*Thud.*

“Mreeoow”.

A head of dark brown hair moved in the bed in the centre of the apartment, but made no effort to
disconnect from the pillow.

“MRREEEOOOW!”

Gary sat bolt upright in bed, surrounded by darkness.  He rubbed his eyes hard, trying to see the dim
outline of the door.  Jumping out of bed he pulled it open …. and shut it again quickly, running back to
his bedside unit.  The alarm clock clearly said 01:03  – he checked it twice to make sure.  He rubbed
the sleep out of his eyes and with mounting confusion, opened the door again. The cat strolled past him
lazily, leaving the paper alone on the floor.  Although he knew that no self-respecting person would be
wandering around the building at that time of the morning, he checked the hallway before picking the
paper up and then followed the cat inside.  The orange fur ball was wailing next to the empty saucer on
the floor.

“Of course I haven’t got your breakfast yet! “ he shouted at the cat, “I didn’t expect you for another six
hours.  What are you doing here so early?”  He poured out some milk and tried to remember where he
had put the can opener.  Lack of sleep fogged his memory and he ransacked the cupboards and
drawers.  As he worked he started to read the paper.  He couldn’t understand what all the fuss was
about.  The articles were all good.  There really wasn’t anything for him to do.  The front page reported
“Fourth Ward Alderman Denies Mis-appropriation of Funds” and the story of the wedding of a top
actress to her co-star covered the third and fourth pages, with large colour photographs.  In between,
the second page advertised a kiddie carnival which was going to take place near the zoo in Lincoln
Park later that day.

Finally finding the can opener hidden in the cupboard, Gary deposited some meat on another saucer
and gave it to the cat.

“I don’t know why I’m bothering though,” he told the animal.  “I suppose I should be grateful you gave
me the day off, but did you have to wake me so early?”  The cat just purred and started to eat.  Gary
took the paper over to the table and spread it out, going through each page carefully.  It wasn’t until he
reached the bottom of the fourth page that he saw it.  Tucked away, underneath a photo of the bride and
her new husband getting on their private jet to Hawaii, was a sombre article.

HUNDREDS KILLED AS TRAIN DESTROYS BRITISH SCHOOL
Two Eastern Railway trains collided in the heart of Somerset, Great Britain just after four thirty
yesterday afternoon, after one passed a faulty  signal.  The 14:45 express service to London, which was
stopped on single track at Bryersmead Station, was hit head on by a train travelling the opposite way.
The south bound train de-railed, sliding down an embankment and ploughing through the main hall of a
primary school.  The hall was full of teachers, parents and children taking part in their end of term
production.  So far the death toll stands at 238, including 35 passengers and 3 railway staff travelling
on the two trains.  The search continues for survivors, buried under the wreckage.

Gary’s legs suddenly felt very weak and he sank onto a chair.  He had dealt with bombs and rapes,
muggings and shootings, but nothing was more horrific than children dying.  He felt so helpless,
knowing what was going to happen and unable to stop it.  Or was that the point?  He stared at the cat, a
sudden thought entering his head.

“This is why you’re early isn’t it?” he said, knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, but realising he was
right anyway, “We’re six hours behind Britain.  I could get there and try to stop this.”  The cat stared
back at him and Gary hit the table in frustration,

“It’s at times like this I really wish you could talk,” he said and then corrected himself, “Actually I
don’t.  It’s strange enough having to do this every day without having to deal with a talking cat as
well.”  He checked the article one last time and noticed an additional sentence that he had previously
missed.

“A phone call was received by staff at a local station prior to the incident, warning them of the
collision.  On checking the computers they paged the conductors and drivers of both trains to warn
them.  Unfortunately, the message did not arrive in time.”

Gary now knew what he had to do.  He would be on a very tight schedule, but he had to try.  Grabbing
a suitcase from his wardrobe, he threw in a change of clothes, wash things, passport and the paper.
Scribbling a quick note to his friends, he picked up his keys and pulled the door shut after him.

PART TWO
 

Gary ran through the entrance to Midway Airport and scanned the huge floor for the screen he needed.

“Japan, Australia, Russia, Europe.. Ah.”  He found it in the far corner and jogged over.  Luckily there
was no line.  He wondered if he would have to wait long.

“I need a seat on the first flight to London, England,” he told the smartly dressed attendant behind the
desk.  As she typed the details into her computer he checked the clock on the wall behind her.  1:47 am.
He was relieved that the traffic had been light on the short journey to the airport.  He hoped he would
be in Somerset by four.

“Very good sir.  We have a vacancy on Flight BK103.  It’s boarding now, but we only have a single
ticket in first class. Would that be suitable?”

“That’s fine.”  He just needed to get there, he could worry about getting back afterwards.  He handed
over his passport, papers and American Express card.  This trip was going to seriously deplete his bank
balance, but he couldn’t think about that now.

“Do you have any other luggage sir.”  Gary placed the light bag on the scales.

“No, only this,” he said.  The attendant checked the weight and handed it back to him.

“That clears as hand luggage,” she told him, “The flight is boarding from Departure Gate 18 on the
lower deck.  Go through Entrance C across the hallway and the passage way will lead you straight
there, via customs.”

“Thanks for your help.”  Grabbing the tickets and shouldering the bag, Gary raced through the door and
down the narrow, sloping gangway.  Luckily the airport was very quiet.  The few flights that morning
had either already left, or the passengers were waiting in the Departure Lounge for their plane to taxi in
to place for boarding.  Overhead a Boeing 747 took off on route to some far off destination.

“Last call Mr Hobson for Flight BK103 now boarding at Gate 18.  Mr Hobson please make your way
to Gate 18 where your flight is ready to depart.”

Hearing his name echoing around the tunnel made him run faster.  He arrived at customs breathless.
The officials had obviously been alerted and checked his passport and bag quickly.  He sprinted the last
few feet to the Departure Gate and handed over his ticket.  The plane stood waiting for him on the
runway, a few hundred yards away.  A pretty blond stewardess stood at the open door, ready with a
welcoming smile.

“You’re seat is right here Mr Hobson,” she said quietly, indicating an empty chair on its own.  Taking
his bag from him before he could object, she stowed it away in the overhead locker.

Fastening his seat belt, Gary finally let himself catch his breath.  They weren’t due to arrive in
Heathrow for another seven and a half hours, about 3:30 pm UK time and he was thankful that he had
managed to get a first class seat.  He settled back into the moulded seat and closed his eyes.  The
picture from the newspaper article immediately appeared.  A small girl, in a ripped union jack dress,
lay in the arms of a fireman.  From her bruised hand hung a battered Spice Girls bag.  Her blond hair
was tied in two bunches with bright pink ribbon and her face was covered in blood.  Gary’s eyes shot
open.

The in-flight movie was a light-hearted comedy and but he couldn’t actually manage to laugh at any of
the jokes.  When the stewardess came around with breakfast he was surprised by how hungry he felt.
The toast and orange juice disappeared quickly, but he found the eggs a bit harder to swallow.  Back in
Chicago the town would just be starting to wake up, but as Gary travelled closer to England, his eyes
closed and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

PART THREE
 

“Gar, are you up yet?”  Chuck Fishman knocked on the door of his friends apartment.  Everything was
quiet, apart from the muffled cry of a cat.  He tried to open the door, only to find it locked and knocked
again.

“You okay Gar?  I know you’re in there, I can hear the cat.  Come on Gar I brought breakfast.”  There
was still no reply.  Dropping the bag by the doorway he checked under the doormat and around the
edge of the doorway itself for a spare key.  Knowing Gary, he wouldn’t want to lock himself out.  He’d
leave a key somewhere, it was just finding out where.  A picture near the door was crooked and Chuck
reached out to straighten it.  As he did so he heard the soft grate of metal on plaster.

“Bingo!” he cried, removing the key from where Gary had taped it onto the back of the frame.  Quickly
replacing the picture on the wall, he inserted the key in the lock and turned it.  The cat shot out of the
door as soon as it was opened.  Chuck jumped back startled and watched the orange streak disappear
along the corridor.

“Gar?  Are you in here?”  The bed was unmade and clothes scattered the floor.  For a moment Chuck
wondered if his friend had been burgled, but with no sign of forced entry, quickly put this thought out
of his mind.  After checking the bathroom he sat down at the table.  Only then did see his name on the
brief note left there.

*Chuck.  The paper’s taken me to England.  Got to stop a train crash killing a load of school kids.
Leaving on first flight.  Don’t know when I’ll be back.  Tell Marissa not to worry, I’ll try to be back
tomorrow.  I’ll call you later.  Take care, Gary.*

England!  What was he doing jetting off to England?  He was supposed to be taking care of Chicago,
not some country on the other side of the world.  Chuck felt suddenly useless.  He could look out for
Gary in Chicago, well most of the time, but Britain – he didn’t stand a chance.  What if something went
wrong?  He didn’t want to think about it.  Collecting his breakfast from the doorstep, he locked the
door and pocketed the key.  He had to talk to Marissa.

The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee hit him as he entered McGinty’s.  Marissa carefully pushed
the mug towards him and he took a long sip.  Spike lay at her feet, eyes closed but ears pricked for any
small command from his mistress.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or do I have to try to work it out on my own?”  Chuck
dragged his eyes away from the newspapers lying on the counter and looked at Marissa,

“Sorry?”

“What’s wrong Chuck?  Is it Gary?  Is that why he hasn’t shown up yet?  Did something go wrong with
the paper?”

“Heh enough of the questions okay,” Chuck replied, perhaps a little harshly.  He sighed, “Gar’s gone to
visit the Queen – he’s in England,” he added as Marissa frowned.  “The paper told him about some
train crash over there and apparently he thinks that he has to fly over to stop it.”

“England, but he can’t change anything over there, surely?”

Chuck shrugged, “Heh, Who knows?  The time differences will work against him - we’re six hours
behind the UK.  By the time he gets over there most of the day will have passed, if not all of it.  He’ll
be okay coming back again, it’ll only seem like he’s been travelling for a few hours.”

“He’s tired out already,” commented Marissa, “A full days work with the paper and all that flying, he’ll
be exhausted.”  That was exactly what Chuck had been thinking, but he wasn’t going to admit it.  He
just wished Gary had called him.  Maybe he could have helped, gone with him or something.

“So what do we do?” Marissa asked.  She sounded the way Chuck felt – helpless.

“I guess we just wait,” he replied, “and keep our fingers crossed that Gar knows what he’s doing.”
 

PART FOUR
 

Gary didn’t have a clue.  Disorientated from sleeping on the flight and being woken abruptly by the
stewardess as they prepared to descend, he wandered aimlessly around Heathrow terminal, wondering
where to go next.  Their arrival had been quick, with none of the usual delays, but he noticed that it was
past three o’clock.  He wondered what Chuck and Marissa were doing back in America.  *It will be mid
morning now*, he thought, checking his watch.  Glancing around the crowded hall he spotted a sign for
trains and headed for it.  He was met with a huge board, of times and destinations.  Four trains were
leaving London and heading off in different directions.  Scanning the list of stops for one he spotted a
familiar name.

*Bryersmead Station                Arr  16:32      Dep  16:37*

According to the details on the board, buses shuttled passengers to Woking to meet the trains.  That
solved the problem of getting to the station, but he couldn’t get on the bus without a ticket.  He joined a
short line and found himself buying an open return ticket to Bryersmead.  The ticket operator also
handed him a timetable and pointed him in the direction of the main entrance.

*At least I can get back again afterwards,* he thought, putting the ticket into his wallet.  Walking out
of the automatic doors, he found himself in front of a long line of buses.  People rushed back and forth,
carrying suitcases and dragging luggage along behind them.  Gary was surprised at how warm it was.
He had always been given the impression that England was constantly stuck under a rain cloud, but the
sun was shining and the sky was blue.  He took off his jacket and pushed it into his bag.  He checked
the bus ticket he had been given and tried to match it up with the signs on the front of the buses.
Halfway along the line he stopped and started up the steps.

“Train to Bryersmead?” he asked, hesitating to get much further in case he had to turn around again.
Although small, his suitcase was quite heavy and kept banging into his legs.  The driver nodded and he
handed over the ticket stub with relief.  Depositing his bag on the luggage rack he took a seat next to an
elderly lady and tried to work out what he was going to do.  If he could get to the station he could try to
make out that he was from the railway board and knew that one of the signals was faulty, but would
they believe an American?

The journey was quick, only a few minutes, but Gary marvelled at the scenery.  Green hills rolled away
into the distance where he could just see the glimmer of the sea.  He found his thoughts wandering to
childhood memories of holidays spent on the beaches back home, but the picture of the little girl kept
appearing in the middle of it all.  When the bus pulled up outside the station, Gary jumped down the
steps with his bag.  He helped the elderly lady down after him.

“Thank you young man,” she said, “Its nice to see some people still have manners.”  Her words sent a
warm glow through Gary.  In Chicago he could take a bullet for someone and still not get a thank you.
In England, it appeared, you only needed to take someone’s arm and help them down the steps.

The station was as busy as the airport and incredibly noisy.  Gary found startling differences to the El.
The trains were a lot less frequent, but when they did arrive they were nearly three times the size of the
trains in Chicago.  Seeing them with his own eyes, he realised how easy it would be for such a huge
vehicle to cause the destruction he had read about in the paper.  A small television screen showing
departure times told him that his train would leave from Platform 7 at 15:36 – only a few minutes time.
Taking the stairs two at a time he ran across the concrete bridge and down onto the platform.  A high
pitched beeping noise drew his attention to a nearby train and he leapt in as the doors shut firmly
behind him.

“This is the 15:37 Eastern Railway service to Kingsmouth, calling at Whipmarsh, Larth, Bryersmead,
Tillswood, Challingham…”  Gary ignored the rest of the announcement as he realised he had caught
the right train.  He undid his bag and searched for the timetable he’d been given.  There were three
trains that trains that could meet the 14:45 which had already left Kingsmouth and was on its fateful
journey to Bryersmead.  The first he dismissed immediately.  It didn’t leave until half past four, the
time the accident started.  Of the other two, one would pass at Challingham, on the other side of the
single track and the other, the 15:36 from London….Gary took a deep breath as realisation dawned.
The 15:36 train was timetabled to cross with the other train just outside of Bryersmead.  There was no
way he could get to the station before the train because he was on it and if he didn’t think fast he was
going to wind up dead.

Slinging his bag back onto his shoulder, he rushed to find the conductor.

PART FIVE
 

Gary stood in front of the glass doors and waited for them to open.  Nothing happened.  He moved his
hands in front of them and still nothing happened.  Someone stood up on the other side of the glass and
hit the wall beside the door.  With a hiss they separated.  Gary found himself face to face with a young
teenage girl.  She pushed her fingers through her wavy bob and shot him an impish grin.

“You have to press the button,” she told him.  Gary followed the direction of her finger and noticed a
small square button set into the wall.  He reddened.

“Heh don’t worry.  You’re not the only one,” the girl told him, “I catch this train every day and most
people think they have to step on a certain spot to open them.  They look so funny hopping around the
floor trying to hit pressure pads that aren’t there.  That’s the impression technology’s made I suppose.
People are always thinking big when in actual fact life is quite simple.”  At that moment Gary wished it
were true.

“Thanks,” he said, “I was trying to find the conductor.”

“Probably down the other end,” the girl replied, “They normally stay there with the buffet trolley until
we get to Challingham and then check the tickets.  Did you not get chance to get one at the station?”

Gary was still thinking about her last sentence.  According to the newspapers, one of the conductors
had survived.  If the buffet trolley was at the back of the train that would explain why he had managed
to escape.  He looked up to find her expecting an answer.

“Oh I’ve got a ticket,” Gary told her

“Then sit down, you look exhausted.  My name’s Sara.”  Gary gently removed her hand from where
she had laid it on his jacket.

“I’m sorry Sara I can’t stop.  I have to find the conductor.”  And I have to make a phone call he
remember suddenly.  He wondered if he had made a mistake, whether he should have caught the next
train and called from the station instead, but he knew from the article that the call alone was not
enough.

“Is there a telephone at the next station?” he asked Sara.

“Yes, but if you have a credit card you can use the one on the train.”  She pointed to a telephone sign
above the electronic doors.  “It’s just round the corner.”

“Thanks.”  The phone was stuck on the wall with a complicated list of instructions set above it.  Gary
crossed his fingers and swiped the card down the side of the phone.  His fingers paused over the
buttons as he realised he had no idea who to call.  He remembered seeing a telephone number on the
back of his timetable and punched that in.

“Transport Police.”

Gary took a deep breath.  “I’ve just seen some kids messing around with the signals near Bryersmead,”
he lied.  “It looked like they were pulling cables out.  The light is stuck on green and I don’t think its
working properly.”

“Thank you for bringing it to our attention sir, I’ll need to take your name and telephone number for
our records.”  *Of course they would,* Gary thought, feeling stupid.  *How do you explain that you’re
just visiting for the day from America to stop a train crash and then you’ll be going home again?*  He
decided he needed another lie, but a smaller one this time.

“Hobson; Gary Hobson.  I’m calling from a payphone and there’s no number.”

“Vandals again,” he heard the officer mutter and realised that some things didn’t change, wherever you
went.  “Well thank you for…”

“Hello, hello!”  The connection broke as the train sped under a bridge.  Gary replaced the receiver,
hoping the police would act on the information.  Checking the newspaper he realised they wouldn’t.
The headline and article was untouched and it was quarter past four.  He hit the phone in frustration,
frustrated that he had travelled so far and was running out of time.  *I shouldn’t have bothered,* he
thought bitterly, *I should’ve realised it was hopeless and stayed in Chicago.*  The picture of the
injured girl rose in his mind once more and his dull ache shot through his heart.

“*You have to keep trying Gary.  You’ve got this far, you can’t give up.  They need you – she needs
you.*”  It almost sounded as if Marissa was next to him, her voice was so clear in his mind.  Taking a
deep breath, he turned towards the back of the train.

PART SIX
 

Chuck stared out of the window of Gary’s apartment and watched the traffic jams crawl along between
the rows of skyscrapers and tall buildings.  A plane started its descent into Midway and his thoughts
concentrated on his friend.  Marissa had returned to work.  She knew they couldn’t help Gary this time
and she needed to keep her mind occupied.  She said the only way to do this would be to be busy.

“But you’ll call me if you hear anything?  Promise Chuck?”

“I promise,” he replied sincerely, “You’ll be the first person I call.  Actually you’ll probably be the
only person I’ll call – there isn’t anyone else.  I’ll keep a listen out for the radio reports too.  If anything
goes on over there they may just put a bit in the updates.”

Marissa didn’t get her hopes up.  She had a sneaking feeling that the only time they would hear about
Gary was either when he showed up on the doorstep, or turned up at the morgue.

Chuck had returned to Gary’s apartment in case he called there.  With Marissa at work, the answer
machine at home and his cell phone in his pocket, his friend’s phone was the only one not covered and
Gary knew he wouldn’t be able to work.  He had spent the morning clearing up after Gary’s hurried
departure.  The clothes were folded up and replaced in the drawers and the washing loaded into the
machine.  The dishes were washed and drying on the draining board and he’d made the bed.  The only
problem was that it looked completely different –too different in fact.  Gary was a generally tidy
person, but the apartment had only looked this immaculate when he had first moved in.

Since its quick exit earlier that morning, the cat had not returned and the flat was unbearably empty.
Crossing the room he switched on the radio to try to fill the silence.

“Chicago is preparing for the wedding of the year this morning, as actress Jessica Parnell prepares to
marry Weekend Away co-star Donovan McClain.  The couple tie the knot at midday, followed by a
reception in the grounds of the couple’s mansion over on South side.  It promises to be a busy day for
autograph hunters and paparazzi.  Also today, Wrigley Field is being open to the public for its annual
Cubbies Carnival.  This is set to be a great day out and a chance to meet your favourite stars.
Meanwhile, here’s a tune from some other visitors to America at the moment, the Spice Girls with
Wannabe.”

The soft voice was replaced with the upbeat tempo of the pop song.  On any other occasion Chuck
would have switched it straight off but this time he didn’t.  Something about them reminded him of
Gary.  Here was a group of British girls whose job had brought them to America and Gary’s job had
taken him to England.  It was really just a work swap.  Admittedly, he hoped his friend would return
sooner than the pop stars left, and preferably not in a dress, but it offered him a little comfort.  He
wondered how Marissa was coping and reached for the phone.  He didn’t even pick up the handset.
Some superstitious feeling told him that the moment he picked up the phone to make a call, Gary
would be trying to contact him.

His stomach rumbled and he opened the cupboards to see what he could find to eat.  He knew Gary
would understand if he made himself a sandwich.  Taking the snack back to the window Chuck
wondered, nor for the first time, how his friend was doing.  Gary didn’t stop for lunch on the best of
days and lord knows this was anything but.  He took a mouthful of peanut butter and bread and
swallowed with an effort.  As he raised his hand to force a second bite down the phone rang.  The plate
dropped to the floor, smashing into pieces as he grabbed the receiver.

“Gar?  Is that you?”  From the desperation and concern in Chuck’s voice, Marissa knew Gary hadn’t
been in touch yet.  The knot of fear in her stomach started to grow tighter.

“No Chuck, it’s me,” she said, disappointed.  Work was slow and however much she tried she couldn’t
keep her mind on the little she had to do.  “I’m taking the afternoon off and coming over.”

Chuck didn’t try to persuade her otherwise, he could do with the company.

“Sure, are you okay with a cab?  I kinda wanted to stay by the phone.”

“Sure,” Marissa said, understanding exactly how he felt, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.  Can I bring
anything?”  Chuck gazed at the squashed sandwich.

“Pizza would be nice.”

PART SEVEN
 

Walking back along the corridor to the carriage where Sara sat, Gary felt the train lose speed.  Looking
out of the window he realised the area had become built up.  *This must be where we’re supposed to
stop,* he thought.  Checking his watch he watched the seconds tick by, trying to make the ideas in his
head form a plan.  The only thing he could think of was trying to persuade the conductor to stop the
train.  Sara smiled up at him as he passed and he realised that it might be the last time he saw her alive
if he didn’t stop the accident.  A thought struck him and he turned around.

“Do something for me,” he said.

Sara studied him with surprise,  “I don’t even know your name.  Why should I do anything for you?”

“My name’s Gary Hobson and I need you to move.”

“I’m quite comfortable here thanks.”

Gary felt his temper rising.  *Why did people mess him about when he tried to help them?*

“You’ll be more comfortable at the back Sara, trust me.  You have to hurry,” he added as the train
started to pick up speed again.  Collecting her bag and coat the girl followed him to the end of the train.

“What can I get you two?”  The tall, thin and slightly balding buffet man reminded Gary of Chuck and
his heart beat faster as the thought of how much he would lose if it all went wrong.

“Nothing, thank you,” he added as an afterthought, “I need to speak to the conductor.”

“Derek, you’ve got customers.”  A groan sounded from the conductor’s compartment and a middle
aged man appeared around the door.

“Need tickets?”  Gary shook his head,

“No.  There was something wrong with the signal,” Gary told him, “You have to stop the train.”  He
didn’t know quite what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the reaction he got.  The conductor glanced
between him and the girl and then started to laugh.

“This is some bet right, or some dare.  You really think I’m gonna stop the train on your say so.  I’ve
worked this line for fifteen years and if the signal says green you go.”

“But it’s wrong!” Gary argued fiercely, “The other train hasn’t passed yet and we’re on the single line.”

“Then the other train’s been delayed,” the conductor replied, “Go and sit down.  Have a drink and
relax.  You’re all perfectly safe in here.”  Gary stood shocked as the door slammed in his face.
Glancing at the newspaper confirmed his fears.  Nothing had changed.  He took the girl’s arm and
pulled her back down the train.  The time on his watch was getting nearer to four thirty with every
passing second.  They made it through the first carriage, but Sara pulled Gary back.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, “You drag me to one end of the train and then back to the other.”

“I’m sorry,” Gary said, “but I have to find some way to stop this train.”

“You really believe the signal was wrong?”  Her soft brown eyes searched his for signs of deceit but
there were none, only concern and fear.

“Yes I do.  I can’t explain how Sara, I just know.  Look you said you travel on this train every day,
have you ever known the train to go through without waiting for the other train?”  She had to admit that
she hadn’t, even when the trains were running late.  Her eyes dropped and she started to tremble.  Gary
knew he didn’t have much time left, but he couldn’t stand by and watch her get upset.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he said, “Do you hear me Sara?  We can beat this.”  His eyes travelled around
the section between the two carriages and came to rest on a small green piece of metal near the roof of
the train.  “Hold on to that pole, tight,” he told the girl.  With a swift prayer that the system wasn’t
disabled and another that he would be in time he pulled the Emergency Stop Lever.

A deafening alarm filled the compartment and the train locked its brakes.

PART EIGHT
 

Gary found himself on the floor against the wall of the compartment.  Sara was sat at the bottom of the
pole, her arms and legs wrapped around it tightly and her eyes closed.  He tried to grab hold of
something, but all he could find was smooth walls.  Slowly the train ground to a halt, flinging him back
in the opposite direction.  He struggled to his hands and knees and crawled over to where Sara was still
wrapped around the pole.  Her knuckles were white and she had drawn blood from biting her lip.  She
flinched when he touched her hands, uncurling them from their grip and then suddenly she was in his
arms, crying bitterly.

“It’s okay Sara, we’re okay.”  Gary comforted her until the doors behind him hissed open.  The
conductor stood over the pair.

“So you think its funny to delay the train do you?” he yelled, “Well I don’t and neither do the other
passengers.  As soon as we get into Bryersmead I’m calling the Police.  They’ll know how to deal with
you I’m sure…”  A high pitched beeping cut him off and he grabbed a compact pager from his pocket.
Almost simultaneously an announcement came over the train’s tanoy system.

“Senior Conductor please report to the Driver.”  The conductor scowled.

“You’re coming too,” he told the pair and forced them to their feet.  Gary put a protective arm around
Sara as they were marched back along the carriage to the front of the train.  The driver stood outside his
cabin, ashen and shaking.  One of the main side doors had been opened.  The conductor’s scowl
disappeared, replaced by a look of wariness.

“What’s going on?”

“Train ..on …the …track.  Nearly …..crashed!”  The driver just managed to get the words out before
he disappeared outside to be violently sick.  Gary jumped down from the train and walked along the
line.  About a hundred yards ahead lay Bryersmead Station and on the line sat the other train.  The
conductor poked his head out of the doorway.

“I’ve just got a message from Transport Police,” he told the driver, “They say they got a call that the
signal had been tampered with.”  He turned to Gary.  “Without your help it would have been too late.
We would have hit the other train.”

Gary couldn’t move.  He felt there was something still left to happen.  Sara came and stood next to
him, entwining her long, delicate fingers with his.  She smiled as she turned towards him.

“Thank you,” she said, “You saved our lives.”

Gary couldn’t reply – he hadn’t even heard her.  As Sara spoke he heard music from his right.  He
walked towards the edge of the embankment.  Below him lay a group of square, red brick buildings,
from which music was playing.  As he watched, a set of double doors opened at the end of the building
and a tall, broad shouldered lady held the door open as children and their families filed out of the hall.
One of the first to emerge was a young girl in a union jack dress.  Her blond hair had been tied into two
bunches with bright pink ribbons and from one hand hung a Spice Girls bag.  Gary felt a lump rise in
his throat as she stood in the middle of the playground watching the train.  As if somehow knowing
what might have been, she raised her arm and waved to him.  Gary raised his hand slowly and waved
back.  A young woman with a pram took the little girl’s hand and led her away, not before she had
blown Gary a kiss.

He stood on the embankment, picturing the undamaged scene before him as he had viewed it in the
paper.  *THE PAPER!!*  Grabbing his bag he retrieved the tattered print and flicked through.  The
article on the fourth page had disappeared.  Instead was another picture from the wedding.  Gary felt a
smile play on his lips and then realised he was starving.

“I have to fly home tonight,” he said, turning to Sara, “but I can grab a bit to eat first.  How about it?”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Sara said with determination, “It’s a lovely offer Gary, but I have to get home
to my family.  They’ll be worried about me.”  Gary watched her walk slowly down the track to the
station and felt suddenly lonely and vulnerable.  Only when she was out of sight did he let his
disappointment show.  The smiled vanished from his lips and his head sank to his chest.  All he wanted
to do was get onto the plane and go home, to bed.  To his friends.

PART NINE
 

“What do you mean I can’t get back?”  Gary couldn’t believe what a nightmare his trip had turned into.
“I need to be back in America by tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry but all flights to Chicago are fully booked.  I can put you on a waiting list for cancellations,
but apart from that the next flight isn’t until early tomorrow evening.”  The thought of Chuck running
wild with the paper the following morning made Gary wish he’d never come to England.  It didn’t last
long though, when he remembered the little girl’s face.  He knew how much he had achieved in the
past few hours, but he was exhausted and wanted to get home.

“Put me on the waiting list and book me a seat on the flight tomorrow afternoon.  I can always cancel
one.”  The ticket counter assistant typed the details into her computer terminal and waited for the
tickets to print.  “Do you know where I can find somewhere to stay the night?” he asked.  The woman
shook her head,

“Try Accommodation over the far side,” she suggested, “They have a pretty long list of places.”

“Thanks.”  Stuffing the tickets into his suitcase, Gary made his way through the crowds towards the
booth.  The line was long and his bag felt twice as heavy as it had when he had first picked it up that
morning.  Finally reaching the desk, he dropped it onto the floor and explained to the man behind the
counter what he wanted.

“You’ll want somewhere nearby then,” he said, when Gary told him he didn’t have a car, “How about
the Blackstone Hotel.”  Gary’s heavy eyes shot open.

“Did you say Blackstone?” he asked.  An uncomfortable tension settled over him.  The man nodded,

“Hundred yards down the road.  Very reasonable rates and they always have a spare room.”  Gary had
two choices; take the room, or face the night on an airport bench.  He chose the bed.

“That’s fine,” he said, “Thanks for your help.”  Gary assumed it was some sort of continental chain, not
that he had ever heard mention of another hotel in America.  He was relieved to discover that it didn’t
actually look like the hotel which housed his apartment, even if it did have the same name.  The front
of the building was covered in ivy and a long gravel drive led off from the main road.  Gary felt the
small stones move under his feet as he crunched towards the main entrance.  It was just as pleasant
inside as out.  Lots of wood panelling and deep burgundy furnishings.  The receptionist quickly found
him a room and even called a porter to take his solitary bag up.  Gary explained the situation with his
flights and the pretty young girl assured him she would call his room if he received any calls.  Talking
of telephone calls made him think of Chuck and Marissa and as soon as he was alone in his room he
picked up the phone and asked the switchboard operator to connect him.  Chuck sounded close to
hysteria as he was put through.

“Gar!  Where are you!  We’ve been going crazy back here wondering what’s going on.  It’s bad
enough when you disappear for the day in Chicago *but England*!  Jeez Gar.”

“I didn’t get much choice Chuck,” Gary reminded him, “the paper turned up about one am this
morning.  I’d only just got in from sorting yesterday’s problems and the cat starts crying at the door.  I
swear I thought I was dreaming.  The train accident was the only bad thing in the whole paper Chuck, I
knew I had to try.”  Chuck wasn’t panting into the handset so hard now.  Apparently he had calmed
down a little during his friend’s explanation.

“How d’ya do?” he asked finally.

“I was lucky,” he said, deciding to skip the fact that he had come so close to being killed himself, “I
managed to stop the train further down the line.  No one was hurt.”

“That’s great Gar!” Chuck said, “So are you on the plane home or are you already at the airport?  I can
come pick you up?”  Gary wondered how his friend would take his news, but he wouldn’t have to wait
long.  He couldn’t let a stranger pick up the paper from his doormat.  However much his conscience
screamed NO he knew he didn’t have much choice.  Taking a deep breath he started to speak,

“I have to stay here until tomorrow,” he told his friend, “Chuck, I have a big favour to ask you…..”

Email the author: copper.fair@lineone.net
 

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