One-Way Railway

I never should have taken this job. My mother begged me not to leave Savannah, but I was too hard-headed to listen. "The Future is out West, Ma," I'd said, "Everybody knows that!" The Future... if that wasn't the worst, gall-darn excuse ever, I don't know what was. In truth, I had to get away. With Pa gone and me being the oldest, I was put in charge of taking care of my brothers and sisters while Mama was working at the Mill. I love them, honestly, but you try babysitting seven young'uns at once sometime...for five years straight. That, and I was afraid if I'd stayed any longer Mama'd marry me off to that low-down Buford McClain. I've seen the way he used to look at me in church, and how friendly Mama had been to him lately. I don't care if he is the richest tobacco farmer in six counties! Let someone else hitch their wagon to that rat-faced old coot.

I don't think I wanna get married anyhow. I'm almost seventeen now, but I've never really lived a day in my life. Pa always told us stories about things out West; people striking gold and silver, trading hides with the Apaches and the Sioux, mountains that scrape the moon and giant trees bigger and taller than anything you'd ever seen. I wanted to see those mountains and massive trees, more than anything. Pa told me too that if you go far enough West, to the California Territories, you'll wind up at the ocean again. It's kinda like walking in big circle, I think, but I don't know for sure. A friend of mine from Sunday school, Jimmy, has folks out in Colorado, which is how I learned about this job. He said their town needed a new school teacher, and since I read and write the best in our entire Sunday school class he said I should do it. His folks agreed and letters were passed back and forth, so here I am...only, I don't exactly know where "here" is.

The thing is, the train left Savannah for Colorado early this morning, and I hopped on without ever looking back. I regret that now. When it got rolling, I plumb fell right asleep. I was too excited to sleep last night at home, so I guess it caught up with me. Anyway, when I fell asleep the train was full and it was daytime, but now it's dark outside and everyone's just...gone. I don't know what happened, or where everybody went, but I'm starting to get scared. The conductor is gone too, and I can't get the door open to the next car to talk to the engineer. I don't know anything about trains, but I'm pretty sure this thing is going real fast now...and I don't think it's slowing down any. Frantically, I light a match and raise it to one of the oil lamps hanging overhead, trying to at least see my hand in front of my face. It's so dark out, I can't see any stars or nothing, even though Mama said it was supposed to be a full moon tonight. Oh, how I wish she was here now.

I square my shoulders and set my jaw firmly, shaking off my nerves. "Mama ain't here," I remind myself aloud. "I'm a grown ass woman, I can take care of myself." The only problem is, I don't know really where to start. After I reach up and take the lamp off the hook it's on (which ain't easy being as short as I am and on a moving train), I head back to look at the door leading to the engine room. It makes sense now why I can't open it; the latch and hinges are all rusted shut. "That don't make any sense," I think, "This train is supposed to be brand new. Jimmy said it was built only a year or two ago, either '88 or '89." I swing my lamp around, curious about something, and look at the rest of the car I'm in. The handsome velvet upholstery on the benches that was soft, thick and new a handful of hours ago looks all worn out, faded and threadbare. Moreover, I can see where some of them have been tore up and chewed on by rats. The curtains hang in rags around the isenglass windows, some of which look busted, and all over the place these thick, nasty cobwebs are netted and full of dust.

Now, I know I ain't the smartest person in the world, but I'm pretty sure I knew that the train didn't look like this before. If I was scared a minute ago, I'm plumb terrified now. I don't know why, but something compels me to reach into my skirt pocket and find my ticket. Even more strange is the fact that I can't seem to find it. I search both pockets, my pocketbook, and even my brand new wool coat Mama sewed me, but my ticket is nowhere to be had. I don't know why this upsets me, but it does. "I gotta get outta here," I shout out loud, then I try to open one of the windows. Just like the door, their brass frames are all rusted shut. I try every window, growing more and more panicked, until I start screaming and crying and banging on them for help. Eventually I come to the very last one on my row, which is busted out. Icy wind stings my face as I approach the hole in the glass, drying the tears on my face. Out of all the windows that were broken, this one is the worst off. The glass is almost completely gone, and the frame is so rusty it could probably be knocked out real easy with a good kick.

I freeze up a moment, thinking hard about what I'm fixing to do. It don't seem like a good plan, but right now it's the only plan I got. Sheepishly I unbutton my overskirt and petticoat with a blush and let them drop to the floor, along with my blouse. Mama would kill me if she saw me like this now, in nothing but my corset and drawers in public. "There's nobody else here," I remind myself, "Besides, I can't fit through the window in my dress, and it's brand new after all. Don't wanna rip it or anything." With a deep breath I steel myself, then brace against the bench behind me and give the window frame a good wallop with my left boot. These were an old pair of my little brother's boots that he outgrew in less than a season; they were heavy and I never liked that Mama made me wear them. They were expensive though and fit my big ol' feet good enough, and I was done growing anyhow so I got stuck with 'em until our next youngest little brother could wear 'em. Let me tell you, I was never more glad to have 'em on now. After two solid kicks, the brittle frame bent and broke, then went flying out the now gaping hole in the side of the train along with most of the wood around it.

Cold wind whipped at my indecently dressed frame as I stepped up to the hole, tearing at my thin cotton drawers and bare arms. I shivered and hugged myself, thinking long and hard about this before I did something real stupid here. Eventually I decided to just stop thinking altogether and just do it. "Thinkin' too hard about stuff gets people killed," my Pa used to say, and I agreed with him. I breathed out all the air in my lungs and filled them up again as I kicked off the bulky boots on my feet. They proved to be of use after all, but from now on they'd just get in the way. In bare feet now, I grasp the splintered sides of the hole and timidly reach a leg out. My stomach drops as, for a moment, all I feel is empty air, then I gasp with surprise and relief when my toes touch the icy cold copper rail running along the side of the train. With a gulp, I hold onto the opening tighter with my fingertips, ignoring the slivers digging into them, and put the next leg out of the hole.

A scream tears itself from my throat as my right foot slips suddenly. I claw at the air, eventually hugging the side of the speeding train tightly as my toes find another small gap between the copper rail and the dark green wood it was bolted to. I just stayed like that for who knows how long, about ready to wet my drawers and kicking myself for doing something so stupid. I was in it now up to my neck, and there was no way I could turn back now. I tried to remember to keep breathing as I shinnied along the rail at a snail's pace, trying to reach the engine of the train. The wind felt like icy knives along my back and face, whipping my long blonde hair all over my head like a tornado. I grit my teeth as my foot tried to slip again, but I learned from my mistakes last time and quickly caught my balance on my other foot before I could fall to my death. The train seemed to be chugging over a spindly bridge spanning across a ravine now, so deep that even in daylight you couldn't see the bottom of it. I got real dizzy looking down at it, and had to close my eyes and stop before I could keep going.

It wasn't that far to travel between the hole and the front of the car, maybe 70 feet, but it felt like I was out there for over three hours. I continued my slow, shuffling dance all the way until I reached the end, then quick as I could I made my way around and collapsed on the small landing where the two cars were hitched together. I think I started crying, relieved that I had made it and that I wasn't dead, but really I don't remember. I was so tired, and just glad it was over. I stumbled over the coupler to reach the engine, and opened the door - or... did it open for me? Again, I don't remember really. The first thing I saw was the controls, which were glowing red and sending off hot sparks everywhere. The little door that holds the fuel in was hanging open, letting the tongues of fire inside it lick the engineer's chair and all the switches and levers in front of it. The heat was almost too hot to bear, even for a country girl like me born and bred in heat and humidity. Still, I was determined to stop this wild ride once and for all, and I reached out a hand toward the lever marked "Deadman's Switch".

"I wouldn't do that," a soft, deep voice called from somewhere to my right. I jumped and covered myself on instinct, turning nearly as red as the chugging machinery in front of me. The voice was definitely a man's voice, and here I was in my drawers. I look over to where the voice had come from, and sure enough there's a young man about my age sitting there...but he was like no man I've ever seen before. He sat in the corner on a little round rug, bundled up in a funny kind of short black cloak with a hood. He wore blue jeans, like the men Mama worked with at the Mill, but they were all tattered and so full of holes you could see his knees, and his boots were the strangest I'd ever laid eyes on. In fact, I don't think they were boots at all; they looked more like the genuine Sioux moccasins Jimmy's folks sent him from Colorado last Christmas, except I'd never seen any hides that were painted bright red and white before. He was taller than me and thin, with a face pale as the moon, and a pair of bright black almond-shaped eyes shone up at me through a thick unruly mop of raven tresses. I blushed again, as I realize this stranger is actually quite handsome.

"Who... Who are you?" I ask, still trying to hide my shame with my arms, "Are you the engineer? Can you stop the train?!" The man shrugs at me and shakes his head, "Nope. There's no stopping this train, Georgie. Just sit back and enjoy the ride." My jaw drops open in surprise. How in the world did this fella know my name? I don't know him from Adam, but what startles me the most is only my Pa had ever called me "Georgie" before. "What do ya mean it cain't be stopped?" I demand, angry and confused, "It has to stop! If it don't it'll crash, and we'll die!" The man sits back on his heels and lets loose a long sigh, looking as if my voice had given him a sudden, strong headache. "Georgie," he says quietly, "We're already dead...at least, I think we are."

I don't know what to think for a minute. This stranger has plumb tossed me for a loop, and I have no idea how to respond. I couldn't be dead, could I? I felt like I'd been beaten with a stick after that harrowing climb on the outside of the train; if I was hurting this bad, I had to still be alive...right? "I... I don't believe you, Mister," I finally say, screwing up all the courage and gumption I have left. "If I were dead, I think I'd know it for sure!"

"Suit yourself," he mumbles, then goes back to looking at the strange object in his hands. I thought it was some kind of a little book at first, but he doesn't open it up like one. Instead, a light glows from inside it onto his face, casting ghost-like shadows onto his thin, narrow features. "Damn," he grumbles, "still no signal. Do you have a signal?" I look at him real funny, like he was a dog that just meowed. "Am I supposed to know what that means? Also, how the hell do you know my name?!" The stranger blinks at me, looking just as confused as I am. "I... I just do," he mumbles, staring me up and down curiously as he stands, "We've met before, right? I mean, it feels like we have at least." His brows crinkle up in a puzzled frown and he begins to grin in amusement, "Uh... what are you wearing? Looks like my Nai Nai's summer pajamas." I turn away from him halfway and blush, "Don't be cute with me, Mister! Ain't you got any manners at all?! It ain't fitting for a gentleman to see a lady in her drawers!"

He's laughing at me. The mangy cuss is actually laughing at me! More than that, he's doubled over and howling like a banshee. "I say somethin' funny?!" I ask, my blush going all the way up to the tips of my ears and down my neck. He stops laughing slowly, looking at me funny now. His eyes narrow even further, and he studies my athletic 4'10 frame again from head to toe. I don't like it one bit. "Are you for real?" He asks, his tone less teasing than it was and more than a little fearful and annoyed, "What do you think this is, like, 1776?" I raise an eyebrow at the stranger and snort, "Here now; I know these drawers are old, Matthew, but they ain't all that old! They were my Mama's, an' she bought 'em new in Atlanta when she was first married in '74." The stranger's brows shoot up and disappear into his messy bangs, and mine raise up a little too. "You know my name," he states, just as shocked as I am, then he narrows his expression into a confused frown, "Wait... '74? Like, 1974? How old is your mom?"

Before I can answer, not that I know how to anyway, the engine spits and sputters and the train gives a sickening lurch, speeding up again. "It's impolite to ask about a lady's age," I snap, gripping onto the back of the engineer's chair to keep my balance. "We need to stop this train, Matthew, an' we gotta do it fast! Dead or not, I don't want to crash or get blown to bits here!" As I reach for the deadman's switch again, Matthew yanks my hand away. "Don't," he warns, fear and desperation in his eyes, "I've already tried that, and it doesn't work!" I look down then at his hands, and feel a lump rise to my throat at the grisly burns and soot upon them. "There has to be another way," I hear myself say, and I start looking around the engine room for it. There are so many valves and switches in front of me, they make my head spin. Without really knowing what I'm doing, I start turning every valve I can reach and throwing switches willy nilly. I cry out as a hot jet of steam shoots out of one of the pipes by my right ear, nearly scalding it off my head.

"What are you doing?!" Matthew barks, his almond eyes widening to nearly perfect circles, "Stop that, before you make things worse!!" I ignore him and keep at it. Sure, I might get us killed, but at least I'm doing something instead of standing there wringing my hands like a frazzled old maid. The pipes over my head and under my bare feet start groaning loudly, making the floorboards shudder and creak. Whatever these whatchamacallits do, I have a funny feeling that it's good. Steam hisses out along several small breaks in the rusted out pipes above me, but thankfully I'm too small for it to do much except cause a few beads of perspiration to roll down my neck. The train starts to lurch and shudder, and I notice the inferno in the fuel compartment has started to die down a bit. The deadman's switch is right in front of me, still glowing red hot but at least now I can reach it without feeling the hairs on my arms burning off.

I look down at my drawers, wincing in regret as I grab a handful of the baggy cream-colored cotton around my knee, "Sorry, Mama." With a grunt I tear off a long strip of fabric, then do the same to the other leg. If I felt indecent before, now I feel practically naked with my knees visible. Matthew doesn't bat an eyelash at my immodesty though, which both confuses and fascinates me. Any other man I knew would blush and raise Cain if a lady showed this much skin around him, but Matthew doesn't even flinch. I shake off my confusion as I hurriedly wrap the strips of cloth around my hands to protect them, then grasp the deadman's switch. I can feel the heat from the glowing metal through my cloth mittens, but thankfully it seems they're doing their job. The only problem is the switch is as rusty as anything else in the train, and I don't have the strength to move it on my own. I look over then at Matthew, who's watching me with his jaw on the floor.

"Help me," I growl, putting everything I've got in my 80-pound frame against the switch, "It won't budge! Please!" He shakes his head, snapping out of his slack-jawed stupor, and reaches over at last to give me a hand. I blush as I've never been this close to a man with so little on my back, but Matthew seems unfazed at having his arms around me like this and his hands on top of mine. Together we heave as hard as we can against the deadman's switch, and after about four good shoves, the rusty switch moves with a shrill squeak. There's a loud, funny "clunk" somewhere under my feet and the train gives another mighty lurch in the wrong direction, then it begins to tip over sideways. Both Matthew and I are thrown backward onto the floor, tumbling around like pebbles in an old tin can some rotten little young'un rolled down a hill. Finally we land in a pile at the very back of the engine room and everything stops.

I think I hit my head. When I manage to open my eyes again, everything is deathly quiet. We're on the ceiling of the engine room somehow. My brains are still rattling around like marbles as I sit up, untangling my arms and legs from Matthew's underneath me. From what I can tell, the train is surely stopped and we're both in one piece, which is good news. The bad news is, now we're stuck wherever we are in the dark and cold. I crawl on my hands and knees, too beat up to stand up yet, and head over to the door that's now hanging open on its hinges to the outside. The air feels thick and smoky, like somebody's burning a brush pile nearby. Under my feet I can feel the familiar crunch of gravel, and with every breath I take I taste what I'm sure is ash on my tongue. It's still a little too dark to see much of our surroundings, but I can just make out the outlines of tall rocky walls on either side of me. To the North is a small broke-down looking old town, and to the South - the direction we'd come from - is a stretch of rusted out railroad tracks that go on forever into the distance.

"Well," Matthew coughs from beside me, startling me a little as I hadn't heard him come up next to me, "Looks like we've got only one option, and that's forward." He looks at me and blushes at last, the first trace of shame I'd seen from him yet, and pulls off his cloak. "Here," he says, giving it to me, "You look cold." I take it hesitantly with a nod, and he helps me figure out how to put the strange garment on. The fabric is real soft, softer than wool but twice as warm. The funny cloak is too big for me, but I don't complain as at least now I've got more than a coat of whitewash on. "Thank you kindly," I mutter, then start walking toward the town without another word. We say nothing, but hold hands in the dark anyway just so we don't lose each other.

"What would Mama say now," I wonder, smiling a little to myself. I was walking alone with a man at night, and holding his hand as well, with hardly any clothes on and without a chaperone. If I was still in Savannah, I'd be the talk of the town...and not in a good way either. I had always tried to be a good girl, and would never have done anything like this before, but something about this - about Matthew - felt right. He was different than any man I'd met before, but whether or not that was a good or bad thing remains to be seen. Eventually we make it to the small town, which looks even more broke-down and dreary up close. Hanging on a mildewed signpost by the gates is a half-rotted plank of wood, swinging from dry-rotted ropes in a breeze that didn't seem to exist. Matthew and I both freeze at the sign, and I seem to be the only one brave enough to read the fading letters painted on it out loud: "Welcome to Purgatory."