THE 90 MINUTE DEATH RIDE EXPRESS

“Ugh. My head.”

Eyes still closed, he rubbed his forehead as he regained consciousness.

The pain in his head throbbed from within, much like how he imagined a plank of wood must feel when a nail gets driven in.

Hangover?

He clenched his eyelids down a bit tighter, which did nothing to alleviate the burning that coated eyes.

Don’t remember falling asleep.

His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt as if a cotton ball had been stretched out over it.

His stomach felt fine though, so he moved “too much drinking” down the list a few spots.

He needed, well, wanted, a drink though. And if this was indeed a hangover, he figured a little hair of the dog wouldn’t hurt.

He increasingly became aware of the vibrations beneath him. While they were not entirely unpleasant, they certainly weren’t helping his overall feeling of discomfort.

“I feel like shit,” he said a little too loudly.

A couple of coughs responded to his accidental outburst.

He opened his eyes, the left resisting more than the right, and lifted his hand like a visor.

A lady, a young child next to her, was giving him the side eye from the other side of the aisle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and halfheartedly raised the fingers of his visor hand in apology.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and a quiet shfft-shfft rose up from the red upholstery beneath him.

To his right, fence posts, fields, and mountains rushed past the window as the train raced forward.

The blur of the scenery was almost hypnotic. The way each section seemed to move independently of each other, like layers on their own individual tracks, fascinated him. Had there not been a hundred tiny fists trying to punch their way out of his skull, he probably would have enjoyed it more.

He turned his attention away from the widow, leaned out slightly into the aisle and looked up and then back.

The front and back of the car were matching sections of pairs of seats, all facing forward. At the center was a quad of four facing seats with a bolted down table between them.

It was all fairly spacious and comfortable, and if he had to have woken up on a random train with a pounding head and no memory of how he got there, this would have been his choice.

The car was at about three quarters capacity. The majority was most likely thirty plus, though there were a few kids with their families.

A woman was sitting at the very back left corner window seat reading a book. Her decent sized purse resting comfortably in the aisle seat next to her.

She might have something for my headache.

With a stifled groan, he carefully eased himself up from his seat.

He paused at the edge of the aisle to push his hips back just enough to stretch his lower back, and a wince manifested on his face as he stretched and rotated his left wrist.

Something in his right front pocket pressed against his thigh as stepped into the aisle.

He walked carefully toward the woman, not wanting to trip. He placed his hand on the headrest of the aisle seat in front of the lady and her bag, and leaned forward as unobtrusively as he could.

“Excuse me,” his voice cracked a bit as he whispered. “Ma’a... miss?”

She begrudgingly closed the book over her finger and turned her head toward the man who was disturbing her.

He glanced over the cover of the book.

Underneath the golden letters that displayed The Swashbuckler Lover, a tan, muscular man with straight, long blond hair, and an open white frilly shirt that was sliding off, held a woman, her curly black hair falling back as her ample bosoms looked like they were about to pop out of the top of her red corset.

“Hey. Hi.” He raised a hand in apology. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had anything for a headache.”

The woman looked him up and down. Hints of a disdainful frown manifested at the edge of her lips as her nose crinkled like something smelled bad.

“I don’t have any drugs, if that’s what you mean.”

“What? No. I can’t handle anything stronger than an ibuprofen.” He managed a little laugh at his own joke. Or can I? “Just need a couple of Tylenol.”

The woman sighed, flipped the book over onto her knee, and went into her purse.

She’s probably got a whole sub sandwich in there. Those things have TARDIS-like properties.

“Here.” She pulled out an individual travel packet of Tylenol and held it out between her fingers.

“Thank you.” He took the packet, careful not to touch her fingers. “Sorry. I’ll let you get back to, yeah.” He stammered over his words and stepped back.

Her expression made it clear she just wanted him gone.

He turned and followed the sign to the water closets.

After glancing down to check for the green “unoccupied” above the handle, he put the Tylenol packet into his back left pocket, and opened the door.

He flinched at the psst psst sound as the automatic air freshener misted a pleasant scent into the air.

Damn I’m jumpy.

He stepped to the toilet.

With an unzip and a sigh of relief, his urine hit the water, and a bitter odor hit his nose.

“God.” He scrunched his nose and turned his head.

He finished his business, then zipped up and buttoned his jeans. He braced himself against the wall on his right, raised his left foot and, after two tries, pressed the handle down, flushing away the contents in the bowl.

He stepped over to the sink and stared at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands.

Blue eyes, underscored by dark puffiness, stared back.

No wonder that lady thought I was strung out.

His light brown hair was parted to the left and fell over his forehead, right at his eyebrows.

He ran a still wet hand through his hair, and decided that he normally styled it up and back. Probably.

“Okay.” He leaned forward to confront the man that looked back at him. “Who are you?”

No idea. On a train though.

“Super spy?” They both raised an eyebrow.

He looked himself over.

Arms a bit undefined. Chest a bit soft. Stomach a bit over his waist.

“Not with this body.” A single exhale laugh escaped his nose. “Average body. Decent looks.” He tilted his head from side to side and weighed his judgment. “I mean, I look like shit, but probably not horrible otherwise.”

He reached to retrieve the Tylenol, but thought better of using the sink water to wash down the pills, and instead used the side of his fist to turn off the water.

“Maybe just regular spy.”

He shook his hands above the sink then wiped the back, then front of his hands on the pockets of his jeans.

Whatever was in his right pocket rubbed against his hand, reminding him it was there.

Concussion maybe? Robbed?

He leaned forward, and did his best to inspect his head as he pressed the fingertips of his left hand over his skull as his right hand retrieved whatever was in his pocket.

Failing to find any bruises, lumps, or other signs of injury, he turned his attention to the feeling of metal and paper in his right hand.

He looked down at a money clip which tightly hugged a folded wad of bills and a rectangular piece of white stock paper.

He turned the clip over and noticed an engraving on the otherwise plain brass colored metal.

09 - 42 - 38

A date? No. That doesn’t make sense, idiot.

The money clip let out a dull clink as he removed the money and the stock paper.

A quick inspection revealed about four hundred dollars in twenties.

The paper was a ticket that read:

ONE FREE BEER*

COMPLIMENTS OF THE TRAIN

*domestics only

“Ok. So not a robbery.” He refolded the money, made sure it and the drink ticket were nestled securely in the money clip, and returned the items to his pocket. “Anyway. Priority one: find the bar. Two: get a drink. Three: regain memory. Easy.”

And with that, he exited the water closet, and followed the signs guiding him further toward the back of the train and to the bar.

He sat down in the high bar chair, which was bolted to the floor.

His eyes swept across the blank screen of a small, flat screen monitor affixed up on the wall to the right of the bar before settling on the bartender.

The bartender, a roughly five foot two woman in her mid to late twenties and of Indian descent, smiled in greeting.

The black lettering on her gold background name tag read “Ami” and was pinned to her black long sleeve button down shirt, which was neatly tucked into her black slacks. A red and a purple pen peeked out from the top of one pocket. The silver of her belt buckle, and the long, steel bottle opener that stuck out of her other pocket, stood out against the monochrome uniform.

Her shoulder length, black hair, partly in a ponytail, and partly brushed back behind her ears, showed off the small, silver hoops that adorned her ears. Three in her left lobe and one in her right. There was another in the cartilage of her left ear.

A few keys dangled from the clip that was hooked to her back right belt loop, while her employee ID hung at her right hip.

“Hi there. What can I get you?” Ami asked.

“Hey. Uh. Bottle of water. And a whiskey.”

“Any particular brand?”

“Dealer’s choice, I guess.” He shrugged.

God, that’s embarrassing.

Ami smirked, not unkindly, and looked him over for a moment.

“You seem like a rye guy.” Ami had made her judgment.

Am I?

“Sounds great.” He wasn’t in any position to argue.

The large, single ice cube clinked and danced around in the glass after Ami dropped it in. She retrieved a glass bottle with a green label and deftly poured the drink just a nudge past standard serving.

Ami moved with a trained fluidity where sliding the drink toward him, replacing the bottle, retrieving and handing over the water, and punching in the order on the touchpad of the register was all one flawless dance.

“Thirteen twenty five.”

Holy shit.

“I don’t need change.” He handed over a twenty.

“Well, thank you very much.” Ami gave a subtle tip of her head.

He took a sip of the whiskey and sighed.

The peppery, grassy, oaky flavors washed over his tongue.

Guess I am a rye guy.

He felt the slight burn in his throat. The warmth that expanded in his chest. The tingle in his left nipple.

First thing that’s felt good all day.

He lifted up just enough to retrieve the Tylenol packet, and set it on the bar.

He felt the click of the separation of the little strands of plastic that held the cap of the water bottle as he turned in. He turned the cap back just enough to keep it sealed, then tore open the Tylenol packet.

Water.

Pills.

Pause.

Swallow.

Water.

He picked up the ripped, empty packet and turned his head to look for a trashcan.

“I got you.” Ami held out her hand.

“Thanks.” He dropped it into her palm.

“Rough day?” Ami asked as she disposed of the trash.

“Something like that.” He raised an eyebrow and his glass, and finished his whiskey a little too quickly.

He wasn’t sure if his headache was receding, or he just didn’t care as much, but either way, he was feeling more relaxed and his tongue becoming a little looser.

“Can I tell you something?” He looked at Ami. “Don’t want you to think I’m crazy or anything like that though.”

Too late.

Ami laughed gently.

“I’ve been bartending for about seven years now," she responded. "I’ve heard a lot of crazy sh… stuff. Hit me.”

“Hmm. I think I might need another drink first.” He reached into his pocket and carefully removed the drink ticket. “Was wondering if I could use this.”

Ami furrowed her brow and pushed her lips to one side.

“It’s totally okay if I can’t,” he continued.

“No. No.” Ami reassured him. “Just never seen this before.” She flipped the ticket over. “It’s got a barcode and number.” She shrugged. “We can try it, and if it works, it works.”

“Sounds good to me.” He leaned to his right and squinted as he looked at what beers were in the drink fridge. “Yuengling, I guess.”

The fridge slid open and closed with a satisfying swish and schunk.

Ami slid the bottle opener out of her pocket and, despite it being a twist off, popped the cap off. She placed the bottle down, and with a spin around her fingers, returned the bottle opener to her pocket.

Show off.

He smiled a little, impressed by, and jealous of, her skill.

“Alright.” Ami slid over to the POS machine. “Let’s see if this works.”

“Item.” She tapped the screen.

“Number.” She looked at the back of the ticket and tapped the screen.

“And… go.” She tapped once more.

“Huh. It worked.” Ami shrugged and slid the ticket into the cash drawer slot.

5

The monitor had lit up right after Ami gave the last tap.

4

“Is that normal?” He lowered the bottle from his lips and tipped it toward the monitor.

3

“Never seen that before.” Ami shook her head.

2

“Is it cliché to say I’ve got a bad feeling about this?” He took a deep swig of the beer.

1

“A little, yeah.” Ami let a single, silent, nervous laugh escape.

0

An image faded in over the 0.

It was a variation on a standard smiley face, with a third eye and two horns, the left of which was broken.

At the same moment the image fully appeared, the train lurched forward.

He gripped the bottle. His prescient drinking had minimized spillage.

Ami grabbed her side of the bar counter, and kept herself from falling over.

The vibration from below became a rumble, and the scenery outside was now nothing but a smear of shapes and colors.

“Are we going faster?” He blurted out the question and immediately felt stupid asking.

Obviously.

“Yeah,” Ami responded as she turned her head to look out the window. “I think so. Most definitely.” She turned her head back to him. “So what were you going to tell me?” She laughed nervously.

“Oh. You know. That I woke up on this train with no idea who I am and no ticket or identification.”

“Oh. Is that all?” Ami had started fidgeting with the bottle opener. “Wait. Do you think that has something to do with the train speeding up?

“Maybe. I mean, that countdown started after you put in the drink ticket.”

“So it’s my fault?” Ami asked, half joking.

“I handed you that ticket, so it’s probably mine.”

“That’s not particularly comforting. Though very progressive of you to take the blame.”

“Just the kind of guy I am.”

Is it?

“Is there anything else you have, or maybe can remember?” Ami prodded.

Those numbers.

He grabbed the money clip.

“Do the numbers nine, forty-two, thirty-eight mean anything to you?” He showed them to Ami.

She looked at them and shook her head.

“Not really. Sounds like a combination lock’s number or something though.”

“Are there lockers on this train?” He felt a spark of excitement.

“Yeah,” Ami confirmed. “Very last car. Use them for employees to store our stuff, things passengers aren’t supposed to have on them while they ride, things like that.”

“Let’s go check, then!”

“Let’s say you’re right. There’s like fifty lockers back there. We going to just go locker by locker?”

“I mean. Yeah?” He didn’t have a better idea.

Ami shook her head in disbelief.

He tapped his finger against the bottle.

Screw it.

He chugged the rest of the beer.

“Wait!” He excitedly tapped the empty bottle before Ami took it and disposed of it. “The drink ticket. Were there any other numbers on there?”

“I mean, I guess I can check.” Ami unclipped the keys from her waist and opened the cash drawer. She lifted the till, snagged the drink ticket, and shut the drawer by smacking it with her left hip. She looked over the ticket from front to back.

“Nothing.” She shrugged her left shoulder.

“Hmm.” He drummed his fingers on his pocket and against the clip and the twenties. He paused mid drum as he had a thought. “Do you have one of those counterfeit pens?”

Ami nodded.

“Take it and use it on the ticket.” His hand mimicked the motion of scribbling with a pen.

Ami gave him a bit of a dubious look, but obliged.

Her eyes got wide.

“How did you know?” Ami showed him the ticket.

A blue “23” had appeared in a reaction with the iodine in the pen.

“Shit feels like it’s a puzzle, so treat it like a puzzle.” He laughed in surprise at his correct guess. “So… lockers?” He smiled hopefully like a kid begging for toy.

Ami took a moment to consider.

“Yeah. Let’s go. Beats standing here doing nothing at least.”

“Awesome!” He tapped both hands down on the counter and got up.

They both began to make their way to the back of the train, moving carefully, though it was easier to walk the opposite of the train’s acceleration.

They passed through a car of nervous and chatting passengers, and eventually reached the back car.

“Remember your name yet?” Ami asked. “Cause I’m going to need to call you something.”

“Still no idea,” he shook his head.

“I’m going to go with Rye-Guy then.” Ami approached the keypad to unlock the door to the locker room.

“What? That’s awful.” Rye tilted his head as he noticed a piece of thick cardstock that was folded into a square and attached to the wall.

The front fold displayed the smiley face logo that had appeared on the monitor.

“Better remember your name quick then, cause it’s the best you're gonna get.” Ami punched in a six digit code.

Rye took the square off the wall and opened it.

“My code won’t work!” Ami announced.

“Prime time. Four-Six-Nine.” Rye read the contents out loud.

“What?” Ami asked as she tried the usual numbers again. Frustrated, she flipped her hands palms up.

“I think they changed the code.” Rye showed her the folded card stock and the message inside.

“Okay. So zero-four, zero-six, zero-nine… That didn’t work.” Ami looked at Rye

“Yeah, because four, six, and nine aren’t prime.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Prime versus composite?” Rye looked at Ami like she should know. “Maths?”

“I barely pulled Cs in math.”

“Four, six, and nine break down into two and two, two and three, and three and three, so they’re composite. The twos and threes don’t, so they’re prime.

Ami punched in 222333.

“Nope.” She turned back to Rye.

“So not prime factors, so maybe the fourth, sixth, and ninth prime numbers. Can I borrow a pen?”

Ami pulled the purple pen from her pocket, and handed it over.

“So what did you get in math?” Ami teased.

“An A, apparently.” Rye smirked as he wrote numbers down on the back of the card stock. “Let’s see. One, two, three, five…” His voice trailed off. “Five, eleven, nineteen. Try zero-five, one-one, one-nine.”

Ami entered the numbers as Rye relayed them.

“That didn’t work.”

“What?” Rye scratched the back of his head and looked at the numbers. “Oh. I’m an idiot. One isn’t prime… Do zero-seven, one-three, two-three.” He looked back up. “Guess I got a B.”

Ami inputted the new numbers and the little light above the keypad shifted from red to green, and the door unlocked.

“Nice work, math-boy.” Ami opened the door.

“Think I prefer Rye-Guy.”

They hurried into the locker room.

Rye went to look for locker 23, while Ami went to her personal locker.

Locker 23 found, Rye used the numbers on the money clip on the combination lock.

They worked.

He opened the locker and looked at the box contained within.

“What the hell!” Ami exclaimed.

“What’s up?” Rye turned his head toward her.

“I’m not getting a signal or anything on my phone.”

“Guess they thought of everything. No outside help.”

“Guess so.” Ami took her personal belongings, shut her locker, and joined Rye. “What did you find?”

“About to find out.” He nodded toward the box. He reached into the locker and carefully lifted the lid.

The contents of the box were a pair of wireless earbuds on a note that read “THEY’RE CLEAN ;-)”, a folded piece of cardstock with the logo, and a ripped scrap of paper with “1 - 8” and parts of letters at the tear.

Affixed in the underside of the lid was a touch screen displaying the logo and a play icon beneath it.

Rye looked at Ami, shrugged, picked up the earbuds, placed the right one in his ear and handed the left one to Ami.

She put the earbud in, nodded to Rye, who touched the play icon.

The logo began a simple animation of its mouth moving as a male text-to-speech sounding voice began to speak through the earbuds.

“If you are listening to this, congratulations. You’ve solved your first set of clues. As you may, or may not, be aware, the train is, or will be, hurtling at unsafe speeds toward its doom.”

The logo briefly changed to a shocked face..

“If you used your drink ticket to kick things off early, we hope you enjoyed your beer on us. If not, and the train has begun its speedy death ride,” ‘death ride’ repeated in a deeper voice as the logo glitched, “on its own, then you’ve already passed the halfway mark.”

The logo frowned.

“Doors from here to the locomotive and engineer have obviously been locked, so don’t think you can just run up there. But you better hurry! Who knows how much of your ninety minute time limit has passed. If you fail, well…”

Sound clips of a crash, explosion, and the Wilhelm scream played.

“Follow the clues. Use your head. And most importantly… have fun!”

The logo winked.

“Oh. Keep your eyes peeled for those extra clue scraps for a special, secret surprise. Bye bye now!”

The image reset and the play icon appeared again.

“These people are sick.” Ami took out the earbud, put it in her pocket and shook her head. “Probably hard to estimate, but how much time do we have left you think?”

“How long had it been since the train departed and I sat down at the bar?”

“Maybe, I don’t know, twenty minutes?”

“Okay. So then let’s say another ten max before we used the ticket. Depending on the increase of speed… maybe forty-five minutes left before we crash? At best? Depends on what that ninety minutes was encompassing.”

“I’ll give us thirty,” Ami stated. “To be safe.”

“That’s fair.” Rye had been looking over the now unfolded clue.

“What’s it say?” Ami indicated toward the clue with her head.

Rye handed over the ripped scrap to Ami. “Want to hang on to those as we find them?”

She took the scrap, carefully placed it into her pocket, and looked at the clue in Rye’s hand.

“Held between lover’s tight and passionate embrace…” Ami read aloud. “And more math. Great.”

“Just numbers.”

“What?”

“The numbers aren’t necessarily math. They need context for meaning. Our first set was the lockers. Next actually was math with the prime thing. These sets of three numbers don’t mean anything without context, which apparently is this lover’s embrace thing.”

“That makes sense,” Ami conceded. “But what’s the lover’s embrace?”

“I…” Rye shook his head. He started to replay everything he had seen so far in his head. He rubbed at his sore forearm and felt a hard bump. “What the?” he muttered.

The book.

“The lady!” Rye snapped his fingers. “The lady I got the Tylenol from. She was reading one of those romance novels where the cover had two impossibly sexy people hugging each other.”

“So the numbers might be.. page number, line, and word?” Ami’s eyes lit up.

“I think so!” Rye smiled at the thought of them, hopefully, having figured out the clue. “Let’s hurry.”

They gripped the headrests of the seats when they could to steady themselves and help push themselves forward. Walking toward the front of the train proved more difficult than the back, but they reached the car that Rye had woken up in without incident.

The woman stole glances out the window as she gripped the armrest so tight her knuckles had literally turned white.

The book, clearly forgotten, was sitting on top of the bag next to her.

“Hey.” Rye spoke softly. “Sorry to bother you again.”

The woman turned her head.

“Oh. You again.” She managed a tight, but sincere, smile in relief at seeing a familiar face. She was clearly working hard at keeping her composure despite her obvious fear. “How’s your headache?”

“Better, thanks.”

Ami tapped Rye’s shoulder with the side of her hand and mouthed “ask her.”

“Oh yeah. Can we, uh, borrow that book you were reading?” Rye pointed to the book in question.

“What? Yeah. Sure.” She did not try to hide her confusion.

“Awesome.” Rye grabbed the book, handed the clue to Ami, who began to read the series of numbers for Rye to look up.

Ami wrote down the words next to each row as Rye found them.

List finished, Ami read the words out loud.

“In. Placed. Pointer. Spence. Next. Hidden.”

“What?” Rye shook his head.

Ami read the words again, faster and more emphatically, as if that would drive meaning into them.

“Rearranged, obviously,” she looked at Rye.

Both their heads gave little shakes as they stared at each other as if they could psychically communicate.

Ami looked down to her right for a moment, then looked back up, a smile on her face.

“Next pointer, placed hidden in spence!” Ami practically jumped in place. “We got it!”

“Yes!” Rye matched her excitement. “But what the hell’s a spence?”

“I have no idea!” Ami was still smiling.

“What’s the context?” The woman asked them.

Rye and Ami looked at her.

“The full sentence, para… just hand me the book.” She motioned for the novel impatiently and Rye handed it over. “What was the page number for ‘spence’?”

“Uh. Page 97, line 8, word 7.” Ami read from the clue.

“Okay. So…” the woman quickly thumbed through the book to the given section. “Ahem. ‘Lionel stepped from the bedroom, his rippling muscles and naked body glistening in sweat and moonlight, and sauntered to the spence. Vittles would restore their strength, and he and Esmerelda would soon resume their…’ okay you get the idea. Vittles is food, so if he is going to the spence to get it, then it must be a larder, or kitchen, or something.”

“So, the next clue is in the kitchen.” Ami affirmed.

“Sounds like,” Rye agreed. He turned back to the woman. “Was there anything else in that book? Like a scrap of paper or anything?”

“Don’t know. Never got to the end. Obviously.” She handed the book back to Rye. “Welcome to check.”

Rye quickly thumbed through the book and found another ripped scrap taped to one of the blank pages toward the back of the novel.

“Can I?” He had placed his hand to rip out the page.

The woman waved her hand, and Rye took the page.

“Thanks.” Rye handed the page to Ami, set the book back on the bag and turned to go.

“Wait.” Ami stopped him. “Why did she have a book that just so happened to fit the clues we were given?” She turned back to the woman. “Do you know anything about what’s going on with the train?”

“What? No!” The woman’s fear appeared genuine, unless she was a fantastic actress.

“But the book.” Ami insisted.

“Before I boarded, some woman approached me, gave me that book and five hundred dollars in cash if I would read it on the train, with the promise of five hundred more if I could prove I read the whole thing by the end of the trip. Said it was ‘market research’ or something.” She paused. “Wait. Are you saying I helped someone involved with…?” She waved her finger at the window and the streaking scenery.

“Seems like it,” Rye answered, but quickly put his hands up. “But not in a bad way. If you hadn’t been reading the book, we wouldn’t have found the clue. And hopefully that’s going to help stop the train.”

The woman seemed mildly reassured.

“Well, I certainly hope you do,” she nodded and managed a nervous smile. “I don’t want the last thing I ever read to be about sexy, glistening bodies.”

“We’ll do our best,” Rye reassured her, and he and Ami hustled as fast as they could to the dining cars.

They passed more nervous passengers, and attendants doing their best to keep people calm.

“Try it again!” One attendant whispered emphatically to another.

“I’ve tried reaching the conductor five times already! No one is responding.” They whispered back with the same intensity.

“Well, if that’s the case, why doesn’t someone go and disconnect the engine from the cars? At least then we’d all eventually slow down.”

The attendant with the phone rolled their eyes.

“You’ve worked on trains for how long and don’t know how they work?” The attendant scoffed. “The locomotive is definitely pulling the cars too fast right now. There’d be too much tension and pressure on the coupler to be able to pull the cut lever and open the knuckle.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Google.” They tried the phone one more time. “Looked it up one day after watching some train heist movie.”

The first attendant, having noticed Rye and Ami, raised their hand to tell them to go back to their seats.

Ami quickly showed her employee badge, and the attendant shrugged and waved them past.

Rye and Ami arrived at the dining car and, despite the chef’s initial protests, squeezed past him and into the narrow kitchen.

Rye opened the door to the dry food storage and searched while Ami searched the cold.

“Got it.” Rye snagged the next clue, as well as the ripped scrap, and turned so he and Ami could both read it.

“At least it’s not numbers.” Ami looked at the two images on the paper.

“True. But what do a dog and a cat have to do with anything?”

“Not just a dog and a cat. Look at the style and what the dog is wearing. It’s supposed to be Egyptian.” Ami explained.

“So hieroglyphs or something.”

“Right. I think this is supposed to be Anubis and this one is Bast? Or Bastet maybe? Egyptian gods.”

Anubis? But it’s got clothes on.

Rye laughed through his nose at his own joke, but thought better of making it out loud.

What’s wrong with me?

“What?” Ami scanned Rye’s face as if she could glean what he was laughing at.

“Just stupid thoughts.” Rye’s face went a little red, unsure if sharing the joke would be more embarrassing than not. “Any, uh..” Rye coughed. “Ideas on this?” He made a serious face and waved his hand at the pictures.

Ami raised an eyebrow, her amused smirk still on her face, and turned back to the clue. “I’m not sure what the connection is yet.” She leaned around Rye, and scanned the kitchen and the larder.

“The cat looks more like just a cat and not a god,” Rye muttered. “Anubis and cat. Anubis cat. Anubiscat. A-nu-… biscat?”

“What are you saying?” Ami looked at Rye again.

“It sounds like something about a biscuit.”

“That’s so… stupid. And probably correct,” Ami sneered in disgust at the weak play on words. “Kitchen. Food. Biscuits.”

Rye looked into the food storage again.

A bright red box of Jammie Dodgers caught his attention, and he grabbed it off the shelf.

“Cookies?” Ami looked at the box and then back at Rye. “Never heard of those.”

Me neither. But…” Rye opened the box. “The British call cookies biscuits I think, and it’s the only thing in there that stood out.”

Several individual packs of Jammie Dodgers spilled out of the box onto the counter, followed by the clanking of a key.

They grabbed the key, made a quick search to make sure they hadn’t missed anything, and headed forward.

The next door was locked with a padlock on a hasp that had been bolted into the door and wall. It felt surprisingly lo-fi, but the key worked, and Rye didn’t think much more about it.

They opened the door, and Rye and Ami continued to hurry forward.

They were nearing the door that led into the conductor’s section of the front car.

“Hey!”

A man’s voice shouted at them from behind.

Rye and Ami turned around.

“I see you two running up to the engine.” A man had followed them from the previous car and was marching toward them in a huff. His tie was just off center and one corner of his shirt was untucked. “Trying to make sure your little terrorist plot goes off without a hitch?”

“What?” Rye was indignant.

“We’re trying to stop the train from crashing,” Ami retorted.

“Bullshit!” the man shouted and grabbed for Ami’s arm.

“Don’t touch me!” She pulled back.

“Hey!” Rye stepped forward.

The man, red faced and puffing, raised his fist and swung at Rye.

A memory of taking boxing classes at the gym when he was in junior high flashed in Rye’s mind.

His arms went up instinctively and blocked the oncoming blow.

The man winced in pain as his knuckles struck Rye’s left forearm.

It gave Rye an opening.

Jab-jab-cross.

The blustering man dropped hard to the floor.

“Super spy,” Rye said to himself as he took deep breaths to settle down.

“What?” Ami looked at him.

“Nothing. You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” She carefully stepped around the man. “Stupid jerk.”

They hustled to the door leading to the locomotive proper.

They were almost there.

A sliding puzzle was displayed on a touch screen which was connected to an electronic lock.

Rye and Ami started to mentally plan out how to approach the puzzle.

“This all must have been set up after the train started moving, right?” Ami moved her hand as she played out her puzzle moves.

“Yeah,” Rye answered. “Which means maybe they are still on the train? Not sure if I’m more terrified that they might be watching our every move, or impressed that they’ve committed so hard to the bit.”

“Means anyone on this train could be working with them.” Ami started solving the puzzle.

The touch screen bounced a little against the door as she tapped it.

“Yeah… I’ve thought about that…”

“You think I’m one of them?” Ami asked, part amused and part offended, but continued to work on the puzzle. “Why would I be helping you if I was?”

“Don’t know. Keep tabs on me? Maybe a change of heart and don’t want to die? Setting me up for betrayal at the end? Seems like the kind of twist that would happen today.”

“Maybe. Seems a bit obvious though, doesn’t it?” Ami slid another piece. “‘Oh, you thought we were friends? Just kidding!’” She did her best villainous voice impression.

Ami finished sliding the last image piece into place, and the now complete smiley face logo winked and the door unlocked.

“If it’s any consolation,” Ami pulled the door open. “I’m not sure I totally trust you either.” She smirked.

“That’s fair.” Rye frowned contemplatively. He paused before going through the door and lifted up the touchscreen off the door.

Another ripped scrap was taped to the back of the device.

Rye retrieved the scrap and placed it into Ami's waiting palm.

Ami winked and put it in her pocket.

Rye chuckled and shook his head.

They continued forward.

The train control room was empty. The handles for the throttle and the brakes, along with the engineer, were missing. A currently blank screen sat between the two controls.

On the right hand wall two more touch screens displayed their messages.

The one on the right displayed “For a good time call” with eleven blank boxes beneath the text. Under the boxes, in a much smaller font size, it read:

Listen while you work!

Secrets* and mysteries revealed!

*Disclaimer: You might not like what you hear.

The screen on the left displayed a five by five grid with various strange shapes and symbols in each one.

Text reading “Touch here for a clue!” was displayed below the grid.

A sealed container was connected with wires to the screen with the grid.

“Do we?” Ami turned from the right hand screen and looked at Rye.

“May as well.” He handed the scraps he had to Ami, and turned his focus on the grid.

Ami reassembled the scraps.

It was an advertisement that read “For the ultimate in adventure!” with an 800 number beneath it.

Ami furrowed her brow and typed in the numbers on the screen.

Rye tapped the clue text on the left monitor.

“You’ve been carrying this solution with you the whole time, ugly.” was now displayed on the screen.

The logo appeared and the same voice from the first recording began to speak after Ami completed putting in the phone number.

“Congratulations. You’re a completionist. And relatively observant.”

Ami joined Rye at the grid and he pointed at the clue.

“Take your shirt off,” Ami ordered him.

“What?”

“‘You’ve been carrying it with you,’” she pointed at the clue. “Maybe it’s written on you, or inside your shirt.”

“We hope that, success or failure, you’ve enjoyed your time and feel you’ve got your money’s worth.” The voice kept talking.

Rye frowned, but obliged. He flipped his now removed shirt inside out, and turned so Ami could look at his back.

“Anything?” Rye asked.

“No.” Ami looked at the screen again. “Why the ‘ugly’ insult at the end?”

“Don’t know.”

The playback continued.

“You wanted the ultimate adventure, and what could be more exhilarating than having your memories chemically inhibited and suddenly learning the lives of so many rest in your hands?”

Ami and Rye stopped talking and looked at each other.

“If you’re the type that needs absolution before death, rest easy knowing you had no idea what the game would entail. We at *garbled noise* Company thank you for your patronage.”

“I…” Rye shook his head and his eyes danced back and forth as Ami stared up at him. “It is my fault…”

“Stop it.” Ami was straight faced. “Even they said you didn’t know.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s finish this and we can deal with that knowledge later.”

“Right.” Rye nodded and took a deep breath. “‘Ugly.’” He muttered. “Carried with me… ugly… ugly versus beauty… skin deep… ugly on the inside… That’s it!” He rubbed his left forearm again. “There’s something underneath there.” He raised his arm for Ami to feel.

She pressed down on his forearm and her eyes widened. She used her fingertips to feel out the length of the object.

“Do you have a knife?” Rye asked.

“We are NOT cutting you open,” Ami was flabbergasted. “I can feel the raised symbols on whatever that is. That’s how we’re going to do this. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good." She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Now hold as still as possible.”

“Don’t understand why there aren’t any scars or anything.” Rye looked at his arm, then titled his head side to side in renewed discomfort of standing around with his shirt off.

“Some company was able to chemically block parts of your memory, and you’re questioning their surgical ability?”

“Fair point,” Rye conceded.

Ami pressed down and rotated her finger to get the impression of the first symbol. She pressed the corresponding image on the screen.

A green outline appeared around its box.

Ami repeated the process carefully, not sure what the consequences of a mistake would be.

Rye turned his head to look out the front of the locomotive.

Something was on the horizon, and clearly in the path of the train.

“Uh, Ami?”

“Yeah?”

“Something’s coming up. Fast.” Rye spoke as understated as he could.

“Had a feeling.” Ami smiled tightly, and continued to feel out the symbols.

Three more symbols were now outlined in green.

“Last one I think.” Ami pursed her lips.

She reached up and hesitated for a moment.

“Please be right,” she said and tapped the image.

It outlined in green as the unselected images faded away.

The remaining images spun around the screen, lined up, blinked in and out three times, and a pneumatic hiss emitted from the container below.

It popped open.

Two handles, and a syringe of some unknown liquid with an attached note were inside.

Rye and Ami retrieved the handles and glanced at the note.

“Get back what’s lost! MEMORETURN ©”

Rye and Ami slid the handles into their respective slots and made sure they were securely attached.

The train was fast approaching what was now clearly stacked shipping containers on the track.

“What do we do?” Ami looked at Rye.

“I guess ease the throttle back to zero, then I’ll apply brakes. Nice and easy like.”

“You know?” Ami eased her handle back. “This was kind of fun. Disturbing. But fun.”

“Yeah.” Rye chuckled. “Kinda was.” He began to slowly and evenly pull back on the brake.

The power of the train fought against him as he strained to apply the brakes.

I don’t know shit about trains. God. Is that going to be my last thought before I die? How lame.

Ami hunkered down and braced herself for the crash. She looked at Rye, her eyes wide and a frightened and concerned frown on her face.

“Come! On!” Rye dragged out the last word as he shouted.

The squealing and screeching of the train harmonized with his shout and overtook it.

He really hoped he wasn’t screaming.

A loud clashing sound thundered in his ears, followed by the cracking and tinkling of glass.

Rye’s hands slipped off the handle and he fell back hard.

Ami’s shoulder smacked against the console before she fell on her side.

“Holy shit!” Rye exclaimed as he laughed like a madman.

He was shaking, heart punching at his chest, and felt like he was going to puke.

Ami.

Rye pushed himself up to check on her, and immediately fell back when Ami pounced on him with a hug.

“You did it!” She was cry-laughing.

“Yeah, well. I had a good teammate.”

“Congratulations.” The voice emitted from the screen between the two handles.

Rye and Ami slowly got up and looked at the talking logo on the screen.

“If you are hearing this, then the train has stopped and you survived. Thank you for choosing *garbled noise* Company. Have a nice day.”

The logo winked, made a kissing face, then returned to its usual look before glitching to black.

***

“Hey, Rye-Guy.”

Rye looked up at Ami as she approached and sat down next to him.

They looked over at the passengers that were now milling about outside the train. Some were crying, others praying, others taking selfies with the crunched front of the train.

Attendants were still trying to keep some semblance of order.

Among the group of people, Rye noticed a now rather sheepish looking man, with a fully loosened tie and untucked shirt, nursing his jaw.

Phones were working again, and emergency services would be arriving at some point.

“What you thinking?” Ami asked.

“Not totally sure,” Rye responded as he tapped the syringe against the palm of his hand.

“You going to take that?” Ami looked at the syringe dubiously. “Try and get your memory back?”

“Nah. Rather risk it just coming back on its own. Besides. Who knows what’s in this? Probably just kill me and make me look like a crazy person who tried to crash a train. No thanks.” He sighed. “But maybe there’s something in the chemical composition or something that might link it back to the company. I dunno.”

“You know people that can help you with that?” Ami asked, impressed.

“I don’t recall.” Rye let a light chuckle and smile through.

“Stupid.” Ami rolled her eyes, laughed, and shook her head.

“I should probably get out of here before the cops and FBI, or whoever, show up.” He took a deep breath. “Not like they’d believe what happened, and it’s probably gonna get covered up anyway. Not much I can do to try and find this company if I’m the one in jail.”

“You’re going to try and bring them down?” Ami raised an eyebrow.

“Not like I have much else going on.”

“Want a teammate?”

Rye leaned to the side and turned to look at Ami.

“You sure?” Rye began to smile.

“Yeah.” Ami nodded confidently and smiled back. “I’m game.”