Special Train 17

I swayed from one side to the next. Waves lapped on a white beach. Saltgrass whipped in the wind. Feet dipped into salty waters of the South Bay, where Atlantic currents carried cold waters north. Mom with her bunion and dad with his claw nails walking between me. No forgetting those. That black steam locomotive at the bay house, chugging along. Forever, going round and round, without stopping.

“It’ll be alright little clown,” said his voice. It hadn’t lost its warmth, not even after all those years.“Alright.”

A jolt woke me up. Then a blaring horn rang out, pounding my ears. For a moment -I had no idea how long- everything around me was a blur. like a dagger had struck my head. The sound of tracks betrayed the train I was on. I took a giant inhale, shaking off whatever searing migraine still clung to me when suddenly, I realized something was terribly wrong.

“Fuck.” I jolted himself up, blinking wildly. Around me, a railcar revealed its contours. The seat beside me was empty. All reclining leather seats, paired up in twos along each side of a central aisle. The car was half full, all suits and smart wear, tablets and laptops and smartphones and the air of monotonous middle-people paid to translate the intricacies of contemporary life. Modern and slick, like some Japanese bullet train, except the American flag placed above the car door reminded me I was in the land of the free.

“At least my high ass didn’t drag itself across the planet,” I thought. Beneath the flag, a green digital screen flashed a message. I blinked a few more times, and stretched my eyelids open:

“Special Train 17,” read the display.

“What in the actual fuck. Where,“ I said, loud enough that the passenger across the aisle stared.

“Sorry, sorry about that,” I waved. My throat was parched, my stomach growling like a hungry bear.

“There’s gotta be a dinner car,” I thought, and sure enough a plate and utensils sign indicated food to the right. I stepped out onto the aisle. From there he could see straight down at other railcars attached to his own.

“How the hell did I get here,” I wondered. My mind was blank. Not a single memory of my boarding, but I guessed from my symptoms that I was seriously hungover. My nose, stuffy and numb. Hesitantly I took a step forward, then another, and another, until I pressed the pressure valve and opened the connecting door.

****

While I soaked up the liquor with a sparkling water and a tomato and mozzarella panini, I recalled what they said in the news about this new line: the Great American Compromise. “A rare, if brightening, moment of bipartisan support,” wrote a columnist. All triggered after the Chinese, under military threat, forcefully built a massive tunnel linking Shanghai and Taipei and Congress broke into a frenzied fury. The Empire’ frontier frayed under the weight of a competitor. So moneys were found, contractors were hired, governors were cajoled, and special interests were tended to. Private companies partnered with Amtrak. American engineering built not one but a dozen tunnels straight through Appalachia, deep in the mountains. It was almost surreal. I’d read all about, but it was how I got here that struck a blank page. I had absolutely no recollection of even approaching the station. I searched my phone, my pocket for a hint of what had brought me here, but found nothing, not even the hint of a ticket. I tried pulling up social media to get a better idea, maybe some outrageous pictures would better jog my memory, but for some reason there was no service.

“It’s on the house,” said the attendant while I struggled to find my wallet, but my pockets were empty. Nothing, not even my busted driver’s license. Damn it, I cursed. How could I be so sloppy?

“Really?”

“Yes. To thank our travelers for their patience, all foods and beverages are included with your ticket.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I can’t find my ticket.” The attendant continued to smile politely, unperturbed.

“That’s quite alright. I’m sure you must’ve misplaced it somewhere.” I pulled out my phone and searched my wallet app -nothing. Not even a hint of a purchase on my credit cards.

“Don’t worry sir. It must be some sort of misunderstanding,” waved the attendant, unconcerned by the fact that I was probably freeloading on this fancy train. “We’ll sort it out when we arrive.”

“And remind me, what's our destination?” The attendant frowned:

“Why, we’re heading to Chicago Union Station,” he said. My heart sank in my chest. How on earth was I going to Chicago? I kept my cool, playing as if nothing were wrong:

“Of course, I’d uh, you know the exact name was uh, escaping me.” The attendant -from his tag his name was Varun- bowed slightly and smiled.

***

Time on my phone acted strangely; it fluctuated wildly, from afternoon to morning to evening. For its part, the calendar moved backwards, each second shaving off another month, then another. I tried turning it off then back on again, but even that function refused to respond.

“It happens,” finding the passenger who earlier sat across from me staring at my phone. I was so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed her lurking over a Natty Boh tall boy. “They’re still working out the kinks.” She wore forgetful clothes, drab and gray and fit for a compliant bureaucrat and from the look in her eye seemed intent on downing as many beers as she could before pulling into Chicago.

“Not even cell data,” I asked, mentioning my carrier. “Can’t help you there bud,” she replied, finishing her beer. She signaled to the attendant for another one. “Some of these tunnels go deep into the mountains,” she said, snagging another sip, “and out here the government enforces quiet zones. No cell signal, not even wifi. "Say,” she continued, “you sure you’re doing alright?” I wanted to ask her the date, hoping it was still the weekend, but I didn’t want her to think I was nuts. Better yet, I hoped she’d turn into a giant lizard and would slither away, confirming my suspicions that this was an elaborate dream conjured up by my subconscious.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Just had a long night.” She clinked her beer against my water:

“Amen to that,” she said. I turned to the window and watched as the narrow gorge disappeared in a flash of tunnel darkness.

***

A sat in a purgatory of an empty memory. Only sparks came and went just as quickly. Miguel, a joint, some beers, and a rail or two. Then blank. I sat in purgatory, a moment of complete idleness mingled with pretty serious questions about how much I was going to fuck up my life with drugs and alcohol. I’d been keeping things under control, but this, this was over the top. I sifted through my brain, straining at the black window that reflected against me: “Last thing I remember, I was back home, on my rooftop in Mount Pleasant looking over the city. It was afternoon, and I’d just finished work.” Work. Home. A monotonous routine. Meager pay and meager food for the soul.

“Miguel was there. Blasting reggaeton all night cause it was Friday.” Miguel, with his broken teeth and his broken back from all those years working construction. Only beer and weed and some powdery coke soothed his tired bones. And I could use the company.

With a swoosh the train emerged on the other side. From the sunlight casting long shadows on the trees I could tell we were nearing dusk: “So at least a full day’s gone by.” Again I tried my phone -still acting weird. Numb, my head struggled to piece things together.

“How the hell did I get here,” I asked aloud. Through the window I caught a faint reflection of myself and panicked. Was my life spinning so out of control that I was just blacking out and boarding random trains to -where the hell was I even going? I looked down at my clothes, recognizing my shirt and jacket and worn-out sneakers, but nothing broke the wall of forget.

“Keep it together,” I repeated, “don’t freak out, don’t freak-“ but there was no point. I felt my heart race the high-speed train, hurtling forward as if trying to outrun it. Surely this was some sort of weird nightmare. Why would someone stuff me in here,” I wondered. “I’m just a clerk. A drunk. I’m a nobody. Why me? Why this train? What day was it, and what was the fucking time? “

***

Nausea followed shortly after I’d gotten halfway down the sparkling water. “Should’ve just had more beer,” I thought, but there was nothing I could do now. The panini was half eaten, no longer appealing as it sat uncomfortably in my grumbling stomach. I slipped off the stool and carried myself across my dining car. My fellow passenger wasn’t at her seat, but that was the least of my concerns. Up ahead, a bathroom symbol illuminated green. Feeling my stomach boil, I rushed forward, pushing the door open just as a jet lurched down into the toilet, splattering here and there. I had enough time to slide the door close before hurling up some more tomatoes and bread. After a third and final episode, I’d cleared my stomach. I felt weak but liberated, as if a heavy weight had literally lifted from my belly. I felt the tracks beneath me, a metallic lullaby. This was definitely not a dream. I don’t know how long I sat there, nor whether I actually dozed off or not. I remember the gentle lap of waves and sand against my feet and the rhythmic grinding of the train wheels against the tracks. My vision grew clearer and I caught sight of that model black steam locomotive dad had gifted me for my birthday. I’d laid out the tracks in a figure eight on the big wooden table in his workshop at the bayhouse. He’d helped me set the route, fix up a couple of mountains and trees and even a tunnel or two. I’d love trains, ever since we’d started playing with that set and-

Suddenly, a thud shook me out of my memory.

***

I yanked myself up and pulled the bathroom door open. I realized I was at the very end of the train, or at least should’ve been. To my left extended the train car and the aisle, and somewhere, the seat I’d woken up on. From a window I noticed that it was pitch black, and for comfort the train crew had dimmed the lights. Yet it was to my right that some shadow caught my attention. At first it was nothing more than a darkened corridor, what I assumed was just the train’s “back door”. But it seemed odd, and there was this feeling, like an energy pulling me towards it. I took a step to the right, then another, swinging my head back to see if anyone had noticed me.

“This is nuts,” I whispered. Another couple of steps and I was in front of the door. I pressed my palm against the door valve and watched it open with ease and with a gush the deafening outside noise overwhelmed my ears.

“Holy fudge nuts." An accordion-like tunnel of what looked like canvas provided a modicum of protection against the wind whipping around me. In front of me, a short metal plank of the kind found on scaffolding separated the modern train car from whatever had latched itself to it. Only a couple of steps, really nothing complicated except we were going fast, real fast. A swoosh blocked my ears: we were back in a tunnel. The choice was simple: I could just turn back around, head back to my seat and ask for the time and date and for someone to immediately explain how the hell I’d found myself on this train heading to, Chicago, of all places. That was the easy option. The harder one shuddered before me, a narrow metal plank, a balancing act. I looked down and through flickers of light saw the tracks blur as the train passed them at high speed. On the left a primitive guardrail extended on either end of the plank. Simple, only two poles on either end of the plank tied together by a metal chain. I took a deep breath.

“Let’s go,” I said, but as soon as I laid a foot on the plank I felt my balance slipping. With some effort and a racing heart I managed to steady myself and in another wobbly step I was on the other side. There, It seemed misplaced, old even. It didn’t belong on such a modern train, and looked like the rail car doors of a bygone era. Through a porthole cut in the door, round and opaque, a blurry light suggested some presence. Clinging for dear life, I tried the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Another nudge and it moved a bit, until a third sealed the deal. With my shoulder I pushed, and after a bit of forcing the door swung open. And that’s when I met Mia.

***

Dad told me he had cancer over the phone. It was easier, I think, for him to do it from a distance. No tears. He didn’t want me to worry. Wanted me to enjoy life. He also wanted to choose the time and place he left. So he bought the bayhouse, a place we all fell in love with. But Mama preferred the mountains.

“How about we bring some of that to her,” he suggested. His hair was gone and his skull dry and crackled, but his eyes were like a burning fire. I still remember his voice, clear as day:

“We can build a model train set. I used to have one as a kid. Built myself a whole world.” And that’s how I fell in love with trains.

***

From the shadows a furry creature appeared. Beads of sweat coalesced on my forehead, and for dramatic effect ran one by one down my cheek, to my chin, where they dropped in succession to the floor. Wayoo -I would later learn was their name- snored loudly. My whole plank drama hadn’t shaken them awake, and instead of growling and hollering as I quickly learned they did, they remained wrapped in the arms of sleep.

“What in the name is all this,” I whispered to myself. I figure now it was a way to grasp that all this was real. Sadly, Wayoo’ ears had probably been stirred, and at my faint whisper their eyes popped open and within a split second they’d growled like a ferocious wolf. Their sharp teeth scintillated in the dim car, but instead of standing on all fours, he reared his legs, extending his torso upwards. Massive, his wolf-like head towered above me.

“Yo,” I said, most likely pissing myself. “This is crazy.” A flushing sound came from behind Wayoo, then a door lock clinking open and from it another creature emerged:

“So I’m really thinking that after Chicago, we dip West. Whaddaya think Wayoo? Montana for the summer? It’ll be hard to hide this fantastic machine from them forever, but I’m sure-“ A woman -whom I would call Mia- stood in sheer surprise.

“Well, now,” she continued, speechless. “I wasn’t expecting some uh, company.” Giggling the woman Mia stepped forward:

“They look frightened.”

“How, what, this I,” words stumbled and fell awkwardly in my mouth.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” said Mia who’s name I would discover later. “Trust me, this isn’t a dream. Now Wayoo,” she patted the wolf-like creature. “Back to rest.” Suddenly, the once terrifying Wayoo folded over into what they’d appeared like in the beginning, nothing more than a large, amusing dog.

“Please,” she gestured to one of the couches, “have a seat.”I don’t know why this question came up, out of the dozen or so others that I could’ve asked, like “what are you doing here” or more importantly “what is that creature?” Instead, I remained fixated on that one stupid thing:

“Do you, do you know what time it is?” Mia, who’s name would be revealed unintentionally within a few moments, again broke out into an amused smile.

“The time? Why don’t you just check your phone?”

“It’s been acting up.”

“I’m sure it’s doing fine now. Go on,” she said. “Take a look.” With Wayoo firmly laying on their side and generally feeling less threatened, I did as she said. The date that appeared on screen was fifteen years in the past, and the time, 8:32pm. I scratched my head, and with each scratch a piece of the riddle seemed to lift itself.

“This isn’t possible,” I wondered. “I can’t, not -how am I back here?” There was one window in the sealed off compartment. Peering outside I noticed a gushing torrent, white waves reflected in a milky moonlight bathing the mountains “Appalachia,” I guessed. Spooky. I took a moment to look around. The place was treasure trove of artifacts of all kindsIn the trembling lamplight I examined a bookshelf full of all sorts of titles. A Guatemala travel guide, a collection of the greatest cajun cooking recipes, a list of the best surf towns along the Pacific coast, and even a collection of remarkable reptiles of Costa Rica. Another shelf held rolls and rolls of paper. On the wall opposite the shelf hung a map of North and Central America with black and red lines criss-crossing the subcontinent. Beneath it, a laptop propped on a wooden secretary’s desk stood between the lamp and a pair of binoculars.

“What is this place?” Mia approached, a concerned look on her face.

“I'm not sure you're supposed to be here. This is all a secret, a big secret, and if they find out we're all toast. Now, I think it's best if-”Right then, a violent clang shook the train car. Startled, Wayoo jumped up just as a powerful force yanked open the door I'd just crossed minutes earlier.

“A-ha!” yelled a voice, “I’ve got you now, Mia.” Turning behind me to face the voice I noticed my fellow passenger -Sally, as I would soon learn again by pure accident- standing in the doorway. The old train car shuddered at her presence, as if inhabited by a mind of its own. Focused, Mia allowed a grin to cross her face.

“Sally, you’re always just a step or two behind, aren’t you?” But Sally wasn’t wearing a gray suit anymore. Instead, she too transformed into a winged, dragon-like creature, and that’s when it hit me.

***

A treasure trove of miniatures and models hid in dad's workshop: planes, cars, houses, mountains, oceans, all rendered to scale and laid across a giant wooden table.

“Our own little world,” he said, laying on an adjustable bed, his arms prodded by a couple IV tubes. “No matter what happens, we’ll always have this little corner for us.” It was a world we shared, him and I, one we’d built with our own hands. Mom thought it amusing, distracting even, until his cancer got pretty bad and she too joined us in the workshop, painting figurines, arranging houses and even hooking train cars to their locomotives. For a few months all our worries left the workshop, and all that mattered was the train set.

“All America,” he continued, “see? This is the bayhouse. And here’s D.C. with the Monuments. Up here we’ve got New York. Out West we’ve only got Chicago, but,” with his hand he swooped the other end of the table. During the week while I was at school he’d put in the relief: mountains for the Rockies, a long river for the mighty Mississippi, and at the very other edge, the Pacific. But there was nothing else, no trees, no animals, no peoples.

“That’ll be your job little clown,” he said. Back east, just beyond D.C., a strange figurine caught my eye. Half dragon, half eagle, stood angrily in one of the valleys with a flame bursting out of its mouth.

“What’s that?”

***

“A snallygaster,” I said aloud. “I’m in the workshop. Somehow, I’m,” but there wasn’t much time for thinking. Sally and Wayoo sized each other up, while Mia took a step to the side and seized a katana hanging from the train car wall.

“You should get back,” she suggested, and quickly I complied. Sally lunged first and rushed straight for Wayoo, who ably dodged the attack, sending their adversary tumbling to the ground, a mere meter or so from my feet. Mia swung her sword for a strike, but Sally pushed back towards the door, only to find herself right in Wayoo’ path.

“See you later snallygaster,” said Mia, and just then her friend kicked the winged shapeshifter back into the tunnel.

“Cut us loose!” yelled Mia, pointing to a lever that protruded from the wall but sheer terror paralyzed me. Things were moving fast, as if accelerated and compressed and spun around at the same time. Sally shook off her bad fall on the metal plank, still connected to the magical train car. Wayoo leaned forward, growling as loud as they could. I caught a ball of fire forming in Sally' open mouth like a dragon from that streaming show.

“Is she really a, a" I stumbled on the word, "a snallygaster?"

“Not the time for questions! Now pull it down before she torches us!” I reached out and grasped the lever and pulled down as hard as I could. Steam jetted from the acordion tunnel's edges. It disconnected itself from the bullet train, but inertia meant we were still moving at the same speed. Sally let out a loud shriek that sent chills down to my feet. Still standing on the plank, she took a step forward, her mouth now in flames, when Mia appeared in front of her with a red cylinder.

"Get off my train," she yelled, and the fire extinguisher released a jet of white foam that blanketed the shapeshifter's snout.

"Wayoo!" With another kick they sent Sally flying off the plank and into the space between the two trains and off to the side, down the ravine and through the window I thought I saw a splash.

"She'll be back soon. Come on, we've got to get off this rail line." Mia leaned up to her map, a finger tracing the red and black lines.

"Why don't we just keep moving? Follow the bullet train?" She sighed:

"Because this damned Felton engine broke down -again- and we don't have much power. I had to use a hook to latch us on, but that's gone with the acordion tunnel." Turning back to the map she continued her search for a safe station.

"Here," she finally concluded. I leaned over her shoulder to take a look. "We can break off and head for this place." Wyattsville, it read. She disappeared to the locomotive behind us, tinkering with what was left of her busted engine. Up ahead, the bullet train and its modern amenities raced forward while we quickly lost momentum. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I still didn't know the time.