Author's Note: The train crash is a pretty epic scene, but trust me, when putting it into words you'll get sick of trying to find different ways of writing "everything explodes!" Because hey, basically everything does explode.

Also…

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

EDIT 02/2012: Haven't updated in a while because of other projects. I'll add a couple of new chapters in March (just in case, you know, anyone's actually still reading this :-)

EDIT 12/2015: Gave a much-needed cleanup to Chapters 1 through 4 – added script dialogue, removed bad fluff, made things clearer, fixed four-year-old typos – the usual. Hopefully it reads a little better now!

The Crash

In that moment, it was like hell on earth.

"Oh my god!"

"GO!"

A chain reaction of physics and destruction sped down the train like a demented Newton's cradle, until suddenly the carriages in front of them were buckling and warping and tearing. They began to slide off the tracks at sixty miles per hour, slewing into the grass, tearing up great chunks of dirt, spinning and impacting with great echoing BOOMS. Something hit the ground with a shower of sparks. Metal twisted. A cloud of fire lit up their faces, incredibly bright.

The group whipped around, started sprinting to the opposite end of the station. The camera clattered to the floor, film whirring inside.

"Holy shit!"

"Go go go!"

Alice gazed into the chaos, at the last carriages of the train that were still coming up the tracks with discordant squeals. The rest of the group pelted across the platform, towards the open field; Joe stopped as he suddenly noticed her standing there, mesmerised. A hundred tons of metal was whipping through the air bare metres from her face, beginning to lift off—

"ALICE!" he screamed.

She twitched and darted away behind the station building, out of view, just as the trailing carriages snaked to the left and clipped the corner of the platform. Wood burst into a swarm of splinters. A traincar flipped through the air, end over end, flying nearly vertical towards—

"Joe, let's go we have to GO!" Charles grabbed his shirt and pulled him away, after the others, all thoughts of production value fled from his mind to make room for pure survival.

Preston and Martin scattered round the side of the station, debris raining down around their heads. They pushed through a clump of bushes, then dove underneath the platform to whatever shelter they could find, eyes filled with animal panic. They crawled desperately through the dirt.

"Are we alive?"

"I don't know! Just keep—"

The others sprinted across the grass. Someone screamed incoherently. The world was a blur of fire and moonlit steel, ears filled with the shriek of tearing metal. Another carriage jacknifed off the tracks and skidded along the ground beside them, sparks and dust flying, the end disappearing in a wisp of fire. Signal poles shattered like toothpicks; rails and sleepers spiralled into the night. The car crumpled like an accordion and began slewing towards the station, heading right for—

Fifty tons of steel slammed clean through the station building. Fire bloomed from every crack and crevice, exploding through the roof, through the windows, through the shattered walls. Weatherboard was reduced to splinters as the carriage flew out the other side. Under the platform, Martin and Preston were enveloped in a choking cloud of dust. Wreckage clattered to the ground, spun through the smoke. Something else went up in flames, shoving another carriage sideways, sending it tumbling end-over-end – and through it all, a constant thunder, a constant deafening ROAR dotted with cracks and booms and clunks so loud they made your ears ache.

Joe ran. Just ran, arms pumping, breath searing through his lungs. Fire was everywhere, lighting up the sky. They slipped between two crumpled carriages and were blasted by a wave of heat from another explosion. Charles glanced behind him at the devastation, at the blackened ground, at the forty traincars scattered like toys across a carpet and the station that was now merely a jagged scorched foundation. For perhaps the first time in his life, he literally couldn't believe his eyes. "I don't wanna die!"

A cylindrical fuel car was suddenly punted by some irresistible force, skidding up another freight carriage like a ramp. A bell-like clang reverberated from the steel and it soared into the air, going up in an arc, incredibly, dreamily, then inevitably coming down, down, down—

It slammed into the ground in front of them, erupting in flames that flowed across the field like water. Joe stumbled, reeling from the heat. The world was silhouetted in red and black. He raised an arm to shield his face and noticed the others had disappeared, scattered by the flames. He looked over his shoulder, couldn't see them, just focused on moving his legs up and down, filled with adrenalin. Gotta keep moving, gotta stay alive. Just RUN. He dashed past another couple of twisted carriages, dodging jagged steel plates and snapped axles. A bit of open ground was coming up ahead.

Whooosh! A noise like a rocket lifting off; a flaming piece of debris fell through the air, followed by trails of sparks. It was like being in a movie, a friggin' summer blockbuster, except everything on the set was actively trying to kill you—

The debris clunked into the dirt in front of him and he breathlessly skidded to a stop. It was box of some sort. Flames licked around its edges. Joe stared at it, saw 'EXPLOSIVES' stencilled across the metal. His eyes widened.

Not good. Not good not good not good. He turned and backed away as fast as he could, accompanied by a soft hisssss…

BOOOOM! A white-hot jet shot into the air, blossoming, expanding, bright as a new sun. Joe fell to the ground, shoved by a wave of force and heat, pressed his hands over his ears and just waited for it to stop. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils. He closed his eyes. Please. Please, I can't do this. I can't—

Thunk! A bit of twisted doorframe bounced across the earth beside his head.

And abruptly, there was silence.

Blissful silence.

Oh my god.

Joe felt his greasy hair, felt the ash that covered his arms and legs and face and just lay there in the grass, his heart beating so goddamn fast, filled with utter relief and exhaustion and…

THUD. Metal shrieked. Joe looked up, took a sudden breath.

A train carriage lay on its side in front of him. Quickly, he climbed to his feet, and – it rumbled. The carriage rumbled, rocking from side to side. He stared at it, open-mouthed. Suddenly, without quite knowing how, the silver locket was in his hand.

Thud. Thud. The carriage moved again. There was another sound, a strange chirping that echoed sharply from the steel. It was as if something was inside… something alive, something trying to get out—

The carriage door abruptly exploded from its hinges, spiralling into the night. Smack! It stabbed into the dirt ten metres behind him – twisted, broken, a big slab of metal, thrown like it was as light as a frisbee. Joe turned back to the carriage. Gazed at the shadowy doorway. He was breathing quickly, hyperventilating. His knees felt weak.

He waited…

…but nothing moved in the ring of wreckage.

Must've been the pressure, Joe thought to himself reassuringly. There's nobody there. All around him, cooling metal creaked and ticked. Distant sounds: the dying chugs of the engine, the scrick-scrick-scrick of wheels as they lost momentum, the hiss of steam against the grass. Upside-down traincars were scattered frighteningly around him in mountains of twisted steel. Just another few feet and I probably… He swallowed. I probably wouldn't be here. Holy crap.

Gradually, the shock faded, and the fear that filled his mind was replaced by something else – concern. Worry. Panic. He looked around, but couldn't see his friends.

I hope they're okay. Joe tried to reconcile that thought with the decimated wasteland, with that last glimpse of his friends entirely surrounded by fire, with that last vision of Alice standing tall before the train, her coat flapping in the gale. I hope they're okay.

Abandoned, on its side, lying in the ruins, Charles' camera finally stopped filming with a soft click. The lens glittered in the firelight.

Ash and smoke billowed in the air, great choking clouds of it, filling the ember-speckled sky. The whole area around the station was just devastated, scorched earth, a warzone dotted by wreckage and rubble. Torn and twisted carriages were strewn across the field. Spot fires licked at the grass. Alice's car – Alice's father's car – was parked in the middle of it, miraculously undamaged except for a few dents and a broken window (and a thick new layer of dust).

Joe walked past, searching for his friends. They had to be still here, still alive, didn't they? People didn't just die.

But that's not true, is it, a dark corner of his mind reminded him. His shoes scraped across tangled rope, trampled bushes. He almost tripped over another axle in the darkness. Come on, think. Breathe. He came to the train tracks, which were buckled and twisted just like everything else, clawing at the air. He grunted and climbed over them, dropped down on the other side, looking—

"BLEEUURRGH."

Joe's heart leapt. There they were, Martin and Preston, standing around by an upside-down freight car. He'd never been happier to see their faces. "Guys!" he shouted.

Preston whipped around. "I'm okay," he blurted, holding up one arm. "Though I think I'm having a heart attack. And I have a scrape!" He looked like a ghost, white and shellshocked.

"Martin, you okay?" Joe called out.

Martin gave him a wobbly thumbs up from where he was leaning over, vomiting. A stream of orange and white… stuff… trickled from his mouth. Half-digested carrot, plus a whole load of slimy custard—

"Joe! Oh my god." Cary appeared from the ruins with Charles in tow, walking towards them. "Guys, did you see those explosions?"

But there's one still missing… "You guys seen Alice?" Joe asked hoarsely. His skin felt kind of weird, all red and burnt.

Cary ignored him. "THAT WAS UNBELIEVABLE!" He looked a bit like a wet dog, with tangled hair and grimy cheeks, but his face glowed with excitement.

Charles just looked like hell, his jacket torn and covered in dirt. "I'm alive… I'm alive. Is anyone dead?"

Joe glanced around. He squinted, trying to see past all the smoke and the wreckage. Then he looked down, and saw – blood. Red, wet blood, slicking the sharp edge of the train car a few metres in front of him.

"Why did this happen?" Martin was saying. "It's like…"

"Martin, it's gonna be okay," Charles said reassuringly.

"No it's not, dude. Look at this." He'd seen the blood too.

"Oh god."

The boys hurried over to the half-buried train car. Shards of wood and dented steel crunched beneath their feet. The carriage appeared to have been jammed into the ground, the visible end warped almost beyond recognition.

They stared at the blood, frozen, none of them daring to go closer. Cary looked horrified. Joe just looked… dead.

"Shit shit shit shit," Martin muttered.

"No," Preston breathed. "Nonono…"

Joe forced himself to take deep breaths. He imagined pulling away the metal, finding a finger, a scrap of a dress, tried not to—

"What's all that blood?" someone asked uncertainly.

A girl's voice.

The boys whipped around. "Alice?"

Somehow, it was. She climbed towards them, picking her way through the rubble. "What's the blood? Did someone get hurt?"

Charles beamed, overwhelmed with relief. Preston simply seemed flabbergasted by the whole thing. She looked almost unreal – covered in dust like the rest of them, coat almost torn in half – but she was alive.

That's all that matters. We're alive. What about the blood, though? Joe turned back to the red stain that painted the upturned carriage. He knelt in the shadows, stuck a hand inside. I think I know what this is. There were flames in the compartment, hot and bright, and something he could just about reach…

"What are you doing?" Cary asked worriedly. "Joe, you don't know what's under there!"

Martin tried to peer over his shoulder. "Hey, come on, don't—"

Got it. His fingers closed around a handle. He stood up, turned back to the others, holding his make-up toolbox. Streaks of red syrup had dripped all over it, coating the lid and the handle and the trays inside. "It's my fake blood," he explained brightly. "It's fake!"

Preston exhaled. Charles, too, let out a breath he'd been holding. Then… something jingled in the wind, almost too quiet to hear. Alice was staring at him weirdly; Joe looked down.

Oh.

The silver locket dangled from his hand, spinning in the firelight. He'd been gripping it so hard the chain had left marks on his fingers.

Joe stuffed it into his pocket, and tried his best to smile.

They moved through the wreckage, exploring the aftermath, looking for anything that wasn't broken.

"…Guys?" Preston said nervously. "Come here, what are these things?"

"Shit! No one cares!" Martin yelled. "Look around you!"

"They're heavy, like metal. There's like a billion of them!" Charles said distantly. "They look like white Rubik's Cubes or something."

"I don't think that's what they are… They don't move."

"What is going on?"

"Martin, it's gonna be okay, all right?"

"Are you serious?"

Scattered in the grass were hundreds of white cubes, made of… something. They felt warm, smooth, like plastic but much heavier. Each cube seemed to have been melted together from dozens of smaller ones, creating a tiny bone-white lattice only a few inches per side. Whole crates of the things that had fallen out of one of the carriages; big army crates, packed with thousands upon thousands of the small pale shapes.

"What is this stuff?" Charles breathed.

Preston frowned. "Hey, don't touch it."

Behind them, Cary had climbed up the angled sides of an overturned carriage. "You guys! Get up here. You can see everything from up here!" he called out.

Joe picked one of the cubes up and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't have room in his head for another mystery, so he simply followed the others and pulled himself up onto the side of the nearest traincar, grunting with effort.

At the top, they were above most of the smoke, and Joe took a deep, clean(ish) breath. Many of the fires had flickered out, blown away by the wind; but it was incredible, how far the devastation reached. Steel had ripped like paper, melted like cheese at least a hundred metres in every direction. The skeleton of the station scratched at the moonlit skies.

It was a sobering sight. "God," Charles whispered.

Cary nodded in agreement. "Look at it."

"According to my Uncle Seth," Preston announced, "an accident like this is exceptionally rare."

Except… Joe remembered the pickup truck, driving along the rails. "It wasn't an accident," he said slowly.

"What?"

"There was a truck on the train tracks."

"Are you serious?"

"What, like driving on the tracks?" Charles stared at him.

Joe peered across the ruined field, scanning the wreckage for— "There." He pointed. The cab of the pickup truck lay fifty yards away from them, one half of it almost entirely pulverised, the other half tilted into the air at a weird angle.

"Oh my gosh," Cary breathed.

They stared at the truck, and wondered who'd been driving it.

"How could a pickup truck derail a train, man?" Martin asked. "That's impossible."

"Obviously it isn't," Preston replied irritably.

The group approached the wreck with caution, stepping lightly across the grass. It looked as if the truck had impacted head-on; the hood was crumpled, the windshield shattered, the wheels sheared off or completely missing. And, sitting in the driver's seat…

…a man, his head resting against the steering wheel. Deep cuts sliced across his forehead. Blood had trickled down his cheeks, stained his clothes.

"Holy shit," Cary said.

"Oh my god, I know that truck," Joe murmured.

Charles crept forwards with tiny steps. "Guys… is that him?"

"Yeah. It's him," Alice said faintly.

The six of them stood there in a exhausted, battered line.

"Who?" Martin asked.

"It is. Yeah, for sure," Preston said.

"Who is it?"

"Holy shit."

The entire right half of the truck had been torn off, almost like it'd been cut down the middle with a table saw. Foam spewed from the seats, and shards of glass coated the earth around it. The man in the driver's seat looked almost… asleep. Stuck inside the crushed wreckage.

Alice stepped closer, strands of hair dangling in front of her face. "Dr Woodward?" she asked softly. A little scared.

Something clicked in Martin's brain. Ridiculously, he was still wearing his detective's hat. "Dr Woodward, the science guy?"

"Biology," Preston corrected.

Cary nodded. "Honours biology."

"Wow, I'm – I'm not in his class."

"We know."

"Just shut up, Cary."

They stared at the truck apprehensively. The doctor was a thick, heavyset man, African-American. Even though he was in his seventies, in life he would've been an imposing figure, with his shaved head and sharp brows. Joe had run into him at school a few times, and apparently he'd been a decent teacher, but the man lying limp before them looked more like some kind of nightmare. Inhuman.

A midnight trip, a train crash and now a freaking dead teacher. This is the most unreal—

"Remember when Old Man Woodward took your Electronic Football?" Charles whispered.

"Yeah. He put it in the dungeon and never gave it back." Cary frowned.

"The dungeon?"

"That trailer Woodward keeps in the school parking lot," Preston explained.

Alice was at the truck, now, standing right where the door would be – if it'd still had one. "Dr Woodward?" She reached out, gently nudged his hand. It was still warm. "Dr Woodward?"

Thunk! Alice jerked away as his arm dropped limply from the steering wheel, onto the truck floor. Lifeless. Then, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper; it must've fallen from the doctor's fingers. She leaned forwards cautiously and picked it up, unfolding it.

The others rushed forwards to see. It was an old, stained map: a line was drawn across it in red marker, following a curving, irregular path, annotated with scribbled notes. Numbers, place names…

"'Map of the Contiguous United States,'" Preston read aloud.

"What's the writing?" Joe asked.

"Dates and times…" Alice said, frowning.

"Guys, what's this line?"

Following a path… Nevada to Dayton? Wait."It's a schedule for the train," Joe realised. "See, look—"

A shadow appeared behind the paper, a trembling hand with bloody fingers, and before they could react it suddenly, horrifyingly ripped the paper away.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

"Holy—"

In the darkness, Dr Woodward sat up. The cuts on his face glimmered in the firelight.

"What the… he's alive he's alive oh my god oh my god…" Martin babbled incoherently. The others simply stared in shock. Then…

"Who are you?" their teacher said, in a low, growling whisper. The doctor blinked slowly, turned to face them with dazed, red eyes. His nostrils flared.

Joe felt his heart pound.

"…Dr Woodward, it's me," Charles said bravely, clenching his fists. "Charles Kaznyk. From fourth period… You've been in an accident. You're gonna be okay—"

Dr Woodward's left arm twitched and somehow there was a gun in it, a huge big black revolver.

"BACK!" Cary screamed.

"Holy shit, holy shit," Charles sobbed. They stood there, half-crouching, shivering, wondering whether to stay or get the hell away. The doctor looked like a lunatic, a monster, a bloody, shadowy ghost.

"They will kill you," he said with utter conviction. His forehead creased in pain as he tried to lean towards them, straining against his fraying seatbelt, skin layered with sweat. "Do not speak of this. Or else…" He coughed. "Or else you… and your parents… will die."

For once Cary didn't have a smartass remark. Joe just stared. He's telling the truth. He's really telling the—

Suddenly, distant voices reached their ears. Lots of voices, carried by the wind.

"Guys, look," Joe whispered. Flashlights were shining across the other side of the field. Moving fast, getting brighter.

"We shouldn't be here," Alice said fearfully.

And then Dr Woodward's gun was pointed at them. "GO!" he roared.

They didn't need much convincing.

"Come on!" Charles shouted. "Shit, let's get the hell out of here!"

"Hurry, come on!"

"My dad's gonna de-ball me!" Preston moaned.

They dashed across the grass. Twisted metal blurred on either side. They dodged past a line of wrecked carriages, vaulted over an axle. Alice skidded to a stop next to her father's car, realised the others weren't with her. "Guys, come on!" she yelled desperately.

Charles was sprinting up the station steps. "Grab the film!" The flashlights were closer, a lot closer, bobbing up and down, and Dr Woodward's warning loomed large in their minds.

"Oh my god, oh my god…"

"Holy shit!"

Charles grabbed the camera from where it lay on the decking, miraculously still in one piece, began running back to the car.

"COME ON!" Alice yelled again. "Move your ass! Let's go, let's go!"

"Who's got the bags?"

Joe slid across the gravel and picked up his makeup box, slammed it shut. Unfamiliar voices echoed in the distance. On the platform Cary was grabbing all the bags he could find, hauling them over his shoulders. The approaching torches flickered in the corner of his eye, and when Joe squinted he thought he could see soldiers—

"Get in the CAR!"

The group ran down the steps and crowded round the Skylark, yanking open the doors, chucking their gear inside with wild desperation. "They're getting closer!" Martin yelled. As doors slammed shut one by one Alice turned the key, revved the accelerator and – vrooom! – reversed out of the station carpark. Tyres skidded on the dirt, kicking flaming wood into the air. They bounced on the seats, fumbling for seatbelts.

Alice grimaced, threw the car into gear. She swung the wheel around and they sped across the field, faster and faster, slipping past the wreckage, aiming for the trees and the road back home. The windscreen wipers swept back and forth, clearing the window of dust.

"Come on!"

"Go, go!"

"…Anybody get their plates?"

"I didn't get the plate. Did you get it?"

In the epicenter of the jumbled, scorching train crash, three dozen soldiers in dark green U.S. Air Force uniforms watched the fleeing car. They were led by a thick-set officer with a craggy face and oddly piercing blue eyes. A floppy colonel's cap sat upon his head; the name stitched above his breast pocket was 'Nelec.' Rapidly, the air force men spread throughout the crash site, securing the area, searching for survivors. Beams of torchlight swept across the grass.

"Any other survivors?"

"All clear!"

Nelec glanced down at the ground by his boots, and noticed a battered yellow cardboard box. He picked it up: a Kodak film canister.

That was bad. Very bad. He looked over the ruined field, suspicion in his gaze, but the unidentified yellow car had already disappeared into the darkness.

Alice drove through the night, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check. She gripped the wheel tersely, staring straight ahead. Around her, the boys were apparently calming down by yelling louder and louder, adrenaline coursing through their veins.

Charles: "Holy shit that was insane!"

Preston: "He had a gun! An actual physical gun! My heart is pounding, that train could've killed us!"

Cary, randomly: "Oh, shit!"

Charles again: "My camera's, like, shattered now…"

Martin, almost crying: "Guys, I have never had a teacher aim a GUN at me—"

Cary: "I can't believe all that just happened here! Nothing ever happens here!"

Joe attempted to wipe some of the grime from his face, and his fingers turned slightly bloody from a cut he didn't even know he had. He was sitting next to Alice in front; suddenly, he noticed her shiver a little. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

"No." Her voice quivered. "But it's hard enough to drive without everyone yelling!"

Oh. Right. Joe turned around. "Guys, keep it down!"

The car zoomed along the road, past the brightly-lit windows of Kelvin Gas. Alice kept looking straight ahead, lips moving silently. Charles cradled his shattered camera in his hands. Everyone still had raised voices, somehow even more panicked than before.

"'You'll die, your parents will die' – guys, this is not good information!" Preston screamed.

"Oh, shit! The focus ring fell off!"

"No one cares about your stupid camera!"

Martin just moaned. "Guys, am I the only one shaking?… And I'm also crying!"

Cary tapped him on the shoulder. "Joe, what was Woodward talking about?"

"I don't know, I don't know—"

"I'm never taking a train again."

Alice shook her head, trying to make herself heard above the racket. "We can't tell anyone we were here," she said firmly. "My dad can't find out I took his car… do you guys hear me?"

"It's okay," Joe replied. "We're not saying anything to anyone."

Alice glanced at him, then back to the road. She didn't seem reassured. Her fingers twitched.

Joe turned to the rest of them. "Guys. We're not saying anything,ARE WE." It sounded like a threat.

"No."

"Nope."

"No."

"Nooo…"

"See?" he said, facing the front. "No one's gonna know. No one's saying anything."

It was quiet for a moment. The car's suspension squeaked as they drove; it sounded a whole lot worse than it had on the way to the station. Alice eye's flicked to the the rear-view mirror, dark and serious, and then, wonderfully, around the next bend, the outskirts of town began to appear out of the forest.

Alice stopped the Buick just outside Joe's yard; his father's squad car was still parked in the driveway, the windows of the house gloomy and lifeless. No one said a word as they climbed out of the car and grabbed their things from the trunk.

The sudden silence felt… weird. Tiredness and aching muscles and reality began to creep in, and Joe's mind reeled as he tried to figure out exactly what'd happened in the past two hours of his life.

"Joe," Alice said suddenly. She held her hand out the window; in it was one of those strange white cubes, which had somehow fallen from his pocket.

He took it from her. "Thanks." He leaned forwards, perhaps to say something else… but she just stared at him, shaking her head.

"I never should've done this." And with that, she slid back to the steering wheel and drove off down the street, engine sputtering in the night.

Joe watched her go, holding the cube to his chest, filled with an undefinable sense of sadness. The others stood behind him, dirty, grimy, haunted, each and every one of them, following the car with their eyes as it sped away.