In the Days of Trains

Angela Dubose arose from a slumber that fueled her.

“Tickets! Tickets, please!”

The attendant, Nancy Freely called. She then became silent, and walked down the corridor of the first class cabin.

Angela took out her phone to access her e-ticket. She tapped the screen, and her ticket did not appear.

Her heart thundered. Beads of sweat gathered on her forehead and temples. The attendant was about four feet away checking other passengers’ tickets, their proof they deserved to be on this train. Angela checked her Wi-Fi connection, but it was fine. The attendant inched closer, now only two passengers away from her. She searched her purse again, this time hoping to find an antiquated paper ticket. Nothing. She refused to allow tears to flow from her eyes down her face. The attendant stopped at her seat.

“Ticket please,” Nancy said.

“I…I…” Angela stammered.

“Miss, you’re going to need your ticket if you want to travel to Wilmington, Delaware. How’d you get on here? What’s your name? Maybe I can look you up in the database.”

“I’m Angela Dubose, CEO of Fossil Future. I can’t recall exactly how I even got on this train.”

“We’re going to have to call down to the station, maybe send some emails. This is going to be something.”

Suddenly, the train jolted as if it had been hit by a bolt of lightning. The faint odor of smoke wafted through the cabins. Some coughs rose up from the seats.

The attendant stabilized herself while Angela grabbed hold of her seat with strength and composure. She seemed almost like a statue, stiff in her seat.

Nancy radioed the engineer, Ditmore Funk. “What’s goin’ on up there? Over.”

Through the radio’s static, Angela heard, “I’ve let it all go. I’m bringing this train and everyone on it down with me,” Angela could hear the vicious glee In Funk’s voice.

“Everyone remain calm. We’re going to—”

The train convulsed. Nancy was thrown off her feet, and found herself on the floor. She quickly rebounded and regained her balance. Angela helped her to her feet, but she noticed a small gash on Nancy’s arm.

“We can worry about how you got on here later. We've got to keep the rest of the passengers calm.”

Simpson Jacks stood up. He was a COO of a construction company in Newark, Delaware, and was returning to his office. He noticed the two women struggling. He motioned for the other women attendants to help them.

“I think your fellow attendant requires some assistance,” Jacks said. He sat back down and tried to pull himself together.

Once Jalene, Bessa, and Cassie reached their fellow attendant, Jalene and Bessa walked Nancy to the first aid car. Cassie continued to assuage the passengers.

Though the train was lurching unpredictably, Angela struggled to her feet, and met up with Jacks.

“We can get to know each other later. Let’s focus on this maniac conductor,” Angela said, shaking Jacks’ hands. The other passengers’ emotions ranged from catatonic to hysterical.

Angela, Cassie and Jacks walked up and down the aisle, and in and out of the other cabins, while the other attendants dressed Nancy’s wound. They sat down together in a seating section with no occupants.

“Alright. We’ve got to get this bastard away from the controls on this train. We’re going to have to find the key to the control room,” Angela explained.

“Of course. I’d imagine there would be some kind of override switch to open the door,” Jacks replied. “The attendants….”

Jalene had just wrapped up Nancy’s arm. Bessa walked through the other cabins, passing out blankets and masks.

As the train rocketed on the rails, plans to wrest control back from Funk were underway.

“Alright,” Angela looked at the name tag, “Cassie.”

Yes, she seemed shaken, but stable throughout this whole ordeal.

“What kind of device can be used to access the control room?”

“Nancy is the head attendant. We can get her to use her code to crack into the room. But she might be having a tough time with her cut,” Cassie explained.

Jacks and Angela exchanged glances. They felt a sense of dread but only for a moment. Angela’s eyes lit up.

“I think we can devise a way for the attendants to all be ready to challenge the engineer. Once the code is in place and, the hatch swings open, they can then apprehend him and take him down,” Angela explained.

Jacks looked like a priest. His solemn glow illuminated through Angela’s words.

“Let’s try. Let’s just see what we can do to get things back under control.”

Angela addressed Cassie and directed her to tell her fellow attendants to follow her instructions.

Nancy emerged from the attendants’ space. Cassie, Bessa, and Jalene all walked behind her. By this point, she had traded her radio for her work phone. She tapped in the code to open the door to the engine room. The intense smell of smoke and charred flesh wafted out, along with thick clouds, stinging the noses of the women. Funk had poured vodka on his body and set himself ablaze, and appeared dead at the wheel.

With no experience driving a train, the attendants looked at Nancy to solve the problem. She consulted her boss’ boss on the work phone.

“We’ve noticed an emergency on your track. What can we do to aid this situation?” the Manager for Supreme Tracks Locomotive asked.

“Is there any way you can stop the train on your end?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re going to have to provide the override codes for me to do anything on our side.”

Nancy straightened. She knew the codes were on the person driving the train. She breathed. As she approached Funk’s torched body, she did so with trepidation. Her courage outweighed all.

Angela snuck up right behind her.

“You’ve got this,” she assured Nancy.

The women edged closer…closer and then “Aaargh!” Funk was still alive. Nancy clocked him with her good arm and proceeded to retrieve the codes. Though mangled and warped, the code lines were still visible. Nancy caught her breath and steadied herself.

“ Foxtrot Charlie India Sierra Oscar Alpha Echo 1961,” she said. The staff at Supreme Tracks scrambled to enter the code. The sound of whirring metal then slowed to a hum. The women all hugged each other and Jacks led them back to the compartment.

Another pellet dropped in the engine room to create more smoke. The boy had maneuvered most of the characters to win every time.

“Hello, Livingston! Time for lunch! Hello!” Myrtle Pierce marched downstairs to the basement where the train set took up most of the room. She coughed.

“Did you use more than one pellet? It smells like a barbeque down here. And what’s that? You’ve burned another figurine? What have I told you about playing with fire? Give me those matches and that rubbing alcohol. I don’t know what to do with you. Go upstairs and eat your meal.” Myrtle walked back up the stairs with her son and noticed the red neon sign that read, “In the Days of Trains.”

Dedicated to the genius of Rod Serling