Well, Hell
Runaway Train
The world blurred as he opened his eyes, but he recognized the rectangular shape of a boxcar immediately and felt the steady, rhythmic shaking as the train raced over the tracks. His body ached in time with his heart-beat and his head throbbed. Sunlight filtered into the boxcar through gaps between the slats of the ceiling, but otherwise darkness had him firmly in its grasp.
His vision still struggling to focus, he followed the light, noted the dust motes swirling without a care in the stagnant air. His gaze fell on a rail spike driven hastily into the floorboards, and the heavy chain it held in place.
As he shifted and moaned, the chains rattled. The iron links were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, twisting and cutting the skin there. Careful not to hurt himself further, he tried undoing the complicated tangle of chain. The rattling noise and the sound of rusted metal rubbing together filled the silent
“Come on, keep it quiet will you?”
Startled, Lyle looked over towards the source of the voice. In the darkness he could just barely make out the vague shape of a man.
The other man snarled again, “You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say something?”
Lyle struggled to find his voice. “I-I-I’m not supposed to be here,” he croaked finally, and it was the truth.
A rough bitter laugh erupted from the man’s direction, echoing with the rattling of rusted chains. “Oh man,” he said once he’d stopped laughing. “Salem, did you hear that? Another who isn’t supposed to be here!”
Another shape solidified, proving itself to be yet another man. This one shuffled forward, into the nearest beam of light, showing off the very same complicated tangle of metal that had Lyle ensnared.
His posture seemed deflated, broken by some horrible truth. “None of us are supposed to be here,” Salem said to Lyle. “I’m sorry, kid.”
Something like a laugh bubbled out of his chest. That laugh turned over into a sob and he buried his face into his knees. Hot tears burned down his cheeks. His shoulders shook and those damn chains rattled with his every movement.
Thankfully for his pride, neither man said a word until he had worked through the worst of the raw fear, shame, and sorrow.
Salem broke the silence first. “You’re awful young to be here.”
His heart felt hollow as it continued to thump vainly. He just nodded.
The other man groaned, whispering something under his breath that could have been “This one’s a real talker, isn’t he?”
Lyle just wanted his heart to stop already. Wasn’t it enough that he’d lost the fight? Couldn’t the pathetic organ conveniently cease its useless toils? What a gift a heart-attack would be. There was even a history of heart troubles in his family. Couldn’t he pick up his inheritance?
“Come on kid,” Salem pleaded, “just tell me your name, okay?”
Suddenly angry, he leveled Salem with an icy glare. “What do you care?”
The other man answered for him. “Because he’s got a damn Samaritan’s syndrome going. He wants to save all of us. Salem, the modern day Jesus Christ, with the power of fuck all.”
“Duncan!” Salem snapped.
The other man looked at least slightly ashamed for his comment, but didn’t apologize.
Salem turned his gaze back to Lyle, some unfathomable, desperate hope lighting in his eyes. “What’s your name?”
He swallowed thickly. “Lyle Thaddeus Abney. I... I asked for help. With... things.”
“’Things’, huh?” Duncan snorted, having recovered excellently from his brief attack of conscience.
Lyle shrank back against the wall of the train. Silence descended upon the group, broken only by the rattling of loose floorboards, metal chains, and the desperate thundering of a doomed, idiotically persistent heart. The floor rumbled and shuddered underneath him.
The train shrieked as it raced along the tracks. Dust fell from the ceiling in heavy sheets and debris rained down, dislodged by the ever worsening shaking of the boxcar as it steadily picked up speed.
Pale-faced and wide-eyed, Lyle looked to Salem, looking simultaneously hopeful and hopeless. However, Salem was similarly disturbed by the train’s change of pace.
Duncan, however, seemed to grow more at ease the more the train fell apart around them. An odd look lighting in his eyes, he pinned his gaze resolutely to the ceiling, watching as a small gap between the boards slowly grew. His shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily against the wall. Dust settled atop his curly head of hair.
“I,” Salem said, “wanted my girl to stay with me.”
Lyle glanced away. Anxious energy roiling under his skin and boiling in his veins, he curled in on himself.
“I loved her. Needed her.”
The train jumped with a sickening lurch.
The shrill shriek of metal scraping across metal. Thud thud thudding of bodies crashing against wood. The whole car tilted. Crates slid.
Lyle barely rolled out of the way just as one smashed against the wall. Splinters flew. Pain flared in his ankle as the manacles held tight.
The train righted itself again.
With a dizzying crack, Lyle’s head made forceful contact with the ground. Stars and black spots filled his blurred vision. Darkness grasped for his consciousness eagerly, shadowy tendrils probing and drilling.
“But, oh God—”
Pain exploded.
Thunder roared.
The train exploded.
Darkness roared.
His vision still struggling to focus, he followed the light, noted the dust motes swirling without a care in the stagnant air. His gaze fell on a rail spike driven hastily into the floorboards, and the heavy chain it held in place.
As he shifted and moaned, the chains rattled. The iron links were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, twisting and cutting the skin there. Careful not to hurt himself further, he tried undoing the complicated tangle of chain. The rattling noise and the sound of rusted metal rubbing together filled the silent
“Come on, keep it quiet will you?”
Startled, Lyle looked over towards the source of the voice. In the darkness he could just barely make out the vague shape of a man.
The other man snarled again, “You gonna keep staring, or are you gonna say something?”
Lyle struggled to find his voice. “I-I-I’m not supposed to be here,” he croaked finally, and it was the truth.
A rough bitter laugh erupted from the man’s direction, echoing with the rattling of rusted chains. “Oh man,” he said once he’d stopped laughing. “Salem, did you hear that? Another who isn’t supposed to be here!”
Another shape solidified, proving itself to be yet another man. This one shuffled forward, into the nearest beam of light, showing off the very same complicated tangle of metal that had Lyle ensnared.
His posture seemed deflated, broken by some horrible truth. “None of us are supposed to be here,” Salem said to Lyle. “I’m sorry, kid.”
Something like a laugh bubbled out of his chest. That laugh turned over into a sob and he buried his face into his knees. Hot tears burned down his cheeks. His shoulders shook and those damn chains rattled with his every movement.
Thankfully for his pride, neither man said a word until he had worked through the worst of the raw fear, shame, and sorrow.
Salem broke the silence first. “You’re awful young to be here.”
His heart felt hollow as it continued to thump vainly. He just nodded.
The other man groaned, whispering something under his breath that could have been “This one’s a real talker, isn’t he?”
Lyle just wanted his heart to stop already. Wasn’t it enough that he’d lost the fight? Couldn’t the pathetic organ conveniently cease its useless toils? What a gift a heart-attack would be. There was even a history of heart troubles in his family. Couldn’t he pick up his inheritance?
“Come on kid,” Salem pleaded, “just tell me your name, okay?”
Suddenly angry, he leveled Salem with an icy glare. “What do you care?”
The other man answered for him. “Because he’s got a damn Samaritan’s syndrome going. He wants to save all of us. Salem, the modern day Jesus Christ, with the power of fuck all.”
“Duncan!” Salem snapped.
The other man looked at least slightly ashamed for his comment, but didn’t apologize.
Salem turned his gaze back to Lyle, some unfathomable, desperate hope lighting in his eyes. “What’s your name?”
He swallowed thickly. “Lyle Thaddeus Abney. I... I asked for help. With... things.”
“’Things’, huh?” Duncan snorted, having recovered excellently from his brief attack of conscience.
Lyle shrank back against the wall of the train. Silence descended upon the group, broken only by the rattling of loose floorboards, metal chains, and the desperate thundering of a doomed, idiotically persistent heart. The floor rumbled and shuddered underneath him.
The train shrieked as it raced along the tracks. Dust fell from the ceiling in heavy sheets and debris rained down, dislodged by the ever worsening shaking of the boxcar as it steadily picked up speed.
Pale-faced and wide-eyed, Lyle looked to Salem, looking simultaneously hopeful and hopeless. However, Salem was similarly disturbed by the train’s change of pace.
Duncan, however, seemed to grow more at ease the more the train fell apart around them. An odd look lighting in his eyes, he pinned his gaze resolutely to the ceiling, watching as a small gap between the boards slowly grew. His shoulders slumped and he leaned heavily against the wall. Dust settled atop his curly head of hair.
“I,” Salem said, “wanted my girl to stay with me.”
Lyle glanced away. Anxious energy roiling under his skin and boiling in his veins, he curled in on himself.
“I loved her. Needed her.”
The train jumped with a sickening lurch.
The shrill shriek of metal scraping across metal. Thud thud thudding of bodies crashing against wood. The whole car tilted. Crates slid.
Lyle barely rolled out of the way just as one smashed against the wall. Splinters flew. Pain flared in his ankle as the manacles held tight.
The train righted itself again.
With a dizzying crack, Lyle’s head made forceful contact with the ground. Stars and black spots filled his blurred vision. Darkness grasped for his consciousness eagerly, shadowy tendrils probing and drilling.
“But, oh God—”
Pain exploded.
Thunder roared.
The train exploded.
Darkness roared.