The Early Train

8am, Sunday June 23rd

A loud whistling noise wakes Amanda with a jolt. She sits up too quickly and feels the blood rush to her head and start throbbing against her temples. Where the hell is she? The room is small and dimly lit, with two cushioned red benches facing each other across a cheap-looking folding table. Amanda gropes around for her phone, but the seat either side of her is empty. Shit, where’s her bag? It’s got all her ID in it, not to mention the last few euros she didn’t spend at the bar last night. She searches under the benches, groping around on her hands and knees, but finding nothing except a spotlessly clean blue carpet. There’s a sliding glass door the other side of the bench, leading into an equally dimly lit corridor. Amanda pulls the handle. The door doesn’t move. She pulls the handle harder, but the door stays firmly shut.

“Help!” Amanda yells, banging on the glass with her palm.

“Help, I’m locked in! Hello? Anyone?”

She bangs with both hands, suddenly aware that the room is uncomfortably warm, and she doesn’t have her water bottle with her. Had Diego put her here? Amanda can’t think of a good reason why he would. She’d been planning on taking him up on his invitation to spend the night without any need for coercion – in fact they’d just been about to leave the bar and head back to his apartment. What had happened since, and why couldn’t she remember any of it? She glances at her wrist to check the time, but her watch is missing too. The rest of last night’s outfit – her best black stretch jeans and a new floral halter neck top she picked up from a flea market in Madrid earlier this week – appears to be intact. She can still see a faint stamp from the Commo club on the inside of her right wrist. This was getting weirder and weirder.

A ticker tape announcement appears on a display board on the ceiling that Amanda hasn’t noticed until now. Neon yellow lettering lights up the small space as the message passes across the screen.

“Please remain in your cabin, a crew member will be with you shortly. We ask passengers with ticket numbers 0001 – 0050 to ensure you have your tickets and travel fares ready for inspection.”

A train. Of course she’s on a train. That would explain the whistling noise was that woke her up. Amanda has never been on a train without windows before though. And why can’t she feel it moving? Every train she’s been on before has been bone-rattlingly noisy and obviously moving in one direction or the other. This one is completely silent, and Amanda can stand without being thrown to either side of the cabin. She rummages through the pockets of her jeans to check whether she bought a train ticket at some point last night. They’re all empty. Had she snuck aboard? That seemed very unlike her – she couldn’t even bring herself to keep the extra change when the supermarket checkout girl miscalculated her total the other week.

Amanda rattles the door handle again. This time, she hears a latch click. The glass door slides open. Amanda cautiously sticks her head out of the compartment and looks up and down the dark corridor. It’s empty.

What will happen if she’s caught without a ticket? She doesn’t have her purse on her, so she won’t be able to pay a fine. She doesn’t even have any ID to show the train staff she’s a British citizen. Maybe her best bet is to stay hidden until the train pulls into the next stop and then find the nearest police station. There’s still a possibility that she’s been drugged and abducted, and if that’s the case, her abductor is probably not far away. He might be on his way back to the compartment right now. Could it have been Diego? He seemed so sweet, but Amanda has read enough campus horror stories in the papers to realise that people aren’t always as they seem. Just look at Ted Bundy.

11pm, Saturday June 22nd

“Hablas espagñol?”

Amanda can’t hear what she’s being asked over the club music pounding out of the speakers behind her.

“Sorry, what?”

The olive-skinned stranger leans in closer. He’s cute – probably mid-20s, dark curly hair, well dressed, aside from a grubby pair of Converse trainers that immediately identify him as a graduate student. An inch or so shorter than her ideal match, but at 5’10, Amanda is used to dating guys at eye level or lower. She places her ear close to his lips and feels his warm breath tickle her skin.

“Dije, ¿hablas español?”

Amanda tries to form the Spanish phrasing in her head, but she’s on her third or fourth sangria and the words won’t put themselves in the right order.

“Not really. I’m trying to learn, but I’ve only been here a few weeks. ¿hablo… habla… usted Inglés?”

The stranger smiles, revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth.

“Si! Yes! I have been learning for many years now. My name is Diego. And yours?”

Amanda puts her sangria glass onto the bar so she can shake the tanned hand Diego is offering. She notes that his nails are clean and neatly clipped – a promising sign.

“Amanda. I’m travelling around Spain for the summer with a friend. She’s around here somewhere, but she seems to have disappeared on me. Do you live in Madrid?”

Diego nods.

“I’m studying architecture at the university. I just finished my exams.”

He raises his glass to Amanda and she clinks it with her own.

“Congratulations. So you’re celebrating tonight?”

Diego grins.

“Yes, big celebrations. Sorry, I am already a little – how do you say it – tippy?”

He tilts his glass precariously and Amanda jumps out of the way to avoid getting sangria on her new top.

“Tipsy! Me too, this sangria is really strong. I hope I can find my way back to my apartment.”

Diego raises an eyebrow at her.

“Mine is just around the corner. Your glass is empty. I will get us more sangria, yes?”

8.30am, Sunday June 23rd

Which way was the front of the train? Amanda stands in the middle of the corridor, paralyzed with indecision. She wants to avoid running into the ticket inspector, who will presumably start at the front and work backwards, but there’s no obvious signage. Not even to the nearest toilet. Strange, she thinks, usually she’d be busting for the loo after a heavy night of drinking, but she doesn’t need to go at all. Just as well, since whoever designed this train apparently wanted to make it as difficult as possible to find anything.

Either side of the corridor is lined with compartments of a seemingly similar size to the one Amanda just came out of, but she can’t see inside any of them. Was the glass one-way? How strange. She considers trying one of the door handles. What if there’s someone in the compartment though? If the glass is reflective, they might be watching her from the other side. That would mean dozens of people could be watching her if she tried moving up the train though. There were no good options here.

Amanda cautiously pushes down the handle of the compartment diagonally opposite to the one she left. The door slides open. She peers into the dimly lit cabin, her heart pounding. At first glance it appears to be empty, containing only the same cushioned benches and folding table as the previous compartment. Then she notices a dark figure lying on the far bench. She waits by the door for a moment, barely daring to breathe, ready to run if necessary. The figure doesn’t move. Amanda tiptoes further into the cabin, waiting to see if the person on the bench is actually asleep or just pretending. She’s concentrating so hard she misjudges the distance between the door and the folding table. The table folds back into the wall with a clatter.

“¿Qué esta pasando?”

The figure on the bench sits up suddenly. Amanda freezes. It’s Diego. She’s about to back out of the compartment and take her chances in the corridor when she realises that he looks just as confused and frightened as she is.

“Diego?”

He squints across the cabin, not quite focussing on her face. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night too, although the grubby Converse shoes are missing, leaving his tanned feet bare.

“Amanda? Where are we? What happened?”

Amanda cautiously sits on the bench opposite him. She’s still close enough to the door to run if she needs to.

“I don’t know, I woke up here too. We’re on a train but it’s not like any kind of train I’ve been on before. There was an announcement earlier… I can’t remember the numbers but passengers who had certain tickets had to get them ready for inspection. Do you remember getting on a train last night?”

Diego shakes his head. He pulls at the skin below his left eye.

“I think I lost my contact lenses. No, I remember being at bar drinking sangria. Lot of sangria, yes? But no train. We did not catch train.”

Amanda sighs in frustration.

“Well obviously we did. Do you have a ticket on you?”

Diego checks his pockets. His jeans are empty, but as he pats the front pocket of his navy chambray shirt, he frowns. Thrusting his hand in, he pulls out a silver coin and a rectangular piece of white card with black numerals on it in plain typed font: 0048.

“¿Qué es esto? I did not put this here. This is not mine.”

He hands the unexpected find to Amanda, who turns the coin over in her palm. It’s a small silver disc, not perfectly round, with a Roman-looking head on one side and a sheaf of wheat on the other. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was some sort of ancient Latin currency.

“Do you recognise this? Is it some sort of novelty coin from a tourist attraction?”

Diego shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen one like it before.”

Amanda runs her thumb over the worn edges of the coin. It looks ancient, or at least like a very good replica of archaic currency. How had it ended up in Diego’s pocket? She gives it another thorough examination without finding any clues about their current predicament and then hands it back.

“Can I see the card?”

Diego slides the little white rectangle across the restored fold-up table. It’s the same size as a business card, but the only information it has on it is the four-digit number in the centre of one side. Amanda tries to recall the numbers that flashed up on the digital screen earlier.

“I think this is a ticket,” she says, handing it back to Diego.

“And maybe the coin is the travel fare? Why would you need both though? This doesn’t make any sense.”

Diego studies the coin and the ticket for a moment and then places them carefully back in his pocket.

“Are you sure you don’t have one too? We were together all night, yes?”

Amanda shrugs.

“I think so? I don’t remember much after that second jug of sangria.”

The display board on the ceiling above them suddenly lights up. A new announcement passes across the screen.

“Ticket inspection will begin momentarily. Passengers with ticket numbers 0001 – 0050 please ensure you have your tickets and travel fares ready for inspection.”

Diego fumbles with the button on his shirt pocket and pulls the ticket back out, his hand shaking.

“That is me. That is my ticket number.”

He’s about to say something else when a soft knocking noise along the corridor startles him into silence.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know. Shhh!”

The knocking gets louder. Three sharp taps. Amanda strains to hear what’s happening outside the compartment.

“I think someone’s coming. What do I do? I don’t have a ticket!”

Diego unties the sweater around his waist and gestures behind the table.

“Here, in the corner. It’s dark. I will put my sweater over you, maybe they don’t see.”

Amanda tucks herself as tightly as she can into the far corner of the cabin, bending her long legs at an uncomfortable angle. She pulls Diego’s sweater over her head and tries to slow her breathing, but she can hear the panic in every exhalation. The sweater still smells faintly of Diego’s aftershave – an appealing woody scent. Cedar maybe? She breathes in deeply and tries to focus on replaying the events of the previous evening in her head. A memory of a tentative, sangria-flavoured first kiss floats to the forefront. Amanda latches onto it, recalling Diego’s warm, smooth hands on the back of her neck as his soft lips found hers.

The knocking has reached the compartment next door. Amanda can clearly hear the voice that accompanies it now. It’s deep and gravelly.

“Tickets and fares, please.”

Under the sweater, Amanda feels a cool hand touch her arm.

“Keep quiet, he will not see you. I will make sure.”

The hand withdraws and Amanda hears three loud taps at the compartment door. The door slides open and from her cramped corner Amanda can just make out a pair of extremely shiny black leather shoes. Her throat is dry and ticklish, and she feels a sudden urge to cough. She tries to swallow. Please don’t cough, please don’t cough, please don’t cough.

“Tickets and fares, please.”

Diego has moved to the bench nearest the door. She can see his bare left foot tapping rapidly against the carpet as he hands over the ticket and coin to the inspector.

“Excuse me, Señor, but where is this train going? What is the next stop?”

The ticket inspector gives a hollow laugh.

“There’s only one stop on this train, Señor. You’ll know it when you get there. The Conductor will explain everything.”

Amanda hears the click of a ticket stamp. The tickle in her throat is now unbearable. She wills the inspector to move on to the next compartment before she gives herself away. The door is sliding open as Amanda loses her battle against her respiratory tract and splutters a half-cough, half-sneeze into the sleeve of Diego’s sweater.

“Señor, is there someone with you in the carriage? That is strictly forbidden.”

Amanda sees the shiny leather shoes striding toward her. The sweater is whipped off her head and she looks up to find a stern-looking middle-aged man in a pristine dark uniform glaring down at her.

“You don’t belong here, Señorita. You need to come and see The Conductor immediately.”

Amanda unfolds her cramped legs and hauls herself back onto the bench. There’s no point trying to stay hidden now.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak onto the train. I’d buy a ticket, but I seem to have lost my purse and…”

The inspector holds up an authoritative hand and Amanda stops mid-sentence.

“You can’t buy a ticket on the train, Señorita. Follow me, please.”

Diego taps the inspector on the shoulder and tries to pass him his ticket and coin.

“Here, she can have mine. Throw me off the train instead, Señor, I will find my own way home.”

The inspector shakes his head.

“It does not work like that here I’m afraid. The Conductor will explain. Come with me please, Señorita.”

He gestures for Amanda to follow him into the corridor, and she reluctantly obeys. Diego tries to join them, but the inspector slides the door shut behind Amanda and holds up a warning finger.

“Stay there please, Señor. The Conductor will call you when he is ready for you.”

Diego’s confused face disappears behind the one-way glass and Amanda is left to follow the inspector along the dark corridor by herself. She has to hustle to keep up, speed walking across the plush blue carpet as they pass compartment after compartment. The train seems to go on for miles – how long could it possibly be?

Ahead of her, the inspector has stopped to talk to a passenger. She hears him telling her to return to her cabin. The woman’s voice raises a few decibels, and Amanda sees compartment doors sliding as passengers in the neighbouring cabins join the affray. An angry mixture of Spanish and English voices fills the corridor.

“What’s going on? You can’t keep us locked up like this!”

“How far is the next station? I demand to talk to the manager!”

“¿Dónde está mi teléfono móvil?”

Amanda spots her opportunity. She turns and runs back the way she came, heart pounding wildly in her chest. If she can just find somewhere to hide until the train pulls into the next station, maybe she can avoid whatever punishment The Conductor plans to impose. Clearly this is no ordinary train – who knows what strange rules they have in place for stowaways when they keep actual paying passengers locked in their cabins.

With nothing to identify the compartments on either side of the corridor, Amanda has no idea how to find Diego again. She runs until her legs begin to buckle beneath her and her lungs feel like they’re about to explode, glancing back every few minutes to see if the ticket inspector is chasing her. The corridor remains mercifully empty. She’s hoping to find a storage room or cleaning cupboard she can hide in, but the train seems to be composed of one long carriage of identical compartments. Where on earth were the toilets? Or the café? She hasn’t even seen one of those little snack trolleys being wheeled through. Amanda is surprised to realise that she’s neither hungry or thirsty, even though several hours must have passed since she last ate or drank anything.

Stopping to catch her breath, Amanda catches sight of a dark silhouette moving through the corridor ahead. She hears three taps on a compartment door.

“Tickets and fares, please.”

Amanda’s heart skips a beat. Were there two ticket inspectors? That would make sense for a train this size. But the figure ahead has a familiar long stride and as he moves toward her, she recognises the stern grey eyes and thin, unsmiling lips.

“Ah, there you are, Señorita. I knew you’d be back sooner or later. Are you ready to see The Conductor now?”

Amanda takes an involuntary step backward. How was this possible? She’d run in completely the opposite direction. There was no way the inspector could have passed her in the corridor. Which meant she was back near where she started from. But how could that be?

The inspector reaches out a hand and beckons her toward him.

“Don’t worry, Señorita. The Conductor will explain everything to you. We must go and see him now; you don’t belong here. You need to leave before it is too late.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Amanda cries. “What is going on?”

“Come.”

The inspector places his hand on the wall between two compartments, and a small panel springs open to reveal a numeric keypad. He types a few numbers in and closes the panel. Amanda sees the corridor ahead of her begin to mist over. Open-mouthed, she stares as a heavy wooden door appears in front of them, with a large iron knocker. The inspector lifts the knocker and taps three times.

“Come in.”

A familiar voice invites Amanda over the threshold. Confused, she pushes open the door to find her father sitting at a high desk, wearing what appears to be a train driver’s uniform.

“Dad?”

The man smiles a warm, weary greeting.

“No, but it makes sense that you would think so. Come in, Amanda. Have a seat.”

He gestures to the small stool in front of the desk. Amanda cautiously perches on it, feeling like a child that’s been sent to the headmaster’s office for talking in class.

“Who are you? Why do you look like my father? What is going on?”

The Conductor clasps his hands together in front of him on the desk.

“The passengers on this train are taking a one-way trip, Amanda. Their tickets and fares are taking them to a place from which they will not return. Do you understand?”

Amanda frowns.

“You mean, they’re… dead?”

The Conductor nods.

“You don’t have a ticket because you’re not supposed to be here. You’ve caught an early train.”

Amanda rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands.

“But how did I…? What am I…?”

She suddenly jerks her hands away from her face.

“Wait, but that means that Diego is…”

The Conductor nods, a sympathetic expression on his face.

“I’m afraid so. There was an incident, you see. An explosion. At the nightclub. Your friend Jennifer is on board too, along with many others.”

He pauses for a moment to allow Amanda to process the news, then continues.

“One hundred and seventy-two others to be precise, all from the same place, all on the same night. I used to transport souls by ferry one at a time, you know, but there are so many incidents these days. I had to find a more efficient way to bring you all to your destination. The last stop, if you like.”

Amanda tries to wrap her head around the information she’s being given, but the room is spinning around her.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” The Conductor says, peering over the desk.

“But the most important thing is to get you off the train before we reach our stop. Otherwise, it will be too late to send you back. I’m assuming you would like to go home?”

Amanda nods with as much enthusiasm as she can muster.

“Yes please.”

The Conductor pushes a button on the desk beside him. The wall behind them disappears in a grey mist that slowly dissolves to reveal a pitch-black tunnel. Amanda can see how fast the train is travelling now. It’s terrifyingly quick, pushing far beyond the boundaries of time and space as she knows them.

“Follow the tunnel and you’ll find your way home. I’ll be seeing you…” The Conductor pauses as he flips through the pages of the large book on the desk in front of him “… soon.” He shuts the book and gestures for Amanda to get up and stand at the edge of the blackness.

“You can’t be serious,” she says, eyes wide with horror.

“I can’t jump off here; it would be suicidal.”

The Conductor stands next to her, looking out into the tunnel.

“It would be suicidal to stay on board with us, Amanda,” he says, giving her a short, sharp shove from behind.

10am, Monday June 24th

“Stay with us, Amanda. Please, stay with us.”

Amanda feels her eyelids flutter.

“I think she’s coming around. Doctor! We need a doctor in here!”

A bright, florescent light burns through Amanda’s retinas. She blinks, trying to bring the world back into focus. A deep throbbing pain sears through her skull.

“I’m here, Amanda. You’re going to be ok; I’m here with you. You’re in a hospital but you’re going to be just fine.”

Amanda cracks open her eyelids. The Conductor is peering down at her with a concerned look on his face. No, not The Conductor. Her father. Gone is the pristine buttoned uniform and the pillbox hat. In their place is a tired, unshaven version of the man who used to pick her up from ballet classes every Thursday and who taught her how to make pizza dough from scratch. She reaches out a hand from under the pale blue bed sheet.

“Dad? I had a terrible nightmare. Where am I? What’s happened?”

She hears a door swing open behind the bed and footsteps stride quickly across the room.

“Señor Jenson? I’ve got the results back and I’m afraid we’re going to need to operate immediately. I have to tell you that the chances aren’t great, but we’ll do everything we can.”

Amanda turns her head on the pillow to see the ticket inspector standing next to her father. Why is he wearing a surgeon’s uniform? She tries to speak, but her throat has dried up. The inspector takes two long strides toward the bed.

“We’re going to take you into surgery now, Amanda. Everything is going to be OK.”

He pats her hand reassuringly and waves to the nurses waiting at the door. When he stands up, Amanda realises that he’s slipped something into the pocket of her hospital gown. She gropes around to feel a small, unevenly shaped coin and a rectangular piece of card. Sliding the card out of the pocket, she holds it up to read the four digits she already knows will be printed on one side: 0173.

“Don’t worry, honey, you’ll be fine” her dad says to her, as the nurses wheel her out of the ward.

“I’ll see you very soon.”