Echo Express

Thom’s eyes fluttered open like a newborn. He looked around, dazed for a moment. Reaching into his pocket, he found no ticket or any information about the train he was on.

Outside of the window, he watched the scenery whiz by, feeling like it was all too familiar. Had he been on this train before?

A ticket inspector was walking toward him, dressed in a blue suit with a strange hat that had an illuminated ring around it. He hoped he could get an answer for what was going on.

“Ticket please,” the man said, holding out his hand.

“I don’t have a ticket. Where is this train going?”

“Oh, you don’t know what ticket you have yet?”

“Yet? No, I don’t even know why I am on this train.”

“Ah, a newbie on the Echo Express. This train is special.”

Confused, Thom repeated the last word. “Special?”

“Yes, you are on a runaway train. Some would even call it unconstrained or delinquent.”

“Wait, what? I don’t even know why I’m here! What am I doing on a runaway train?”

“You have a special purpose, one that your ticket should show you. Sometimes you need a couple of punches on it to figure it out, but once you do, this train will stop.”

“Hang on! I don’t know why I’m here, what is going on, I don’t even have a ticket! You’re crazy man!”

“Why don’t you check your pocket?”

Burning with anger, Thom reached inside his pocket to turn it inside out, but when he did, he felt a little tab in between his fingers.

“But…I…this isn’t my ticket.”

The inspector looked it over. “The ticket says Thom O’Sullivan. This is your name, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he stopped, looking over the ticket that had a date for June 12th, 1889. “Wait, what’s with the date?”

“You’ll see,” said the conductor as he reached out to punch the ticket.

“Wait!” Thom yelled, but it was too late. As the conductor punched the ticket, Thom was whisked unconsciously away into another time, back to the train station at Armagh in Ireland, 1889.

Thom awoke, unaware of anything having changed since his last train with the ticket inspector. It was as if Thom had taken on a preset role of himself, now dressed in church clothes with a massive group of people crowding the station.

A man beckoned him to come over yelling, "Thom, come over here! I have some men who have some questions for you!"

As he discussed something with two of the railroad men, Thom shuffled through the large church group. Pushing past families and children, he arrived at the place the three men were standing.

“Thomas, meet someone with a first name that should be very familiar to you, Mr. Thomas McGrath.”

Mr. McGrath was a man who looked to have worked many hard jobs. The wrinkles on his face were clearly visible, though he was likely younger than he looked. His uniform was neat and tidy despite the sweat seeping through his clothes and his perspiring face. He wiped his forehead with the handkerchief around his neck, smearing his wet palms on his clothes. When they shook hands, Thom felt the rough texture of a working man’s hands.

“Hello, Mr. McGrath. I am Thomas O’Sullivan, one of the helpers for this church’s day trip.”

“Ah! Another Thomas! A name like that means you must be trustworthy! Are you very interested in names, Mr. O’Sullivan?”

He paused and looked to his pastor for some sort of guidance, but he could tell that he wasn’t going to get any sort of answer.

“I would say a name is a very important thing, Mr. McGrath.”

“Exactly!” he cried out. “And of all things, for our name Thomas to mean 'twin,' who would guess two Thomas's would be gathered here today for such an important meeting? And of your surname, you should know a thing or two about the meaning as well.”

“I have a very good idea that my surname means ‘hawk-eyed.’” Thomas said with a bit of pride, receiving a darting glance from his Methodist pastor. Hoping to soothe the situation and absolve some wrath, he quickly added, “And you can call me Thom, sir.”

Mr. McGrath turned to speak to the well-dressed station master, who was the second railroad member the pastor had been talking to. He had been standing there watching the whole interaction without a word. “Well then, it looks like we have a hawk-eyed Thom! He should be a highly observant party member.”

Mr. McGrath addressed Thom again. “I have a query for you since you should be so observant. Have you taken note of the number of your party?”

Thom looked around, seeing his church group, each one with a low level of irritation and impatience to get the trip going. Though he didn’t take a formal count of the number of people, somehow he knew his group numbered around 900 men, women, and children in total.

“I have,” he said.

Mr. McGrath continued. “I am the engine driver for this excursion, and I am assuming you are one of the helpers for this ‘little’ group. I’ve already asked your astute pastor George L. Webster how many people are traveling on this trip, but to be sure of it I called you over to confirm it.”

Thom looked toward Pastor Webster, this time receiving a nod to share the number of excursionists with the two fellows.

“We number around 900 people in total, including the men, women, and children that are to board.”

“That’s quite an undertaking, hawk-eyed Thom. I would never have wanted to count all those people myself. I’d run out of fingers!”

Mr. McGrath turned his attention back to the steely-eyed station master.

“So, you see, that’s quite a sum of people for this trip. And what do I have to do it all with? Why it’s a meager four-coupled locomotive! With this many people, I would at least need a six-coupled engine!”

Thom looked at the train in the station with a noticeable number 86 painted on the engine. The wheels that drove the train were linked together in pairs, with two wheels on either side supplying the power to accelerate the train. In his mind, he did think the train looked a bit meager to carry so many people.

The station master, a bit taller than Mr. McGrath, turned his glazed gaze to him and asked him, “Mr. McGrath, do you have any mechanical issues with that locomotive?”

“No. She’s a good locomotive, no troubles there. I’ve had her down the line a number of times before on a different track.”

“Then she’s reliable?”

“Aye, sir. She is more than capable of hauling whatever is put behind her. I’ve driven the 86 nearly two dozen times. However, this is the most I’ve hauled behind a four-coupled engine like this!”

The station master was unmoved. “We don’t have the resources to free up a six-couple engine right now. Besides, you’ve hauled fifteen cars before with no issues, correct?”

“Yes, of course, but with a much lighter payload. This is also a track I haven’t run before. I’ve only been a fireman for six years, and a driver for two. Years ago, when I took this route as a fireman, I remember most of it was uphill, meaning we’ll be chucking coal like madmen just to get it up the gradient! Fifteen cars are too much to handle for this little train.”

“No hill is too steep to climb for Ireland’s greatest railroad. As a spare driver, you must be afraid of some hard work.”

“No, that’s not it at all!” Mr. McGrath fired back, his face flush with red. “I’m just telling you that I need a six-couple to be sure we make it! Either that or I only take thirteen cars with me, and no more!”

It was clear the station master was tired of the conversation, but Mr. McGrath continued.

“Why did you not send proper word to Dundalk and I should have a proper six-wheel coupled engine with me? It would have taken no time at all, then this group wouldn't have to turn back and miss out on their day trip!”

The station master was now visibly upset and without acknowledging his engineer’s remark, turned to Thom.

“Thom, you’re in quite a predicament. I am sorry my engineer is not willing to supply the services we promise. However, I know how hard it will be to turn to nearly 900 people and dismiss them back to their homes after waiting such a long time.”

“It will likely be quite a large inconvenience,” Thom replied.

“Mr. McGrath, do you really have to ruin all of these people’s afternoon with your sour attitude? Why not think this over again, for Thom and his group’s sake.”

Mr. McGrath looked at Thom and his pastor, then the group, his eyes darting back and forth between them and the train engine. Finally, knowing that the station master would not budge on his opinion, he stormed off toward the train to begin his final checks before departure.

“Pastor Webster, Mr. O’Sullivan, I am sorry you had to see all of that. As I often tell my engineers, any driver that comes here does not grumble about taking an excursion train with him.”

And with that, the station master left and headed toward his next duty. Pastor Webster and Thom now had the task of getting everyone on the train, which was not a small undertaking in the least.

It was a tight fit for everyone. The seats were large booths, but the combination of day luggage and children made it near impossible to have any sort of space for oneself.

Thomas sat closer to the back of the train cars, chaperoning the young children not sitting with their parents. He was seated in one of the last three train cars. He didn’t really have a seat to himself, always having a small child clamoring for the spot beside him. The kids swapped seats, moving around the train car with an unrivaled level of rambunctiousness. The few parents who were riding with them did not pay them much mind and were thinking about arriving at the day trip destination.

Thom sat looking out of the window, watching the view as it passed by. His mind wandered, something drawing him away from his current place in time. It was an odd feeling like he was experiencing something new, yet familiar. He began to reach inside his pocket for a ticket.

A hand yanked the corner of his jacket, and he turned toward the direction of the tug. A little girl sat next to him, dressed in a lily-white dress. Her hair was pulled back into pigtails, and little freckles dotted her face.

“Yes?”

“Hello,” the little girl said with a brimming smile. Thom could see a big gap where she was missing a baby tooth.

“Hello,” he replied, hoping to end the conversation and go back to chasing that fleeting feeling. He looked at the passing landscape outside of the window once again, wondering why this felt so strange.

The girl was persistent. “What are you doing?”

Thom, slightly agitated, answered, “I’m looking out the window.”

“Why are you doing that?” she asked, still smiling.

Thom took his hand off of his chin, looking to see if the girl’s parents were walking to scoop her up and hopefully end this conversation. Her parents were nowhere to be seen, so he decided to humor the discussion.

“Well, because there is a lot to see outside of the train.”

“What do you see?”

“I see a lot of trees, a steep hill beneath us, grass….”

“Do you see any flowers?”

Now that he was looking for something specific, he actually did see some flowers. They were passing by the train, the colors standing in stark contrast to the sky that was fogging over.

“I do see some flowers. They are very pretty. Do you want to look at them out of the window?”

“Yes, please!” she said excitedly. Thom switched seats with her, and she pressed her small hands against the glass.

“Oh! I see them! They are beautiful!”

“Yes, flowers are very pretty.”

“They aren’t like the sky right now.”

“No, the sky is very gray.”

"But the sky can be pretty, too."

"Yes, of course."

“It looks foggy out.”

Thom smiled at the simplicity of their conversation. “That’s because it is.”

The little girl sighed. “Why can’t it always be a pretty sky?”

This was likely just another simple question, but it struck Thom a little differently. Something about the question felt familiar, like he had heard it before.

“Why can’t it always be sunny?” the little girl persisted.

“Because…because if it was always sunny…” he thought again, now sensing strongly that this was a déjà vu moment.

"Is it going to be sunny where we are going?"

"I hope so. Are you looking forward to…?"

The girl interrupted him as he tried formulating his question. “Why is the train slowing down?”

Glancing out the window, Thom noticed the little girl was right. The train was moving significantly slower than it had been. He needed to get a better look at the front of the train. Maybe they were stopping for some reason.

“Can we switch seats again?” he asked the little girl.

“Yes, of course!” she answered, almost sounding offended at the question.

He could now see the front of the train, the engine still billowing smoke as if it was going full speed. Why were they slowing down? Perplexed, Thom decided he was going to go to the back car where the rear brake operator was to see if he knew of any reason why they might be stopping.

He stepped over the little girl who quickly went back to the window to observe more of the flowers outside. Then he pushed past the children who were already up and out of their seats clamoring to see what was going on. The train was going even slower now, which gave Thom a greater sense he needed to know what was going on. Making his way through the other two cars, he finally made it to the brake car in the rear of the train.

The brake operators were already hard at work, trying to scramble past several of the excursionists that were crammed into the brake car. Thom also had to work his way back, pushing past other church group members who were trying to stay out of the way of the train crew. Once he finally made it to one of the men, he was opening a door to the exterior part of the train.

“Hello? Excuse me, sir. Hello?”

The man whipped around with a scowl on his face, still working on checking the train car over.

“What d’ya want, sir? Can you see I’m a bit busy with duties?”

“I see you are busy, but I am wondering what’s going on.”

“We’ve stopped,” he said curtly.

“So have we run into any sort of issue?”

“What do you think, preacher? You think I would know that from the rear of the car with a train this long?”

Thom looked blankly for a moment, correcting him. "I’m not a preacher," he said. "I’m just looking for some answers for why we’ve stopped."

“Then follow me,” the brake car operator said. “I’ll give you some work to do unless you’re opposed to a little hard labor.”

“Not at all, show me what needs to be done.”

They stepped out of the car, the brake operator first, then Thom. When he stepped out, he could see a steep embankment on both sides. It almost made him lightheaded being so high up since heights made Thom feel queasy. The embankment was frighteningly steep, around 50 feet above the lower parts of the valley. It was obvious they were on a long hill that stretched a good bit further up the track. The whole train was right in the middle of the incline.

“Get some big rocks and place them behind the wheels on the other side, and hurry!”

Thom did as he was told. Another man was walking quickly toward the brake engineer.

“You still haven’t told me why we are stopped!” he shouted from the other side of the railway car.

“That’s because I don't know yet! Now clamber back on with your fellow vacation-goers and when I come back, I’ll tell you what you need to know. I need to speak with the head engineer!” And he darted off toward the front of the train with the other man, leaving Thom a bit frustrated and dumbfounded at his brashness.

Shaking his head and mumbling, Thom said to himself, “Typical railway workers. Always off to fix a new blunder.” He turned toward the door, looking back the way they came, realizing they were only a few miles from the station. Before climbing back into the brake car, Thom looked to the front of the train where the brake operator could just be seen stumbling over a few more rocks toward the front engine. Something looked off about the number of cars.

He started counting, figuring that the train looked rather long for only thirteen cars. When he reached the last car, he ended up counting to fifteen. That couldn’t be right. He counted them again, confirming his first count was in fact the right number, with fifteen cars in total behind the train engine.

Stepping into the car, he felt even more frustrated. Mr. McGrath’s words rang in his head, reminding him that the engine could only bear so much weight up the hill. And up an incline like this, it suddenly made sense why they were stopped dead in their tracks. The train had stalled.

He waited for the brake engineer to come back, wanting to explain to him what Mr. McGrath had said. They should have listened to him back at the train station instead of the station master. He had some words for the crew when they got to their destination.

The car that Thom and the other excursionists were in jolted a little, and then didn’t move. It was a light shimmer that almost everyone else didn’t take notice of. The brake car was much darker than the passenger cars, so the occupants had no reason to suspect anything of the small shake.

Yet, something felt odd. The systems that account for a human being’s balance are very delicate, especially in the youngest. Some of the children started looking around, hesitant to speak without their parent’s permission for fear of getting in trouble for being disruptive. Then one little boy asked his mother, “Mom, are we moving again?”

She looked around, watching out of one of the brake van’s windows. “We are!” she shouted loud enough for everyone else to hear.

This brought the adults in the train car to be attentive to the movement that they now felt. Suddenly, the door to the car busted open with the engineer scrambling into the train car.

“Out of the way! Move! Let me get to the brake handle!”

Perplexed church members did what they could to make space for the engineer who started violently pulling on the train’s manual brake wheel. The wheel turned less than 1/16th of a turn with no signs of the train slowing down.

“Help me turn!” he shouted desperately at the men who had gathered around. Two strong men wrapped their hands around the wheel, digging their heels into the ground to try to get a little more turn out of it.

The wheel didn’t budge, and the train picked up speed.

A small child looked out of the window toward the front of the train. “We have only half a train!”

This threw the brake car into an uproar with people shouting frantically, “Half a train? Where is the rest of the train? What’s going on?”

Both of the men and the engineer just kept pulling at the wheel, all to no avail. The train car kept rolling backward.

Thom was shocked. He knew the incline they were on. He also knew if the brakes weren’t working, they would be rolling back toward the station. The same child, now almost hanging out of the window, yelled, “Look, the 10:35!”

Thom shouted at the child, “What do you mean the 10:35?”

“The 10:35 train! I can see it! It’s coming toward us!”

Everyone was scrambling around now, chaos taking over.

“Everyone get away from the rear! Stay away from the rear of the train if you don’t want to die!”

Thom couldn’t tell who shouted that, but the mob of people rushed to the far side of the brake car. Everyone was crammed in, and the men toward the front were pushing their wives and children behind them. Thom did the same, all waiting for the inevitable stop that they would soon experience.

While this was happening, the young boy who had been leaning out of the window, tried to make his way toward the front of the moving train. Breaking from his mother's grasp, the boy stood near the door, peaking through the window.

“Jamie! Get back here Jamie!” his mom cried desperately to the small child. The young father held her back, knowing that the collision could occur at any moment. The boy kept looking out of the window.

“I think the other train is slowing down!” the little boy shouted. No one could see what was happening, with sobs of terror and the smell of fear permeating the cramped area.

“Jamie, get back over here, now! Jamie, now!” she cried out as desperately as the last time, every moment creeping by and terror rising with the anticipation of the blow.

“We are getting close! Watch out!” The boy shouted, his shrill voice splitting through the rest of the racket, and he finally came dashing back toward the huddled group.

The moment of impact was seconds away when Thom’s mind flashed back to the conversation he had at the station. It dawned on him that if had he agreed with Mr. McGrath’s observation about the engine, none of this would be happening. A wave of shame washed over him, his guilt overwhelming him. This was his fault. He could have stopped this. Squealing brakes from the other train could be heard from the other side of the wall. Then, out of nowhere, he had a strange sensation like this, too, had happened before.

Jamie was pulled into the mass of bodies near the back of the car. Everyone braced, grabbing on to one another, hoping to make it through the inevitable impact. Suddenly, things slowed down as the engine of the 10:35 train and the brake car collided.

The back of the car tore open filling the small space with fragments of the wall. Splinters of wood burst in front of them. The roof peeled backward, flooding the car with light. Thom could see the engine barreling toward them start to tilt and shudder as the brake car was torn to pieces.

Thom became keenly aware of his position, feeling the group behind him push against his back. The force of the crowd lifted his feet up off of the floor. He tried to bring his hands forward, but they were locked by the arms of the other passengers. Straight ahead was the round iron brake handle which was making its way toward Thom's forehead. He fell lower still, with the top of his head diving underneath the large handle. He felt the impact, then total black.

When Thom opened his eyes, he was on the hill with his head facing downward. He lay there, the gray sky spinning over and over. Wooden pieces of the train cars covered him. He shut his eyes.

People were yelling at the top of their lungs, great wailing and screaming filling the air. Thom opened his eyes again, the world spinning a little less than the first time. Moving slowly, he brushed some of the large splinters off of him.

He moved one leg, then the other down the hillside so his feet were toward the bottom. Then he sat up, the wood poking into him on all sides. For the first time, he noticed a warm trickle of liquid running down his skull. Touching it, he looked at his red hand, covered in blood and dust. It made him sick like he wanted to lay back down. Fighting the desire to stay on the ground, he tried to slowly get to his feet. When he arose, his nightmares could not explain with words what his eyes beheld.

The brake car was gone. Reduced to splinters and bent metal, only the base of the car remained toppled down the steep embankment. The cars that were behind it were in even worse shape, having disintegrated with no trace left. Pieces were scattered across the hillside. People were being pulled from the splintered train cars, bloody and battered. Others had members of the church gathered around them who weren't so lucky to have escaped with their life, their bodies mangled from the violent collision. The train engine that had collided with them was on its right side knocked off of the tracks.

"Help! Somebody, help!"

It was the voice of Mr. McGrath.

He was running, unbattered or bruised from the front half of the train, chasing the crowd. In his hands was a limp body clothed in a lily-white dress.

He rushed over to the disoriented Thom, who was in shock. In his hands was the little girl who had been sitting next to him on the train.

“She needs medical attention!” He ran up to him, rushing to him for answers. “Where are her parents?”

“I…I never saw her…parents….” Thom said, nearly unable to form a sentence.

“She pointed at you as if you would know! Is she in another person’s care?”

Thom looked blankly at Mr. McGrath.

“If she is in your care, take her! She needs medical attention! I need to sort this out so I can’t care for this child right now! Here, take her!” He thrust the little girl into Thom's arms.

Holding the girl, Thom looked around for help. Some of the marshals had come from the town to provide medical attention along with military members that were training in the area. He started walking toward a scrambling crowd of people.

His voice was hoarse, barely able to get the attention of one of the cadets. “H-hello? Help. We need your help.” The cadet, having nearly missed him, turned his attention to Thom and told him to sit down. He began looking Thom over until he pointed at the little girl, whose once white dress is staining red. As the cadet examined her he placed the little girl on the ground near the bottom of the hill. Thom sat there, still dazed. The military cadet laid his hand on Thom’s shoulder as he looked straight into his eyes.

“She…” he collected his thoughts before continuing. “The little girl, is she yours?”

“No,” Thom stammered.

“She is hurt badly. I would try to keep her comfortable until more help can arrive. This is beyond what I know how to treat.” With that, he rushed off to help elsewhere.

Thom looked at the little girl in his arms. She winced in pain, Thom feeling wholly responsible for the situation. They sat there as everyone else was moved away from the crash. She murmured something quietly, and Thom bent down closer to hear her.

“What’s that?”

She struggled to speak, her eyes fluttering open and closed. “I forgive them.”

A tear streaked down Thom’s cheek as she shuddered in his arms. He watched her breathe a large breath, then open her eyes and close them one last time. Just then, Pastor Webster reached them, having been on the other half of the train. He removed his hat, sitting next to Thom, both men sobbing together at the loss of so many people in the accident.

Then, in the middle of his grief, something seemed to prick Thom, bringing him into his former consciousness of himself. He had a vision of a man telling him to reach in his pocket and pull out a ticket. He remembered the ticket inspector punching his ticket when the wind picked up with the sound around him muffling. Perplexed and overwhelmed, the world went dark again, but not before Thom had an ephemeral feeling of responsibility. Pitch black overtook him when suddenly he awoke.

He was back on the train, the first train, with the scenery whizzing by the window. A ticket inspector was walking toward him. Thom just sat there, not thinking that this could be real. How was he back on the first train? He remembered everything that happened at Armagh. He remembered how he had failed, and he remembered the loss of all of those people, especially the little girl. Thom recalled the first conversation with the station master, Mr. McGrath, and the pastor.

The inspector broke his train of thought and with an outstretched hand said cheerily, “Ticket, please.”

Thom reached into his pocket, finding the same ticket with the same date, June 12, 1889. His eyes widened as he realized what had just happened. How could this be? Was this a second chance to right his wrongs and prevent certain catastrophes?

The man smiled at him. “So, you have a ticket this time.”

“I do,” Thom said as the man put his ticket between the jaws of the punch. “And I know what I need to do,” he said as the inspector clamped down on his ticket.