Two: Teaming Up

             I felt like I was standing in front of that door for hours. That’s an exaggeration; I knew it wasn’t that long, but I was terrified. I didn’t want to move on. I didn’t want to try and lie, to risk the chance of being tossed off this train. But I supposed that I had to get it over with eventually. Taking a deep breath - one similar to the last five I’ve been taking - I slid the door open.

 

            And it was another storage unit.  

 

            All that mental preparation for nothing? I felt disappointed. Why did they need so many crates anyway? Just how much food did they expect to be taking back? Better safe than sorry, I thought. This actually made me feel more comfortable about moving on to the next car, where - what a surprise - I stumbled upon more crates. Starting to actually feel bored, I lazily moved on to the next. And the next. And the next.

 

            And this was where I found more passengers. They all looked at me, surprised by the sight of me. I was pretty surprised to see them too, considering the fact that I was expecting more crates. They had probably seen that burly man go back there and probably weren’t expecting… well, me. There weren’t a lot of people. There was one boy that looked to be little over sixteen, a mother and her two preteen daughters, an older man most likely in his later forties, and a woman similar to me in age - mid-twenties or so.

 

            I tugged nervously at the sleeves of my hoodie, trying to decide where to hold my arms. And where should I sit? There was a pretty private-looking corner across from the young woman. I started to make my way there when the door at the far end of the car slammed open. A stern-faced man with a ferocious moustache stomped, scanning the room. Seeing me, he staggered forwards in my direction, close enough for me to smell his breath. Oh. He was drunk.

 

            “You!” He drew the word out longer than needed, slurring the word messily. “Are you the new kid? That… guy we just, buh, ‘scuse me, just hired? Eh? You the new guy?” My face twitched in an attempt to not curl up and squish offensively as the man burped in my face. “Did ya find any sto’ways?”

 

            I stood attentively, stifling my own laughter. Unbelievable. He was drunk. “Yes, sah,” I replied, with a bit of an accent (for my own amusement). “Found me a stow’ way. ’E didn’ ‘ave no money so Oi keecked ‘em off.” I would say it was pretty similar to a poorly done Australian accent. Maybe an American hillbilly-Australian accent, if you could imagine.

 

            Nicely done, said that British voice. I wondered if he would be around often.

 

            My superior, as I guessed the drunkard was supposed to be, just stared at me for what I was pretty sure to be a full minute before finally saying, “Did you grow b***s?” Across the train car, the teen boy attempted to muffle his laughter.

 

The train Runner spun around in a full circle and a half before leaving the car, drunkenly murmuring something like a sailor’s tune. I was surprised he didn’t ask me about my (lack of) name tag. I shrugged it off.

 

            I took the previously noted vacant seat, noticing that no one really paid me very much attention, or rather, they were purposely avoiding my gaze. It was the zombie apocalypse; no one wanted to so much as look at each other. We were all hungry and miserable and we didn’t want to see it in each other’s faces.

 

 Despite my best efforts at keeping myself awake to observe the individual runaways more closely, I soon found myself being lulled to sleep by the steady and - to me - soothing sounds of the train.

 

*

 

            I was aware that I was standing on something that I was vaguely somewhere - as in, not in ground-less, sky-less space. I wasn’t sure how I had gotten there, but I was there. It must have been really foggy, as I couldn’t really see anything. The surface beneath me felt hard and sturdy. That annoying sound you here when you’re TV screen goes to snow, that fuzzy sound, could be heard. It irritated me, but I said nothing about it. I realized my body was swaying; no, the surface I stood on was swaying.

 

            I thought I could just make out a form in the darkness, but if there was anything there I could never know for sure. I tried to talk, but all I heard was a low humming, similar to dulled sounds from plugging your ears. Another hum came as a reply and I decided that it must’ve been talking. None of it made sense to me.

 

            It soon dawned on me that how I had described things, weren’t completely accurate to what could be called the reality of the situation - if reality can even exist in this dream world. I realized that everything wasn’t as vague as I thought it to be. There was no fog, there was nothing plugging my ears to dull the sounds. My senses were just dull. I didn’t know why or how I knew; I could just tell that my senses were not working at full capacity.

 

            My nose was the exception. My sense of smell was perfectly fine, and it was picking up the sharp scent of sea salt. The salt, the hard surface beneath my feet, the swaying; I decided to assume I was on a boat. I didn’t know how big it was, I just knew I was on it. I was on a boat in the sea and I just couldn’t make sense of such a dream.

 

*

 

            I woke up with a start, my mind jumping and whirring into a sudden awakening by the loud slam of a door. A few moments passed blankly through my mind before it occurred to me that the Train Runner was yelling at us - us, being the passengers. My mind soon registered that this was the drunkard I had tricked some time ago. He was no longer drunk, but quite sober, and no doubt with a dreadful hangover. I watched the man wearily, trying to disappear in my seat. I was more or less out of his line of sight.

 

            “One of you…” began the man, squinting at everyone as his eyes roamed over us. There was a pause, an attempt to scare us, before the Train Runner continued. “… Did not pay to get on here.” My eyes widened in panic and I felt the eyes of the other passengers fall upon me. Dear lord, I was screwed. Oh, I was good and royally screwed this time.

 

But to my surprise, the train Runner didn’t point to me. He pointed to the family of girls. He pointed to the mother and her daughters. “You! You didn’t pay. You’re coming with me,” he said authoritatively.

 

            I could see a look of surprise on everyone’s faces, though no one dared contradict the man. The woman’s daughters looked to their mother helplessly, not even daring to speak. She stood up indignantly. “That’s outrageous! I paid more-”

 

            The mother was cut off when the Train Runner grabbed her and her daughters by the wrists, dragging them screaming and yelling out of the car and up to the one he had come from. Once they had all disappeared from sight, the room seemed deafeningly silent. I felt everyone’s gazes lock onto me once again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this. Guilty? Maybe. I wasn’t going to act it though.

 

            “What?” I spat like an indignant little teenager.

 

            Still, those looks made me feel uncomfortable, and I averted my gaze. Upon my aversion, my eyes happened to land on a bag. It was a school bag - undoubtedly full of survival supplies - sitting right where the family had once been seated.

 

            And it hit me.

 

            It occurred to me, after seeing that bag that it was the whole reason the family was thrown out. The Train Runner hadn’t really known someone hadn’t paid; he had wanted the extra supplies. Crafty, I thought, and evil. Without thinking of the consequences (which I will admit was a tad stupid), I shouldered my own bag and crossed the train car in half a dozen fluid strides, picking up the woman’s larger, fuller bag on my way as I seated myself beside the younger, professional-seeming woman.

 

            She seemed surprised to see me by her side so suddenly at first. Then she gave me a bit of an irritated glare. “How could you do that?” She said quietly. As if there was some reason to be whispering. “Don’t you feel guilty?”

 

            I returned her glare with a casual smile, as if we were talking about some mundane subject, such as weather. “Actually - and isn’t this just odd? - I haven’t felt any guilt lately. For anything. I think it’s the whole… zombie apocalypse thing.” I let out a short laugh, though it contained no humor.

 

            “Apocalypse?” The teen boy repeated. He looked quite terrified. This isn’t actually an apocalypse, is it? Is the world really ending?” His voice cracked.

 

            “Of course not,” came the rough, gravelly voice of the older man.

 

            “Yeah, it’s just America that’s ending,” I interrupted.

 

            “Technically, the zombies are only in the United States.”

 

            I sent the older man the stink eye. “Don’t be that guy. No one likes that guy.”

 

            The man didn’t reply. He seemed more interested in taking inventory now. I admired his jawline for a couple more moments before turning back to the woman beside me. “My name is Jenna. Nice to meet you. And your name?” I offered my hand to shake.

 

            “…Er, I’m Natasha. Sorry, are you mentally unstable?” she asked me in a tone of incredibility as she hesitantly shook my hand. I should have expected that answer. I think she didn’t use the words ‘crazy’ or ‘insane’ because it would sound more comical, more like she was asking why I had done something silly.

 

            I laughed a bit, noticeably causing her to relax. That was a good sign. “No, no. I’m not insane, just an odd ball. So I’ve got two points I’d like to discuss with you. First of all, I want that bag of supplies. Second-”

 

“No!” Natasha exclaimed. “We can’t take their stuff!”

 

            “Well they can’t use it,” I argued. “They got tossed off the train-”

 

            “And whose fault is that?” The older man cut in.

 

            “Mine? I guess, I mean, I don’t see what that-“

 

            “So don’t you think the last person that deserves that stuff is you?”

 

            I made an indignant face. “It is so not my fault! I’ll have you know, I did pay for a ticket on this train. I just forgot it. So if these idiots keep track of how many people are supposed to be on this train " and I’m willing to bet they do " that Runner would not have actually believed we had a stowaway.”

 

            “Yeah, but if anyone deserved to get thrown off this train, it would be you,” the teen boy commented. All of our heads turned to him and he cleared his throat nervously. “Right?”

 

            “He’s right,” the other man said. I pinned him with a steady glare, even though he wasn’t the one to say it. Rubbing his hands together, he stood up with a sigh. The stranger crossed the train to stand in front of me, and I tried not to seem intimidated. And then he stuck his hand out. I looked between his face and that hand. “Jackson.” There was a scar on his face, which looked like a little explosion, starting along the edge of his nose and bursting on the right side of his face, between his eye and mouth. The skin there was pink and smooth-looking.

 

            “Right,” I said slowly, shaking his hand. “Jenna.”

 

            “I think we should split the contents of the bag evenly.”

 

            I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped before I could even start. My brother had once pointed out that I fought for the sake of fighting. I argued with him about that for years. Nowadays I could usually come to terms with this truth.

            “Fine,” I finally replied. Jackson moved to pick up the bag several feet away. After a couple more seconds, I added in a contrite whisper, “But exclude the kid over there.”

 

            Jackson looked fairly shocked at this. I noticed Natasha was also giving me a look. “That’s a terrible idea,” he said.

 

            “Um, no,” I said, as if it were obvious. “More for us,” I explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

 

 

            “… Have you no shame? Wouldn’t you feel guilty leaving him without supplies? What if he has nothing?”

 

            The word ‘guilt’ and all variations were starting to sound repetitive, being tossed about wily-nilly through my mind and through my day. “No, no I don’t think I would. Desperate times call for desperate measures, Jackson. Jackson?” I asked myself, trying it on my tongue. Didn’t feel right. “Jjjjjjackson…. J-j-j-jacccckkkssssson… Jackson… Jack-”

 

            “What’re you doing?”

 

            I pursed my lips for a moment, thinking, before I turned my head to look at him again. “Sorry, that just doesn’t… feel right. What’s your last name? Can I call you Mr. … What’s your last name?”

 

            “…What? Can we get back to the matter at hand?”

 

            “No. No, we can‘t. I think deciding what to call you is very important.”

 

            Jackson looked at me like I might be stupid- no, not stupid; crazy. “No, we’re talking about whether we include the boy or not.”

 

            “No… No, I think we were talking more about what your last name is. Jackson just doesn’t sit right with me - not when you’re so much older than me.” I tried to sound as professional as possible, as if it may help.

 

            “Jenna, we’re talking about-… Just how old do you think I am?”

 

            “Um…” I narrowed my eyes at Jackson, thinking. He had to be at least forty - or I thought so anyway. His face was fuzzy too, which made him look older. “Fifty... One?”

 

            I knew I was wrong the second his mouth flew open. Luckily, he quickly decided to close it. He was silent for a few moments, apparently thinking. “Okay, that doesn’t matter. I don’t want you calling me Mr. Barille; that just makes me feel old. And I hate feeling old. So just don’t, got it?”

 

            “…So your name is Jackson Barille?”

 

            “Can we focus?”

 

            I made no reply at first, very preoccupied trying to keep a straight face. It was so amusing to agitate Jackson. I occupied myself by chewing on my lip. “Did I get the right age?”

 

            Oh you’re just asking for him to snap. And then what? You can’t expect him to help you when you become an antagonist. I wanted to glare at the source of that British voice again, but found that it was actually quite hard to stare at your own imagination. I just furrowed my brow. I wish he hadn’t come back.

 

            “Stupid British…” I grumbled in annoyance. Dear God. I was losing my mind.

 

            “What?” asked Jackson, obviously confused.

 

            I shook my head calmly, though for whom I wasn’t sure. “Nothing; it’s nothing. I just need to get more sleep later. Yeah, let’s focus on the kid.” Jackson nodded at this, glad to hear something on a more mature level. Had I been acting childish?

 

            Jackson looked at me for a few more moments contemplatively. I thought I saw a few flashes of emotion in his eyes - as ridiculous as it sounded to see emotion through the eyes. I thought I saw surprise, and maybe… No. But that couldn’t be right. Maybe I had been imagining it.

 

            Jackson continued the conversation, “Fine, we can exclude the kid.”

 

            My head cocked in surprise. “Really?”

 

            “Yes,” he confirmed. “But you have to be the one to tell him.”

 

            I pressed my lips together and furrowed my brow. “Deal.”

 

            Jackson stepped aside, gesturing towards the teen with his arm. I rose and approached the boy. He was one of those kids with shaggy hair and a cute little boy face. He was slouching in a way that reeked of self-confidence issues and fear. “Hey,” I said when I’d reached the teen. “The three of us are going to split the bag that family left behind and…” I trailed off as the kid’s bog old puppy eyes started to eat at me.

 

            “Yeah?” He asked me, his voice bubbling with childish ignorance.

 

            “… And we want to share it with you,” I finished with a defeated sigh.

 

            He grinned back me. “That sounds great! My name’s Oliver.” He sat up a bit straighter.

 

            I eyed Oliver suspiciously. He was smiling a little bit mischievously.

 

            He was totally playing you.

 

            “I’m Jenna,” I replied spitefully, turning around and sitting beside Jackson.

 

            “See?” The older man said. “Doesn’t it feel nice to be a little humane?”

 

            I didn’t reply at first, watching him get up and walk away. “You make humanity sound like a weakness,” I finally called after him just before he sat beside the boy. Silence seemed to take hold of the car, and I closed my eyes in thought. I turned to Natasha next. “Will you take the bag to another car and hide it?”

 

            She seemed confused at first, but quickly figured it out. “Right, wouldn’t want that Train Runner to take it.” She grabbed the bag and left quickly.

 

            Where was the Train Runner? What was he doing to take so long? I tried not to let it bother me; the longer he was gone, the better. Still, I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. I hoped Natasha could get back in a timely manner. If she was gone when the Train Runner came back, he was sure to get suspicious. And then we were all screwed.

 

            I left those thoughts behind, trying to think of something positive. What day of the week was it? I looked out the window, noting that the sun was setting. It must have been the same day, which would put it at a Tuesday. I didn’t know how fast trains ran, but I guessed that I could reach my family before the end of this Friday, when I factored in the distance between the station and our house.

 

            My thoughts were rudely interrupted by a gurgling sound coming from my stomach. Oh. Right, daily needs and all that nonsense. I stuck a hand in my bag, feeling around cold metal and bags until I found the dried fruit. I only took a few pieces, even though the sweet taste was tempting, and then drank some water. It was a shame I didn’t have fresh fruit, besides that cantaloupe.

 

            I looked over to where the wide-eyed teen was staring gratefully at Jackson, who was still talking to him. “Hey,” I interrupted. He seemed surprise by the sudden intrusion, looking at me in what could only be slight annoyance. I carried on nonetheless. “Either of you guys know where I can find a bathroom?”

 

            Jackson pointed to the door where the Train Runner had gone through. I decided to wait a little longer before going in that specific direction. Might as well avoid the Train Runner, if possible. What was he doing with that family anyway? Was that guilt I was feeling? I found myself hoping it was, for my humanity’s sake.

 

            My stomach growled again, and I realized I had been distracted by my thoughts, not for the first time. Finishing off the fruit in my hand, I watched the south door, waiting for Natasha. I needn’t have waited long, as I was soon greeted by the sight of her, quickly slipping into the train car, probably praying that the Train Runner wouldn’t catch her. I waved her over, waiting as she cautiously seated herself beside me.

 

            “Once that Train Runner finally comes back from - actually, I’m starting to consider the fact that the mother of those girls might have killed the Train Runner and they jumped-”

 

            “Not everyone’s as crazy as you,” Natasha added curtly, though I could also hear caution in her voice.

 

            “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I replied dismissively, purposely blocking the insult out. “Anyway, that Train Runner may actually be history. We’ll wait it out, though. If he’s not back by midday tomorrow, we’ll count him dead. Once that’s been done, we need to meet up at the farthest back car so we can see just what supplies we have altogether. Until - and even after - then, we leave each other alone and act like we don’t know each other. Don’t need anyone getting suspicious.” I wasn’t actually sure who there was to be suspicious of us, but you couldn’t be too careful.

 

            Natasha nodded, and I could see the two boys watching me, so I guessed they had heard. I stood up and found my own corner of the train to curl up in and take a nap. I was tired.

Author's Note

Again, please tell me if something doesn't make sense.