Lieutenant Jones

A faint whistle rang out. It grew louder. Only darkness met my eyes.

Ch-Cha, Ch-Cha. The steady rhythm of machinery. A subway? A tram?

A pounding in my head. My ears start to ring. Where am I?

Red spots come into view, they turn blue, then electric green. They dance across my vision. My head starts to throb.

Ch-Cha, Ch-Cha. The place I'm in rumbles and clicks over a track. I try to open my eyes again. This time I see something. Blotches of color. Undefined shapes. Brown. White. Blue. A rectangle. A bench. A square. A wall. I'm looking at a seat. I look up. Big mistake. The light blinds me. Pain sears across my forehead. I close my eyes and squeeze my head. The pressure helps.

Running my hand through my hair, I feel something wet. Something warm. I pull my hand away. Starring at it. I just see shadow. Feeling the substance on my hand, color starts to come into focus. My dark flesh, then something shiny. Something crimson. I lick my fingers to be sure. Blood. But how much? I run my fingers through my hair again and feel around. There's a gouge on the top of my head. A quarter of an inch deep. Two inches long. It's no more than a couple hours old. I follow a stream of blood down the side of my face. Most of it's dry. I need to wash up but where do I go?

Looking around, more shapes come into focus. A window to my left. An aisleway to my right. Then more empty seating. Where are the people? Getting up, I hold onto the back of my seat. A sharp pain greets me. Glancing down, I see glass glinting off my fingers. Just tiny pieces. I try and pull them out but the car sways to the right and I lurch forward. I put my hand out and find the table. It steadies me. I look up out the window. The track is turning. The train reluctantly obeys it. It has seen better days. Rust lines the bottom of the outside compartments which snake their way up a mountainous landscape. I can't see the front. I must be in the back. I look behind me. A door with a small window up top shows me this is the back. More mountains fall away in the distance. Their snowy peaks glinting in the fading light. It's almost dusk. Which means I need to move. I take a step but my other leg doesn't want to follow. Wincing I will my knee to bend. I must have put up one hell of a fight. My left ribs cry out as I straighten my back. My knuckles are cracked and bleeding. I smile. I'm not the only one who got knocked out. Wondering what the other guy looks like, I hobble up my compartment. More empty seats. I get to the front but the door is locked. The handle bound with a 1/2 inch chain. Bolted shut. Someone really doesn't want me out of here. Damn smart of them too because I'm getting pissed off. A piece of paper flaps in the breeze. Teasing me. I snarl and rip it off the door. It's the only thing I can assault right now. I glance down at it ready to crumple it up but something gives me pause. There's something familiar about it. I carefully pull the other piece off the door. Fitting the note back together. And I know. I just fucking know. It's my handwriting. My stupid scratchy handwriting the teachers always hated.

Saul,

I smile at my badass name. Damn right I'm a Saul.

Get off in Munich. Catch the number 40 to Hollowfaux. Get to company headquarters. Ask for Dave. Tell him Ben's stuck in Zurick until we can fly him out. The package's been stolen. Most of the team's dead. The weapon is chemical, lethal but not yet mass produced. They're waiting on the Russians. And Saul. Whatever you do, don't trust the girl in the red dress. She's not real. Get to Dave Saul. And don't get caught!

What the hell. Why am I in GERMANY who is Dave and bloody Ben. Why would I lock myself in if I'm supposed to get out. Am I a freakin' spy? That's some messed up movie shit right there. Wouldn't mind a hottie in a red dress though. Real be damned.

I pound my fist against the door in protest. Resting my forehead on my arm. This is bullshit. I look out the window into the other compartment. It's empty but had a recent occupant. How do I know that? I scan the room. about six tables lined with two benches flank each side. But there's an anomaly. One of the tables, top right, has a cigarette lying on it's surface. Half smoked. A hazy whisp of air tells me it's still hot. Why did I notice it? I close my eyes, tapping my head against my arm to the rhythm of the train. Ch-Cha, Ch-Cha. It sways me. It rocks me. I yawn. I'm so tired. I rub my eyes and look up. I jump. Startled to see her. Dark blonde hair frames her petite face. Ice blue eyes pierce my soul. Red lipstick frames a smile. She takes a step back and beckons me with her finger. A red dress. Wait. A fuckin' red dress! I look down at the note in my hand.

..Whatever you do, don't trust the girl in the red dress. She's not real...

I look back up at the dainty blonde. Watching the way the light dances over her form. Hugging her thin waist. Curving around her hips and that rack! She certainly looks real to me. She takes another step back still beckoning me toward her. Even if she is a ghost, ghosts' can't punch. I rattle the chain. Putting all my weight against it. It doesn't budge. Angry, I kick at the door. No one can lock me up. Not even myself! I run to the back of the compartment. Face forward. Take a deep breath. Fixing my gaze on the red-dress hottie. She's so worth this. I take off my leather jacket. Wrap it around my hands, clenching them into fists. I run as fast as I can. At the last moment, I hurl myself into the air. My hands raised up in front of me. I shatter the glass and tumble head first into the next compartment. My momentum turns into a precise roll and I end on my feet in a crouched position. Muscle memory kicked in. I nailed it. Like fuckin' James Bond. I look up with a grin, I bet she loved that, but there's no one there. I look around. Where did she go? Shaking the glass off my jacket, I march up to the table with the cigarette. Except there's no cigarette. Not even ash. Not even the smell of smoke. My written words, echo in my mind. She's not real..

She had to be real. I saw her. I heard her. Wait. Did I hear her? She beckoned me but never with her voice. I scan the room. A trail of glass behind me. Only empty seats before me. A faint throbbing meets my temples. I rub my head applying pressure. I need a drink. A strong one. I walk up to the front of the compartment and open the door to the next. The grubby handle rattles loosely. This compartment houses a bar. Two shot glasses sit on the counter. Golden liquor glimmers faintly from the empty cups. Please let it be whisky. I rush behind the bar. Crouching down I examine the shelves. Smirnoff, Jose Cuervo, wine shit...JACK FUCKIN DANIELS! I pull it out. Pour a glass and take a shot. The liquor burns the back of my throat waking me up. I take two more shots. Warmth floods my extremities. I close my eyes and pretend I'm somewhere else. Something familiar swarms from a dark pool of lost memories. It's a beach. I can almost hear the crash of the waves, the seagulls cry. I can feel the warm sun on my back. I know I've been here before, but where is here. I like this place better but I can't stay. Reluctantly I open my eyes. My heart jumps again. The dainty blonde is back. Starring at me from across the bar like she's fuckin' been here all night and I've been pouring drinks.

"Whisky?" I say, pouring her a glass.

She smiles. Her eyes twinkle.

I slide the glass towards her and pour another for myself. She slips off her stool and walks towards the end of the compartment. I take another shot. Women. They don't know what they want.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

She turns to look at me and beckons me with her finger. I reluctantly follow. I'd rather be with the whisky.

She leads me through the compartment door and the next and the next and the next. I don't dare blink. My eyes start to sting. Finally we make it to the end of the passenger section. Two couplings separate us from a boxcar. She opens the exterior door and walks out onto the narrow, grated decking. The hinges squeak in protest. She turns around and leans against the rail. Facing me, she beckons with a wave. Something isn't right.

"What are you doing!" I shout.

She cups her hand to her ear and makes a face like she can't hear.

Shit. Women always win. I bang open the compartment door. Standing on the deck with her. We are inches from each other.

"Can we talk now?"

She smiles and looks down at the tracks below. The train whips along them. The ground is just a blur. Suddenly, she moves towards the steps. Placing her hands on the side rail with a knuckle white grip. She gives me a melancholy look. Decided. Determined.

"Hey now... wait a second.."

She starts to take a step too far. My lightning quick instincts kick in and I lunge for her, simultaneously, the train hurtles around a corner and swings me into my lunge. Surprised by the extra inertia, I flip over the rail. One hand still holding on. Feet dangling inches from the ground. Heart hammering. I look wildly around for her but she's nowhere. Not a scream. Not a body. Not a wisp of hair. I lift my legs up propping my feet back onto the decking, both hands firmly gripped to the outside rail. The train careens next to a mountain with no sign of slowing down. The gap between both mighty beasts narrows. I make myself as wide as I dare and give one last backwards look. Not a thing. I pull myself back on the deck and it dawns on me, she tried to fuckin kill me. But was she real? She looked so real.

I turn around to walk back into the passenger compartment and almost have a freakin' heart attack. My mouth agape, feet frozen, hands shaking, staring at bashed up, cut up, friggin' ripped to pieces and put back together all wrong, red-dress hottie. Her right arm bent at a weird angel. Her left arm dangling by a thread of flesh. Blood pouring from her disfigured face. And she fuckin' smiles and that's how I know. But she looks so fuckin' real! I take a deep breath and force my shaking hands to reach right through her phony body and open the compartment door. Closing my eyes I step through her. I hear the door slam shut behind me. Everything in me wants to run. Everything in me wants to scream. Yet slowly I turn around to face her. Except she's gone. I let out a shaky breath. You got this Saul. You got this. Think man. Your note is right. What the hell is going on. How do you get off this runaway train and away from freakin' scarlet the ghost? A high pitch blast of the train's horn makes me jump out of my skin. I'm going back for the whisky. Just then, I hear a scraping of heavy metal. Turning around, I can see the boxcar side door has been opened. I almost have another heart attack as freaking farmer MacDonald pops his head out the side.

Dressed in an engineers uniform, yellow bandana around his neck. I can't tell if I'm in some messed up Thomas the Train episode or Scream.

I open the compartment door and step back outside. "Leave me alone! I ain't no ghost buster!" I holler at him.

"Yo! Saul!" he calls.

This one talks.

"Saul! Get your punk ass up here man! I need your help."

I weigh my options. Whisky or answers. Reluctantly I climb onto the decks railing reaching for the metal boxcar stairs. Hoisting myself up on them, loathing my decision. I shimmy across the back of the box car, keeping my hand firmly grasped to the rail that lines the top edge. Wind rages at me threatening to push me off the train. As I turn the corner, the train starts to run downhill. Taking advantage, I swing my foot into the opening of the boxcar and reach for the side door handle. I find it. I hoist my body closer then hurl myself through the boxcar door. I keep sliding across the floor as the door is whipped shut. Immediately the roaring of the junk train on metal tracks is stifled. I sit up and look into the happiest face I've ever seen. It's so happy, I begin to get annoyed. I want to slap it. He holds out a hand to help me up.

"Where's your ticket?"

"I don't have one." I grunt. helping myself up instead.

"You look like hell man. Hey did Gordo let you out?"

"Who the fuck is Gordo?" I spat

Mr. Rodgers gives me a bewildered look. "Huh, I thought you were given the antidote by now. Gordo's been working on it for hours." He gestures over to the front corner of the boxcar. A makeshift lab is set up. Beakers and vials. Multiple laptops. Mad scientist type of shit. I close my eyes and massage my temple.

"Look. Bob the Builder..."

"It's Hank."

"Right. Hank. I don't know jack shit. I just got half seduced, half murdered by some freaky ghost girl. I..."

Hank lets out a sigh of shock, "You saw Carol! Gordo and I had a bet going. He said Alice and Thomas, thought they were going to pull some type of Chuckie sort of shit."

"Dude, what the hell are you talking about!" I relent.

"Okay, okay, okay." Hank flips over a milk crate and sits on it. He gestures for me to do the same.

"Thanks but I'll stand."

" You are MI-6. Your name is Bond. James Bond." He stifles a smirk. Then sees my pissed off face and cuts the crap. "We're a special ops unit of the marines. Our unit's been specially trained in chemical warfare. We were tracking a bunch of German scientists with a chemically manufactured weapon. It's a virus. Makes you lose your mind. Wipes out all memory. You hallucinate, usually someone close to you. The hallucinations always drive people to suicide."

"Trick people to suicide is more like it." I correct, shaking images of mutilated ghost girl out of my mind.

"Right." Hank hesitates. " Then after 24 hours, if you don't receive the antidote and you survive the hallucinations, you have a heart attack and... well. Die." He says rather bluntly.

"How much time do I have?" I ask.

"We infected you four hours ago."

"You infected me?" I asked incredulously.

"We had to smuggle it out of the country. There were German BKA agents everywhere and Russians too. It was the only way we could get across the border. "

I pause to stare at him, imagining all the ways I could kill him.

"You volunteered!" Hank said. "Besides. I'm a diabetic." Hank looks at me and shrugs.

I rub the disbelief from my face and wrestle with reality. "Okay. So I have 20 hrs. You said there was a Gordo working on the antidote." I look desperately at the lab shit then back at Hank. Hank checks his watch.

"Yeah...I'm thinking Gordo was our mole. He went to grab you like an hour ago. Dude how did you get past the chain?" Hank looks at me inquisitively, still a stupid smirk across his face.

"Hank. We have bigger questions that need to be answered." I press my hands together pleadingly. "Where is Gordo."

Hank steps in gear. He strides over to the back of the box car and picks up a handheld monitor. We all got tracking implants. Gordo might still have his.

"Implanted where!?" I exclaim as I examine my arms for scars.

Hanks device starts to beep. "Got em'!" Hank gestures excitedly to the screen. I quickly join him. "He's up front."

Hank opens the boxcar door. The sound of the train pulling itself along is deafening. It turns sharply around another corner. The boxcar jostles us towards the half open door. Hank grabs the woven Kevlar net above our heads to hold on. A high pitch screech hangs in the air like a looming threat.

"This train is going too fast!" I yell to Hank.

"We rigged it to derail!" Hank replies. "It's never going to stop. It's going to crash into the mountains." Hank checks his watch. "In two hours."

I just stare at him speechless.

Hank reaches into the Kevlar net and pulls out two black backpacks. He tosses me one. "It's a parachute." He says. "Just pull this right here." He motions to a handle on the side. Then says with a smile, "make sure you jump first."

I strap on the pack. Adjusting it to fit tight around my chest and waist. Thankful for a way off that leaves both of us alive. I'm starting to like Hank. Hank starts a dumpster fire near the lab. He throws a bunch of beakers and vials in creating a gas that looks toxic. It's greenish smoke wafts in the air. Hank steps back. "That doesn't look healthy."

There's only onward now. "Let's go!" I wave him over and peer out the boxcar door. Trying to find a way to the next car.

Ch-Cha, Ch-Cha. The train trugs along not knowing its fate. Hank steps in front of me and swings his arm over the ladder outside. Its steel frame looks rusted out.

"Follow me." He calls.

Like a metrosexual panther, Hank slinks up the ladder and out of sight. I follow. Moving quickly, distrustful of the weakly welded rungs. I get to the top of the boxcar which rocks precariously back n' forth. Crouched down I look for Hank. He's already on top of the next boxcar. I take a breath and jump the gap that separates the two cars. Landing, I slide to the side as the train pitches me to the right. I arch my heels gripping the train with the toe of my boots. Stabilized, but not for long. I need to hurry. My hands web out as I army crawl to the front of the train. The wind whips so hard I can barely open my eyes. I can see the blur of Hank up ahead as he slips into the locomotive. I do my best to catch up. Nearing the front, I start feeling the side of the locomotive for the metal railing. I find it and carefully mount my feet on the rungs. I climb down and try to open the side door. A heavy iron latch holds it shut. I kick it up with my boot then wrench the door open with all my might and slide inside. Hank and Gordo are already wrestling. Gordo's beefy, tan arm, held high in the air gripping tightly to a small gray package. His other hand is trying to dig out Hanks eyes. I step in and punch Gordo hard in the gut. Slamming him against the wall, I grab for the package. Hank takes advantage and socks him in the face twice. Gordo slumps to the floor unconscious. I grab the package and open its case, six glass vials. Four full of blood, labeled virus. Two labeled antidote. I quickly slide out an antidote vial and shamelessly look around for a syringe. Hank grabs the package from me, takes off his pack to slip it carefully inside. I see a medical kit and wrench it out of Hanks pack. Opening it up, I see a dose of adrenaline and an unopen syringe. My heart flutters with excitement as I rip it out of it's package. Hank already has his pack securely fastened around his torso again before I even begin to fill the syringe.

"What are we doing with Gordo? " I ask as I fill up the syringe with the clear antidote flicking the vile to avoid sucking up air.

Hank looks at me displeased. "Who cares about him. Got what he deserves if you ask me. Nothings worse than a traitor."

Injecting myself with the antidote I watch as Hank puts on a pair of skydiver's googles.

"Ready?" He says with his goofy smile.

"What's the hurry?" I ask "I thought we had two hours until the train derails." I look at Gordo. Still unconscious.

Hank walks towards the door and points ahead. "A bridge is up ahead. Perfect place to jump."

I follow Hank's gaze to see a crazy iron framed bridge ahead. It's double arches span a distance of 30 meters. It's narrow width makes the whole thing look like a toothpick set across the grand canyon.

"Id rather jump before the bridge." I suggest.

Hank laughs and pulls the locomotive door open. "Come on lets go!" He calls then slinks out of sight. I give one backwards glance at Gordo. I feel kind of bad for him. Emptying the clear liquid-of-second-chances into my arm, I get up to follow Hank. My headache has already disappeared. I start to feel a deep lethargy ebb away. I look out the locomotive door for Hank and find him on my right anchored to another steel ladder, waiting for the train to reach the bridge. The wind whips through the vast and empty valley below him so strong that it presses Hank flat against the outer wall of the train. Hank is no longer smiling but peers out over the mountainous landscape with a determined focus.

I look behind me at Gordo. There's something familiar about him now. A memory swims into my vision. Gordo and I at a drabby bar in the middle of Eddington, looking out over the cobbled streets. Flasks of frothy beer in front of us. We've been here many times before. I can see Gordo laughing at his own joke. Behind him more guys enter the bar. Their camouflaged uniform matches Gordo's. I recognize their faces too. A freckly red head, Ben. A tan Latino, Miquel. Then Mike, Steve and Dan all crowd around our table as well. My guys. Our team. Our laughter and chit-chat turns serious as we lower our voices and discuss new intel about the weapon we're tracking. I remember now. Our plans to get into Germany. Our informant, Otto, nervous as hell. More memories flood my mind. We storm a drabby apartment in the Czech Republic. Somewhere in the countryside surrounded by pine trees. Like hiding taffy in a candy store, we hid in the thick forest until night fall. It was an easy mission. We acquired three German scientists and a load of research, equipment and the weapon itself. We seemingly had hit a jackpot of intelligence until our armored vehicle rolled over an I.E.D on the dirt, country road. We lost three men that day. Ben, Gordo and I managed to drag ourselves out. The scientists fell back into enemy hands.

Then another memory, a train station. The grey package. Just Gordo and I giving each other grim looks. We had tracked the scientists to a grubby little train station. Ben had gone ahead of us to the safe house in Zurich to gather another team. Gordo and I were on our own. No way to smuggle the virus through security. I remember administering it to myself. Gordo emptied the rest of the vials into the toilet. If we could just get one through, we could analyze it once we reached the safe house. Then I remember the train. This train. How we hijacked it by coaxing the engineer at gunpoint to bring it to a halt somewhere outside of Cheb. I remember fighting one of the guards. I massage my ribs, he had put up a hell-of-a-fight but I disarmed him in the end. Knocked his lights out actually. We knew from the research I wasn't contagious until I started hallucinating. After emptying the train out, we set it back on it's course. Full speed. Sat down for whiskies at the bar. I penned my cryptic note not realizing how much I'd forget. Gordo knocked me out with the empty bottle and must have chained up the door.

Closing my eyes, I sifted through the memories that came marching into view. I figure I had gained the past two weeks back. Anything earlier was still lost. Would I ever fully recover?

The only person I definitely don't remember is Hank... I look up just before the train meets the bridge. Hank looks in my direction. His gaze meets mine. His stupid smile is still missing. He seems to recognize my knowing gaze. My eyes no longer inquisitive, no longer filled with questions, nor trust. I pierce him with my stare. If only I could shoot lasers like that crazy superhero guy, he'd be decapitated by now. I get up to grab Hank but before I can get to my feet, we've reached the bridge and Hank jumps. I watch his black body grow more distant as it hurtles towards the deep valley floor. My heart sinks to see his chute open. A vast white sheet of indiscriminate safety. Crap. I turn around to see my comrade, whom I ambushed still slumped to the floor. Rushing over to him, I start to shake him awake.

"Gordo! Gordo!" I scream.

His head lulls from side to side. I check his pulse. It's faint but it's there. Two guys, one parachute. This is shaping up to be a bad day. I watch the iron bars of the bridge flicker by, framing the bright pink setting sun. I think I've figured out what movie I'm in. Behind Enemy Lines.