The Runaway Hero

He awoke only partially. He felt the rumbling of the train, but he had no idea how he gotten here. Nor did he care in the moment. Robert P. Morgan had managed to create a moving train scenario in his dreams. He only knew he was exhausted. This is how Robert P. Morgan spent his last night on earth… at least the beginning of it.

No one could have predicted the events of that night, ,,, nor would they have wanted to. It took the authorities three days to sift through the ruble of that train. When they we finished, they still could not explain what happened to the engineer. Nor could they explain why only Robert P. Morgan doid not survive.

Of the three hundred passengers on that express to London, only Robert died. But we get ahead of our story. Robert came to full consciousness at about three am that morning. He made his way to the dining car only to find that the kitchen was closed. He ordered a whiskey sour and returned to his birth.

He sat for awhile and found a copy of the London Times to read. After completing the crossword puzzle, Robert decided to make his way to the caboose. He had to get through the baggage car in order to reach the caboose. This meant he had to find a conductor with a key. After searching the club car, Robert returned to the dining car where he discovered the conductor fast asleep. He explained that his laptop was locked in the baggage compartment and the conductor, not fully awake, handed him the master key. Robert’s excitement was mounting as he successfully negotiated the baggage car.

He arrived at the rear of the train only to discover that the caboose was locked as well. Robert was glad that he had the master key and it worked like a charm. The caboose was empty, but the brakeman had left a full thermos of fresh coffee. Robert found some cups in the cupboard above the small wood stove. There was also an icebox loaded with milk and creamer. He poured himself a large cup and added both cream and the sugar he found in a drawer next to the stove.

There was a small table with two chairs. On the table a checkerboard was set up for a game. Robert made the first move. He got up, took the chair across the table, and contemplated his response. He had a strategy to hold back has forces for as long as he could. To an observer, Robert quickly gained the advantage and just as quickly, lost interest in the game.

He began to feel drowsy as the whiskey sour began to have its effect. The caboose was outfitted with a cot and Robert took full advantage. He would just rest his eyes for a moment or two.. He stretched out on the cot as much as it’s five foot length would allow, and quickly succumbed to the rhythmic rumbling to the train. He should have noticed that the train was gaining speed, but sleep overtook him.

The clickity-clack of steel wheels on sections of track played a rhythm all too familiar to this veteran of World War Two. Robert was dreaming of marching in the V-day parade in Birmingham. The dream flashed a new scene as the caboose tipped dangerously on a curve designed to be rounded at a prescribed 30 Km per hour. The train was now traveling at twice that speed.

Robert awoke when the caboose shook violently on another curve. He sat bolt upright and stared into the pitch-black darkness of the now unlit caboose. The last shaking had loosed the electric cable that supplied power to the caboose. The train had now reached 50 Km per hour. Robert made his way to the front of the car, holding on to the wall for stability. The door had locked itself and Robert began to panic. Where had he set the master key? Its location was hidden in the darkness.

Robert felt alongside the door and located an intercom to the engineer. He rang the phone repeatedly for what seemed like a half hour but was only three minutes in real-time. There was no answer and now the train was moving even faster.

Robert remembered that he had seen an ax mounted beside the stove. He felt his way to it and pulled it from its mount. Now Robert began to attack the door. Within a few minutes, he managed to create an opening large enough to squeeze through. He began to make his way forward until he arrived at the baggage car. his heart sank as he realized that the key was still somewhere in the caboose. He turned and began the journey to the back of the train.

How would he find the misplaced key? The darkness with total. Then he remembered that he had stuffed a lighter into his pocket in his last-minute packing. A flick of his bic revealed a dimly lit room. The keys sparkled a shine of their own. They had fallen to the floor below the stove. . Robert reached down in a great stretch and snagged the key. He made his way back to the baggage car. The train was now moving illegally fast.

Robert made his way through the baggage car and returned to his birth. He began rifling through his overnight bag. He dug and dug until he could not remember what he was searching for. Eventually, his fingers recognized a familiar shape. It was his leather writing notebook. He pulled it from the luggage and opened it to his last entry. He grabbed his pen from its smooth leather pocket. Robert began to write:

The train is moving frighteningly fast. A call to the engineer merely rang repeatedly. I have been to the caboose and there is no one there. The conductor seems to have slipped away. I have run low on options. After careful consideration, I have decided to make my way to the engine car. I must find out if the engineer is ok. I have a sinking feeling that this may be my final entry. Blessings to all.

Robert returned the pen to its sheath, and carefully placed the journal on the seat. He checked his lighter; it still worked. He found a broom and detached his head to make a staff. Robert made his way forward. It took Rober a full twenty minutes to reach the engine. A quick inspection revealed that there was no engineer running this train. Robert began exploring the console for ways to stop the train. They would soon arrive on the outskirts of Birmingham The speed limit was 30 Km per hour in the rail yard and Robert’s train was now doing 79 Km per hour.

Robert studied the console before him. It looked simple enough. A large dial had a speed scale from zero to 120 KM per hour. The problem was this: the dial was missing. There appeared to be no way to change the speed setting. Robert began frantically searching for a pair of vice-grips. He found a toolbox on the floor and inside were the vice-grips he needed. There were multiple sizes. He chose carefully. Carefully, he adjusted the wrench to be able to grip the shaft where the dial was missing. It seemed simple enough: Counterclockwise should reduce the train’s speed.

Robert clamped the vice-grips to the shaft. Gingerly, he twisted the wrench counterclockwise; the train began to slow. He breathed a huge sigh of relief. And then it happened! He sneezed and fell against the wrench. The force of his momentum snapped the shaft off completely.

The train had slowed, but it was still careening too fast toward the city limits. For his part, Robert was out of ideas. He began looking for a fuel shutoff valve. There must be a way to starve those engines. He found what looked to be a fuel valve, but the stem was broken off. He began to look for a fitting that he could loosen and cap. He began tracing the fuel line from the fuel tank to the engine. When he got to the carburetor fitting, he froze. It was leaking which meant it was already loose. Robert scrambled to the toolbox and found a pair of pliers with insulated handles. Gripping the fitting he began to pull counterclockwise. The fitting was loosening, and the fuel began to pour out around its sides. Robert spun the pliers as quickly as he could. Finally, the fitting came loose. Fuel poured out across the floor. Robert scrambled for the toolbox and found a loose cap.

When he returned the floor was already bathed in 2 inches of fresh fuel. He jammed the fitting onto the open fitting. He cranked down on the pliers and forced the cap clockwise until the fuel stopped dripping. Robert was tired! He was mega-tired. He dropped the pliers and fell back onto the engineer's seat. Placing his hands slowly behind his head, Robert took in a great gulp of air. Then, another. Closing his eyes, he envisioned his girlfriend, naked before him, touching herself provocatively. As he moved toward her, she threw open her arms and engulfed him in a bare-breasted hug. At that moment, he passed out. The fuel fumes had finally overcome him.

Tragically, a spark from a loose wire ignited the two inches of diesel fuel. Robert took three more breaths and died. They found him tangled in the wreckage of the south terminal. Robert P. Morgan was a hero. But he and God were the only ones who knew it.