Night Train Page 6

  They came to the doorway of the carriage. The door had been peeled away like the skin of a fruit and lay ripped in half on the floor.

  “I don’t know,” Banks replied. “Seems like it can open things just fine.”

  He stepped over the broken, flattened door and into the next carriage.

  * * *

  The lights were out. Banks found the torch. He turned it on and let it sweep around the carriage.

  “Fuck,” Garland said.

  “I wish you’d stop saying that,” said Banks.

  * * *

  The carriage they were standing in was full of graffiti. All kinds of graffiti. Some of it was, Garland supposed, modern graffiti, words painted in almost abstract blobs, garish spurts fighting for space in clouds of colour. The effect was to make the inside of the carriage look like an old subway train (but from where? And what was a subway train?) Some of the graffiti was, frankly, incompetent, just scrawls and drawings in black by some person or persons who had no artistic talent whatsoever. Some of it was writing. Screeds of random-looking words, not all of them in any alphabet Garland recognised: political slogans of the vaguest sort (CONTINUE THE STRUGGLE!) and dramatic personal boasts (I COULD HAVE ANYONE OF YOU). There were painted animals, and cartoon figures. Caricatures of people Garland didn’t recognise.

  And, all over one now-blind wall, where someone had simply sprayed right over the compartment window, one enormous painting.

  “What is it?” said Garland.

  Banks said, “I think it’s a map.”

  He peered at it.

  “Those are roads, or rivers, and I can see mountains, I think.”

  He pointed at a grey tangle.

  “That could be a forest.”

  “It could be,” agreed Garland. “It could also be a gorilla.”

  She took a step back.

  “If it is a map,” she said, “it could do with something to let us know where we are. YOU ARE HERE, something like that.”

  “We’re on a train,” Banks said. “We’re here, and we’re everywhere.”

  “Everywhere and nowhere,” Garland said. “Shine that over there.”

  The torch’s light fell on something. It was a table, further down the carriage, an ordinary kitchen table with two chairs on either side of it.

  Banks and Garland sat in the chairs. The table was strewn with odd items, some squat, some square, and some tall and white.

  “Candles,” said Garland, grabbing them. “Useful.”

  Banks swept the table with the torchlight.

  “Look,” he said.

  Some of the objects on the table were on a board. The board was an irregular grid of coloured lines and shapes, and the things on the board – while different to one another – were clearly games pieces. About half of them were black.

  Garland picked one up.

  “It’s a tower,” she said. “And that one is a knight.”

  “Chess,” said Banks. “I remember now.”

  Garland shook her head. “I know chess,” she said. “It’s not chess.”

  “What is it, then?”

  Garland made a face. “I don’t know. But –”

  She picked up another piece. It was a human finger, painted black.

  “I don’t like it.”

  Banks took the finger from her. He licked it.

  “It’s not real,” he said.

  “Well, thank goodness for that,” said Garland, looking round at the painted chaos. “That would have spoiled the entire evening.”

  “I wonder if there’s a set of rules anywhere,” said Banks.

  “You serious?”

  “Got to have rules,” said Banks. “You can’t function without rules.”

  He stuck his head under the table, banged it, cried out, and then said something Garland couldn’t hear. He emerged with a booklet.

  “Rules,” he said.

  “I don’t believe it,” Garland said, as Banks flicked through the booklet.

  “It’s interesting,” Banks said. “I mean, most of the pieces are missing, but it’s a good game.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” said Garland. “Maybe you can teach it to me. I mean, when we have more leisure time.”

  “Weird,” Banks said, not listening to her. “The idea of the game isn’t to win.”

  “Is it to lose?” Garland replied.

  “No,” said Banks. “You just have to keep moving.”

  “Good advice,” said Garland. “We should do the same.”

  Suddenly Banks cried out.

  “Fuck!”

  The finger on the table was bleeding.

  “I thought you said it wasn’t real,” said Garland.

  “It isn’t,” said Banks.

  “And,” said Garland, “I thought you didn’t like that word.”

  “Can we go now?” asked Banks.

  “Happy to,” said Garland, and got up.

  * * *

  As they headed to the next door, Garland heard something. She made her way over to where the luggage rack should have been and put her ear to the wall. Sure enough, she could hear a faint rhythmic sound coming out of a painted-over grille.

  “It’s music,” she said.

  “Like before,” Banks replied.

  “Not like before,” she said. “Listen.”

  * * *

  A laconic voice was singing over a lazy-sounding backing track:

  … and they screamed and begged,

  “Please let us go,”

  But the Devil was driving

  And he said, “No!”

  “Cheery,” said Banks. “I wonder if we could find a news station instead.”

  And the train took the people to their awful fate

  As the Devil drove on through Hell’s foul gate

  the voice sang and faded out.

  * * *

  “Let’s get out of here,” said Banks, and on they went.

  * * *

  “How many carriages?” asked Garland as they found themselves in another, relatively normal carriage and Banks dropped the kitbag onto a table.

  “On the train?” asked Banks, pulling out cans and drinks.

  “So far,” said Garland, taking a drink.

  Banks thought.

  “Counting yours,” he said, “eight.”

  Garland stuck a straw in her drink.

  “And we’ve been moving for what?” she said. “A few hours?”

  Banks nodded.

  “We could be at the front of the train before nightfall,” she said.

  “How do you know it isn’t nightfall already?” said Banks.

  Outside, something erupted.

  “I don’t,” she replied. “It just feels that way.”

  “Another thing is,” Banks pointed out, “we have no idea how long the train is.”

  “Can’t be too long,” said Garland. “It’s a train. A regular train. Something up there is pulling these carriages and it can only pull so many.”

  “So you say,” Banks said.

  Garland was about to reply to this when there was a red flash.

  “Close your eyes!” Banks shouted.

  “Why?” said Garland.

  * * *

  She was immediately blinded. Garland fell to the ground, covering her eyes. A bit late now, she thought, but she was wrong, as through her closed eyelids she could still sense another flash, yellow this time.

  “What’s happening?” she shouted.

  “We’re coming off the bridge,” Banks shouted back.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because of the flashes,” Banks shouted. “Every time the train comes off a bridge, there are the flashes. There should be another one –”

  There was a yellow flash, rinsing Garland’s closed eyes like toxic gold.

  “I think it’s a warning system,” Banks said.

  “Warning about what?” Garland said, slowly opening her eyes. The wash of colours began to fade.

  “That,” said
Banks.

  In front of them, the train curved round a bend away from the explosions below and towards a sheer rock face. Carved into the rock, barely visible in the clouds of smoke around it, was a tunnel.

  “That doesn’t look big enough,” Garland said.

  “Oh, all the tunnels are quite narrow,” Banks replied.

  Just then their carriage hurtled into the tunnel. It tilted as it turned, throwing Garland and Banks into a table. The tilt was so severe that the top of the train scraped the side of the tunnel. Sparks flew and metal screamed.

  “Perfectly safe,” said Banks as they picked themselves up from the floor.

  * * *

  The tunnel had three features. It was narrow, it was long – and it was cold.

  “Typical,” Garland said. “When it’s cold outside, it’s even colder in the train.”

  She looked out of the window. Water-streaked outcrops of jagged rock looked back.

  “Why is it so cold?” she said.

  “I expect we’re inside a mountain,” Banks said. “Deep inside.”

  “Oh,” said Garland. “Good job I’m not claustrophobic.”

  “I’ll say,” Banks said. “I have a feeling we’re getting deeper.”

  Garland grimaced. The roof of the carriage screamed again.

  “And,” said Banks, “I’m not sure, but I think the tunnel is getting narrower.”

  “Shut up,” Garland said pleasantly.

  * * *

  The train screeched its way through the tunnel. Banks slept for a few minutes. When he woke again, Garland was scribbling away on a piece of paper.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Making a map,” she replied.

  “A map,” he said. “We’re on a train. I don’t think a map is going to help us.”

  “That’s the pioneer spirit,” Garland replied. “I’m trying to remember all the places we’ve been.”

  “We’ve been on a train,” said Banks.

  “A moving train,” Garland said. “We crossed bridges and fires and now we’re inside a mountain. That’s a lot of landmarks.”

  “But we can’t get off,” said Banks.

  “That’s where the other map comes in,” Garland said.

  “What other map?” Banks replied, but Garland had already flipped the paper over. On the back she had drawn a series of rectangular boxes.

  “Each one of these is a carriage,” Garland explained. “And each carriage is unique – this is where I woke up, this is the carriage of the fifteen dead, this is where I found you, this is the buffet car… and so on.”

  “Very impressive,” Banks said. “I imagine it would be pretty useful if we got lost in the maze of interconnecting doors and – oh, that’s right. We’re on a train. We can only go back or forward.”

  “I’m trying to make sense of everything,” Garland said. “Not burying my head in the sand. Don’t make assumptions.”

  “All right,” said Banks. He took the pencil from her.

  “What are you doing? Give me that.”

  Banks got up and smashed a plastic window on the wall. From behind it he pulled out a piece of card covered in, Garland supposed, safety information. He turned it over, sat down, and began to copy Garland’s map out.

  “You draw like a horse,” he said, sketching out neat boxes and labelling them.

  “Nice writing,” said Garland.

  * * *

  They looked at the train map for a while.

  “There doesn’t seem to be any system at all,” Garland said. Banks yawned.

  “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  * * *

  The bathroom, or rather the toilet, was back at the other end of the carriage. Garland walked slowly. She hoped Banks’s yawn meant he was going to sleep. She hoped so: she was in need of some time to herself. As she approached the end of the carriage, she was rewarded with a low rumbling grunt, signifying that Banks was asleep. Garland exhaled. It was an odd thing to say to herself, here, on a train full of death and blood, hurtling through stone and fire to God knows where, but it was nice to finally have a bit of peace and quiet.

  The toilet door was jammed shut. Garland tugged at it, but it was stuck fast. Then she shoved against it. It didn’t budge. Garland thought about finding a different bathroom, but this seemed unwise especially (although she hated to admit it) without Banks. She considered going back the way they’d come, but this was a sort of defeat. So, with a deep intake of breath, she hurled herself at the door and, using her full weight, slammed into it.

  This time the door gave way, so quickly that Garland’s own momentum sent her flying into the tiny room, and knocked her to the floor. She was about to struggle to her feet when she saw something. The bathroom was not empty. Sitting on the toilet was a young girl. She was holding a teddy bear. The teddy bear was missing its head, and seemed to have been dipped in something sticky and red. The girl had short red hair, which looked like she had cut it herself, and was wearing the same clothing as Garland and Banks were.

  The girl fixed Garland with a furious stare.

  “There’s someone in here,” she said.

  * * *

  Garland got up off the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” she said absurdly.

  “I locked the door and everything,” the girl said. Garland could see she was more of a young woman than a girl.

  “You should have said something.”

  “If the door’s locked, that means someone is using the toilet,” said the girl. “Everyone knows that.”

  Garland nodded at the teddy bear. “What happened to your bear?”

  The girl looked sad. “He had a fight,” she said.

  “A fight?” Garland took a step closer to her. She hunched up, clenching the bear to her.

  “They ganged up on him,” said the girl. “Teddy only wanted to play.”

  Garland reckoned the girl was in her early twenties.

  “Did they hurt you?” she asked, gently.

  The girl shook her head. “No,” she said. “Teddy fucked them up.”

  She looked down at the headless bear. Then she smiled at Garland.

  “Come and see,” she said.

  * * *

  Garland followed the girl down the train towards the next carriage. They stopped by Banks.

  “Is he dying?” asked the girl.

  “Just snoring very loudly,” said Garland.

  “I’m glad you told me,” the girl said. “Otherwise I might have put him out of his misery.”

  Garland was silent for a moment. “You wouldn’t get Teddy to do it?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” she said. “He’s a teddy.”

  She prodded Banks with the bloodstained and headless toy. Banks woke with a start.

  “This is Teddy,” said the girl.

  Banks looked at Garland, and then the girl.

  “Who are you?” he said.

  “Oh, thank you for asking,” said the girl, casting a look at Garland. “My name is Poppy.” She indicated her name patch. Someone had scraped off the original owner’s name and scrawled POPPY in large black letters there instead.

  “She was in the toilet,” said Garland. “With Teddy.”

  “Is that blood?” Banks said.

  “Teddy fucked some people up,” Garland explained.

  “Silly,” said Poppy. “They weren’t people.”

  And she walked off down the carriage.

  * * *

  “Tell me everything,” Banks said quietly.

  “There’s not a lot to tell,” Garland replied, “I only met her two minutes ago.”

  “Did she say anything about herself?”

  “No, but you need to watch out for Teddy,” Garland said.

  “He seems harmless enough,” Banks said.

  “I think she’s using him to cover for someone.”

  “I got that impression, too.”

  They were at the door to the next carriage.

  Poppy turne
d to look at them.

  “It is quite scary in there,” she said. “But don’t worry, me and Teddy are here.”

  She was about to open the door when Banks stopped her.

  “I think it might be better if I go in first,” he said. “You stay here with Garland.”

  Poppy considered this.

  “All right,” she said. “If you find Teddy’s head, can you bring it back here please?”

  “Of course,” Banks said. He smiled.

  Poppy didn’t smile back.

  “Just make sure it’s his head, that’s all,” she said.

  * * *

  Banks returned a few minutes later. He looked strained.

  “What is it?” Garland said.

  “See for yourself.”

  Garland nodded at Poppy. “I imagine she’s hungry.”

  “Have you got anything to eat?” Poppy said eagerly. “I’m starving.”

  “Sure,” said Banks. He looked at Garland. “When you go in, don’t look up straight away.”

  * * *

  Garland opened the carriage door and went in. The lights weren’t working properly: they flickered on and off randomly. She took Banks’s advice and looked at the floor, which was slick with brown tracks, as though something had been dragged through it. The carriage, she noticed, bore out Banks’s alternating theory in that it had no seats or tables, just a single strip of carpet running through it like a blue road.

  She decided to look up. Two luggage racks ran along each side of the carriage and Garland wondered what they were for, there being nowhere for anyone to sit. Then she noticed firstly that the racks were somewhat wider than usual, big enough to put some large objects on, and secondly that there were indeed some large objects on the racks.

  Before she could take a closer look, the lights flickered out. They flashed back on for a second, letting her see something flap over the side of the rack. With nothing to stand on, she was unable to get closer. But then the train lurched to one side in the tunnel as the lights came back on, and something heavy and wet flew from the rack into her chest. Garland staggered backwards and let out a shout as the thing that was heavy and wet landed at her feet.

  It was a dog, probably. Or a very large cat. Garland couldn’t tell without getting close to it, and she didn’t want to get close to it. Whatever it was, it was covered in blood, and now so was Garland. She took a deep breath and knelt down next to the animal.

  The mouth lolled open, and Garland could see the animal had very big teeth, but very few of them. It was as if it had been designed to tear but not to eat. The claws were also long and thick, but – she prodded the tip of one with a finger – very sharp. The fur was thick and surprisingly abrasive, more like steel wool than actual hair, and the tail heavy – she lifted it – like a stick. Garland took a deep breath and pulled back one of the creature’s eyelids. She wished she hadn’t: the eye was coloured a deep green and had no visible pupil or iris.