his head goodnight to the group.
“Any time,” said Tenderloin, extending his hand. “Gerald Haney.”
Byrne took the hand and shook it. “Michael Byrne.”
“Oh, then it’s a relative you’re lookin’ for,” the binder boy said, changing his tone a bit, but still wary, like he was gathering his own intelligence.
“My brother,” Byrne admitted, not knowing why he suddenly felt he’d been too forthcoming.
“Well then, we’ll keep an eye out,” said Tenderloin and tipped his own chin goodnight.
Now, from the platform of the caboose, Byrne looked out on the matte of blackness behind them and had the overwhelming feeling that the train he was on was the only living thing in the night, roaring through an uneasy nothingness. It was an odd, sliding community, he thought, filled with people strange and familiar at the same time. When he woke in the morning light he would be in Florida, land of sunshine and honey, he’d been told. But somehow he was building an increasing doubt of that description.
“Jacksonviiiilllle. Jacksonville!” the voice called out, penetrating Michael Byrne’s head and causing him to jolt up off the lower cot and reach for his baton, which was always tucked beside him. The caboose was empty but for the sunlight streaking in through the side windows. The other train workers were long gone, including Harris, who had the morning shift anyway, but Byrne was still surprised that he had slept through the dawn. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot, and when his feet hit the deck, he felt the purr of the machine beneath him. Through the soles of his feet, he could feel the vibration of the engine, like the deep snore of a large animal, but no movement. They’d come to a full stop, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t awakened.
He dressed quickly and poured himself a cup of coffee that Harris must have made on the small wood stove. It was still hot, but he found himself looking into the mug, confused by the lack of steam and the new feel of sweat filming on his face. He turned to one of the sliding side windows and found it wide open. Even before he opened the rear door, he noticed the collection of coats still hanging on the hook and then stepped through to the platform. The rail station was relatively small, a single track and two turnouts. He found it curious to see the remnants of another set of tracks running parallel that were smaller in width and definitely of a different gauge. He leaned out over one side and took in the small wooden station building and the plank platform that appeared aged in a way that brought dry bones to mind. He found himself squinting in the too bright light and used one hand to shade his eyes and check the position of the sun. It was barely fifteen degrees up in the sky so it couldn’t have been past nine in the morning, but the orb seemed far too close to be natural. He spotted a handful of workers wheeling a cargo of crates and barrels from a loading dock and noted that all of the men were wearing sleeveless shirts and hats darkly stained with sweat. He found himself again wiping his own damp forehead with the back of his hand and whispered: “Jaysus, it’s hotter than Hades.”
Byrne was just taking a deep breath of the heated, new-tasting air when he heard Harris calling his name from the interior of the caboose.
“Rise and shine, lad. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready for a bit of a side trip.” They nearly collided at the back door. “Mr. Flagler has decided to take an excursion to Jacksonville Beach with some of his business friends and interested passengers, and you’ll be needin’ to go along.”
“Right,” said Byrne, starting to cough on the lungful of moist air.
Harris was smiling.
“Aye, bit of a new climate for you, boy. But you’ll get used to it. Some folks pay a pretty penny to come down here and breath this stuff, and I’m givin’ you the chance to sample the best of it if you’ll just get your arse in
“Any time,” said Tenderloin, extending his hand. “Gerald Haney.”
Byrne took the hand and shook it. “Michael Byrne.”
“Oh, then it’s a relative you’re lookin’ for,” the binder boy said, changing his tone a bit, but still wary, like he was gathering his own intelligence.
“My brother,” Byrne admitted, not knowing why he suddenly felt he’d been too forthcoming.
“Well then, we’ll keep an eye out,” said Tenderloin and tipped his own chin goodnight.
Now, from the platform of the caboose, Byrne looked out on the matte of blackness behind them and had the overwhelming feeling that the train he was on was the only living thing in the night, roaring through an uneasy nothingness. It was an odd, sliding community, he thought, filled with people strange and familiar at the same time. When he woke in the morning light he would be in Florida, land of sunshine and honey, he’d been told. But somehow he was building an increasing doubt of that description.
“Jacksonviiiilllle. Jacksonville!” the voice called out, penetrating Michael Byrne’s head and causing him to jolt up off the lower cot and reach for his baton, which was always tucked beside him. The caboose was empty but for the sunlight streaking in through the side windows. The other train workers were long gone, including Harris, who had the morning shift anyway, but Byrne was still surprised that he had slept through the dawn. He swung his legs over the edge of the cot, and when his feet hit the deck, he felt the purr of the machine beneath him. Through the soles of his feet, he could feel the vibration of the engine, like the deep snore of a large animal, but no movement. They’d come to a full stop, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t awakened.
He dressed quickly and poured himself a cup of coffee that Harris must have made on the small wood stove. It was still hot, but he found himself looking into the mug, confused by the lack of steam and the new feel of sweat filming on his face. He turned to one of the sliding side windows and found it wide open. Even before he opened the rear door, he noticed the collection of coats still hanging on the hook and then stepped through to the platform. The rail station was relatively small, a single track and two turnouts. He found it curious to see the remnants of another set of tracks running parallel that were smaller in width and definitely of a different gauge. He leaned out over one side and took in the small wooden station building and the plank platform that appeared aged in a way that brought dry bones to mind. He found himself squinting in the too bright light and used one hand to shade his eyes and check the position of the sun. It was barely fifteen degrees up in the sky so it couldn’t have been past nine in the morning, but the orb seemed far too close to be natural. He spotted a handful of workers wheeling a cargo of crates and barrels from a loading dock and noted that all of the men were wearing sleeveless shirts and hats darkly stained with sweat. He found himself again wiping his own damp forehead with the back of his hand and whispered: “Jaysus, it’s hotter than Hades.”
Byrne was just taking a deep breath of the heated, new-tasting air when he heard Harris calling his name from the interior of the caboose.
“Rise and shine, lad. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready for a bit of a side trip.” They nearly collided at the back door. “Mr. Flagler has decided to take an excursion to Jacksonville Beach with some of his business friends and interested passengers, and you’ll be needin’ to go along.”
“Right,” said Byrne, starting to cough on the lungful of moist air.
Harris was smiling.
“Aye, bit of a new climate for you, boy. But you’ll get used to it. Some folks pay a pretty penny to come down here and breath this stuff, and I’m givin’ you the chance to sample the best of it if you’ll just get your arse in
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