Long Train Running

As I gradually swam into consciousness, I became aware of a myriad of other sensations. Pain… no, not quite pain. Fire? Heat. Intense heat on my face. And light, bright red through my eyelids, which felt sticky and wet. I felt weighed down by bricks, but also had a sense of movement. Yes, I was in some sort of moving vehicle, but lying prone on the floor, not belted into a seat. A van, or truck? No, the thrum of the wheels wasn’t quite right. With some effort, I rolled over so that the light wasn’t directly in my face. I raised my hands and wiped the stickiness from my face, slowly opened my eyes. I was in some sort of compartment with a door on one side and a window on the other, padded benches facing fore and aft to the direction of the movement. The glass in the door revealed a corridor with windows on the opposite side. A train. I looked around my compartment. Room for six, but I was alone. My backpack was on the luggage rack overhead. I sat up. The door was locked from the outside and I saw no mechanism for opening the windows even a crack for a bit of fresh air, but within the cubicle I was unbound.

Where was I? I’d been on commuter trains before, nothing with these sorts of private compartments, but I was sure I’d seen something like it before. On television, or maybe in a movie. Yes. I still couldn’t place where I’d seen it, but it was enough to dislodge a wisp of memory. I’d flown to Scotland – last night, or the day before? I didn’t know how much time I’d lost. I was planning to take a train up to Glasgow from Prestwick to meet a friend, Jazz, who’d been an exchange student at my school last year, then we’d travel to London together for a few days. The last thing I remember was getting into a black taxi just outside the airport terminal and asking the driver to take me to the station. I noticed his flat tweed cap and thought, “Yes, that’s exactly what a cab driver should look like,” as I slid into the seat. He was in the front, I don’t recall anyone else in the car, so how did I end up unconscious? I shook my head but couldn’t clear it of the fog that enveloped everything from the moment I sat down in the taxi.

The backpack was the only thing I’d brought. I’d packed two pairs of jeans, several t-shirts, one dress in case we wanted to go to a nice restaurant. I wore a pair of comfortable sneakers and had sandals in my bag, assuming its contents hadn’t been removed. It looked as full as before, but until I could check it, they might have replaced my clothes with bricks for all I knew. I tried to stand up but felt too wobbly. The last thing I remember eating was a tiny scone with clotted cream and jam on the plane. I’d had a dish of pasta and vegetables in a curry sauce a few hours earlier. It had tasted good, but the portion sizes seemed more suited to a doll’s tea party than a meal for an adult human. It came with a pack of tiny crackers and a tiny bit of pudding and chocolate ganache in what might have been a plastic demitasse cup. In short, I was tired, sore, not sure if I was a prisoner or a hostage although either way I didn’t like the situation, and had eaten very little in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I sagged into the bench facing forward.

I saw nothing in either direction that gave me a clue to where I was at the moment or where the train was headed. Right now it was just hills, fields, and hedgerows, with an occasional house in the distance. As the train came around a bend I saw a town ahead, but there was no station to announce the name of the place and it seemed as though the train sped up as it passed through, then slowed slightly afterwards. Was it the lie of the track, a schedule to be kept, or just a ruse to keep me and possibly others on this train from guessing where we were?

I tried to stand up again, and managed to grab the rail of the overhead luggage rack, stabilizing myself enough to pull down my backpack. Yes, there were the two granola bars and a warm half-bottle of cola from the convenience store in the terminal at Logan that I’d stuck in the front pocket when I’d boarded the plane. It wasn’t much more than I’d had to eat during my flight, but the sugar and caffeine would help keep me alert for a little while at least. Hopefully long enough to figure out what the heck was going on and if there was any way out of here. I chewed the first bar slowly, collecting the crumbs on the wrapper, and ate those as well. When I was finished, I rolled the wrapper up and stuffed it behind the end of the bench, took a long draught of the cola, then stowed the bottle back in my bag. I didn’t know who was running the train or why I was on it, but I wanted to hide the evidence of anything in my favor – even just the fact that I’d had a snack – from them for as long as possible. I tried to look through the other pockets of the bag and found most everything still where I’d packed it, although my phone was missing. Of course. Even though it would be difficult to explain to the authorities that I didn’t know where I was, except that I was locked inside a moving train, presumably once I got them to believe me, they would be able to figure out where there was a train on public tracks that didn’t seem to be a regular scheduled service, wouldn’t they? My watch was still there though. It had a red leather strap and a red face with Snoopy painted on it. His forelegs were the hour and minute hands and the little yellow bird Woodstock was the second hand. My grandparents had given it to me for Christmas when I was seven. It still fit ten years later, and I saw no reason to replace it with something more grown-up. Would I ever see my family again?

I took a deep breath. Stop it, Jessikat, I told myself, you’re going to get out of this. You don’t know how yet, but you’re going to. It was my dad’s nickname for me. Most parents only used their kids’ full name when they were in trouble, but mine used it when they wanted me to think. If they were angry, it was just a short, sharp, “Jessica!” I could practically hear my father’s voice now. “Jessica Katherine Osgood, think. What do you know? What can you guess? And what do you not know at all?”

OK, dad, I answered. I know that I made it to Scotland. I know I’m on a train that I don’t remember boarding, and that the cab driver who was supposed to take me to the station probably has something to do with this. My plane landed at 7:17 am, I had no checked baggage so as soon as I went through Customs I went directly outside – we’ll say that was no later than eight o’clock. The cab driver wore a grey flat cap, a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black jeans. I didn’t notice his shoes or get a good look at his face because his cap was pulled down, but he was about five foot eight and the hair under his cap was dark streaked with grey. I didn’t notice any tattoos on his arms, or anything else that might be unique about him. He looks exactly like a cab driver wasn’t much of a description. Forget him for now unless I see him again. My watch indicated that it was 11:48. I’d reset it for the local time when the pilot announced it as we descended through the clouds. Now that I was feeling a little more oriented in my body, I realized that I’d really only been unconscious for three and a half hours or so. Had it been over 24 hours, I’d surely feel a lot worse and probably wet myself, too. I must have been knocked out in the taxi, maybe with chloroform or something similar, and put on this train. Even though my brain felt less muddled now, I still didn’t remember going into the station, and I didn’t have a ticket in any of my pockets or in my bag. Assume that I hadn’t, then. Had I therefore been brought to a private yard? It seemed likely, but I couldn’t imagine why. My parents weren’t rich, so it couldn’t have been in expectation of a ransom, unless it was a case of mistaken identity. I hadn’t seen anyone else on my flight that resembled me, or any other girls my age traveling alone. Jazz was the only one in Scotland who knew I was coming, but I couldn’t imagine her having anything to do with this. She was smart and funny, loved music and fashion, wanted to paint and write songs, and was horrified by the mention of any sort of crime. Plus, if she set this up, wouldn’t it have made more sense to meet me at the airport herself instead of saying she had a doctor appointment in the morning and giving me directions to her flat from Glasgow Central? My flight had landed twenty minutes early. Would it have even been possible to make sure that driver was at the front of the taxi queue when I stepped outside? If another fare had come out, he would have had to take them. Was there more than one driver involved in the scheme? I had no idea. If there were other girls or young women on the train, then possibly, but I had no way to know that. Not yet at least. But the idea of it being a coordinated group involving multiple parties made it even less likely that Jazz was involved. She was terrible at team sports and any kind of group activity. It was one of the reasons we bonded; we weren’t antisocial, just better suited to one-to-one interaction. It was unthinkable that she could have become a criminal mastermind in the two months since I’d last seen her. So it was a random opportunity, then, cabbies at the airport just looking for young women who could easily be lured or grabbed. Why?

I was still looking through the window at my sad-eyed reflection and the landscape beyond when a noise startled me. A key in the lock. I turned around to see a man opening the door. There was a cart in the hall behind him. Even if I could distract him, there was no way I could get past him. He was about the same height as the cab driver but equally as wide. From the front, his body looked almost square, but he wasn’t fat. A high percentage of his bulk was muscle. He held the door open with one beefy arm and set a tray down on the bench opposite me with the other. “Oi, it’s closer to lunch but figured if you just woke up you might want breakfast.”

I didn’t mention that I’d had breakfast on the plane, or a snack more recently. Instead, I got to the point. “Who are you, where are we, and why am I here?”

He shrugged. “It don’t matter who I am. We’re on a train, in the UK. Can’t tell you exactly, or where we’re going to. Or, I know but I’m not allowed to say. As for why – he said you’d do.”

“Who’s he? Do what?” I yelled, but it was pointless. He’d backed out and locked the door, pushing his cart further along the corridor. I hadn’t had room to see around him, if there was anything else on the cart or not. Whatever was on the tray smelled good. I lifted the domed lid. Well, I still didn’t know what their plan for me was, but it wasn’t to starve me. There was a hot bowl of steel-cut oats with cream and some sort of small red berries, a plate of buttered toast – of course they weren’t going to give me a knife for that purpose, not even a dull one – and a mug of tea with a little pitcher of milk beside it and a smaller bowl with a half-dozen sugar cubes. Everything was plastic except for the spoons, which were stamped 18/10 Stainless. There was a large spoon for the oatmeal and a smaller one for the tea, should I wish to add the sugar or milk. I sniffed everything carefully. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but I’d read that arsenic smelled like garlic and cyanide like bitter almonds, and I didn’t smell either of those. I didn’t know what they wanted with me, but after going to the trouble of kidnapping me and putting me on this train, it didn’t make sense to just poison me either. I dumped all of the sugar into the tea. Mm, pekoe. That was another of Jazz’s passions, and she had taught me to identify different types of tea by scent and taste. I took a taste of the oatmeal. Thick and rich, which the tart berries cut through and balanced. They tasted almost like cranberries but were much smaller. Currants, maybe? I’d never had them before. I filed this thought away as it didn’t help me right now. I ate every last bit, scraping the bowl, then turned my attention to the toast as a palate cleanser. The tea was sweeter than I liked, but the sugar was energy. I also preferred it black, but then drank the pitcher of milk after, to wash it all down. I felt full, but not grossly so.

I found that I was also able to think more clearly about my surroundings after eating and began inspecting the compartment again, listening all the while in case the man came back. Surely, he would at least collect the dishes and tray. Would he notice if I kept one of the spoons? Possibly. Was it worth trying? Also possibly. I didn’t know what I might use it for, but it seemed like having some sort of metal implement could be handy. I slipped the smaller spoon into my backpack, leaning the larger one over the rim of the empty bowl, and put the lid back over the tray. With luck, as long as he heard the one rattling when he came back to pick the tray up, he wouldn’t check right away.

I knew that the door was heavy and after pounding on the glass, it seemed like it might be unbreakable. I turned my attention to the window on the side of the car. Going through that, if I could, might be more dangerous depending on where I landed, but at least it would get me out of the train entirely. I began examining the metal trim around the glass. It seemed thin, and almost completely flush with the wall. If there was a rubber gasket, it must be on the outside. It still seemed like my best bet. The train went into a long curve and I tried to get a look at the windows on the other cars. The trim on the outside of those looked just like that on the inside of mine. If the only seal was at the edge of the glass, depending on how much time I had, it might not be that difficult to push out. While trying to check out the rest of the train, I also noticed that, according to the position of the sun, we had been traveling southeast and were now heading roughly southwest – was the zig-zag part of a plan to disorient any passengers like me, or was it just that they were keeping to less frequently used tracks? We don’t know the reason, Jessikat, I heard my dad’s voice say. We do know that this will make it take longer to get wherever you’re going, though, and you might be able to use that to your advantage.

Just then the door opened and the same man as before reached in to take the tray he’d brought earlier. I had started to think of him as Bugsy, just because it seemed like a good gangster name. I hadn’t seen anyone else in the windows of the other cars, and I didn’t expect him to give a straight answer, but I asked anyway. “How many women besides me are on this train?”

Bugsy shrugged. “Just you this time, and the boss. You won’t see him ‘til the end of the trip. He likes it to be a surprise, he does.”

“And when will I see you again?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged again. “Dinnertime, I expect.”

“What if I need to use the bathroom? Is there one on this train?”

He sighed. “Two cars up. See that button next to the door?” He pointed to a circular dimple on the wall. I’d thought it was just a ding in the finish. “Press that and I’ll take you.” With that he backed out and locked the door again.

Well. I had actually gotten some useful information out of old Bugsy. First, that I was alone on the train except for himself, the train driver, and whoever ran this nightmare operation. Second, that I had at least several hours to myself and probably a few more before we arrived at our destination. Third, he was good at his job and mostly kept his employer’s secrets, but he didn’t seem to enjoy the part that actually involved dealing with the women (and men?) that were forced to ride. If I did manage to escape, how hard would they look for me? It wasn’t like I could identify any of them. I hadn’t seen the boss at all, and of the two men I had seen, one was a very average cab driver and the other was a blocklike goon. Never mind them, then. It would suck not to see them brought to justice but I was more concerned with my immediate safety for now.

I waited a few minutes, until I was sure he was out of earshot. As long as the train was on a straight track, no one else within it could see what I was doing. I took the spoon I’d kept and examined it and the window trim, working the rim of the bowl into the space between metal and glass. The trim bent easily with the pressure of the steel spoon, seeming barely thicker than foil. I worked it round a corner and found that there really only was a thin line of adhesive holding the glass in place. Had no one ever really tried to escape before, or did I just get lucky being put into the one car where the manufacturer was literally cutting corners? It didn’t matter one way or the other as long as freedom seemed imminent, but it did make me wonder what sort of kidnapping gang went to the trouble of procuring an entire train and didn’t bother to make it secure. Words bubbled up from my subconscious, “new,” “better than… caravan,” “not tested yet?” I must have heard them talking while my brain was floating in the ether. It sounded like they were saying this was the first run with the train, and they were hoping that the very basic security of it being a train was all that would be required.

In fifteen minutes, I had the trim loosened all the way around. In the process, the edge of the spoon had become shiny, flattened and sharp. I took this edge and began to work at the seal at the edge of the glass. The glass was thicker than it had appeared with the metal around it, and the adhesive-filled gap was narrow, but I dug in. Each time the train took another curve I had to stop lest someone see me and figure out what I was up to, but within ninety minutes or so, I had it cut most of the way through. If the metal on the outside was really as thin as that on the inside, a hard shove should be enough to push it out. Now I had to wait for the right moment to make my move. If I went out over rocks, I’d be lucky to survive – better to take my chances with my captors than commit suicide. I felt the slow ticking of time. Wait or go. Wait or go. What’ll it be, Jessikat?

Finally, I saw it, an S-curve up ahead, with a long, grassy meadow sloping down toward a river. The train would have to slow down to take it, and if I timed it right on the second part of the curve, there would be a few seconds when my compartment wouldn’t be visible from any other part of the train. I stood on the bench with my backpack in my hands. Push… some resistance, but not much. I backed up a step and threw my weight at the glass. I could feel it bowing outward, Sustained pressure and yes – whump! went the glass as it fell into the grass beside the track, as I stepped into the void and flung myself clear of the train. My backpack broke my fall, and I rolled some way toward the river but stopped well short of its bank. I was sore but didn’t seem to have broken anything. I kept my head and body low in the tall grass as I watched the train speed up again when it reached the straightaway. Unless they noticed the missing glass, I still had two to three hours, I reckoned, until they noticed I was missing. I had no idea where I was, but that was enough time to get somewhere.

Somewhere with a police station, and a phone. As I was waiting for the right moment to jump, I’d looked again at the spoon, and stashed it in my bag. I hadn’t been paying attention when I was eating as I’d been sifting through so many questions in my mind, but within the scrolled decoration of the handle was a monogrammed letter A. It might be very common, or it might not, but here was a chance to find out.

You did it, Jessikat. I heard my dad’s voice so clearly in my head, he could have been standing next to me, saying it out loud. Smart thinking. You made it.