The Pacific Northwest Express, engine 4197, roared through the forests of Washington state, making its way to its destination of Seattle after departing from Boise, Idaho, eight hours earlier. It was a long journey and there was still a ways to go, but twenty-seven-year-old engineer Devin Maynard enjoyed the solitude and the distraction. He also enjoyed the scenery, but it was now after 9 PM and thus he could only see whatever was illuminated by the train's headlight.

"Dispatch to 4197, come in," a voice crackled over the radio.

"Dispatch," Devin responded, "this is 4197, two hours out from Seattle. How you doing, Jim?"

"I'm well kid," Jim's friendly voice replied, "but we have a change in plans." He paused. "Devin, I've been doing this for almost forty years now, but this is a new one for me."

"What's going on?"

"Well," Jim said, dragging the word out, "at Ellensburg, all the passengers are to be taken off the train by the National Guard, and you're gonna take the soldiers to Seattle."

Devin was confused. "What the hell's going on?"

"I don't know buddy, just do what they ask." He paused. "Sorry that your first ride back with us isn't such a breeze."

Devin sat pensively for a moment, and then responded. "Don't worry about it. It is what it is. Over." He then grabbed his intra-train radio to inform his conductor of the inevitable headache associated with telling the passengers that they were to be left stranded two hours from the destination they paid for.

"You're kidding me, right?" His conductor Ken asked, annoyed. "Half these people are asleep, for Christ's sake!"

"What do you want me to do, Ken? It's the National Guard, we don't have a choice."

There was radio silence for a moment, as Ken sighed deeply. "Fine," he finally replied with a huff. As he went to inform the train's fifty-three passengers, many of whom were in fact asleep, Devin focused ahead, adjusting his glasses and his Mariners baseball cap. The train rolled on at about fifty miles per hour, and in the distance he could see the red lights of a grade crossing brightly spring to life. The train approached the crossing at its normal speed, when Devin suddenly noticed something.

A man was walking on the tracks. And he was facing down the train.

Devin sounded the horn immediately, but all that happened was that the man began to run directly at the train. Devin hit the emergency brake, but he knew there was no stopping the train before it reached the man. He thought to himself, Isn't there a better way to commit suicide?

As the train slowed from fifty miles an hour, to forty-seven, engine 4197 struck the man. Devin couldn't see the impact due to the height, or hear it over the roar of the engines, but there was no doubt in his mind that this man was dead. He opened the window and stuck his head out; using the light of his personal cell phone, he could make out a smear of blood along the side just above the wheel well.

"Holy fuck…" Devin said to himself, horrified. He then grabbed the radio. "4197 to dispatch, 4197 to dispatch, come in, over!"

"4197, this is dispatch," Jim's voice quickly came back, "is everything alright Devin?"

Devin was in a panic. "No Jim, it isn't. I just hit someone on the tracks. He just…" Devin paused briefly. "He just RAN at the train, like he was trying to die."

Jim wanted to assure Devin. "Even if he didn't, that's not on you. Either he was trying to kill himself, or he didn't have the sense to not walk on train tracks. Either way, it's gonna be fine Devin."

"Easy for you to say," Devin snapped back, "you're not the one who just fucking KILLED someone!"

"Calm down kid, you have to stop at Ellensburg anyway. I'll call the local cops, they'll sort it out. Where was it?"

Devin took a breath. "It was just before the route 107 crossing."

"I'll take care of it, you just get to Ellensburg and deal with whatever's going on. Over." Then, there was silence again, all the way to Ellensburg.

Engine 4197 pulled into the Ellensburg train station, with sixty National Guardsmen lining the platform. Ken opened the doors to the passenger cars, intending to usher the passengers off, but a soldier rushed past him and addressed the passengers. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in the firm voice of a soldier, "my name is Sergeant Thompson, I'm with the National Guard. I'm sure you're all confused right now, but let me assure you that you are not in any trouble or any danger. There is a situation underway that requires the use of this train, but we have transport to take you to our facility nearby where we will sort everyone and everything out, but for now, I need you all to calmly disembark the train, single file, let's go."

Most of the passengers followed his order without issue, but one well-dressed passenger was not happy with the change in plan. "Excuse me, I have an important meeting in Seattle tomorrow at seven, I can't miss it." Another passenger voiced his concern as well. "We paid for a ticket to Seattle, will we get a refund?"

"Please," Sgt. Thompson said, "just follow our orders and we'll work everything out." As the two vocal passengers attempted to respond in frustration, Thompson walked away and headed for the locomotive, where Devin was standing outside the door to the cabin. "Are you the engineer?"

"Yes," Devin replied to the sergeant, "I'm Devin Maynard. What is all this? What's going on?"

After introducing himself, Thompson replied. "Mr. Maynard, there is a situation ongoing in Seattle right now, and we're reinforcements. We sent a few helicopters over, but for the rest of us, rail travel is the fastest route to the city. So we're gonna need you to take us there."

"What about the passengers? My conductor?"

"They'll be taken to our facility, and they'll be fed and given a place to sleep. Don't worry about them."

Devin paused, and then suddenly remembered. "Shortly before we got here, I struck a person on the tracks. I'll probably need to talk to the police or something."

Thompson looked surprised, but then explained to Devin what he could. "Trust me Mr. Maynard, it's not gonna be a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Devin asked with disgust. "I ran someone over, that's not nothing."

Getting frustrated, Thompson replied, "If the cops DO come for you, pretend you didn't know about it."

Devin stared in shock. "What the FUCK is going on?"

Thompson looked back and saw the last of the passengers loaded onto the bus, some of whom were becoming more vocal about the situation, be it out of annoyance, inconvenience, or even fear. Once they were all aboard the bus, the soldiers boarded the train. He then turned back to Devin. "It's time for us to go. I think maybe I should be in the cabin with you."

"Are you gonna explain ANYTHING?" Devin glared at the soldier, who said nothing as he walked into the cabin. Rolling his eyes, Devin followed him, took his seat, and got the train underway. As the train was entering a residential area, Devin was required to slow the train to forty miles an hour.

"Don't," Thompson ordered. "Maintain your speed."

"I can't go fifty around here. I have regulations—"

"Actually," Thompson cut him off, "I'm gonna need you to speed up. Time is critical and we have to get to the city."

Devin paused, then smirked. "Tell me what's going on, and I'll push this thing to its limits. Otherwise, we're gonna get there at regulation speed."

Thompson looked at him angrily. Then, he pulled his pistol and pointed it at Devin. "I can't imagine it's too hard to learn how to drive this thing. I've been told I'm a fast learner."

Devin was in shock. "Jesus Christ man, get that gun out of my face!"

"Don't make me man." He paused. "My job is to deal with this situation, your job is just to drive the train."

"Whatever," Devin said, folding. Thompson holstered his pistol as Devin turned back to the tracks. Looking ahead, he saw another grade crossing illuminate, and he could see a car pull up and stop in front of the flashing red lights. As the train reached the crossing, Devin glanced down at the car, and was horrified at what he saw.

A man was pulling the driver out of his window, and it seemed almost like he was biting the driver's neck.

"Holy shit," Devin said, shaking. "Did you see that?"

"Just keep driving," Thompson said. "Don't think about it"

"For fuck's sake," Devin responded, fully agitated, "I ran over a man walking on the tracks, and I just saw another man BITING another man. Either you tell me what's going on, or I shut this train down. There's six steps to turning it on, and I sincerely doubt you'll figure it out that quickly. So I ask again: What. The fuck. Is going on?" He then placed his hand over the emergency fuel shutoff switch, and stared Thompson down.

Thompson grimaced, but conceded. "Very well, Mr. Maynard." He took a deep breath. "For a few months now, there have been isolated cases of…an illness." He paused. "There is now evidence to suggest that somehow, it's gone global."

Devin was confused. "What kind of illness? What is this, a new plague?"

Thompson stared off to the side. "I suppose you could say that. It's an illness no one has ever seen before. Frankly, it sounds like some voodoo from a witch doctor."

"Shit…what does this illness do?"

"First, you get sick; throwing up, dizziness, fever, it's basically like the flu. The difference though, is that this flu so far has a confirmed zero-percent recovery rate. In essence, if you contract it, you're dead."

"How is it contracted?"

"I'll get to that, but first, there's another aspect of the illness." He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. "After you die, there's some kind of…metabolic reaction."

"What reaction?"

Thompson closed his eyes, and decided to just be direct.

"In essence, you come back to life."

Devin was mystified. "You…come back? What does that mean?"

"Well, that may not be an accurate statement. Your body gets up and starts walking around, but you're…not there. It's just a mindless creature that seems to have nothing but the most basic animalistic need: food. And its preferred prey, by all accounts, is still-living people. It'll pursue anything it even thinks MAY be food. And once it bites you, you get the infection."

Devin was stunned. "So…" he started, "you're telling me that there's a plague that is causing people to die, only to come back to life as a brain-dead cannibal?"

Thompson nodded. "More or less. There's a hundred different names for these things, but the most popular term seems to be 'walkers'."

This was the craziest thing Devin had ever heard, by a sizable margin. He stared down the tracks, dumbfounded, and saw another man standing on the tracks, unafraid of the massive approaching behemoth. Part of Devin felt relieved that he didn't actually cause someone's death, but that hardly seemed like a good tradeoff for everything Thompson just told him was happening, apparently on a global scale. He closed his eyes as the train obliterated the walker, attempting to comprehend the harsh reality that lay ahead.