Derailed – Prologue

Sooo… I’ve been bad. Instead of working on the book I’m supposed to be working on, I kinda, sorta started on another. I loved the idea so much, I just couldn’t wait. This is the prologue to the book, which is quite tentatively called Derailed.

~Prologue~

“That’s odd.”

Train conductor Phil Brennan stared through the darkness at the track ahead of him, watching a distant light grow steadily closer.

“Central Station, this is A13, do you copy?” he said, picking up a radio.

“A13, this is Central Station, we read you.”

Brennan considered for a second. “Is there a… junction between A13’s current position and about… two thousand feet off our front?”

There was a pause.

“Negative, A13, you’ve got open track for another thirty-two-hundred. Is there a problem?”

Phil Brennan bit his lip. No junction.

“A13?”

“We might. I’ve got a bogey closing in fast. I’d say it’s at about nineteen hundred out.”

Another pause.

“According to our screens, there’s nothing within a mile of your front.”

“Well then, you better do a double check, because that nothing is coming awful fast.”

A bit of sweat was starting to trickle down Brennan’s face as he slammed his hand down on a large red button. A loud wailing sound proceeded to fill the train.

Lifting a second radio, Phil Brennan spoke through the train’s loud speakers. “Attention all personnel: we’ve got an unidentified coming in. Please strap yourselves into your safety seats and REMAIN THERE until further notice. And Capers, get in here!”

Within seconds, a door was thrown open in the back of the car, and a young apprentice hurried in, his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes.

“Yes, sir, you called?” his voice was groggy.

“We’ve got a bogey sixteen hundred out. Give ‘em the signals. See if you can’t get a response. Do it!”

Capers quickly sat in a second seat, and began blowing the trains horn in patterned repetition

“Oh, and strap yourself in,” Phil Brennan added through gritted teeth as he reached for the train’s breaks.

Taking a deep breath, he jerked the lever, throwing every movable objection forward—including the ill prepared Capers, who lay sprawled on the floor as the train began slow.

“A13, we have begun contacting every train in the possible vicinity. So far, no response.”

“Yeah, well, you better hurry up with that.”

“We recommend the signals.”

“Trying them.”

“What is the distance of the unidentified?”

Phil Brennan glanced out the window. “A little under twelve hundred, I’d say, and no sign that they’ve seen us.”

The train came to a stop, and Capers regained his seat, recommencing with the horn.

Five seconds passed. Another five.

“Nine hundred away. Blimey, they’re speeding up!”

“A13, what is your situation?”

“A lousy one, that’s what!”

“Please elaborate.”

“We’re all going to die! How’s that for elaboration? Capers, forget the signals, start this train in reverse.”

The train slowly began moving backwards along the tracks.

Seven hundred feet.

“We’re dead meat in here.”

“What’s that, A13?”

Five hundred feet.

“Capers, get out!

“Sir?”

“Get out! I’ll be right behind you.”

Capers unstrapped and scrambled out the back of the car.

Three hundred feet.

“Please brace for impact,” said Phil Brennan as he stood to leave, speaking again over the train’s loud speakers.

Hurrying outside the slowly moving train, Brennan found Capers standing on the outside of the car, staring at the ocean passing below.

“We gotta jump,” yelled Brennan.

“What about the others?”

“If they’re back far enough, they may be fine.” Brennan glanced at the oncoming train. It had practically hit them.

“We have to go! NOW!”

Phil Brennan leapt from the train, pulling Capers with him, over the side of the tracks, and down through the air below.

There was a crash.

An explosion.

A flash of red light.

And then a splash as they hit the water below.