The Search by Geoff Dyer

down an unsurfaced road, little more than a track, the kind of road you drove down when you wanted to dispose of a body. After a couple of miles he
stopped and they both got out of the car.
    Warm, blue skies, only a breeze moving. Ray pointed off into the distance and said, ‘Walk due south, where I’m pointing. After an hour, hour and a half, you’ll come to some
railroad tracks. I’d take you myself but the terrain’s too rough for the pick-up. Follow the track west and you’ll see it start climbing. After about half an hour the gradient is
enough to slow the freights right down. You can hop one no problem. It’s a busy piece of track. Anything going west will be heading to Eagle City.’
    Walker nodded and looked in the direction indicated. Ray hunted around in the back of the pick-up and handed him a gallon container of water, a bottle of Pepsi, bread, fruit, biscuits. Walker
stuffed everything except the water into his rucksack and slipped his arms through the straps. He was touched by Ray’s efficient concern and when they shook hands and said goodbye he felt
like he was parting from a friend he had known for ten years.
    ‘Don’t forget,’ said Ray as he climbed back in the car. ‘Head straight south. It won’t matter if you veer a bit to one side – it’ll just mean a longer
or shorter walk once you hit the rails.’
    With that he twisted the key in the ignition and turned the pick-up round. Waved and headed back up the road, leaving Walker in the dust-settling emptiness.
    After walking for half an hour the landscape became fertile and wild, twitching with butterflies. He passed through knee-length grass and a field so dense with strawberries that their juice
stained his shoes. Buffalo clouds roamed the sky. Then, in the distance, he saw the river-glint of the railroad tracks and quickened his pace, smiling.
    When he got to the railroad he looked back at the wavering track he had cut through the grass and began following the rails west, the gradient steepening all the time. After a couple of miles he
stretched out by them and waited for the train, drowsy from the walk and heat. He shaded his face with a shirt and dozed.
    He woke and gulped some water, ate the last of the strawberries he had picked on the way. The light was softening, his shadow reaching out along the track. Three geese angled towards the
horizon: everything straining into the distance.
    Waiting.
    It was almost sundown when the rails began to sing. The noise got louder and soon he could see the train pulling slowly towards him.
    The train was so long that three minutes after the engine had passed there was still no sign of the rear coach. Then, seeing an open boxcar approaching, he ran alongside, tossing in his bag. The
length of the train made its speed deceptive. He had to sprint to keep up with the boxcar and when he reached up to haul himself aboard the momentum jolted his arms and tugged him off his feet.
Dangling from the train he touched the ground again before swinging his feet up and into the car.
    Once it had pulled up the incline the train began moving faster. Hanging slightly from the door he could see the long line of freights stretching away in both directions as the rails began
curving slightly to the south. Mostly, he lay on the jolting floor, head propped on his rucksack, watching the sun smoulder over the horizon and the fields blazing fire-red. For a while the sky was
streaked with purple and then, as the blue blackened, the first stars blinked on.
    It was a warm night. He sipped water and chewed hunks of bread, wished he had saved some of the strawberries. Later the momentum of the train lulled him to sleep. He dreamed of Rachel doing
ordinary things, things he had never seen: cleaning her teeth, deciding which clothes to wear, reading, drying herself after a bath. He dreamed of her sleeping, dreaming of him.
    Throughout the night he woke uncomfortably on the hard boards, looked out at the star-clogged sky