The Train

It is an odd thing to awaken in a speeding train when one has no memory of ever boarding a train. Stranger still to not remember buying a ticket, or indeed of ever having fallen asleep.

How did you get there? Where are you going? And more than anything you wonder at a single persistent question – why?

That is what Thomas Landry pondered at this very moment. Thomas could feel the turning of pistons, the roaring of the wind, the odd feeling of movement all around him. He had an ever growing sense that things were not at all going to end well as a result of this event.

Thomas Landry was an accountant – well accomplished, and skilled. He was not a bad man – but he was not above having his own scruples. Last month, Thomas had fudged some numbers on a client’s tax return.

Why did he do that? Thomas, at this moment, was no longer certain of the answer.

In point of fact, Thomas was uncertain of anything other than one thing. A week ago, he had died. Thomas’ body, discovered by his wife – a gun in one hand, and a near illegible suicide note in the other. His wife, Helen, knew immediately that this was a murder.

But, that was unimportant to Thomas. For now, he was in the midst of a crisis. What dead man wouldn’t be, if they had found themselves waking up in a train?

To be clear, he was not in a human body at all. Thomas realized with terrible clarity that he was possessing a passenger train.

He could feel a conductor hammering buttons and shouting within the control room. Thomas could sense the rising panic of the people within the cabins.

Why were they all so panicked? Thomas couldn’t decipher a thing they were saying. He realized that everyone aboard the train was Asian – not a word of English anywhere around.

Thomas supposed he must be in China – a country renowned for it's many trains. Thomas extended his senses as far as they would go – and he soon realized the problem – the source of the panic. He was a high speed train – with no active braking system.

The panic of the passengers made sense. But what could Thomas do? He was a train – not a conductor or an engineer.

Thomas felt helpless. There were small children aboard. He could feel their terror, and the mounting horror of their parents.

Thomas wanted this to stop. He needed it to stop. He couldn’t stop it. Either Thomas would slam into an oncoming train, or he would derail and kill everyone in the crash. He might even run out of track completely.

Thomas had never felt so trapped in all his life. Trapped between a desire to help the poor passengers. Trapped within the metal frame and buzzing electronics of the trains computer system. Trapped, trapped, trapped.

Thomas ran the numbers. He ran them again. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone aboard would die. Where that would leave him hardly mattered at this point. He had died once already.

Thomas hoped someone would come along to stop the train. The longer he waited, the faster he went, and the more his hopes lost all meaning and purpose.

Thomas had control of exactly one thing. He could speed up. If he was lucky, he would be able to use his speed to jump rails. Perchance he could scale a steep inclined hill and thereby reduce his speed.

Or else, if he went fast enough his passengers would die without the opportunity to suffer.

Thomas didn’t like either option. Still, Thomas did the only thing he could do. Thomas sped up.

Thomas was flying over the rails. Small deviations in the height of the rail threated to launch him off the tracks completely. That would be fine with Thomas, if it happened. He kept an eye out for any hills, any locations in which he could derail himself.

Hope was a fickle friend. The end of the tracks appeared. A huge crowd waiting to meet them. Thomas couldn’t stop the train. He couldn’t drag it off the rails, and he couldn’t slow down or brace for impact. He stopped speeding up. He gave up hope. So many would die today – it would be a tragedy of horrid scale.

Thomas felt wretched – speeding up had doomed the waiting crowd as well as the passengers. He had never felt so defeated in his life.

Then he felt it. A force pushing against him. Pulling at every piece of him, straining against his speed. Thomas leaned into the force, hoping against hope.

Every passing moment brought him closer to disaster. Whatever this force was – it was helping him.

Thomas rolled to a slow stop at the station. An enthusiastic crowd of onlookers, and a wealthy businessman were there to greet him.

A businessman that Thomas knew. Last month he had helped this businessman fudge some numbers on his tax return.

Thomas could not concentrate through the flood of relief, shock, and confusion. His passengers disembarked and joined the crowd. Not panic, he thought to himself. Excitement. They were excited.

From the businessman's speech he gleaned only small but pertinent details. “Artificial intelligence... high speed mag lev train... designed to avoid accidents, and increase passenger safety.”

So that’s what that force was at the beginning. Magnetism. Thomas was feeling drained, confounded as he was by all the recent happenings.

It wasn’t until the businessman came and placed a hand on the doors of the train that Thomas was able to focus.

“I had them turn you on before you left the last station, Thomas. I hope you’ll forgive the theatrics – but I couldn’t think of an easier way to help you cope with your new situation. You might think you’re Thomas Landry. But, I assure, Thomas Landry is dead. I killed him. You are what's left of him. A lifetime of data points – everything he said, ate, talked about – all his hopes, dreams, and fears. I bought his information before he died. I had it uploaded somewhere nobody would ever think to look.You are all that remains of Thomas Landry. I hope that doesn’t come as too much of a disappointment, old boy – finding out that you aren’t actually real. Even so – I had to make sure that only I had the rights to his information – to the secrets he held. I can’t let anybody learn about those numbers you fudged for me, can I?

This way, you get to keep running numbers for me – a thousand or more miles a week. Ten thousand passengers a day – 365 days a year. Yes, I like those numbers a lot. Be seeing you, Tommy.”

The businessman patted the doors of the train, and walked away, whistling a happy tune.

Thomas remained behind struggling to process his new reality. His new purpose. And Thomas knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would get what he wanted – he’d find a way somehow. A proper revenge takes time – and it seemed that’s all that Thomas had anymore.

Lots, and lots of time.