The Spirit of Health and Safety

My body was speeding forward over the threshold. A split-second was enough to feel the breeze on my face and register the darkness. Fast-moving darkness in the shape of Ukrainian farmland.

 

A sharp yank on the hood of my jumper sent me tumbling backwards and I fell in a heap onto Lily’s petite frame.

 

Crash! " The heavy door slammed shut.

 

G’dun, g’dun, g’dun…

 

Heartbeat soothed by the motion of the rattling night train, I rolled off my friend onto the floor panels.

 

I should have guessed. The doors were never locked like that. It hadn’t even entered my mind as I turned the large metal bar that it would be possible to walk off the end of the train.

 

‘What are you doing?’ we heard, in Russian. The provodnitsa, or carriage manager, had come to restore order. ‘That door’s not for passengers!’

 

Lily helped me to my feet as I tried to explain that we had been looking for the restaurant.

 

The woman’s face was cold as steel fenders. A good night for a provodnitsa is not one in which a Westerner on ‘Health-and-Safety’ autopilot throws herself onto the track halfway between Kiev and Sevastopol.

 

 ‘You can’t just unlock a door like that. There are rules, you know!’ Red-signal eyes fixed us dead. ‘What did you want the restaurant for? Dinner?’

 

Lily shook her head.  ‘We need a vodka.’

 

Our guardian’s face relaxed immediately. She shunted us into the tiny staff cabin, where there was a healthy supply.

Author's Note

Would appreciate any honest criticism about what works and what doesn't in this story; I'm looking to improve my flash fiction skills and enter competitions.