Dead Push (Kiera Hudson Series Two#7) (5 page)

“I recognise this place,” a voice said, cutting into my private thoughts.

I looked up to find myself standing outside what looked like a disused railway station. As if I had been on autopilot, I had blindly followed Lilly into a deserted town. I glanced back over my shoulder and could see that Potter had come to halt a few feet behind me. It was dark now, and the sun had fully set while I had been lost in thought. We stood in a wide road. The pavement was so cracked with age that it looked like someone had covered the road in slabs of crazy paving. The buildings which lined the streets appeared semi demolished, as if the town had been involved in some kind of military conflict. Much of what was left was little more than burnt-out rubble. Cars, which were no more than empty shells, lay on their sides or upside down in the street. The seats had been ripped out, as had the dashboards and steering wheels. Weeds and other wild plant life now covered much of their sun-bleached and rusty frames. I looked to my right, and further down the street I could see a traffic signal blinking off and on like a red eye.

Remembering what Potter had said, I looked back at him and said, “You’ve been here before?”

“Not exactly,” Potter said, looking at the railway station set a little way back from the derelict looking street. He took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and popped one into the corner of his mouth.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” I asked.

“This station looks kinda familiar, but it was someplace else before,” Potter said, blowing smoke through his nostrils. “The last time I saw a station like this, it was in a valley… it was where Isidor died…”

“Hey, where is this place?” I asked Lilly, losing patience with whatever it was Potter was blathering on about.

“Nowhere,” Lilly said with a shrug of her shoulders while approaching the front of the station.

“No, I’m mistaken,” Potter said with a shake of his head as if waking from a dream. “It’s not the same station. This one is far bigger. Far grander than I first thought.”

“What are you talking about?” I barked, looking at him. “This place is a poky little shithole.”

“Is it?” I heard Lilly say.

I turned to look at her to discover that she was standing halfway up a set of grey stone steps which led to the front of the grandest railway station I had ever seen. At the top of the steps stood four stone pillars. Set between these were huge wooden doors which would have been more suited fixed into the front of a cathedral. Over the doors and engraved into the white stone above them were the words
The Great Western Railway.

I looked back over my shoulder and the street looked just as it had before, with its overturned cars, demolished buildings, and cracked paving stones.

“The station didn’t look like this just a minute ago…” I breathed, turning to face Lilly again.

She was now standing on the very top step. Her long, white fur coat flapped silently about her long legs in the breeze. “It’s always looked like this, Jack.” She smiled down at me. “The darkness must be playing tricks on you.”

It was night alright, but what little moonlight shone from behind the clouds still told me that she was wrong, the station had looked like little more than a dilapidated hut with a rickety wooden platform just moments ago. Even Potter had thought it had reminded him of someplace else. I glanced sideways at him to discover that Potter was now halfway up the steps and heading towards Lilly at the top.

Potter

I joined Lilly on the top step. Some crazy shit was taking place here and it made me feel uneasy. The station had at first looked like that little station set in that deep valley as me and my friends had fled the
Berserkers. It had looked just like the place Isidor had died in that ancient-looking waiting room. But then it hadn’t looked like that place at all. The station now looked like the mother of all fucking railway stations. And how had we gotten here? We hadn’t been walking too long. How had Lilly led us over that hill and into this ramshackle of a town? I wasn’t aware of such a big town being so close to Wasp Water. But then again, there could be in this new, screwed up world we had been brought back to. From the top of the steps I looked back at the town. It was nothing more than a mass of gutted buildings and derelict streets. The town was eerily quiet and the only thing I could hear was Lilly’s coat flapping about her heels. Jack started up the steps towards us, his long, spidery legs casting stretched shadows in the moonlight.

“Where is this place?” I asked Lilly, shooting her a sideways glance.

“It’s a railway station,” she smiled with her full red lips.

Christ, she looked like Marilyn Monroe, I thought, watching how her thick white-blonde hair curled about her shoulders. Why did female
wolves have to be so freaking hot? I pushed those thoughts from my head and said, “I asked
where
this place is, not
what
it is. I can see it’s a freaking railway station.”

“It’s
nowhere
,” she said with a knowing smile.

“What sort of a bullshit answer is that?” I groaned.

Jack joined us on the top step.

“The Great Western Railway, it says above the door,” he said, looking down at Lilly. “It looks more like Grand Central Station.”

I looked up at the lettering engraved into the white stonework above the giant doors. “I saw Grand Central Station in a movie once... before I died, that is... and you know, you might be right for once, Jack, this place looks a lot like that station, but we sure as hell are not in New…”

A high-pitched wailing noise, like fingernails being scraped down a chalkboard, drowned out my last word. I looked away from the sign to discover Lilly was pushing open one of the giant doors. I looked at Jack, who stared back at me. Then, together, we followed Lilly into the station. The door swung shut behind us with a boom. I looked back and it had gone. There was no doorway. Where the door had been was now just more of the same grey stone wall and a billboard poster which read: “Holidays aboard the Scorpion Steam. There is no other way to travel!” Beneath the writing on the poster was a picture of a huge black steam train. Clouds of thick grey smoke billowed out of its funnel and the cow catcher at the front of the train was as black as coal. It was wide and
pointed, giving the steam train the appearance of having a malevolent grin.

“Where’s the door gone?” I asked, turning my back on the wall and the poster.

“Jeez,” I heard Jack hiss through his broken front teeth.

I followed his stare and looked out across the railway station. It was huge – cavernous. Unlike the desolate and demolished streets outside, the main concourse thrived with people. They bustled back and forth. As I looked closer, I could see that some of these people were wandering around looking lost, as if caught in a dream. Others strode across the polished concourse with purpose, as if they knew exactly where they were going. 

“Follow me,” Lilly said, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her fur coat.

Without saying a word, Jack and I followed Lilly across the concourse. About halfway across, we came to a wooden bench. Lilly sat down.

“Sit,” she whispered with a smile.

We sat on either side of her on the bench.

“I love to people watch,” she whispered again as if frightened she might disturb those that wandered around the station. “Watch… listen.”

Sitting on the bench, I could hear the sound of train guards blowing whistles. I could hear the
clackety-clack
of trains passing over tracks and points.

“I can hear trains – lots of trains, but can’t see any,” I breathed.

“There are platforms with trains but you have to go below ground to board one of them,” she said, never taking her eyes off the people who crossed back and forth across the concourse.

“Like the subway, you mean?” Jack asked.

“Something like that,” she smiled.

I looked to my left and could see the concourse had a ticket booth in the centre of it with a four-faced clock. It didn’t have any hands so it was impossible to know what time it was. That seemed a little fucked up to me, as how would anyone know what time their train was leaving? It was then that I noticed there weren’t any windows or doors, so it was impossible to know whether it was night or day outside the station. I looked up and could see departure boards with their bright luminous lights which dazzled my eyes at first. It took me a while to see the destinations listed. I scanned the gleaming rows of orange writing and saw that one of the trains departing from platform 41 was destined for a place named Sydney. Sydney? I thought. Sydney, Australia?

I looked at those in line. Nobody seemed to notice anyone else. Although the station was a hive of activity, no one stopped to talk, chat, or pass the time of day. I got up from the bench and headed towards the ticket office. It was made of wood, just like the one I had seen in the station where Isidor had died. I reached the end of the line, and standing back, I peered through the glass window. The ticket seller was a wizened-looking black man, who sat at the counter behind a sheet of grubby-looking glass. Although his hair was white and curly, and his faced lined with age-defying wrinkles, his eyes were keen and sharp – like there was a younger person staring out from behind his ancient face.

‘“What is your destination?” he asked, taking a glass bottle of Coke from the counter he sat behind and raising it to his craggy lips. The red and white label fixed to the bottle looked as faded and wrinkled as the man who drank from it.

‘“I’d like to go to Sydney, please,” I heard someone say. I looked at the front of the line and could see a guy in a police uniform speaking through the glass at the ticket seller. He had crumbs down the front of his uniform and what looked like a crumpled packet of Jammie Dodgers poking out of his police coat pocket.

The ticket seller cocked his head to one side and said, “Sorry officer, did you say you wanted to go to Sydney?”

“That’s right,” the cop said, looking through the dirty panel of glass at him. “How much is that, because I don’t have any money.”

‘“There is no charge,” the old man said, pushing a ticket through a gap between the glass and the counter.

‘“Thank you,” the cop whispered, looking down at the ticket. It was blank on both sides. Looking back through the glass, he said, “There is nothing written...”

‘“Have a safe and pleasant journey,” the old man winked back at him. “Next!” he then hollered to the person standing behind the young cop.

I watched the cop walk slowly away from the ticket booth, turning the ticket over and over in his hands as he made his way down the escalators and beneath ground towards platform 41. I lost sight of him amongst the crowds, or did he just simply disappear? I headed back to the bench. Sitting back down next to Lilly, and with my flesh feeling chilled, I said, “Are all these people ghosts?”

Potter

“They’re all dead, if that’s what you mean,” she said, glancing at me, then back at the crowds. “Some of them just sit as if waiting for someone to join them on their impending journey. Others are rushing for their train as if late for some important meeting. They can’t wait to board one of those trains below ground. When I first discovered this place, I don’t know how long I sat here watching the dead hustle and bustle about, queue at the ticket office and take drinks from the vending machines. Like any new place you visit, like your first day at a new school or in a new job, you soon figure out how things work. I knew I was dead.”

“Dead?” Jack said, giving her a sideways glance.

“I knew from the moment I opened my eyes and discovered I wasn’t lying in a shallow grave in the forest wher
e my killers had hidden my body,” she explained. “I heard the sounds of those guards’ whistles coming from deep below ground and I knew that I was dead. Just like you, I could hear trains and was dazzled by the bright departure boards. Eventually I plucked up the courage to leave this bench and slowly approach those departure boards. I thought I might make a journey, like so many of the other dead people seemed to be doing. I noticed that one of the trains departing from platform 63 was heading for a place named Ozstralia. I thought some of those little twinkling lights which made up the letters of the words on the departure board must be broken and the name of the train’s destination should have been called Australia. I’d never been to Australia and had always wanted to visit. And suddenly, like the new kid at school, I thought I had everything figured out. I was getting a second chance to do all those things, go to all those places I hadn’t visited when alive. So I joined the queue for the ticket office and waited in line. I didn’t have any money and was dressed only in my fur coat, which I had died in. Nobody seemed to notice this. Nobody seemed to notice anyone else.

‘“What is your destination?” the ticket clerk with the ancient-looking face and bright eyes had asked.

‘“I’d like to go to Australia,” I said, looking through the dirty panel of glass at him.

“Did you say
Oz
-tralia?” the old black guy asked, raising one wrinkled and gnarled hand to his ear.