Twenty twenty-two

55:00

An incessant beep. You wake up. It smells funny, sweet, metallic. It’s blood; it’s benzene. Lights in the cabin flash on and off. There’s a baby beside you on the ground. She’s not moving. You realize you are holding your breath. As you kneel, the crunch of glass. Let her be okay. Please let her be okay.

She is lifeless. There is no time. You know you need to go. The room spins quick and violent. Vertigo. No. You need to go. You taste blood in your mouth before you heave and vomit. You see a woman’s legs, bare. Beside her, a man’s legs in trousers. Nothing moves except the lights. There is a window, and lights streak by in intervals. This is a train. There’s been an accident. Again.

You need to go. You lose your balance. You fall on the bodies to your left. It is horrible. Not again. You need to go.

36:23

An explosion wakes you. There is heat, flames in the ceiling above you. You cannot breathe.

You reach and scratch at a door, metal, close to the thin carpet. You reach again, further and find a latch handle. You pull on the latch and stand. The door opens toward you cool air rushes at your face and arms and pressure from inside the cabin slams you forward. You are in the hall. You made it. You made it.

Gagging, you cover your mouth with the remnant of your shirt. Your arms are singed. You crawl along the emergency lights on the floor. A voice cries out for help, then stops. You don’t know what to do. You crawl and don’t hear the voice again.

22:25

The train rattles, rocks, the lights are on. You stand. You’ve made little progress toward the front of the train. Music pipes, then an electronic voice interrupts, garbled with a hiccupped message. There’s a pause, and it repeats.

“Please stand to the left to exit. Train doors closing.” Where the hell are you?

A voice, a human voice hears you shuffling and calls out. Is there someone there? I’m here, you say. Hello? Hello? I’m here, right here.

Where are you?

Cabin 11. I’m trapped. Can you help? Are you emergency crew? Can you help?

I’m not, but I can try you say.

You lean all your weight against the door. It’s stuck, you cry.

Don’t leave!

It’s stuck. I’ll go get help. I’ll be back.

No, don’t leave!

I’ll be back with help. I’ll get the conductor. Or the crew, or...you find yourself calling out ideas of who’ll you get to help until you are well out of earshot of Cabin 11. You pass into another car.

It is dark. You progress slowly, gripping the headrests on the top of each seat. Horrified, you feel hair wet with blood. Your watch lights up.

0:23

Then a series of three beeps. It is past time. God, it is past time. You launch your body toward the front of the car, hurdling bodies in the aisle. Outside the windows: blackness, flames.

Your watch timer moves into the red. Beeping.

-0:59

No good. You reach the control car. The door is jammed. You shove. It’s jammed.

You ram with your shoulder, and feel your shoulder crack as the door opens. Inside, a body against it. You push. You push. Beeping.

-4:41

The timer on your watch, the numbers blur. You push and move the man’s body with the door.

There you see it. The lever. You pull it and hear hydraulics pop. The train does not stop.

It never stops.