The Last Train To Glory
THE LAST TRAIN TO GLORY.
(based on a dream)
by
Clem Mason
(age-16+)
(wc-1255)
The world had gone to hell in a hand basket as the saying goes. Because of global warming, whole countries had disappeared under water and the remainder was stricken with drought. Nothing to eat could be grown, economies failed, governments were in chaos and mankind was dying by the millions from starvation, riot and disease. Whole cities had been looted and burned. Most animals were now extinct. The few remaining were killed and eaten raw by bands of marauding hoards of desperate, savage men. The stench of death was heavy in the crisp, winter air.
Most civil folk had barricade themselves in their homes, existing on what little food they had left in the pantry; hopelessly waiting for the end.
J,C. Jones was one such man; he and his children, Daniel and Sarah. He had boarded over the front of his small house by the rail yard, hoping to create the illusion of abandonment. Sixteen year old Sarah stayed in her back bedroom mostly, reading by oil lamp. Twelve year old Danny, shuffled about the living room on his crutches, yearning to play his gameboy, which of course required electricity. He stopped to stare at his father who was re-reading an old newspaper in the dim light.
‘Daddy, I’m hungry,” he said.
It almost made J.C. cry. A flood of emotion welled up inside him. He clasped and squeezed his hands as hard as he could, fighting back the tears of frustration. “Danny,” he said calmly, “you know I can’t get you something to eat. We have rationed…”
“But when momma was here, she’d get us something to eat if we were hungry.”
J.C. almost jumped from his chair he was so angry. “Well, your mother isn’t here right now,” he hissed bitterly.
“I know,” Danny moaned.
J.C. thought about his loving, devoted wife Mary and how she was killed just three months ago. She had slipped from the house without his knowledge; under the cover of darkness. He found her ravaged body in the grocery store a block away the next night. The heinous murderers hadn’t bothered to take her jewelry. It was the only way he was able to recognize her. It broke his heart. She was trying to find her children something to eat and it cost her her life. J.C. loaded her body into a grocery cart and buried her by the back door. He since has avoided going out there. Telling their children was hard. Really, really hard.
“Well, the way I look at it daddy, the sooner we eat everything up, the sooner we die. I mean, what’s the purpose of rationing? We’re going to die anyway!” Danny reasoned.
J.C. thought about this a moment. The boy was right. There was no good reason to ration. Soon, the food was going to run out and there was no hope of getting more…
J.C. jumped up. “You’re right, Danny. Get your sister and we’ll worry about tomorrow,tomorrow.
As they sat around the kitchen table, they cried. They ate and they cried. J.C. laid out his plans of firing up old 1095 down in the rail yard and taking the old girl out for one last ride.
Sarah elected to stay behind to be with her mother. “Besides, a women’s place is in the home and she should get there right after work, shouldn’t she?” Sarah joked.
Except for burying his wife, it was the hardest thing J.C. had ever done in his life; saying goodbye to his beloved daughter. He stepped into her bedroom and stood, hopelessly crying.
“Sarah,” he chocked. “You’ve always been good to me and I can’t tell you how much I love you.”
She looked up and nodded, tears streaming down her round cheeks. Her blond hair glistened in the lamp light, She swallowed. “I love you too, daddy.”
He went to her bed and hugged her for the last time.
The morning was bright and sunny. J.C. paused a moment to say goodbye to Mary, then went on, fighting back the tears. Danny was eager to go and was far ahead, hobbling on his crutches as fast as he could go.
J.C. climbed in and pulled Danny up behind him. He was shocked to find a body, wrapped in a blanket inside the cab of the locomotive. When he bent to remove the body, it stirred. The face of an old black man peeked out.
“Wat choo doin? I ain’t botherin nobody!” the black man said.
J,C. nudged his foot. “Get off my train, buddy.”
The man blinked slowly. “I’s jes trin ta keep woam,” the frightened man said.
J.C. smiled. “Woam? You’re just trying to keep woam?” He shook his head. “What the hell do you mean, tryin to keep woam?”
A bony finger pointed to the firebox. “I’s jes keepin woam.”
J.C.’s brow furled. “You have a fire going?”
The old negro nodded. I’s used ta be a fiaman.”
J.C. squat down and touched the old man’s frail shoulder. “How would you like to be my fireman?” he asked.
He blinked. “Who you be?”
“J.C. Jones!”
His eyebrows raised. “De famous J.C. Jones? I be right proud ta be yo fiaman.”
J.C. nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Roosevelt, suh,” he said with pride.
“Roosevelt, let’s build some steam.”
It wasn’t long before old 1095 was rolling out of the yard, belching thick, black smoke; pushing a flat bed in front. J.C. let a long whistle in salute to his beloved wife and daughter he was leaving behind. He grit his teeth to control his emotions, gripping the throttle.
When he saw the man standing in the tracks, J.C. instinctively reached for the brake. Then he realized what the man was doing, he felt compassion to grant his wish. So he wouldn’t see, he distracted Danny. “Hand me that wrench there, Danny.”
He watched the man suddenly disappear beneath the flatbed. He glanced at Roosevelt who was busy shoveling coal.
It wasn’t long before another man was standing on the tracks. Roosevelt shook his head sadly. “Po foo.”
“What’s he doing, daddy?”
“Don’t look at him, Danny.”
The man suddenly vanished and Danny gasped.
“I’m sorry you saw that Danny.”
“But why did he do that?”
J.C. shrugged. “I guess he was tired of living.”
“Caint really blame ‘im none fo dat,” Roosevelt said.
Just after dark, the train roared into the approach to the O’conee river bridge. As J.C. suspected might happen, there was nothing but blackness ahead. The bridge was gone. He reached to pull Danny to his chest, hugging him hard, chocking back a sob. “I love you, son. You haven’t had much of a life but everything is gonna be okay now.”
“I love you, dad,” he whimpered.
Just before they went over the edge, J.C. glanced at Roosevelt. His eyes was as large as saucers. J.C. died with a smile on his face.
The lamp flickered. Sarah looked over at it and watched the dying flame intently. It flickered once more and went out, plunging her into total darkness. She lay quietly for a moment, thinking about her short life and felt no bitterness. She rolled over and went to sleep for the last time.
THE END.
If you liked this story and you feel the poor, old author deserves compensation in his retirement for this creation, please send $1.00 to Clem Mason, c/o Backwater Publishing. 66021-0213.
Please tell your friends where you found this web site.
Questions and comments are welcome. Thank you for your fairness and honesty.
Thank you very much and may God bless you.