Today’s writing prompt and my response.
The first prompt for this week. Use the prompts however you like, one at a time, or pen a short story over several of them.
We arrived at a crossing …
We arrived at a crossing, with no sign posts. I looked at my companions, questioning.
Beside me, on the bench seat of the truck, Daniel rested his palms against the cracked vinyl of the dashboard. Beyond Daniel, by the window, Laurie pressed her fingers to her head, massaging her scalp to ease either pain or frustration. I turned from them, peering along the ice-packed road to where a red-gold haze signalled the setting sun.
Despite the pale blue sky above us, night would not long be coming, and with it temperatures colder than any we had encountered so far.
‘How’s the diesel?’ Laurie stretched across Daniel to read the fuel gauge.
‘Less than a quarter of a tank,’ I said. ‘Is it enough to get us …?’
‘Yes, get us where?’ Laurie chewed her lip. She pointed to the track coming in from our right. As wide as this one, and as icy. ‘Where does that lead, I wonder?’
I wondered too. ‘Daniel,’ I said, ‘does any of it look familiar?’
Daniel had grown up not far from here, but it had been years since he left.
He raised his eyebrows at me. ‘Trees, icy roads,’ he said. ‘Always looks the same.’ He grimaced. ‘Lost my bearings in that race out of town.’
Easy enough to do. I’d driven wildly up and down streets, through alleys hoping to God they weren’t blind, until we cleared the shops and houses. Then left and right on the snowy roads, zig zagging through the forest, aiming to lose our rabid, hungry pursuers.
I glanced into the rear view mirror. Silence, stillness. So far.
‘We go straight on. Bound to get to a town.’ Daniel’s tone belied the assurance of his words.
Because I knew – we all knew: that town would hold the same dread death as the one we fled.
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We arrived at a crossing, the metal railway tracks disappearing into the distance in both directions. No warning bells or lights – just a crossed sign signifying a railway junction.
As I relaxed in the passenger seat, Sally paused her car, peering to left and right before cautiously proceeding, the road ahead illuminated in her headlights.
In the distance we could hear the shunt of the steam engine, a cacophony that grew ever more vibrant the closer it drew.
Suddenly the car stalled, back wheels still on the tracks and no amount of panicked key turning effort on Sally’s part would bring the engine to life.
“God,” she thought, “what am I going to do?”
“What’s wrong?” I said. “Why won’t it start?”
“Don’t know,” Sally said. “Maybe the motor is flooded.”
In desperation, she jumped from the driver’s seat, heaving wildly at the stubborn vehicle that bluntly refused to budge. I joined her and we both pushed futilely with all our strength.
Still the car, a medium-sized four-door Toyota Camry, would not move.
The train, with its full complement of passenger cars and people came into view – its single light splitting the night sky.
“Bloody hell, we are in trouble now,” Sally said.
“The train is almost here,” I said, “we’d better make a run for it.”
Our vehicle was illuminated by the bright yellow light just before the engine, unable to stop in time, struck it with full force.
The Toyota crumpled and vaulted to one side as the train finally came to a screeching halt some distance away.
Shaken beyond belief, it was several moments before we realised the driver and guard had rushed back to check for damage and casualties.
Relieved beyond words to find us standing unharmed near the crossing, they listened carefully to our stammered explanation of what had happened.
As the train resumed its journey, Sally and I sat exhausted and traumatised in one of the passenger cars wondering what on earth our little countryside adventure would serve up next.
Scary stuff. I have a horror of railway crossings, even when they have barriers and lights and bells!
They can’t be heading for a happy future by the sound of it. If the cold doesn’t get them looks like the rabies epidemic will. Not good!!!