Alex struggled to open his eyes. Every part of his body felt as if it was tied to bags of sand as he tried to roll over to his side. His shoulder burned hot with pain and he let out a heavy groan when he finally managed to shift his position on the muddy ground.

Meredith's fireman's vision went in and out. He was able to make out nearby tracks and the faint sunlight flowing through the trees. Finally the rain had stopped.

Suddenly he became painfully aware of his soaked pajama pants. They clung to his legs like a second layer of baggy, heavy skin. He took a sharp breath in, rolled to his knees then pushed up with his good arm. His body cracked in protest but he fought the stiffness and stood to his feet. He ran his hand over his face and after a minute of persistent blinking, Alex's vision returned. His heart raced in his ears as he nervously glanced around for any signs of his assailant. He was alone in a line of trees that hugged an old siding, but he had no idea where he was. He could hear the ocean in the distance and a gentle sea breeze rustled the wet leaves above him, releasing a few droplets of water onto his bloody, dirty hair.

Alex scoffed, rubbing his head of the unwanted wetness. He hated how grimy his skin felt, he was caked in mud, sweat, and blood. But at least the dirty sensation drew his attention away from the searing in his shoulder. He wished he had a mirror so he could inspect his wound, but shockingly there wasn't even a decent puddle in the mud he could stare into. Instead he blindly felt around until his fingers grazed a scabbed hole mere inches from his neck. He carefully touched around it then reached over towards his back; from what he could tell there was no exit wound. The bullet was still lodged inside his shoulder. He tried to move the injured shoulder but it cracked and sent shocks of pain throughout his chest. He collapsed to his knees with gritted teeth. "Shit, shit, shit," he hissed.

Once the pain subsided Alex was hit with a revelation. Hayden was missing. He straightened up and began to study his surroundings much more carefully. The treeline itself was quite thin. He could see where the land dropped off into the sea about a mile or so from his position. He stumbled forward, his legs still regaining function after being unconscious for so long.

He steadied himself against a tree after a few wobbly steps. The unstable ground didn't do much to help him regain his balance. "Hayden!" Alex called. His voice was strained and his throat burned. He was soaked on the outside, but his mouth was painfully dry. "Hayden Jameson!" Still no answer. Alex groaned. He forced himself to move forward, barefoot, sore, and dehydrated. He continued to call Hayden's name as loud as his broken voice would allow, completely unaware of another being watching and listening from a safe distance behind.

Flying Scotsman was nearing Doncaster. The sun was high as noon quickly approached. Meredith still nowhere to be found and Scotsman became increasingly frustrated with his partner as time dragged by. While he admired her dedication to her crew as well as her bravery, he was annoyed she wouldn't wait long enough to go out with an escort. There was a pit in his boiler. He knew it's exactly what Mallard wanted her to do. She played right into his grasp.

As Scotsman approached the turn off to the Steamworks he spotted Dirk coming up with a short line of flatbeds. The little shunter stopped when he noticed Flying Scotsman without his train. "Hello, where are your coaches?"

Scotsman sighed, not bothering at an attempt to hide his irritation. "Meredith has run off. You wouldn't have happened to see her?"

Dirk furrowed his brow as he searched his memory. "I don't think so… I'll be honest this is the first I've been out of the yard today."

"Of course," Scotsman grumbled. "Thank you anyway."

"Is something wrong?"

"Not yet."

The lead A3 continued his search all the way to Edinburgh Waverley. The station was as busy as ever as passengers were taking advantage of the beautiful weather. Each track was occupied by either a goods train or passenger coaches. Flying Scotsman snorted steam. He was about ready to turn around when a soft voice caught his attention.

"Looking for somethin'?" It was Emma. She approached the brooding express engine carefully, she kept her eyes low as she didn't wish to upset him like their last meeting.

Scotsman softened when he noticed the little engine's guarded demeanor. "An engine. A tank engine. Small, green livery, she looks similar to an N2."

"Oh! I saw a little green tank engine earlier this morn." Emma perked up, but she held cautious. "Though she wasn't an N2. No. She had a two-four-two wheel pattern."

"That's her!" Scotsman managed to crack a smile, his tone brightened. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhh, I believe she was headed east. Towards the North Sea."

"Aberdeen?"

"I believe so."

"Oh! Thank you so much, Emma!" The line where Flying Scotsman sat had cleared up and he started again with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. Meredith was still alive and his boiler fluttered. "You're a great help!"

Emma's cheeks flushed bright, but before she could say anything further he had steamed away.

Despite Scotsman's newfound energy, he did his best to traverse the tracks towards the coast slowly. There were many branching sidings and lines and he knew he had to check every one with a scrutinizing eye.

His firebox fizzed with worry as time dragged on with no leads, but then he saw a flash of something red towards the cliff side tracks. Flying Scotsman narrowed his eyes as he continued on towards the sun. It zoomed by again, but this time it snuck up beside him, slamming the big engine in the side of the boiler.

Scotsman caught himself before he derailed, but the wind was knocked clear out of him and he sputtered as he righted himself onto the track. His eyes shot to the side where he spotted another large engine he wasn't expecting to find. "Emerson?" He coughed.

"Surprise." The young A3 sang. His front buffer beam was bent from shoving Scotsman and he carried a wicked glint in his eyes that sent shivers down the mainland engine's frame.

"Where's Meredith?" Scotsman barked. He began to roll away from Emerson, but the young engine cut him off with another firm bash to the fender. "What do you think you're doing you little brat?!"

"I'm protecting her." Emerson hissed through clenched teeth as he fought against Scotsman's tremendous strength. "From you!" The Surdrian engine shoved Scotsman down as he huffed hot steam from his nostrils.

"So what," Scotsman was hardly phased by Emerson's confrontation. He ripped himself from the young engine and powered closer to the cliff-edge. "Are you helping Mallard now? You're protecting Meredith by helping her assailant?!" Emerson buffered up to Scotsman and the two engines glared searing daggers into each other. "Are you responsible for her crew's abduction?" Scotsman hissed as his anger boiled closer to the surface.

"I had to get her out here somehow." Emerson couldn't help but smile at his own cleverness. He was indebted to his own driver for being so willing to participate in the engine's schemes. "Don't worry, they're still alive… though only just."

Flying Scotsman had enough. He locked his buffers with Emerson's and gave them a sudden and painful twist, effortlessly popping off its rivets and with another quick pull backwards, completely removed the metal then tossed it aside.

Emerson yelped and groaned in pain, moving away to attempt to work out the white noise that filled his head as the front half of his body throbbed with hot pain.

He watched Scotsman shake himself off several meters away. They locked eyes. Neither dared to make the first move. Instead Scotsman spoke. "Where are they?"

Emerson ignored Scotsman's demanding question as he circled around to face the mainland engine head on.

Scotsman watched the young locomotive with mild bemusement and as Emerson settled into position Scotsman couldn't help but chuckle. "Very well," his smoke deflectors locked forward while his steam built up around him. "I suppose I'll just have to beat the answer out of you."

"Get away!" Meredith cried out. She flew backwards down the line as Mallard closed in on her with a vile grin.

"Oh please, enough with the theatrics." Mallard snickered. He stopped as she bumped into a set of buffer stops. They were on a siding only a few miles south from Emerson and Flying Scotsman. Completely shielded by heavy brush with the crashing waves nearby drowning out much of their noise to a small town just down the hill. Mallard allowed himself a moment to take in Meredith. He had not yet seen her new livery. "So is that fancy paint Scot's way of marking his territory, hm?"

Meredith frowned. "This was my own doing. I was tired of all the scummy engines gawking."

"And you believed changing your paint would stop that?" Mallard laughed again. "You're more naive than I thought."

Meredith's heart raced. She couldn't move away. All she could do was stare as the blue A4 closed in on her. She closed her eyes, sweat beaded down her face. She could feel Mallard's scorching breath against her cheeks. Her life flashed across the blackness. She saw Duck, Donald and Douglas, Gordon… Emerson. Her eyes began to water. Why couldn't I have just ignored Scot? Why did I have to have him?

She waited a few more grueling seconds and when nothing happened, she dared to open her eyes. Mallard was still in front of her, but he hadn't moved any closer. "What are you doing?"

He smirked. "You remind me of another little engine I cornered many years ago. She was fiery like you— put up a good fight—" he then grabbed Meredith's fenders and began to twist. Her boiler buckled and the little engine cried out. "Then she stupidly let her guard down." He twisted harder, Meredith's vision blurred and she felt sick. "That's when I was able to rip that pretty little engine in half." He whispered with his mouth just barely grazing hers. "It's a shame, really. You would've made a beautiful pet."

"No!" Meredith's voice was about non-existent. She strained to fight Mallard, but his strength was too much. She felt her axles snap and her boilerplates continued to pop and bend. "Please… stop…"

"Sorry, love," Mallard purred. "It's nothing personal," he pulled harder, his own fenders and buffers stung from the force, but he simply ignored it. Meredith's boiler had started leaking and her eyes began to droop. She was slipping away with the color that drained from her face.

Out of nowhere, Mallard felt something grab his rear coupling. He stupidly released Meredith which allowed the being behind him to tear him away. The A4 threw on his brakes, but his attacker was strong; his brake arms snapped and his wheels slipped, the grinding metal threw sparks up and out.

Meredith tried to focus her eyes on the engine behind Mallard, but her vision was doubled and blurry. She merely swayed on the tracks as she struggled to work through the agonizing burning from her mangled boiler. She could hear Mallard himself struggling. His assailant had a unique advantage from behind until the two's squabble was moved onto a set of up and down lines just off the siding.

Mallard turned himself about, his eyes bloodshot and wild as he locked his bristling glare with Gordon's. "You!" He snarled. "I thought you wanted to see Scotsman fall?!"

"Not if it means Meredith goes down with him!" Gordon's breathing was heavy. Mallard was a powerful engine and it took everything the blue A3 had to pull him back.

Mallard blew steam as he charged towards Gordon. The two collided, Gordon nearly derailed, but he held fast, staring Mallard in the eye as they both slid backwards and further away from Meredith who was still at the end of the siding trying to recover.

The two worked to flip the other, but they were evenly matched. It was a boxing match of flying sparks, oil, and chipped paint as they knocked into each other repeatedly. Gordon had nearly tipped Mallard at one point, but the A4 slipped his grasp taking one of Gordon's smoke deflectors with him.

As their brawl moved further from the siding, Meredith had managed to slip away. She limped and leaked all over the line, but she kept steady as she tried to run away. Tears streaked her oil-soaked face. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to Sodor and never come back.

She glanced to a small town nestled along the coast just a few miles from her. The sun had begun to set and she could see the faint glow of the little houses and businesses. She just needed to make it to a populated area and she would be safe. No engine would risk a fight so close to humans.

Her pistons pumped as hard as they could, but her damaged boiler simply couldn't build up steam. She stopped just before a junction and sagged on her broken axles with an exhausted sigh. The little engine's eyes looked up to the darkening sky. She could no longer hear Mallard and Gordon, though she didn't know it was Gordon who saved her. Just some mystery hero who once again managed to pull her from death's ice-cold grasp.

The silence didn't last long. She heard another engine coming up from ahead. Meredith locked up as she braced herself for whoever it could be coming towards her. First it was the lantern that came into view, then it was the engine herself.

Meredith's firebox fizzled. "Ellis…"

The black K1 sneered as she caught sight of the crumpled tank engine, but then she smiled as the full extent of Meredith's weakened state was realized. "At least that idiot made it easy for me."

Emerson was slumped on his track. His face and body were covered in dents, gashes, and scrapes. Oil leaked from his mouth and his breathing was rattled. He fought to lift his weight back onto his axles, but he could hardly hold himself up. He glared ahead at Flying Scotsman. The green A3 had minimal damage, more or less he appeared as disheveled as he would after a long night with Meredith. Scotsman wore a deadly grin as he inched closer to the young engine. "Did I not tell you to stay in your lane, boy?!"

Emerson could hardly speak. Every part of him screamed with pain. He wanted to run, to turn the other way and return to Sodor, but he couldn't. He felt incredibly foolish.

Scotsman peeked behind Emerson. The track ended. It was an immediate drop-off into the frigid sea. He didn't stop. He moved closer. "Shame you didn't pick the correct side. You certainly have potential. You would've made a great heir."

Emerson furrowed his brow and forced himself to speak. "I'll never… work this… god-forsaken railway."

Scotsman chuckled. "You're right," Emerson's tender had come off the tracks and dropped into the dirt. "You never will."

The Sudrian engine's eyes grew wide as a rush of sea air rattled his undercarriage. He hadn't realized his precarious position until just then. He looked behind him and noticed the drop off. "Wait, no, stop!"

"Where's Meredith's crew?" Scotsman growled. He dropped his smirk and adopted a murderous glare.

"Stonehaven!" Emerson gasped. "I left them on a siding just outside the town. I've no idea which way they could have gone, please! Please don't let me fall!"

Flying Scotsman eased up on his creeping advance. He studied Emerson's terrified countenance, tears had begun to fall from the young engine's bruised eyes and his rivets rattled as his whole body shivered with fear. The mainland engine exhaled slowly through his nose then backed away, allowing Emerson to move from the edge.

Before the two could speak further a thunderous crash from down the hill grabbed their attention. Their attentions both snapped to the treeline where Mallard emerged with Gordon. The two were locked by the buffers, though Mallard's fenders appeared ready to give under Gordon's intense strength. Both engines were decorated in their own array of dents and scratches.

They rolled up towards the cliff, Mallard's tender knocked into Emerson's boiler, caving the plating and sending a stream of pressurized steam up into the cool night air.

Emerson winced and crawled from the fight, bumping into Flying Scotsman who promptly overturned the young engine, sending him crashing into the dirt. Scotsman then rolled up beside Mallard, slamming his boiler against the A4. The unexpected knock caused Mallard to falter, but he caught himself. Unfortunately, Scotsman had come off the rails and he was unable to realign himself.

Gordon noticed his brother had derailed and in his brief lapse in concentration Mallard powered forward, Gordon's tender snapped off from the collision leaving the blue A3 with no fuel. Gordon's steam pressure quickly dropped and he was stuck face-to-face with an outlandishly livid Mallard.

"Ohh, I'm going to enjoy killing you!" The A4 spat. He charged Gordon with as much speed as he could muster in such a short distance, but as he was only a meter away Mallard found himself flung from the tracks by an unexpected force. He flew sideways and directly into Flying Scotsman, stunning both engines.

Gordon had closed his eyes, but the commotion forced them open. In front of him sat Bittern, sweaty, and breathless, his buffers were caved in and his coupling rod had snapped from the force exerted. Bittern licked his lips as he watched Mallard stir from atop Scotsman. His twin somehow managed to tip himself back onto the tracks. His boiler was completely caved, but Mallard's eyes were nearly glowing with hatred.

"Where's Meredith?" Bittern said sternly.

Mallard coughed oil and laughed. Bittern's eyes darted around. Allan and Arik had somehow snuck up the tracks and they placed themselves between Bittern and his exit.

"Where is she?!" Bittern repeated with greater force.

His twin smiled cruelly. "I imagine she's about to meet Isla."

So I wanna make it clear that Em doesn't know the full extent of what Mallard did to Meredith. All he knows is the power struggle between Flying Scotsman and Mallard. I figure that's apparent but just in case. Lol.

Other than that, I've not much else for this post script. I have some leftover pasta in the fridge calling my name so I must answer! I'll see y'all in the next installment.

Much love;

Bumble