Lost at Running Brook Trail by Sheryl A. Keen Page B

of train it was, where it went, its final destination and when it had stopped running. It seemed to have stopped a long time ago.
    “Why would anybody need a train out here anyway?” Miriam asked. “It’s not like there’s anybody living out here.”
    “Food,” Susan said. “It transported food.”
    “You would know that, wouldn’t you?” said Kimberly.
    “Maybe it carried people too,” Elaine said. “When we see those western movies, the trains are always running in some lonely, forsaken place. Maybe that’s why they were so easy to rob. People were on the train, but there weren’t a lot of people around on the outside. The towns were far apart and the stations were far apart.”
    “So why’d it stop running?” Kimberly asked. “People still need food and the things the train carried. People still need to move.”
    “Who knows?” Elaine asked. “Sometimes some ways of doing or carrying things just become outdated and unnecessary. I don’t know. Just look at this place. What would a train be doing out here now?”
    They hoped they wouldn’t have to change course from the train tracks. It was a predictable line that they could use as their map. They had travelled on too many unexplored trails already and couldn’t afford to venture into any more new territory and end up even further lost. They needed some amount of control in a situation that already evoked a powerless feeling. But still, how could they get any more lost if they didn’t know where they were?
    “You think they’re looking for us right now?” Susan asked.
    “Of course they are,” Elaine replied. “And Mrs. Marks is probably repeating herself, saying, ‘Those girls just don’t listen.’”
    “Shouldn’t they have found us already?”
    “They probably would have if we hadn’t panicked and started running and walking aimlessly.”
    At last they came to a bushy section by the side of the tracks that held an unmanaged tangle of compact arching stems. On these stems were what looked like blackberries. The purplish fruit was bunched up together and was surrounded by numerous prickly thorns. They got as close as they could to inspect the fruit and make sure it was in fact blackberries.
    “Well?” Susan said and looked at the other three. “We can’t look at them all day—so is it or isn’t it?”
    “It has the brambles and thorns,” Miriam said.
    “Yeah, the brambles are short too,” Elaine noted. “And then there’s the arching. Yeah, I’d say these are blackberries.”
    They picked and ate. Their fingers and hands paid the price as the thorns pricked their skin. The more they tried to avoid the thorns, the more they got caught. The branches and thorns seemed to take over the entire space.
    “There are caterpillars all over this thing,” Miriam noted. “How comes they don’t get pricked?”
    “Maybe because they’re on the leaves, and they’re smart. They don’t make sudden movements. They’re either very still or they inch forward slowly.” Elaine stuffed some of the blackberries into the side pocket of her bag. She didn’t know when they would be found, and she could surely use some later. While they waited to be found, or if by chance they ran across someone, they still had to survive.
    “Ouch.” Susan flashed her right hand and sucked on her index finger.
    “Ouch is right,” Kimberly said. “My beautiful fingers.”
    The blackberries were good, but it was a big challenge to navigate through the thorny brambles. They ate until they were sated. The tips of their fingers and their palms showed deep purple marks from where the berries had smashed. There were more blackberries that could be had, but they couldn’t get through the density to reach them. The ones that were within reach had been consumed or were tucked away in Elaine’s knapsack.
    Having nothing else to do with themselves but be found, they continued along the track. Having something to follow gave them some comfort. They were not able