They Said it Came out of Nowhere

Rude awakenings weren't anything out of the ordinary for a wandering man like Samuell Burch. No sir, he had woken up plenty of mornings feeling the pain after a night of over-imbibement, when he'd hop off and go looking for refreshment in whatever town seemed to call his name: Sam-yoo-ELL, with a capital ELL, as he liked to introduce himself when he wandered into towns looking for odd jobs, a kitchen that might feed him, or just plain trouble.

And trouble never made him look too hard. Samuell had gotten himself into trouble from Maine to Mexico, and was no stranger to a busted nose or bloody knuckles. More often than not, memories of those nights were patchy at best, but whatever had happened here, wherever he had been last night, when or how he had ended up in this boxcar with a busted up head was completely lost to him. All he knew as he tried to peel his sticky eyes open was pain, the screaming of metal on metal, and the taste of blood. He slowly pushed himself up on one elbow and managed to get one eye open. He squinted into the darkness. The train bucked and rattled, lurched sharply to one side, and Samuell's stomach lurched along with it.

Through the murk of pain and confusion, he made out a sliver of dusky light seeping in from under the door. Staying low to the floor, he began to drag himself towards it. For every few inches he moved himself forward, the heaving train tossed him in another direction. He'd been riding trains for long enough to know that this was more than rough tracks.

Realizing his slow and steady approach was getting him nowhere, he decided to go at it with everything he had. He needed to get that door open, breathe some fresh air, and get his bearings. Maybe find a safe place to hop off. He slid his back up the rusty wall of the boxcar until he was standing, pressed his palms against the wall and bent his knees, readying to propel himself towards the door when the momentum of the train was working in his favor.

“Okay,” he said into the darkness, and the darkness answered back.

“I thought you was dead.”

Samuell's heart leapt into his throat. “Who's there?!” he barked with enough force to send a jolt of pain through his head. He fell back against the wall and raised his arms to defend himself from whatever trouble had found him here.

“Name's Edgar Ames, friend, and I'm the reason you're here.”

The name meant nothing to Samuell, and the way the stranger took credit for their current predicament with pride had Samuell's hackles raised.

“I don't believe I have a friend called Edgar Ames, stranger. Help me get this door open, and we can part ways like gentlemen.”

“Ohhh,” Edgar Ames breathed as he lit a small battery powered lantern, allowing Samuell a glimpse of his fellow traveler. He was younger than Samuell had guessed, with a red beard and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead. He was sitting on a duffel bag just a few feet from Samuell, wearing a neon green rain slicker a few sizes too big for him. He quickly glanced at Samuell's face, then turned his gaze downward, shaking his head. “I'm not sure you're ready to see what's out there.”

Something in the young man's voice raised the hairs on the back of Samuell's neck. Maybe he wasn't ready, but he was really wanting to set his feet on some solid ground and settle his nerves somewhere.

“What's out there, Edgar Ames?” he asked, his voice a low growl. “And why am I here with you?”

The younger man held up his hands, palms out. “I just saved your life, brother. Never saw you before, but we were running for the same train when the fires got close, and you weren't five feet away from me when you took a rock to the noggin. I about got myself killed dragging you up here. You were bleeding a lot. I tried to keep you awake, but you got real quiet for a long time, and I thought you died.”

Samuell shook his head. “What fires?”

Edgar Ames's eyes got big with disbelief and he leaned in closer to Samuell. “Can I ask your name, traveler?” he entreated, respectfully removing his hat and setting it on his bouncing knee.

Samuell considered it for a short moment, then introduced himself with a huff. “Name's Sam-yoo-ell Burch. Now, what fires?”

“Well, Sam-yoo-ell, the world is on fire. I am truly sorry to be the one to bring you this news.” And Edgar truly did look sorry. “How much do you not remember?”

Samuell had so many questions that for a moment he couldn't pluck one from his brain and get it to his mouth. Reaching up and touching his sticky forehead, he managed “Where'd the rock come from?”

“The one that rung your bell? The sky. Same place the fire came from.” Edgar Ames cocked his head towards the boxcar door. “It's raining hellfire out there.”

“I need to see it,” Samuell said, repositioning himself for a lunge towards the door. “Give me a hand.”

Edgar Ames shook his head, but got up on his feet and made it to the door just before Samuell. As the two men slid the heavy door open while holding on for dear life, he apologized to Samuell one more time forwhat he was about to see.

For a long moment, neither man said anything. Samuell's mouth hung open, and his eyes glowed in the light of a world on fire. As he clung to the clattering door, he did indeed watch hell rain down from the charcoal sky. Fireballs the size of refrigerators pummeled the landscape as far as he could see. His mind could not process the devastation he was witnessing. He felt Edgar's hand on his shoulder, and he pulled himself away from the door and back into the steel box.

“They didn't see it coming until a few days ago,” Edgar explained. “They said it came out of nowhere, an asteroid, and you know, what can you do in a few days? About the size of Pennsylvania, they said. They said to get underground, find shelter, you know, but they're also calling it a – “

Edgar stopped to clear his throat, but Samuell knew the young man was trying to keep his composure.

“They're calling it a planet killer.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he paused, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, Samuell surmised. “So,” he continued, slapping his knees and rising to his feet, “if it's over anyway I thought I'd try to get to my mom's.”

Though the world screeched and thundered and rattled around them, a silence filled the air between them. Edgar was the first to speak.

“And Sam-yoo-ell, like all of this ain't bad enough,” he chuckled joylessly, “I don't think there's anybody driving this train anymore.”

Samuell nodded. He had been thinking the same thing; something had happened up the line. Before too long, the train would jump the rails, and that would be bad for anyone left clinging to it.

Edgar picked up his duffel bag and zipped his rain slicker up to his neck. “It's been a real pleasure, Sam-yoo-ell, but I'm not quite ready to die. We go over the river right up ahead, and I'm going to try my luck there.”

“Good luck to you, Edgar Ames. Give your mother my regards.”

Edgar collected himself, took a deep breath, lifted his hand at Samuell one last time, and was gone.

Samuell felt a little strange being alone in that moment, even though he had spent most of his life alone. He thought about Edgar saying he wasn't ready to die. Samuell supposed he wasn't either, though he probably should get right with it pretty quick. He could jump, he thought, but for what? To go where? No, Samuell Burch would die as he lived – no money, no ticket, and not entirely sure where he was going to end up next.