Trainsquatting

Carriage 2732

It was painfully bright, the morning I woke up. The window shutters were down, but the sun shone through the slits, forcing my eyes open. My brow was sweaty and my mouth, dangerously dry. I felt mildly irritable but well rested. I stretched like I’d never stretched before, feeling every muscle, every fibre in my body snapping and popping with ecstasy. Then, ever so gradually, I began to look around.

I was in a train carriage. I didn’t have the frame of reference to appreciate it then but it was probably the most elegant train carriage ever conceived. Regal wooded interiors, intricate carvings and dimly lit chandeliers that found the perfect balance between gaudy and delicate. Sitting upright in that velvet green chair felt cosier and safer than lying flat on any mattress I could ever imagine.

I felt at peace here. Until a dangerous thought crept into my head. Where was here? Where was ‘here’ coming from. And, perhaps most importantly, where was it going? It came over me like a passing curiosity, rather than a haunting desire for an explanation. It just felt like something any sensible passenger ought to know.

I sat up purposefully and raised the shutters, hoping to find some sort of clue. Across the window, in subtle silver writing, it said ‘The Express.’

Idiotic name, I thought to myself. The ‘What’ Express? How maddeningly inconsiderate it was to not title the train appropriately so as to give oblivious travellers like myself a clearer idea of where we were headed. I tried to look a bit further, although at the speed we were going there really wasn’t much to make out. A few houses in dilapidated condition. A great deal of barren land, peppered with the odd, defiant speck of greenery. A brilliant bright blur of an unfamiliar, unfathomable world.

I felt someone looking at me and turned to see a burly old man in the opposite seat looking visibly annoyed. He wore a classic 'old man' suit, complete with the suspenders and everything. The newspaper he had been reading was now folded in his hand, almost as if he meant to beat me with it. “Do you mind”, he said, like a true English aristocrat. “I’m trying to read.”

It was the shutter. It seemed I was the only person in the carriage who had it open and the flood of sunlight was disrupting the country club ambience. I shut it without a second thought. Why bother to question how on earth the natural light was obstructing his reading. I had other questions. More pertinent questions. And here was someone who just might have the answers.

Yet, I felt a twinge of reluctance. Something about his general body language didn’t project approachability. I couldn’t ask him something stupid like, “Where is this train going” or “Do you remember getting onboard.” He’d think I was a moron.

“Excuse me sir, d’you know when we’re due to reach our destination”, I asked, testing the waters. He peered up at me with a look of complete disdain.

“It’s The Express, boy. We’ll be there before you know it.”

Useless response. Useless man. It seemed that if I were to find any real answers, I needed to find someone better suited to my line of questioning. Someone intelligent, yet non-judgemental. Someone with nothing better to do than to sit and share their wisdom with anyone willing to listen. I looked back at the newspaper man, summoning the courage to ask my final question.

“Sorry to bother you again sir, but do you know if there’s a pub on board?”

Carriage 2600

To its credit, this pub carriage was just as ornate as the one I’d been in before, but by this point I wasn’t paying as much attention to the details. I sat down on a swivelling leather barstool and watched as a devilishly handsome bartender immediately caught my gaze.

“Evening, sir. I’m Horace. I’ll be your server this evening. What can I get you?” What could he get me? I wanted answers. But without a drink this would just seem like an awkward interrogation.

“What do you recommend?” I asked.

“Oooh, I’d recommend The Express Margarita, sir. It’ll get ya there.”

He began creating his concoction, shaking, stirring and spraying in a flurry of ice and lime, all while maintaining his suave, effortless demeanour. Moments later, he was sliding me over a salty glass of tropical wonder.

“Say Horace, you wouldn’t happen to know where this train is headed, would you?” I asked, tentatively.

“Let me guess”, he said, looking vaguely amused. “You just woke up in a soft velvet seat without any idea where you came from or how you ended up here?”

“Something like that”, I exclaimed, a little taken aback by his nonchalance. He came in closer, and almost whispered, “Before you start asking questions like that, you might want to finish your drink.”

I decided it was best to take my time with it. The drink was exquisite. Sharp, sweet, light and heavy all at the same time. A sublime cocktail really. But this wasn’t about the drink. Horace was right. The answers I sought might not go down quite as easy. I needed a moment to ready myself. So I sat back in my swivelling chair, inhaling cigar fumes and gazing ominously out the window until I’d sucked my ice cubes dry and a voice deep inside told me, it was time.

“Alright, I’m just going to give it to you straight,” he said, having suddenly lost his carefree smile. “You can ask where we’re going on every carriage and on every carriage you’ll get a different answer. Truth is, no one’s got a clue. Every person on this train woke up in one seat or another at one point or another, just the same as you.” You’d think that revelation would’ve rocked me to my very core, but somehow it didn’t feel that scary once I’d had a moment to digest it. It felt like it fit. It was something of a relief to know I wasn’t the only one.

“So, let me get this straight”, I said, attempting to organise my thoughts. “We don’t know where we’re going. Do we have any idea when we’re getting somewhere?”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that, Sir”, he said, with a knowing grin. “This is The Express. We’ll be there before you know it!”

Now that one rocked me. I leapt to my feet in a fit of panic. All around me were people just drinking their drinks without a care in the world. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more. The prospect of spending all eternity on this train or the other passengers’ complete ambivalence. Was I the only one who felt the need to arrive somewhere. I needed air. I needed a hug. Fuck it, I needed another Margarita. I sat back down.

“You don’t need to be afraid, sir”, said Horace, as he slid over glass number two. “There are thousands, if not millions of carriages on this line.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel any better?” I asked, genuinely hoping for some clarity.

“Lets put it this way. Whenever you get sick of one carriage, there’s another just a few short steps away.”

Carriage 2121

Of all the men I met aboard The Express, Horace was the wisest of them all. The next few days were utter bliss. There was a theatre carriage that put on a new show every evening. Everything from Shakespeare to Mamma Mia. There was a free seafood bar with squid and lobster so fresh you’d think we were on an endless cruise. Epic theme parks. Mesmerising discotheques. Universities, both academic and party-oriented. And there were still thousands of carriages to go. I was in the casino car now, in the midst of a heated poker game with three very serious contenders and a great deal of money on the table. I didn’t need answers to the larger questions. I needed to know if this salt-and-pepper haired woman with intoxicating perfume was bluffing.

I didn’t have a lot of money going in. Just a few complementary tokens to get me started. Yet, here I was, about sixteen hours later, facing the largest pot the casino claimed to have ever sanctioned. On my right were two fairly experienced players, Farhad and Serena. They were careful gamblers and had been at it for longer than they cared to discuss. Opposite me was Joan. She was clever, but perhaps a little too greedy. She had deep pockets and couldn’t bare the idea of someone else winning. She raised. I called. So did Serena. She raised again. Serena sheepishly folded. Joan’s gaze could have split me in half. She raised again and again I called. I was ready to go down swinging.

“Screw it, I’m all in”, she declared, thrusting the last of her chips into the pile. Then, she did something that would alter my journey forever. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a little orange ticket and placed it right in the middle on the pot.

I’d never seen a ticket on the train before. I suppose it was the kind of thing people kept them to themselves. I made an act of rummaging through my pockets and backpack pretending to have misplaced it, but I was certain that I’d never had one and I had no idea what that might mean. I looked at Farhad and Serena for support but they were just staring at me expectantly.“So sorry, I can’t remember where I kept the damn thing”, I said, trying to sound moderately confident. The entire table gasped.

Joan beamed like it was Christmas morning, leaning back in her seat victoriously. “You have a choice to make, dear boy. Fold now and lose it all or I’ll call for the conductor. And believe me, if you had any idea what they do to stowaways, you’d be out of here already.” When she put it like that, there was really only one choice. I stood up and politely congratulated her on her win. Then I opened my backpack, filled it with as many tokens as I could get my hands on and ran for my life.

I heard them screaming in protest right up until I slammed the carriage door. I was in a hair salon. Then a hospital ward. Then a hydroponic farm. I ran like a superhero, propelled by a surge of adrenaline. The sirens were blaring and the passengers left the isle wide open, as if they were used to the occasional stowaway chase. Pretty soon, it was all just a haze of carriage doors and chaos. I didn’t know where I was. I just knew I needed to keep going.

The first conductor I encountered was a joke. An unenthused little man in a teal uniform who grabbed hold of my jacket and then promptly let go. A disgrace to his uniform but a blessing, as far as I was concerned.

The second hit me square in the head before I even saw him coming. I hit the floor and rolled sideways, narrowly avoiding a boot to the neck. Somehow, I got back to my feet and took off with even more gusto than before. Unfortunately, this one was no quitter. I didn’t look back for one second, but I could hear the carriage doors flying open behind me as I ran. He was not slowing down.

I knew I couldn’t go on forever, even if the train was long enough. It felt like it had been hours and some carriages were becoming increasingly hard to navigate. I was leaving behind a mess of plates, tables and suitcases in my wake, and still the conductor just kept coming. Then came the moment I was dreading. The moment I knew would spell my doom. The carriage door in front of me was locked.

At first, I refused to accept defeat. I grabbed that handle and pulled with every ounce of energy I had left. As you can guess, it didn’t budge. I turned around helplessly, praying for a way out. I was in a lavish oriental restaurant and every eye in the room was on me. The relentless conductor was bang opposite me now, readying his handcuffs and taking his time. He knew he had me right where he wanted me. I turned back towards the door, yanking the handle back and forth in frustration. I couldn’t bring myself to just stare the man down as he marched toward me. All of a sudden, I heard a crash.

It was glass shattering. Wood cracking. Bones breaking. The train itself screeching and swaying. A deafening sound. I turned to see the conductor hanging half out the window, screaming and grappling for dear life. His feet were pinned in place by a large steel food cart, wiggling and kicking in vain. His torso was dangling in the breeze. I never saw the tunnel coming but something tells me he did. Soon, he kicked no more.

A large boy with a pleasant grin emerged from behind the food cart, triumphantly walking my way. Not a person in the carriage said a word. “Don’t look so alarmed”, he said. “If you plan to stay on board without a ticket, you’ve got to kill a conductor or two.” He grabbed the door handle pushing past me, and inserted two sleek metal objects into the lock. A few quick twists and the door sprung open.

“You coming?”

“Where?” I asked, still visibly shaken. He laughed.

“To the stowaway carriage, of course.”

Carriage 1001

I’d been through a lot of carriages by this point. More than I cared to keep track of. Each one, unique in its own charming way. But Carriage 1001 was the first I’d ever seen that didn’t seem to belong on this train. Whatever used to be in here was stripped away in the most brutal fashion, leaving nothing but stark bare metal and battered patches of wood. I was seated in a deck chair that I could only assume had been stolen from the swimming pool. There were five other people in the carriage. They were armed and staring at me intently.

Charlie sat on a barrel, spinning a switchblade in his left hand. Hazel and Mickey were in a hammock, sitting up with pistols drawn. Boris, the magnanimous stranger who saved my life not too long ago, stood next to me, a cricket bat hanging by his side. And in the centre sat Regina, self-proclaimed queen of the stowaway carriage. She had no weapon. At least, none that I could see.

“Do you know what it means to be here?” she asked, menacingly.

“No”, I replied, a little intimidated. “No idea.”

“Well, allow me to explain. Boris here didn’t save your life. He bought it. As of the moment that conductor split in half, you were indebted to us all. You live with us. You eat with us. You steal for us. You die for us. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear”, I replied, feeling certain that was the answer she was looking for.

“Glad to hear it”, she said, suddenly softening her tone. “Welcome, brother! We’re thrilled to have you aboard.”

With that the carriage erupted into laughter. I was greeted with a barrage of hugs, handshakes and friendly introductions. Weapons were replaced with lukewarm cans of beer. Mickey pulled some barbecue chicken out of a questionable cardboard box. And Boris began regaling the group with the tale of his latest slain conductor. They were all thoroughly amused. We sat there for hours, trading stories and eating our fill. Of course, unlike most of the group, I didn’t have quite as many stories to tell.

“You’re a freshie”, Hazel remarked, as I mentioned it had been less than a week since I’d woken up.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Well then, you’re going to need one of these”, she said, rummaging through her backpack. What she handed me was the last thing I ever expected to find. It was a hand-drawn map of the train.

The level of detail was hard to believe. According to their map, the train ended at carriage 6000. Regina was the only one who’d ever made it that far. Each carriage was meticulously labelled and rated by level of risk. One star meant easy pickings. Three stars meant conductors backyard. All any young stowaway needed to ravage this train down to the bones. For the first time in my journey, I felt informed.

“What about the carriages from one to thousand?” I asked, suddenly noticing a glaring void on the map.

“Well spotted”, said Hazel. “We don’t know what’s in that direction, do we Regina?”

“Sure we do”, she replied. “It’s just not worth revisiting.”

“Revisiting?”, I asked, prying as politely as I could.

“Trust me, freshie. You’re not ready for what’s beyond that door. There’s no order there. Only madness. Lost souls living in utter unadulterated anarchy.”

I decided not to press her further. I’d had more than enough answers for one day. Slowly, darkness crept in and my compatriots began drifting off to sleep. I felt content. Maybe I’d never stride through the pubs and casinos like a proper ticket holder again, but I’d found something far more meaningful. These five crazy characters felt like family. They didn’t look to the train for a sense of purpose. They looked to each other. To have found each other on a train as endless as this one was truly special.

The next morning didn’t begin like I expected. For starters, I woke up staring down the barrel of a gun. I cautiously rose and was immediately restrained by two very large conductors. It appeared our little murder the day before had turned a few heads and now they were here for revenge. I looked around and saw every member of our crew tightly bound and defenceless. For all their quips and courage, they knew when they’d been beat.

“Ticket, please”, said the lead conductor, robotically.

“Or what?” I replied, instantly regretting my tone.

“All stowaways are to be instantly removed from the train.”

That felt a bit extreme. I was expecting imprisonment. Even a degree of torture. But being ‘removed’ from a train that wouldn’t stop. That would be certain death, not to mention an excruciatingly painful way to go. I had to think. I had to find a way out of this. No food cart was going to save me this time.

One of the conductors opened a window and a blast of summer air filled the carriage. One by one, each of my fellow stowaways was tossed into oblivion like a bag of potatoes. They weren’t gagged but they refused to scream or beg for mercy. Fearless till the very end. When it was my turn, I was far less bold.

“Wait, wait. Don’t do it. There must be something I can do. What do you want? I’ll do anything!” Like I said, far less bold.

“Dear boy, if you can’t pay for a ticket, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Suddenly I had an idea.

“Would you accept casino tokens?”

And there it was. As it turns out, a ticket was a hundred and forty pounds. I had in my bag a little over a thousand. Enough to buy tickets for myself and about five other people. A painful realisation. I was released from my shackles, handed one all inclusive ticket and even offered a complimentary breakfast. Before long, I stood alone in the stowaways carriage, gazing at the remnants of what used to be a family. Boris’s cricket bat. Mickey’s barbecue. Hazel’s map. And the train just kept on going, as if nothing ever happened.

There was only one thing left to do. I knew it from the moment they handed me my ticket. I had questions that still needed answers and no amount of sumptuous food and enthralling entertainment was going to stand in my way. I was going to Carriage 1.