The Choke Hold

“Ma’am. Ma’am.”

Geneva Clarkson was startled out of a dream at the attendant’s insistence.

“Ticket, please,” train attendant Doc Hamlin chimed.

Geneva reached for her purse. She brought it to her lap, muttering as she rummaged through it.

“I know it’s somewhere in here,” she said, as she pushed aside her lip gloss, smartphone, mirror, and wallet.

“It’s got to be in here,” she insisted, worry creeping into her voice.

“Ma’am, if you don’t have a ticket, you’re going to have to…join the rest of the train!”

Suddenly, everyone aboard turned to look at her. They all opened their eyes, and stood up as if lifted by strings.

Geneva looked around her. Fear chilled her to her core. None of the passengers had tickets.

They had opened their eyes from slumber at Hamlin’s voice.

“You see, this train is gradually picking up speed. Eventually, it will run smack dab into a brick wall, killing everyone aboard, including you, Miss Clarkson,” Hamlin’s tone was even and without hysterics. It certainly didn’t match the content of his speech.

“You’re on the Termination Train. All of us are just as excited about it as you will be. Death will visit us like a knock at the door!” Wendell Grassly exclaimed with vicious glee.

Geneva closed her purse and began to rise. Hamlin pushed her down and strapped her down with her seatbelt. All she wanted was to find an exit from the situation. Hamlin blocked her intentions.

“I know you better get off of me!” Geneva shouted, but the rest of the passengers drowned out her cries.

“Death! Death! Death!” they chanted like monastic followers walking through corridors.

Geneva took her time to collect herself. She regained her composure. The gears and pulleys in her brain started to turn and lift, respectively.

“What am I supposed to do, sit in a puddle? I’ve got to go to the bathroom!”

Her seat was right behind the engine. And the restroom was adjacent to the controls. Geneva remembered this. She saw the attendant unbuckle her, and she rose with might and certainty.

As she walked down the aisle, the passengers recorded her on their smartphones. Geneva wore a purple blouse and shawl. She straightened her shoulders, and kept her head looking at the ceiling of the car. She passed from one seat to the other like a specter in the night. She found the restroom and exhaled. She had no weapons, nothing to cause bodily harm to be found in her purse, but she did know jiu-jitsu. She breathed. With eyes closed she grabbed the closest thing to protect her: perfume. She placed it in her palm and kept it behind her back as she exited the restroom.

“Now, get back to your seat,” Hamlin demanded in a soft tone.

Geneva acted like she forgot something. “I just have this one thing—” She fooled him and sprayed the fragrance in his eyes. He screamed in pain. Quickly, Geneva choked the attendant rendering him unconscious. The other passengers started to move towards her. She located the keys on the attendant. It was a digital strip the size of a smartwatch. She held it up to the door and entered the control room.

The place was completely empty. She tried to use the high-tech controls but they made no sense. Her next attempt was to phone the command center. Nothing. The passengers now banged on the door like rabid hyenas. Geneva found the switch to separate the engine from the rest of the train. It was stuck. She used all the strength of her martial arts training to jimmy the thing loose. She then looked up and saw that she had to put in a code to release it.

With time winding down until sudden and definite death, Geneva looked at Hamlin’s badge. The numbers on his digital belt corresponded with the numbers on the wall. She figured this must be it. As the latch gave way, she heard a sucking sound as the control room separated from the other cars.

Now, she had to find a way to slow down the engine, or better still, stop it. She looked out the window. Sweat saturated her purple blouse. Her forehead looked like a roof after a heavy rain. Geneva kept trying the different touch pads. Everything just winked red and green like a Christmas tree.

Yet, she found the nerve to peer at the controls and discovered an emergency brake. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. She stepped towards the brake. By that time, Hamlin had regained consciousness, and was tearing after Geneva. She dropped into a warrior stance and attacked the man’s joints and took hold of him again. This time, she grappled with him and found his neck once more. Only she applied more than adequate pressure until the breath left his body. She checked his pulse. He was dead.

After that, she finally had a chance to reach the brake. Geneva laughed. It was not a chortle or a chuckle but a laugh of relief from frustration. She needed the palm of an employee of the train to stop it. She sighed. Then, she dragged Hamlin's body over, stretching out his palm before his corpse.

Geneva could see the tunnel with the brick wall in the distance. She heaved and heaved, her small frame allowed her to have a low center of gravity. She placed the man’s palm on the brake touch screen. The light flashed, indicating that the engine would slow down to fifty miles an hour and then stop. The wall grew closer and closer. Geneva could do nothing but shrug off the dead body and wait for the speeding demon to find rest. The picture of the wall continued to grow. The engine gradually slowed until it got to about ten feet from the wall.

Finally, she laughed a full, hearty laugh. Covered in sweat, her makeup running and her shawl ripped, she stepped off the train. She found herself in the middle of nowhere. She had no cell service, so she walked for about fifteen miles before finding a small electric car station. She knew now was not the time to bicker about the inefficiency of electric powered cars over those that used fossil fuels. Weary and ready for the necessities of water, food, a decent shower, and a bed, Geneva stopped at the rest area.

“What can I do for you, ma’am,” Shawn Weston asked.

“How’s the Wi-Fi around these parts?” Geneva asked.

“It’s free and works well. I can give you the password.”

Geneva punched in the code. Her phone lit up like a smiling face.

“You look like you could use some rest and victuals,” the clerk said.

“Yes, some water to start,” she said. “And maybe a sandwich.”

The clerk produced a twenty four fluid ounce bottle of spring water, an assortment of tuna, turkey, and veggie sandwiches wrapped in paper, and keys to a lodge behind the service station.

“I just need your account number,” the clerk reminded her.

“Of course,” she replied. She flashed her phone like a magic wand.

“Thank you, I’ll have the turkey,” Geneva mentioned.

“Absolutely,” Weston handed over the goods.

“Enjoy your stay here, ma’am,” he said.

“Thanks, again.”