head out and checked the corridor. No one was coming.
He stepped back into the compartment and holstered his weapon in his belt. “J.B. is probably getting concerned,” he told Mildred.
THE SWEAT WAS FOAMING on the pony’s coat as Doc urged more speed from its tired legs. They had been racing across the North Dakota plain for far too long, and the animal was near exhaustion. It couldn’t take much more of the grueling punishment. Its legs looked unstable as it ran, threatening to buckle as it dragged the trap behind it. However, they were definitely gaining on the train now. Doc could see its obscene length slithering along the tracks, a giant, black caterpillar crossing the land, smoky steam belching from its foremost segment.
“I think it may actually be slowing,” Doc said to Krysty, his eyes fixed ahead, watching the train in the distance.
When Krysty didn’t respond, he voiced his observation louder, above the loud tattoo that the pony’s hooves were banging out on the hard-packed earth. They had hit a few pockets of grass here and there, and the land was definitely getting greener, the soil more fertile. Doc turned to Krysty, then, and saw she was slumped in the seat beside him. “Krysty?” he asked, letting go of the reins with one hand and reaching across to shake her gently by the shoulder. “Krysty, dear? We’re almost there. Try to stay awake.”
Krysty’s head weaved atop her neck as she returned to consciousness. She looked at him, bleary-eyed.
“D-Doc?” she groaned. “Is that you?”
Doc glanced ahead—just level fields here—then took the opportunity to look more closely at his companion. “Krysty, are you feeling unwell?” Mentally he added the word again.
She shook her head, not in answer to his question, he realized, but to try to bring reality back into focus.
“The screaming is louder,” she told him, so quietly he had to strain to hear her over the drumming sound of hooves.
“We’re getting closer to the train,” he explained.
“Perhaps we were wrong in our earlier summation. It seems to be having some effect on your faculties, after all.”
Krysty looked ahead of them, eyes focusing on the train in the distance. “It’s that, but it’s not just that,” she said after a moment’s consideration.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so hard to tell. My brain feels like it’s on fire,” she said hesitantly, struggling to find the right words of explanation. “But there’s something… I can’t tell if it’s just inside me now, alive and eating away at me.”
Doc reached his free hand across to Krysty, patting her lightly on the shoulder. “You poor child,” he said.
He watched, horrified as she winced at his touch. “My profuse apologies,” he told her, immediately withdrawing his hand.
Krysty closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them Doc could make out the watery tears in the moonlight. “It hurts so much,” she said.
Silently, Doc agreed with her. It hurt him, too, deep inside, seeing his companion in so much pain.
“HEAR THAT?” Mildred asked.
Ryan cocked his head, trying to filter out the sounds of the train to divine something new. “What?”
“High-pitched squealing. That’s brakes,” Mildred told him. “We’re slowing down.”
Ryan moved across the tiny compartment and looked out the fly-specked window. “You’re right,” he said, examining the landscape as it passed. “Any ideas why?”
Mildred shrugged. “Pit stop, station.” She thought for a second, then added, “Food run?”
“Doc found out something earlier,” Ryan said, “and never had the chance to tell you. There are other towers.
That’s what he was told.”
Mildred felt a chill come over her, hugged her arms around her as she stood next to Ryan while he watched through the window. “It doesn’t surprise me,” she stated. “I didn’t give it a thought until you said it, but it doesn’t surprise me, not really.”
Ryan continued to stand at
He stepped back into the compartment and holstered his weapon in his belt. “J.B. is probably getting concerned,” he told Mildred.
THE SWEAT WAS FOAMING on the pony’s coat as Doc urged more speed from its tired legs. They had been racing across the North Dakota plain for far too long, and the animal was near exhaustion. It couldn’t take much more of the grueling punishment. Its legs looked unstable as it ran, threatening to buckle as it dragged the trap behind it. However, they were definitely gaining on the train now. Doc could see its obscene length slithering along the tracks, a giant, black caterpillar crossing the land, smoky steam belching from its foremost segment.
“I think it may actually be slowing,” Doc said to Krysty, his eyes fixed ahead, watching the train in the distance.
When Krysty didn’t respond, he voiced his observation louder, above the loud tattoo that the pony’s hooves were banging out on the hard-packed earth. They had hit a few pockets of grass here and there, and the land was definitely getting greener, the soil more fertile. Doc turned to Krysty, then, and saw she was slumped in the seat beside him. “Krysty?” he asked, letting go of the reins with one hand and reaching across to shake her gently by the shoulder. “Krysty, dear? We’re almost there. Try to stay awake.”
Krysty’s head weaved atop her neck as she returned to consciousness. She looked at him, bleary-eyed.
“D-Doc?” she groaned. “Is that you?”
Doc glanced ahead—just level fields here—then took the opportunity to look more closely at his companion. “Krysty, are you feeling unwell?” Mentally he added the word again.
She shook her head, not in answer to his question, he realized, but to try to bring reality back into focus.
“The screaming is louder,” she told him, so quietly he had to strain to hear her over the drumming sound of hooves.
“We’re getting closer to the train,” he explained.
“Perhaps we were wrong in our earlier summation. It seems to be having some effect on your faculties, after all.”
Krysty looked ahead of them, eyes focusing on the train in the distance. “It’s that, but it’s not just that,” she said after a moment’s consideration.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so hard to tell. My brain feels like it’s on fire,” she said hesitantly, struggling to find the right words of explanation. “But there’s something… I can’t tell if it’s just inside me now, alive and eating away at me.”
Doc reached his free hand across to Krysty, patting her lightly on the shoulder. “You poor child,” he said.
He watched, horrified as she winced at his touch. “My profuse apologies,” he told her, immediately withdrawing his hand.
Krysty closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them Doc could make out the watery tears in the moonlight. “It hurts so much,” she said.
Silently, Doc agreed with her. It hurt him, too, deep inside, seeing his companion in so much pain.
“HEAR THAT?” Mildred asked.
Ryan cocked his head, trying to filter out the sounds of the train to divine something new. “What?”
“High-pitched squealing. That’s brakes,” Mildred told him. “We’re slowing down.”
Ryan moved across the tiny compartment and looked out the fly-specked window. “You’re right,” he said, examining the landscape as it passed. “Any ideas why?”
Mildred shrugged. “Pit stop, station.” She thought for a second, then added, “Food run?”
“Doc found out something earlier,” Ryan said, “and never had the chance to tell you. There are other towers.
That’s what he was told.”
Mildred felt a chill come over her, hugged her arms around her as she stood next to Ryan while he watched through the window. “It doesn’t surprise me,” she stated. “I didn’t give it a thought until you said it, but it doesn’t surprise me, not really.”
Ryan continued to stand at
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