Winter 1893, Chapter 1: Wreckage

The train shot through the mountain pass like a bullet, coughing up a thick cloud of steam as it went. A blanket of snow covered the valley below, the vast sea of white broken only by tall pines whose prickly needles were sprinkled with flakes.

Swirls of snow obscured my view as I peered through the window at the rapidly passing scenery, my eyes frantically trying to catch every detail of the landscape. I exhaled onto the window and started drawing shapes on the misty glass with a gloved finger. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and I turned to see my father standing behind me, his face split in a wide grin. “Having fun, Nicholas?” he said, his calm, soothing voice tickling my ears.

“Yes sir,” I responded, returning the smile. He sat down on the padded seat beside me and gazed out the window. “I love this time of year. Trees and plants die, only be reborn again within a few short months. Aaah, rebirth.”

A smile touched my lips. I loved it when Father got pensive and started his musings about our world. It doesn't happen very often(his nose is often buried in paperwork for the bank he owns), but when he does, I always listen.

For a moment the two of us were silent, staring out through the glass at the wonderland around us and listening to the train rattle along on the steel tracks. The car we were currently occupying was vacant, save for the two of us and a young girl and her mother. The girl leaned against her mother, her shoulders shaking. Her mother, a portly woman with dark brown hair tied back in a bun, stroked her daughter's long blonde hair and whispered in her ear.

I turned away from the window and glanced over at them, the mother's whispering and the girl's sobbing demanding my attention. There wasn't much to observe in our nearly empty train car, and I had forgotten my book at home, so I tried to occupy myself any way I could.

“It h-hurts, Momma,” the girl said, burying her head in her mother's shoulder.

“I know, my child. But you have nothing to worry about now. It's over. We are free.”

I tore my gaze away from them and looked over at my father. He was currently reading a copy of The Evening Post, his green pupils darting from left to right as he scanned the paper's front page.

Nature suddenly called, and I stood up and crossed into the narrow aisle to head for the toilet. The moment I stepped out of our car and crossed to the next one over, the train lurched. I hit the floor hard, my face smacking the wood. Groaning, I pushed myself into a crouching position. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and I gingerly felt my nose with the tips of my fingers. I lowered my hand and gasped. My fingertips were drenched in dark blood. I stood up, stumbling as I rose.

I headed towards the door of the empty car, trembling. A sudden explosion racked the train, shattering my eardrums and sending me back to the floor, this time on my back. I cried out, the shock from the blast and the pain from landing on my spine consuming me for a split second. Hot tears leaked from my eyes and trickled down my cheeks. Biting wind ripped through the car. I sat up.

The sight that greeted me will forever be branded in my brain. The car ahead had been completely obliterated. On one side of the wreckage was a sheer drop into the valley far below. On the other was a rocky, snow covered mountainside. The front half of the car had been blown away by the explosion, exposing me to the cruel elements. Beyond that, the car in front of me, the car occupied by my father, lay in smoking ruin against the mountainside. Feeble flames licked the sides of the overturned car, the air shimmering slightly around them.

I slowly stood, brushing splinters off of my front, and took a step forward, my boot catching on something solid. I glanced down and saw a brass doorknob glinting under my boot. I kicked it toward the jagged edge of the ruined car and watched it tumble out of sight.

I lifted my gaze and looked at the wreckage ahead. A sudden urgency gripped me. I cupped my hands around my lips and yelled, “Father!” No answer. Only the howling of the wind and the crackling of the dying flames.

“Father!” I called out, my voice breaking. I climbed from the ruined train car and trudged through the thick snow, shaking so violently I would almost call it vibrating. The train tracks to my left already had a fine coat of white on them, and within a minute they were buried in frozen precipitation.

“It came from over yonder!” A deep, gruff voice shouted from somewhere up ahead, around a bend where the tracks turned with the mountain. I couldn't see who the voice belonged to, but I immediately headed for the nearest source of shelter: the train car I had just climbed out of.

I stumbled back through the snow and heaved myself up onto the floor of the car between the benches. I crawled beneath one of the polished wooden benches and curled into a ball.

“I swear, that voice was comin' from over 'ere!” The same gruff voice said, this time from somewhere much closer.

“Well, find the varmint and kill 'im!” A high pitched, scratchy voice responded. “The boss ain't gonna be happy with us for fallin' be'ind!”

From my cramped position under the bench in the half destroyed train car, I extended my neck a fraction to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

Two men stood knee deep in the snow, pistols drawn. One was significantly taller than the other, with a broader build, a thicker neck, and bulging with muscle. His companion stood at least two feet shorter, with a thin frame and long, bony arms.

“'Ey Benny,” the smaller one said, perking up suddenly. “You hear that?” The larger man stood up a little straighter, then grunted. “Yeah, I hear it alright. Sounds like squealin'!”

My heart sprang to my throat. I heard it too. It was a faint whimpering sound, coming from the ruined car ahead. I watched the two men advance slowly through the snow, readying their weapons.

“Found 'er!” The bigger man, Benny, suddenly roared, reaching into the wreckage and pulling a young girl out by her hair. “Little b***h was hidin' from us!”

He lifted her up higher, and she screamed. That was when I recognized her. It was the little girl from our train car, the girl who had been crying into her mother's shoulder. The girl I'd only seen from behind.

Now I looked her full in the face, and I gasped. From her forehead to her upper lip, a horrible burn scarred the left side of her face.

“She's an ugly 'un, ain't she?” The smaller, thinner man remarked, stepping up to her and inspecting her closely.

“Toss 'er over,” he remarked to Benny, waving a hand dismissively.

Benny nodded and flung her over the side of the mountain with a grunt of distaste. She screamed before disappearing.