THE NEXT DEPOT

The passenger car rattled with luggage as it moved, the passengers seated below jostling with it. The cast-iron stove warmed the passenger car, but she still felt the cold coming through the window beside her. She could see the wet leaves beyond the cobblestones of East Vale. She sensed something right away, as the train should have slowed before the first house came into view. Instead, it gathered speed.

“Mom, is this our stop?” the little boy across the aisle said.

His mother gave him his ticket. “What does it say?”

“It says West Vale,” the boy said.

“And what does this sign say?”

“It says East Vale,” he said.

“So not yet. The next stop is ours. But the train should stop here.”

Margaret also had a ticket for West Vale.

At the depot, a man entered the platform. He waved a red flag over his head. Another man joined him. They yelled at the locomotive. Through the closed window, Margaret couldn’t hear anything, but she could tell from their body language that something was urgent.

Then they were gone. And the platform disappeared.

“I believe they wanted us to stop,” Margaret said. “Something’s not right.”

“Maybe they had a package for someone on the train,” the boy’s mother said. She pulled him back onto his seat since he tried to look through the rear window.

The conductor came in from the next car and gripped the top of a seat as the train lurched around a bend.

“We’re moving far too fast. Why?" Margaret asked.

“Because we’re late.”

“Why did those men at East Vale wave a red flag at us?”

The conductor wore a strange look, and for a moment, he looked as if he wanted to return to the depot.

“Maybe I should tell the driver,” he said.

He moved through the doors to the front of the car like a gazelle fleeing a cheetah. Margaret watched as beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, waiting for the man to return. The train came between rows of bare trees. The boy pressed his palm to the glass. He wanted to count the telegraph poles flying past.

The conductor returned minutes later.

“Ma’am, yes, the driver saw them. He couldn’t make out what they wanted. And he decided to ask at West Vale.”

“Why? Couldn’t he stop?”

“Ma’am, we’re nearly there.”

He moved down the aisle before she could ask him any more questions.

The train slowed. The boy noticed first, delighted to be right. His mother put on his coat and buttoned it while he wriggled. Margaret lifted her case from the rack.

The trees opened onto West Vale.

Margaret stood to get her case. From her place beside the window, she could see the locomotive rounding a curve ahead. A man climbed down from its cab.

Then Margaret saw him jump and get clear of the train.

He struck the ground, rolled down the embankment, then got up and ran towards East Vale.

“Did you see that?” Margaret asked.

The boy’s mother finished fastening his coat and said, “See what?”

“The engineer jumped off the train.”

She looked out, but the curve carried them past him. “Are you certain?”

Margaret turned towards the front of the car. No one else moved. The train still slowed. Someone else must have taken the controls.

“We have to get off,” Margaret said. “Now! Let's go.”

The mother held her son by the shoulders. “While it’s moving?”

“The engineer just ran away. That’s not right.”

The boy looked from one woman to the other. Margaret reached for his hand, then stopped. His mother drew him close.

“Please, won’t you come with me?” Margaret said.

“I can’t have my son jump. He’s much too small.”

Margaret looked out again. She could see West Vale in view now. Freight wagons stood beside the depot, and men stood by the platform. One pointed down the track at the approaching train.

Margaret took her case and ran to the door. She saw the boy and his mother across the aisle. She watched the mother shake her head again. Margaret shook her head back.

Then, Margaret gripped the doorframe. Across the aisle, the boy tugged at a button his mother had fastened through the wrong hole. She caught his fingers and straightened his coat. Margaret took one step towards them, but her case struck the seat and stopped her. Through the doorway, stones streaked past beneath the carriage. She looked from the boy to the ground, trying to judge how she could hold him and land without crushing him beneath her.

Then she saw the ground rush beneath the open doorway, and Margaret waited until the train slowed some more before she jumped.

She landed in mud and rolled down the angled ground. Her case struck the ground beside her. She got to her feet with twigs and grass caught in her dress. She seized the case, ran toward a cluster of boulders half-buried in the field and took cover.

A man crouched behind one of them near her.

Margaret stopped. It was the engineer.

He looked towards the depot, where the train drew alongside the platform. Then he saw her. His face tightened, but he stayed put.

Margaret dropped behind the farthest boulder. She could see the passenger car through a gap between the stones. The boy stood at the window; his mother’s hands rested on his shoulders.

The train stopped.

The engineer raised his hand toward a man sheltered farther down the field. The man bent out of sight.

The train, already pulling alongside the platform, braked hard, throwing the mother forward so that she gripped her son.

“Down,” the conductor shouted.

A half second later, West Vale depot blew apart.

Margaret pressed herself against the earth as the blast passed over the boulders. When she lifted her head, smoke hid the passenger car. She could no longer see the boy or his mother as she had while she sat beside them on the train.

She burst into tears.