returned to report their findings, the air inside the station had grown decidedly cold with suspicion and the looks the officers shot their prisoner were no longer at all friendly. Jonathan, of course, had no real defense, and his insistence that he had no idea who he was beyond his name fell on deaf ears. When the officers ran his name through their system, however, alarm bells went off.

They made some more calls and then let him turn in for the night as they made sleeping arrangements for all 87 children. The hospital ended up being the ultimate destination for the majority of them. They needed to be checked out medically, anyway, and very few of the 150 rooms were filled at the moment, so it seemed like the logical choice.

The next morning, Jonathan was just being served a home-cooked meal of bacon and eggs for breakfast when the FBI agents arrived. He looked up from his food and felt a vague stirring in his mind. His headache had receded after his night’s sleep, but it flared up briefly when he saw the blond woman standing before him in that uniform.

“John!” she said. “I’m so sorry! Your cover was blown when everything happened, and . . . well, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have some very bad news.”

“I’m sorry?” he said, putting down his fork. “I can’t quite remember who you are, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s like it’s there, like it’s all in there somewhere, but I . . . ,” he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

The woman glanced at Ramirez and said, “Can you open this up?” She gestured at the cell door. “He’s been through enough.”

“Absolutely,” Ramirez said, rushing to get his key and open the door. Even with the door open, however, Jonathan stayed where he was, eating breakfast. No need to go anywhere, really. The blonde came in the cell with him.

“They told me that you didn’t know anything about what was going on,” she continued, “but I didn’t realize the extent of your condition. We’re going to get you some help, but here’s the part you need to know right now. You are a federal agent who was sent undercover with a child trafficking ring. They were sending you on a test run with a load of kids to deliver. You were supposed to report to us where those kids wound up. Clearly, something went very wrong.”

What she didn’t tell him was that the child trafficking group had discovered that he was a plant. She knew this because his family had been found dead early that morning, their bodies strung out along the patio, along with a message: “EYES ARE ALWAYS WATCHING YOU. SNITCHES GET STITCHES.” But she didn’t tell him any of that, not yet, because John didn’t know what was going on at all right now. Right now, he didn’t even know he had a family, and he certainly didn’t need to know that he had lost one. So she took it slow.

“John,” she said, “what I really need you to understand is that you didn’t do anything wrong. You might not ever get the credit that you deserve from anyone else, but I want you to know that no matter what happens, no matter what anyone else says, you’re a hero.”

Jonathan said nothing and picked up his fork, shoving bacon and eggs into his mouth and thinking about his time on the train. Finally, he put his fork down and said, “You know, you’re right. I don’t know what’s going on, and it’s hard for me to believe that what you’re saying is true. But if what I did saved all those kids, it was worth it.” He nodded, gazing off into the distance. “It was absolutely worth it.”

The blonde smiled at him reassuringly while in her mind she thought, And when you find out the truth – the whole truth – is that how you’ll feel then? Is it really, John?

*****

Less than a hundred miles away, an old train rumbled down an otherwise deserted track, traveling south. Dozens of small, pale faces peered out the windows while a man paced from one car to another. In the cabin, panels flashed, and on one screen, a red light blinked the distance remaining to their destination: 97 miles.

Author's Note: I hope you enjoyed the read. I'd love to hear what you think, so please feel free to leave a comment, click the heart, and subscribe for free!