Locomotive Death

The first thing she was aware of was the rhythmic bumping of metal on metal, but Deidre knew that was not what had roused her from her slumber. The sun's rays were veiled by a cloudy sky, the light gently blanketing her form. The seat she was splayed across was not entirely comfortable, but she stirred reluctantly. Opening her eyes gently, she took in the sight of a small table and a booth across from her, as well as a similar set up across a small expanse of carpet. Briefly she caught a glimpse of movement, and a voice spoke up at the same moment Deidre realized she was on a moving train going God knew where.

"This one's still alive?" A man said, and Deidre could tell by the voice he was more impressed than anything.

"Looks like armor still has some uses." The other said. At this point, Deidre raised her head to look over the back of her booth, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Strangely, she thought she saw two men in suits standing over a bleeding man in samurai armor. That could not be right. The bodies that littered the floor and draped other booths had not yet registered in her mind.

"Anata wa don'na akumade-" The man on the ground began, abruptly stopped by an ear-splitting bang as one of the men shot the swordsman through the face with a heavy caliber handgun. Deidre gasped, and luck had it the resounding boom of the gun's discharge drowned out her own noise. She could not grasp exactly what was happening, but once the two men turned her way, she had the frame of mind to drop, and a second later she recalled the advice she had been given in school when it came to shootings. Play dead. The men had already passed her prone form before, just do it again.

"I don't think it was the armor. We just didn't hit him in the vitals."

"Either way, the Conductor'll be pleased. Only a few more to go."

She lay down again, her body going limp. Her lips were lightly parted and her eyes lidded, basically closed. She tried to sing "He's got the whole world in his hands" within her head, focusing only on that to pass the time and keep her mind occupied. The train gliding over the tracks made it hard to discern footsteps, but eventually the voices did subside. Oddly enough, they continued down the train rather than up, if she had to give a guess.

It had felt like an hour before she had gotten up, but the coast looked clear. All was silent save the thrumming of the train, and she finally tried to rise out of her seat. Unfortunately, her legs did not agree with that plan, and she tumbled onto the floor, right between the rows of seats. Deidre tried to take in gulps of air, but she felt a cold grip of nausea in her throat. She had to bite down and get a hold of herself. At the corner of her vision, a white hand from one of the many corpses hung limply over the floor, dripping blood onto the carpet. Glancing behind her to see if the shooters had come back or not, Deidre willed herself to get up and move to the next car. She did not know what she was looking for, only that to stay there wasn't the answer.

The next section looked much the same as the last. The stench of blood was almost overwhelming. On the left wall, she saw a message smeared in blood. 'Needs must when the Conductor drives.' She looked away, her eyes finding the windows the windows. For the first time she was curious on what lay outside. The windows were large and amazingly clean considering all the carnage. Outside, she saw they were traveling through a city. The silver glass skyscrapers gleamed in the sun, the clouds that kept the light muted now dispersed. She did not recognize the city. Was it Atlanta? Chicago? Deidre reached into her pocket for her phone, but found it was gone. Damn it!

She continued forward. Men, women, children, all dead and bled out. Some of their clothing was recognizable, even if she had only seen it in movies. One corpse had on a leisure suit and platform shoes, and a perm that had not been seen in decades. Others she only recognized in history books. On the left, she saw a man in what looked like a cardinal or bishop's robes. She could not tell the difference, but when she passed by him, she saw his dead stare. This time, Deidre did vomit. It was cathartic, in a way. She felt her head clear, if only a bit.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Deidre felt her soul leave her body, and her fear enveloped her when she felt the barrel of an M1911 .45 pressed to the back of her curly-haired head. She instinctively placed her hands out, though she knew she was going to die. She felt it could have been no one else except the gunmen she had seen earlier. Her head was suddenly struck, sending her vision bright white. When she could feel anything other than pain, she was surprised to feel relief. Deidre thought her life was over then and there, but whatever asshole had found her was not one of the men that had killed the samurai, and that was also the first time she conceptualized the fact she had seen a goddamn samurai.

"I asked who the fuck you were." The voice said again, and she turned around to see a man in a suit, a blue three piece unlike the black suedes of the others. He had a chin the shape of a square block, and two guns. The pistol aimed at her head and the shotgun around his shoulder, but that was not the most notable thing she noticed. No, it was the woman with him.

Slender and doe eyed, her hair was as golden as heaven's light. Deidre had never seen anyone so pretty, even when she looked scared as all hell. Her top was white and matted with streaks of blood, a stark contrast to the man who looked clean as a whistle save for his black dress shoes. He looked just out of patience, and a white man with no patience and a gun always meant death.

"I'm Deidre, f-from southside." She said dubiously. "I woke up on this train. Everyone was already dead."

"Why are we here, Deidre?" He asked her, clearly at his wits end. He looked like someone who practiced staying calm to keep people from seeing the barely contained violence underneath. Her grandfather had been like that. Once he realized an answer was not forthcoming, he went from irate to infuriated. "I don't want to have to keep repeating myself you fucking bitch, why are we fucking here!?"

"How the fuck should I know!? I woke up here, same as you, probably." She replied, fed up with this bullshit. The man looked at her, seemingly impressed she had the backbone. However, she could tell that was the wrong answer. He pressed the gun barrel to her head, his eyes boring into her.

"Well, if you're not a part of the solution then you're a part of the fucking problem, now, aren'tcha?"

Deidre closed her eyes, and not a moment later she heard a piercing cacophony of gunshots. She was noticeably not dead, however. Instead, she felt something wet and hot hit her arm, followed by the screams of the other woman. Opening her eyes, she saw the square-jawed man bleeding from three gunshot wounds to his chest, crimson blooming on his white undershirt. Deidre turned and saw the two killers she had seen earlier standing there, guns smoking. Deidre and the other woman leaped behind booths, Deidre right, the golden-haired woman to the left. Surprisingly, square jaw did not immediately die. Even as he fell to the ground, he managed to get off two shots at the other men, stoic hatred in his eyes. There was a curse from across the car, followed by more bullets hitting the fallen man and the ground around him, sending sparks into Deidre's face. She could see the cold accusation in the dead man's face, eyes glazed over. Bullets ricocheted and pierced through cushions. It was only a matter of time before the gunmen realized they could approach and kill Deidre and the other woman at their leisure.

She saw his pistol hand was across the aisle, and she felt a cold fear knowing it was too far from her grasp. Diedre's eyes darted to the shoulder strap, seeing the shotgun barrel sticking out from under his heavy frame. Desperately she grabbed at it, even as a bullet sliced through the vicker's sling of the firearm. She grabbed the remaining strap and yanked with all her strength. The shotgun slid into her waiting grasp. She had never fired one before, but it did not look like it had pump-action on it. On the barrel in red letters read 'The Devil Inside." Deidre steeled herself, on instinct pressing to the floor. Luck was on her side, the gunmen's approaching feet were visible. She placed the gun on the ground and fired. It was awkward and threatened to break her shoulder and eardrums, but it was loaded!

One second there were four feet, the next there were three. The man who was unfortunate enough to lose the foot screamed in uncontrolled agony, bumping into his partner who attempted to aim downwards at where the shots were coming from. Deidre hopped to her feet, her shotgun leveling even as the second suit's pistol-hand slid upwards to aim. She pulled the trigger, her slug punching through the man and ending his life.

Somehow, even past her blunted hearing, she could hear her own labored breathing. Deidre had never felt more alive, though her anxiety was waxing and waning with every breath. She stood to her full height; shotgun shouldered as she studied their fallen forms. The second man was dead before he hit the ground, but the other one was clearly in the midst of dying. She noticed this white man did not have the frame of mind to fire his weapon like the other as he was dying.

"Of course, they're white," she remarked with disgust, though Deidre ate her words when she remembered the woman. Carefully but hurriedly, she put the shotgun down on the seat she had hidden under and went to her aid. The blonde was shuddering in fright, big blue eyes planted on Deidre as she approached, though her fear wasn't towards Deidre herself. She gripped a piece of the seat even as Deidre knelt down to her level, concern on her face.

"Are you okay?" She asked, wondering if it was alright to place her hand on the blonde's. Lord, she was beautiful. For her part, the blonde nodded and swallowed.

"You're name is Deidre, right?"

"That's right. What's yours?"

"Emily," she stated uneasily, though her courage was returning by the second. It was pretty clear everyone but the two of them were dead for at least the length of a few train cars. "Thanks for saving us. Are you all right?"

"Somehow, yeah," she said, just now marveling at the odds she was still alive. "What did you see before you met me?"

"Anthony...the man I was with," she stammered. "He found me, and we moved through the cars. He shot at those two men, but they nearly killed us, so we ran and hid. Until you showed up. I don't know why we're here, but..."

"It's okay," Deidre said, placing a hand on Emily's cheek. It was without thought, but the other woman didn't shy from the touch. Instead, she did her best to smile. Deidre felt the intense need to protect her. "I think all of the gunmen are dead. If you only saw those two, we might be alone except for this conductor, and maybe a crony or two. You stay hidden here, and I'll go ahea-"

"No!" Emily exclaimed vehemently. She caught herself, calming her nerves with a deep breath. Emily looked lonely, but she also seemed to know something. Something Deidre could not fathom. "What if we stayed here and waited? This train is bound to stop soon. I don’t know why or how, or what's happening, but I think if we have faith and hide, we'll be alright, Deidre. We shouldn't walk into more danger."

Deidre did not know what to say. She could not tell if it was naivety or lack of common sense. Whatever was happening on this train was not going to stop by 'waiting it out' and trusting in...in what? And yet there was a catch in her voice that gave her pause. Was Deidre doing the right thing? The woman shook her head as if waiving away a spell.

"You stay here," she said firmly, getting to her feet. Her eyes were locked on Emily's baby blues for a long moment before she tore her gaze away, stepping over Anthony's corpse and grabbing the shotgun. Deidre did not know how to check how many slugs she still had, so she had to trust in that at least. Deidre couldn't look at Emily again, knowing if she did so again, she might actually stay. She was too angry to let that happen.

Deidre passed into the next car, noticing it was in stark contrast to the others in that it was devoid of blood or bodies. At the end of it wasn't a door, but a curtain. She could feel the wind that rippled the curtain's layers. There was something familiar in the air, a scent a lot more welcoming to the nostrils than the smell of blood. Was that coffee? It seemed a thousand lifetimes since she had tasted coffee. Cunningly, Deidre lowered herself in a crouch and gazed under the gap of the curtain. She saw two feet planted lazily on the ground, the owner of the feet likely sitting. If she had to guess, it was another corpse.

Quietly she moved forward, not taking chances. She knelt down a second time, the feet still stationary. Positive it was a dead man, she was now close enough to see through the parting of the curtain. A hand with a brass ring on its ring finger tapped on a desk, another hand placed parallel to it. Whoever it was, they were alive. But no gun or weapon was in their hands. Cautiously, Deidre moved the curtain aside with the barrel of her gun, keeping it trained on the man that faced her.

The section of the car was small, only big enough for two to sit comfortably. A table stood between them, its top bland and only a mere meter across. Deidre saw a single cup of coffee on her side of the table, steam wafting lazily into the air. She was both too angry and curious to care about the brew at the moment. She focused on the man.

At first glance he was entirely unremarkable, but something about him caused Deidre to study him. He was somewhat handsome in an unsettling way, with a refined chin and high cheekbones. His eyes were murky grey, lazily fixed on her like he expected her company. Somehow, she couldn't tell the color of his slicked-back hair, as if she viewed it from some distant memory in the back of her mind.

"Are you the conductor?" Deidre asked indignantly, taking a step past the curtain. She saw he sported a dark green coat of wool over a grey button down, as if he was walking the cold streets of Detroit and not sitting in a train car. As far as she could tell from her limited view, he bore no weapon.

"Some call me that, yes." He said calmly. She felt he could but speak and words would get etched in stone by his very words. Even if that was just a whimsical metaphor, it was a voice that could get stuck in one's head.

"Open your coat." She ordered him, swallowing. Amused, he did as he was told. She saw no holster, no bulging of any coat pockets, no sign of anything. All she could see was a necklace, hanging a curious looking pendant that had the likeness of an eye. It looked to be made of pure gold. She wondered how much it would go for once he was dead. She had never experienced that sort of cold, barbaric thought before. It disgusted her, even though she knew he wouldn't leave with his life if he was truly who he claimed. "You sent those men to kill me."

"Why don't you sit down, and I'll answer all of your questions." He offered, and for a long moment she didn't answer. She seemed undecided with what to do. It was impossible to miss him at such close range, and her rage was all that kept her focused. By some means, she thought he could read her mind. His brow raised a fraction, as if to ask, 'will you do it?' Perhaps it was anti-climactic, but she decided she was too curious to kill him so quickly. She slowly took a seat, resting the gun barrel on the table in case he tried anything.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded. "Don't give me 'conductor' bullshit. Who are you?"

"You know who I am." He said with the surety of a striking serpent. He enunciated every sentence with a crisp end, as if everything he said would be made into law. He nonchalantly nodded to her gun. "My name's right there on that shotgun."

Deidre blinked, glancing at her firearm. She couldn't find a name on the barrel or the grip, or anywhere. She didn't get it until she reread the red writing on the side. Raising an eyebrow, she snorted derisively.

"So, you're the devil?" She said in disbelief. As certain as she was of him lying, she had to admit he did a great devilish cosplay, if the devil was some white man from Milwaukee. She smiled ruefully, humoring him. "My uncle Maurice told me if I ever met the devil, I should walk the other way."

"Is this the same uncle Maurice that hit you when you told him you were a lesbian?" He asked without missing a beat. Her smile faded along with her confidence. A question formed on Deidre's lips, but she stopped herself. She had never told anyone that. There was no way he could have known, unless he was some sort of secret agent or something. Deidre looked at him hard, letting the disquiet of the man permeate her vision. All of the violence and fear came hurtling back into her chest, sending her heart racing. This wasn't possible.

Satan merely looked at her.

"Why did you kill all those people?" She asked breathlessly.

"Who said those people were innocent?" He remarked with a quirked eyebrow.

"You had them attack me." She said, more to herself than him. Was there a hell? Was she going there now? A dozen questions popped into her mind, followed by a dozen more. She finally let her shotgun rest on the table, her will too weak to concentrate on cautiousness anymore. For his part, he made no move for the weapon. He was content to lounge like a vagrant, and yet he had an upper-class way of speech and a penchant for subtle gestures of his hands.

"And yet you killed them so easily. Impressive, Deidre." He replied, earnestly.

"Am I dreaming?" She asked, eyes darting around the small room. Of course, he knew her name. "Is this really a train?"

"Depends on you." He confessed, shrugging his shoulders. It was like watching a spider shrug its shoulders, his vibe completely inhuman to her now. "This is a train, to some. To others it’s a boat. To more people than I care to admit, it's the Enterprise from Star Trek. All you need to know is this place is real, but not on earth. We can see the world outside, but they can't see us.

"You're full of shit." Deidre said in denial.

"Tell me, what's harder to believe. That I'm the devil, or that you woke up on a train and saw a samurai from 1547 get shot, before you met a girl you fancy minutes later?"

"What do you want from me?"

"When I picked you up, what year was it?" He asked, curious. "What year?"

"2042." She answered skeptically. He nodded as if it was an answer that had just slipped his mind, or whatever sort of reasoning mechanism an angel had. the devil taking a profession air.

"In ten years, give or take, your world will end. And all you humans will go extinct."

"What do you mean?" Deidre voiced, a sinking feeling in her chest. "Why?"

"You'd have to ask the big man upstairs." He replied with a shrug. "I know what it's like to not be the favorite anymore. Sounds to me like he's done playing with you. You humans all knew it would happen eventually, just never in your lifetime, right? Disease, floods, fire and brimstone, and all that. Every man, woman, and child on earth will be eradicated within a two-year period. That's his plan, anyway. That's why I gathered you here, along with twelve other people in different dimensions. Survivors of their own little wake-up calls."

Deidre's throat was dry. She swallowed, having completely forgotten the coffee

"And where are we going?" She had the courage to inquire. Satan's mouth widened into a smile. It was unlike any smile she had ever seen. No joy, just pleasure. No happiness, just satisfaction. Uninhibited by any sense of self-examination. The smile of the first villain in all existence.

"We're going to the next world." He replied, eyes boring into hers. "Because I say, there's been a change of plans."