The Train to Nowhere
A short story about an unexpected journey
Carlton had never felt a knife against his neck, but he instantly knew what it was. He also instinctively knew what to do. Nothing.
“Who are you?” The words belonged to a woman. Her voice was as sharp and cold as the blade against his flesh.
A chill cascaded through his body, freezing his vocal cords. He knew he had to reply but couldn’t.
Her free hand reached for the knotted rope above him. She pulled, releasing a long, loud whistle. She jumped back, grabbed Carlton’s arm, and spun him around. His gray and white striped cap flew in the opposite direction, like it had been lifted off his head by a tornado.
“Did I do that?” she asked.
Carlton allowed himself a few seconds to evaluate the intruder, a woman in her twenties, with auburn hair that flowed to her hips, one blue and one green eye, pretty, lithe, with defined muscles, barefoot, and pointing the knife at Carlton’s belly.
“Speak or I will cut out your tongue.”
“You did that. You sounded the whistle.”
“It’s the monster’s roar.”
“A whistle, like this.” Carton reached for the whistle cord, but before he could wrap his fingers around it, she closed the distance between them and pressed…
