The Climate Cooperative

The first thing I remember was a warm, pulsating pressure on the back of my head. With immense effort, I opened my heavy eyes, quickly surveying my surroundings.

The room was frigid and dark. Beams of white light from small windows on either side of the room touched down on the silver metal floor. I could see dust particles slowly moving up through the light like they were being abducted by an alien spaceship. There was a rhythmic, swaying to the room and a whistling wind coming through a cracked window. There was no doubt in my mind — I was moving.

As I tried to reach and inspect the back of my head, full panic set in. Through my frozen breath, I saw that my hands and feet had been zip-tied to a rusted collapsible chair. The heartbeat in my head soared and suddenly I felt feverish and light-headed.

I sat still for what felt like an eternity given the circumstances, trying to slow the frantic pace at which my mind was moving. How did I get here? Where am I going?

Scanning the room again for any shred of detail to put my mind at ease, I noticed a large black suitcase off to my right, flat on its back. It was worn, with one pocket permanently open and the zipper nowhere in sight. This had to be the culprit responsible for my throbbing head. My only guess was that it must have come dislodged from a compartment behind me.

I continued to scan and saw a small, white table over my left shoulder. This table completed the matching pair with my chair, reminiscent of a church picnic. The cheap table vibrated as the room continued to move, now more jolting and unpredictable, like a roller coaster at a county fair. I could see a small needle, a plastic bag filled with fluid, and a red, shiny metal box. Fearing the worst, I slowly peered down at my arms. There were markings where a tourniquet had been used and a small red pinprick where a needle had been inserted.

I was fading in and out, trying hard to focus and figure out what to do. Sitting up in the chair, my skin felt sticky, and a painful, dry swallow made me wonder how long I had been strapped to this chair. What day was it? Did I make it to Washington, D.C.? With all the strength I had, my heels flush with the ground, I pushed backward. I crashed into the table, scattering its contents across the floor, the mysterious liquid oozed from the IV bag. The red box was within reach, and exactly what I hoped it would be. It was a first aid kit!

Unable to get up, still on my side from the fall, I scrounged around the first aid kit, hoping for something other than bandages and bandaids. I felt smooth, cool metal and instantly recognized the object. Scissors! With my left hand, I opened the scissors and carefully positioned one blade under the zip tie, facing upward. I flexed my wrist up and down furiously for several minutes before the plastic finally gave way. I quickly cut through the tie on my right hand, then righted the chair and cut the ties on my feet. Before standing to my feet, my eye caught a beige, crumpled piece of paper. I opened it up and it appeared to be an old ticket stub that read:

”FEDERAL TRANSPORTATION AUTHORITY

DC — MIA

7463

08/12/29”

This seemed to confirm my suspicion, I had to be on a train. Seeing this ticket reminded me of my speaking engagement in Washington, D.C. I was scheduled to speak on December 14th to an advisory group called The Climate Cooperative. I checked into the Jefferson Hotel the night before, stunned by the sparkling, white marble steps that led up to the reception. I was still admiring the way the marble complimented the gold finishings in the lounge, when the attendant said, “Here is your key, Mr. Phillips, you will be on the 7th floor and the elevators are to your left”. I remember entering the elevator, swiping my card, punching 7, and then I woke up on a train, drugged and tied to a chair. By the look and smell of my suit, several days could have passed since that night at the Jefferson Hotel.

I took a few moments to gather myself and check for any clues as to how I got into this predicament. My wallet, cell phone, and keys were nowhere to be found. On the inside pocket of my suit jacket, I still had notecards I planned to use for the presentation. I knew I probably wouldn’t need them, but the process of writing out the notecards and physically having them on me always gave me a sense of comfort. Presentations like this to the Climate Cooperative had been more and more frequent, ever since I published research on the long-term effects of toxic fumes on bird species.

As I stood up, my legs were so unstable I felt like they may bend backward, similar to a flamingo. I needed to get answers, but I also needed to be careful — whoever orchestrated this surely hadn’t accounted for a rogue suitcase awakening me from my drug-induced slumber.

I slowly walked toward the door, feeling like I was learning to walk again, the train car was making a pretty hard left turn. On the door, there was both a faded “Amtrak” logo and a hasty cover-up in big block letters that read “FTA”. I remember the first time I rode an Amtrak train from Washington, D.C. to New York City. I couldn’t believe that we had assigned seats, trays for drinks and food — I had finally graduated from the Chinatown bus. It had been more than 10 years since the last time I rode a train. I thought they were fully decommissioned after the diesel fuel ban in 2024.

I opened the cabin door and was immediately greeted by the elements. Snowflakes danced, the wind howled, and the train was carving a path through the snow-covered hills. The wind chill made me forget, for a moment, about the fever-like symptoms since I woke up almost 30 minutes ago.

I opened the door to the connecting cabin, stepped inside, and it was eerily quiet. Just then, a tall, middle-aged man appeared from the middle of the cabin. He had a thin mustache, a part in his hair, and a quizzical expression on his face.

“Ah! You must be Bill Hughes! I found this outside the bathroom.” He handed me a name tag that said:

BILL HUGHES

ENGINEER

NASA

I rubbed my thumb over the laminated name that I didn’t recognize and looked up at the man.

”Thank you….” I trailed off as I tried to read the small print on his name tag.

”Jack. Jack Wainwright with the USGS” He pointed to his name tag and gave a professional smile.

I looked past Jack and could see activity in the next train car. Laughter, conversation, and swing music echoed in our empty cabin. A bartender was pouring a line of shots for a group at the bar.

“Nice to meet you, Jack. Could you tell me where this train is going? And those people look like they’re celebrating something?” I tried to walk past Jack and toward the dining car when he grabbed my arm.

His expression changed to a more serious one. “They are celebrating. You’re supposed to be tied up in the baggage car, Mr. Phillips”.

I was too stunned to respond. There was nowhere to run. I took a step backward.

”My name is not Jack Wainwright. I was sent to rescue you. The Climate Cooperative intends to use your research to test on human subjects. This train is scheduled to stop in Pittsburgh any minute. Others are waiting for us there”.

As I tried to come to grips with the information the man just shared, I noticed the music had stop. I could see 5 different faces staring at us through the dining car door.

Just then, an announcement came over the loudspeaker:

”Alert, Scott Phillips has escaped. I repeat, Scott Phillips has escaped. He should be detained at once and not harmed. The train will not stop until he is found”.

I made eye contact with the man.

“Follow me!” He yelled.

We ran toward the cabin door I came through from the baggage car. I could hear loud footsteps behind us. The man swung the door open and signaled me to go first. The man pulled a gun from his suit jacket and turned his attention to the men in pursuit.

“There is no other way. You have to jump. I will fend them off and meet you later. Get to 1454 Riverpond Drive”.

I stood in the doorway and couldn’t help but wonder how fast the train was moving. I saw what looked like grass covered in snow up ahead. I closed my eyes and jumped.