RUNAWAY TRAIN

It was never this tough to get hitched. No group since the early years had been so shoveled around on the path as this group. There were fifteen this trip. Fifteen who assembled from the pits of the baseline move... the many parts of surrounding land that could hold an unwilling party; and rallied the depths in time to catch the hook as instructed. He, the tricks of the trickster... making ways to get away. He... a conductor as is any conductor, was in his ways again and they would make it to the link on time if they hauled no stragglers. This setup was for them... as well set as the days of old. Their load had to be precise as it had been over the decades of the railroad from their flag station. The flag station being the meet-up point for their departure. They packed to travel light and few expected frills along the way but held high hopes for the end destination in spite of the few children that accompanied them along the route. There were two families with children not yet old enough to speak their own devise. It was reported to always be and have been the prize at the end of the rainbow on the other side of a coming sun for those who made the connection. The flow of the Mississippi Railroad by "hoprail" would cause them to run, hop and hold until they could make their best exit in New Orleans… forfeiting the tour-group ride back north to Chicago. It would be a tough hitch until the ride was over, but a hitch worth running for. These latter-day travelers had to be just as acute to signals given them as did those of years long ago. They were set to join the train seven miles north from Gwin at Tchula, provided they could see the rising sun in Mississippi beyond Greenwood before seeing their mark. Having their papers in order for the trail would see them at a happy union. The rising sun beyond Rising Sun, Mississippi would be flagged for them on cue. They had only to hold instructions in mind and keep calm. Their tickets had been arranged by the conductor for their Mississippi Rail Road trip, off the record and with clandestine cues for them to move smoothly through the process if they met their end of the deal, their orders were, "No kids and stay calm."

Their best play was that they were already papered for the tour route. They had their ticket to ride. They were set to take the tour train, their tickets pre"paid" by the exchange made with the conductor on the train south. They would board at Tchula "only after they checked the signal to see the greenwood course." The signal would be turned after break of daylight. The worst turn would be that if they missed that hook-up, the alternate option would be to take that hoprail.. running to hop onto the freight train and meet their end goal as best they could. It would mean the purchased papers for New Orleans would be forfeited and they would all need to run... not that running was not already what they were doing. Two ex-convicts… one of them on probation, and the families with children, were all enroute to settling a new lifestyle away and out of the depths of Mississippi’s past. They were evading the color barrier intent on their children having a better life and to find better opportunities for themselves... up north. They would need to run, hop and hold until they could make their best exit in New Orleans… forfeiting the tour-group ride back north to Chicago. It would mean they would need to make their own way afterward. It would be a tough hitch until the ride was over, but a hitch worth running for. It was worth the run, even if under cover of the night hour.

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It was much later than any of them thought, yet goals were being pursued from every angle and along many trails. Those trails mixed and mingled a bit but always managed to fall into their own cause like the rail tracks of a railroad. The only way to get lost along any one of them was to hop the track or by way of a failed switch. Pull the wrong switch at the wrong place along any one line and it would cause a major collision… a pile-up that no one in the business of railroading wanted to see. One like that one so far back in the mind of 27-year-old Khader, that he struggled to remember the details of “why his foot was broken” and “what he was doing at that hour of the night on that certain date that the train was rammed by another causing a loss of two railcars” and the one last question put to him so frequently by the investigations team “...where were his credentials?” It was his first real job since leaving high school. Hired straight away on the referral of neighborhood friends of his dad. It was a regular workload that night… cold as was any January’s winter night in the midwest. He had fallen and hit his head on the rail beneath the boxcars to which he was connecting couplings for assembly of an outgoing line. The conductor had jockeyed the designated cars of the next haul date and Khader, Chris, and Daniel, switchmen for the job that day, pulled and latched couplers that would tow behind the engine pulling the load. The load was going outbound to Minnesota to pick up product; then back south, ending with the delivery of fertilizers to Huntsville, Alabama. It was a typically cold winter night in Chicago’s midwest. The hard cold air and frozen snow put ice on the rails at the switch boxes that had to be chipped loose before the switch could be thrown to direct a lane of rail traffic where it was scheduled to deliver its load. In the best of cases, a torch could work the blockage faster and allow the engineer to keep schedules closer to the allotted time. He had fallen from his temporary perch upon a rail coupler that he latched together after clearing an ice blockage. The train had lurched forward when a wrong signal of a lantern waived up-rail by the conductor watching for Chris and Daniel to clear the tracks told the engineer that the assemblage was “all clear.” Khader slipped, fell beneath the railcars hitting his head on the cold hard steel rail, and nearly losing his foot by the clenched coupler that held him fast between the steel jaws he had only momentarily been working to loosen. It held him fast to the metal boxcars by the metal clasp and the jolting of metal and steel along iced rails. Held him where no one could see him hanging there on the near midnight work shift loading up for a long haul north to Minnesota. It had taken more time than usual to set the rail up, but the signal that all connections were made meant they could make up for any lost time, and the sooner they could get on their way. The extra man was not accounted for when the train began to move out. The conductor sounded the horn and began to shift throttle before the engineer conductor picked up the tote sheet and remembered the frozen coupler and that the third yardman was sent to remedy the problem. They shut the engine to a low and signaled a checkpoint to account for personnel. With five clocked in for that trip, five needed to be documented to avoid paying for a sleeper. A sleeper would mean that someone wasn't working. None would be riding the efforts of the others that trip, they were making sure of it. The checkpoint found Khader unconscious and hanging from the coupler he had been working on. He was sent to the hospital by ambulance and the trip was held for investigation. Once "consciously competent" for questioning, he dictated the status of his injury and was asked to make out an injury form for a file that included statements by the other four workers. On his own request, he left the hospital, returned to work, and waited out the two-hour Minnesota run at the railyard; then rode the south trip as a watchman only to avoid loss of pay. He rode it inebriated with pain medication to compensate for the toe lost in the accident; and with a simulation of "mummy bandaging" at his head and foot. He rode the trip on the engineer’s berth of the caboose and under the copathetic concern for a fellow man spent upon him by both the engineer and the conductor on the job. When he could, he was expected to take a seat in the cupola as a watchman. The other two switchmen pulled the balance of busy work over the travel distance.

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The train returning from Chicago's Union Station would have to meet with the appropriate time schedules for the purpose of this year's AMERICAN PLANNING CONVENTION which slated several hundred attendees registered for the side trips touring three off-rail cities. St. Louis and East St. Louis, Memphis and West Memphis, and New Orleans were slated for appraisal by attendees as part of the tour and section lectures. Their task would be that of previewing the current metropolitan landscape on both sides and their proposed amendment to improve either subject for economic and social worth. Most members of the planning association would take the tours if only for the excursion value provided. Exiting the train at each point along the trip would tally a five-hour lecture/assimilation of ideas regarding design approval or suggested remedy/social image the area presented. The social image represented by a community was a new concern among new city planning professionals who wanted to provide comfort for specific populations.

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The freight cars were loaded and dropped in ample timing for the passage of a southbound passenger train destined along the same track as the Indiana Harbor freight destined for Huntsville at the end of a north-south run. Timed out for one-hour layovers along the scheduled route gave the switchmen just enough time to swing the rail for the excursion group determined to see the sights along the way. The two switchmen gladly swung their cars free from the anticipation of a mishap. Everything went smoothly until nearing the Tchula, Mississippi cross rail, instructions got a little mixed and the freight train slowed to a stop. They were south of Memphis and north of Greenwood and other small, insignificant towns. There were notations about a custom load to be brought north, but there were no loaders available to add stock to what they were already hauling. While the switchmen and engineer bantered about expectations the call came over that they needed to pull the switch for a passing train. If they could not move their own, they would be rammed from behind by the speed rail. The directional flag for an off rail toward Gwinn and another in the opposite direction toward Greenwood were compromised by extra markings. They had to determine which turn to take and whether to turn their own or the oncoming train. With Chris and Daniel at the helm of making the emergency determination, the switch was thrown to send the passenger train off on a diversion from the anticipated route thru Tchula. It would allow the freight train to coast into the coming small town and exchange their load. With the third man, Khaled, deep into the adverse effect of his medication for the knocked head and the lost big toe from his foot, the less experienced co-workers made the decision to avert a potential collision. For each moment that found Khaled reeling to an awakening, another tap into his prescription of Oxycodone Hydrochloride put him back under even a subtle consciousness. He was riding only in name of his temporary title... watchman. The passenger train blew through behind them taking its load of tourists on the alternate route to New Orleans. The altered night route would find them in the destination city, but one to two hours later... with no mishaps. The Harbor Belt freight train coasted into the small town to hook up and reload.

The gathering of fourteen expectant passengers for a rail trip waited patiently near the small depot on the south side of town where the handprinted instructions directed them. They had few bags... were traveling lite, and the children with them were restless in the early hour of the morning. The fifteenth member of the group walked away to a distant signpost and careened his head and neck to see the north-facing side of the metal octagon perched atop a metal post. It read Itta Berta... a small town one hour west of Greenwood on the C&G rail line. They were going to miss the package they had paid for. The man checking the mark turned to head back toward the group standing on the depot platform. They were going to have to run. He picked up his pace from a dazed strut to a harried trot stepping high over the metal rails as he moved along. They were so sure the prepaid route would go well... until now. As he ran peering into the darkness ahead of him, he scanned the railway for signs of any flashing light from lanterns. There was one in the distance.

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The sleeper cars on the passenger train bound for the conference in New Orleans jostled along the unfamiliar rail behind the locomotive which had suddenly veered off path at the unannounced direction made by switchmen from another railway. The conductor and engineer struggled with the new agenda and how to handle the situation for the closest outcome... getting back on their planned route. They pulled maps and radios out while racing with time to find the closest rail switch for reassembling direction before getting too far off course. As they struggled with the confusion the locomotive roared ahead at full charge. In the deep of night after an action-filled day of loading onto the train in Chicago, touring two of three regions, the passengers barely noticed the jostling along the less used rail tracks as they hurtled through the more rural auspices of backwoods Mississippi. Most slept in the leased sleeper cars or first class seating area. Only a few sat gazing through windows or snuggling with a newly met friend. The diner car was closed for the night and attendants prepping for their next day's fare. Only one worker, Luella Fine, was unnerved at the situation onboard the train. She should have been off at the next station., She had plans for laying over at her family home in Cruger. Someone was waiting for her at Tchula. Instead, she was still onboard... clocked out for her work shift... and had no way to reach her party waiting at the station. she began to panic. Approaching the Engineer and conductor, she realized they were near the point of argument over the itinerary for the trip route. She blurted out her situation, "I need to reach my ride... we aren't near Tchula, are we?" They each ignored her other than a brief twist of an ear in her direction and returned to mussing over the potential stops along this antiquated rail they had landed on. For the excessive jostling, it appeared it had not been maintained according to standard; yet here they were with a passenger load of over 100 travelers in the dead of night traveling at the speed needed... and calculated to allow them to arrive at their intended destination near the scheduled morning hour. There was no phone on board and the radio was meant for contact among personnel onboard. Ms. Fine was out of order... she knew the protocol. The side glances cast her way told her to leave them alone if she could not assist with a solution. She looked at the map on the conductor's table, "We are out west... look, the old C&G track. What are we doing out here? Better yet, when... where does it connect to head back south. we're going west." She pointed at the map and traced her finger along the line toward the university town of Itta Berta. "The track goes south after there. I went to college out there... rode the train to and from campus out of Cruger... decades ago." She paused long enough to read the expression on his face before finishing up, "There is a connection, but there's someone waiting for me at Tchula. I need to let them know we won't make that station." Lee, the conductor finally acknowledged her, "We are going to brake as soon as possible and make schedule at Yazoo. You call your party from there, thank you! We shouldn't be out here." His map showed an update that the C&G was a closed rail, planned to have been pulled up some years back. They radioed for the brakeman to stand ready.

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The fifteenth person made it back to the depot where his companions for the off-record travel plan stood waiting. "We'll have to run for it. There's a freight train up the line. If we run... them kids gotta hustle and them women..." he tossed his head toward the two women huddling their children against their sides, "...them women got to know how to jump and move quick so we don't get seen. This was not the trip we paid for but it's the one that's gonna have to work. Let's get going... grab them bags!" They took off in a flurry half dragging the smallest of children and the few sacks of precious things with them. The women stumbled but kept pace as best they could. They were going to make the hitch. No one spoke during the rush toward the rails where a string of still humming rail cars and their engine parked on a double rail. Somewhere up the line, the second set of rails joined into the other. They were going to be splitting out the unnecessary and adding in new cars. Which car to hide in was the new dilemma. There would not be much of an opportunity to make an exchange if they guessed wrong. A wrong guess could take them in the wrong direction once the train started moving again... if they got into one that moved at all. Worst case, they'd be seen by any of the workers, best case... they would get it right the first time. The fifteenth person, one of the ex-convicts, stopped his escorts after they neared the stopped train. "I'm going to take a look around it. You..." he signaled to the group,"...keep watch and stay here." He moved toward the cars ducking low and peeking around to see under and along the side of stilled railcars, looking for an open door. Now he could see two beams of light working along the rail. Staying away from them, he moved up and around to the other side of the train checking for open doors. It was still dark enough for him to move quickly and not be seen by the watchmen. He slid into an open car to look around and ducked back out of it making a mental note of where that car and the open door was, making it back to where his group was waiting. "I got one," he announced with a half sheepish grin on his face. "I got one, but it won't be easy... there's guards out there." In the near distance, the engine hummed steadily and lights flashed up and down the track. The group of fifteen stepped out toward the rail.

They were nearing Itta Berta when the notion hit him. The conductor, Lee, had not checked the roster. The passenger list since his last stop. He had not taken a head count. "He tapped Luella on her shoulder and instructed her, "take a head count. We need an exact passenger count before we hit New Orleans. If we get any more on at Yazoo... make note." She turned to head out to the passenger cars then stopped. Remembering that the rail had been pulled as mentioned in the news, but from the other end to allow students continued travel ease to the university at Itta Berta from Cruger and Greenwood. They were going to run out of rail and she did not know the extent of progress since the last update a year back. "We'd better take the closest out Lee, the rail is gone out there someplace. Take the next switch off this line to whatever takes us south. I'll take a count." She stepped through the door to count sleeping passengers. Lee picked up the radio to set the brakemen into action as he scanned the map in front of him muttering, "This is impossible... so impossible! Who would do such a thing... throw a switch... a prank like that? To throw a switch sending a loaded passenger train into the middle of nowhere on a dead-ended rail!" He yelled into the mouthpiece... "Take the SRM south at Itta Berta to Betzoni and we make up our time! Thirty to forty-five minutes and we are home... on schedule... on time. Says here, it's along the Old Humphrey's and Freedom Roads. Keep our pace." The train veered south onto the was once the export rail. It was the track that had been abandoned and in process of being torn out.

While the pace held them well above weighting down the old single rail bridge coming into the town of Itta Berta, it was too much and too fast to hold them onto the wreckage of tracks long past a start date for removal. The engine careened off the dead-ended track and into the soil and pavement ahead of them throwing cars in "pick-up stick fashion" across the landscape. There was no notice short of blanked railway some few thousand feet off the straight rail. The wreckage could be seen just past the edge of the south exit from town. The rising sun cast an eerie tone of red and greys in the jumble of twisted metal with slight movement amongst the debris.

Moments earlier, Luella had left to pace the corridors of the seven-passenger cars counting persons and matching tickets to the seats and occupied berths as she went. If anyone was awake she made lite conversation about the trip and the alternate than expected views beyond the windows in the dark of Mississippi’s early morn. The fields and pastures beyond the rails glistened from dew and intermittent deposits of condensation from rain on ponds and animal shelters. Now and then odd spots of rain fell from unseen clouds. January in Mississippi was cold enough to drop snow but the bulk of moisture was from evaporating pond waters and morning dew. The passenger train had blown through most of the backcountry keeping its original pace crossing the first and then a second single rail stick bridge across the northernmost horseshoe bend of Roebuck Lake. Once they entered town there had to be a short notice turn south onto the Old Export Railway... and he would have to cut the pace and be wary of the rail's condition. The conductor was confident the Mississippi rail maps and local information supported his decision to keep going along the shortened route to keep to the promised time schedule. Luella... the local information, was wrong. It was C&G, the straight rail, that was in continued use. The brakeman threw the switch as planned. The Old Export Railway had been abandoned years ago and was now a paved roadway renamed Freedom Road. The wreckage was intense. Had they not had the foresight to take the late count of passengers, they would not have noticed the fifteen that were missing. Emergency management teams from the local municipal units and the University at Itta Berta were summoned for help to rescue the injured. Search and Rescue scouts with dogs caroused the area for any bodies thrown from the train and establish communication to notify officials of the railway. Luella was thrown from the train but found nearby and treated for minor cuts and abrasions at the local hospital. She was left in a room for observation and given medication for concussion and whiplash. Several passengers in the sleeper cars not thrown off rail were merely awakened by search and rescue personnel onboard the train. Many were taken to a local "mock" clinic to treat cuts and abrasions. The brakeman who threw the switch to transfer onto the dead rail was nowhere to be found. He had leaped onto the last car as it passed and been thrown off still to be found. A day later, Luella awakened from her medication asking for her baggage. The ride was outside waiting... she was going to miss her time off on the overlay. She was given the details of the wreck after making her phone call to the brother who had come to pick her up from the station. She never knew she was not at Tchula.

Thirty minutes southeast of a passenger train wreckage, a group of fifteen made their way in and around stilled freight cars dodging either of two switchmen pacing the railway latching and unlatching cars as the engine rolled to and fro allowing them to attach the three boxcars noted for the haul to New Orleans. They were headed for the outer side of the rail where the sides of railcars were cloaked in the overgrown brush. There, they found a few cars with doors open. They tossed the children inside, then flung baggage and hoisted the women in before leaping in themselves. The children were instructed to huddle behind bales of products set to be shipped south. The women hid with them there as the men peered from both sides of the railcar watching for the switchmen who were still busily pulling levers and waving lanterns to someone in the distance. The car they leaped into was destined for New Orleans, loaded with agrichemicals which soon had them falling out again onto the railway below. They tried three of the many railcars available until the last wave of a lantern and the increased roar of the engine told them the train was about to leave. The fifteenth person jumped into the original railcar and hid leaving the others scrambling to decide a final resting spot. Daniel strutted along slamming open doors as the train slowly maneuvered its way onto the southbound rail out of town leaving several jockeyed railcars parked in the small railyard. As the line of railcars increased its speed the cars rocked and reeled to fall into place along the old rails until they were on the full stretch headed out of town. There was only a two-hour stretch of distance to bring the Harbor Belt trip to fruition now, they were finally on their way and with only the input of Chris and Daniel as switchmen. Daniel had held the position for only a few months. He was party to a new work training program that supported the disabled and repopulated ex-convicts to provide successful integration within the general public. His frequency at work eliminated his having to report to a probation officer. Chris, on the other hand, was from a program that trained previously mentally challenged individuals to normal jobs for gainful income. The job chosen for him was challenging, demanding of responsibility, and admirable for those who took on the work. Chris was loving his career... so far. He performed his role by the book as relayed in each training session for the past few months. He simply kept up with his coworkers and moved a mechanical switch when cued by them or by the engineer conductor. The job was a breeze. Better than the last one where he had inadvertently given the wrong medication from the wrong carrousel to the wrong patient. The names were spelled similarly and nursing notes suggested the medicine to be interchangeable. They were not. He was penalized for causing the near death of a nursing home client and sent out to change his career to something he could "competently" perform. He was offered railway switchman... a less "assaultive" job.

As the train rolled out of the Tchula area, both switchmen dangled from the last car content with their performance during the jockeying of shipment and scrutinizing the track for intruders. They settled back inside the caboose where Khaled drifted into and out of consciousness in the cupola watchman's seat. The working men seated on the level below him at the worktable joked about his mishap and his coming into reality when he came from under sedation to find his toe gone. They contemplated telling him it was a wild "soiree" at one of the stop thru towns... New Orleans had a Mardi Gras Grand Finale when they arrived and he met up with a "dangerous chick" who gulped his toe down. "If it hadn't been for his track buddies he would have lost his whole foot to the foot joy woman!" As they laughed about the jokes they could play on him, he opened his eyes long enough to see them seated below. He nodded his head toward them and they laughed, "Hey mummeh!" He sat up slightly and gazed out through the watchman's window then turned back to them, "Did ya'll get them runners off the cars ya was switchin 'roun back there? Ya was taking so long between moves, I was sure ya did. No one came in to ask or say anything to me." The other two looked at each other. Khaled continued, " They put them kids in a car near the end someplace and that one fella jumped into one of the first haul cars before any of them others made a move good. Ya got bout ten of 'em on here with us." The other two stood, grappling mentally with what should be done." Khaled picked up his radio, "Hey Boss... we got riders on with us. Might wanna check it out." He set the radio down and waited for a response. "Negative... negative," came back over the line. They felt the train jerk to a higher speed. "Y'all might wanna check it out... just in case we got a problem on our hands," Khaled slid back into his seat again as his head rolled to the side.

As the train bucked and jerked away from Tchula, one man and a woman stood to look behind it. They had loaded into the wrong line of railcars in the rush to avoid being seen by the switchmen. With the train beginning to move and the children already tossed into a railcar, the woman that remained behind franticly raised her leg and turned her hip time after time to try hopping into the car with the children. When a face appeared in the window of the cupola, she ducked and waited for another railcar. The man assisting the other to jump in waited with her and hoisted her into one of the latter open doors. Once the jostling of railcars stopped the train pulled off and left their car on the switch rail.

A distance away from Tchula now, members of the group of fifteen began to relax. They had made the hitch. They were pulling out and away from their problems and could look forward to a new future, someplace else. Though the comfort of the passenger train had escaped them, they were content to be "gone." They nodded each to the other with smiles of satisfaction on faces previously blanketed with stress and fear. They each began to plan for a future with homes and income. They planned for dates and more travel. The conversations lowered to a murmur when the train slowed to allow the sound of car horns to take precedence over the constant chug-chug of the train they were riding on. The train began moving again and they were content enough to fall asleep, some laying on hay bales, others on burlap sacks of grain with few boxes in between rows. Hours down rail, the train slowed again, jolted then took off in a mad rush along the tracks. The fifteenth man had been discovered by the switchmen on a random search back up rail The conductor had slowed enough for them to swing from car to car as they checked the insides of cars for any signs of stowaways. The fifteenth man was found hiding, but unconscious from the fumes of chemical fertilizers he had hidden among. He was taken to the conductor and the train had picked up speed to make the consigned delivery schedule. Once in the engine before the conductor, he was given time to fully awaken. "Where is this... what's that on the.. no way am I caught!" "What do you mean mister... caught?" He choked his original conversation off to read the faces of the three men standing near him. Daniel reached to grab for his arm, "What do you mean by caught?" The conductor turned to look deep into the man's eyes before speaking, "I think he's just under a bit from them chemicals. I don't know what he's doing on my train but he's gonna have to ride this out. I got a schedule to meet. We can tend to anything else later," The man before them turned his head slightly. He recognized the voice. It was the conductor who had sold him the fare to freedom. Freedom lost when the passenger train took off without the group of fifteen. He glared at the conductor now... "I don't have no credentials. I'm supposed to be someplace else... on a different train. I'm supposed to go to Chicago." He went on, raising his voice now, "I don't have no more money to get up there... what is this.. this the wrong train... and you goin' the wrong way?! Man, I trusted you to do the right thing by me. I gave you all that... the train's engine lurched to high speed throwing the men to the floor and stopping the conversation. As the train flew at top speed along the rail high above Lake Ponchetrain, the fifteenth man lunged at the conductor."No, you won't... not that easy!" They wrestled yelling and tearing at clothing and swinging blows that left bruises, scrapes, and blood. Daniel stood up only to be awed by the sight, saying nothing. The other man, the engineer, pulled at levers until the train screeched brakes to stop. The brakes failed and the engine along with the cars attached to it rambled toward New Orleans, stopping at an intersection of road and rail. The stop was so abrupt that a line of traffic on the road stopped but not before one heavily loaded sixteen-wheeler rammed into one of the railcars throwing the doors open and scattering debris from the truck.

As they neared the end railcar one child leaped out of the door left open by Daniel. He had peeled himself free of the haybales he'd been tucked under and into by one of the women. The debris from the collision and the emergency of rescuing the truck driver that hit the railcar as it sat across the roadway while the switchmen searched for stowaways, was enough to distract anyone from seeing him and the other children running free. One woman stumbled from the clutter of haybales and fell to her feet struggling to run as well. One of the men from among the fifteen joined her, grasping her elbow and tugging her along in the direction of the running children.

07/28/2022