Transcontinental (25 page)

The sun was in the process of setting; Leroy estimated it was somewhere near five o’clock, although it still felt as hot as noon. The heat had made them both cranky, and what little talking had been done in the past few hours had been snippy and short. Silence was fine with Leroy.

As they lurched between the two means of transportation, the silence was broken when an El Camino, brown paint tarnished with orange waves of rust and a white sheen of oxidation, rumbled alongside them. Smirking at them from the driver’s seat was a man in sunglasses, wrinkled around the mouth, with a bandana covering his hair, if he had any.

Before the man had spoken a word, Leroy knew he was going to ask if they wanted a ride. It was instinctual, as if a light within him just flickered to life. As soon as he realized this, he knew what he had to do.

“Trying to get somewhere?” the El Camino man croaked, his bulging, tattooed arm sticking out of the open window, fingers drumming on the thin aluminum roof of the car. “Maybe I can help.”
 

“We’re good, thanks,” Leroy blurted, then glanced at Ant to gauge his reaction. Ant looked puzzled, but Leroy turned back to the roughneck and continued. “We live just up the road, not more than a mile.”

“You sure? Look at this fine machine,” he said with a grin. “She’ll getcha there in less than a minute, I bet. Two-hundred thirty horses in there.”

“I’m sure,” Leroy replied with confidence. Even if he’d
wanted
to ride with a random stranger, the trunk of the car, if it could be called that, was splotchy with wear and nearly rusted through at points. “Really, though, thanks.”

“Well alright!” the man said, and patted the roof with his palm. “Catch you fellas later, then.” With a smoky burnout, he was off.

Throwing up his hands, Ant said “What was that about? You pass up a free ride? Do you know how long we have to walk, now?”

“No. Do you?”

“Well, no. A lot longer than it would have been by car, I know that.”

“Did you even see the back? It looked liable to collapse.”

Ant scoffed. “You could have ridden in the front seat.”

“We almost got killed by a drunk driver a few days ago. Remember that? I’m not riding with anyone I don’t know, anymore.”

“Stringent criterion. You do realize that rules out basically everyone?”

“I guess it does, yeah,” Leroy agreed. “What about buses? I’ll ride a bus.”

“Right, because buses are not full of strangers,” Ant retorted.

“It’s different,” Leroy mumbled, eyes on the ground.

“And what of the urgency you displayed only yesterday?”

“No reason to rush there if it’s gonna get me killed. Like you said, Ms. Stacey probably reported me, anyway. Few hours can’t hurt.”

Ant seemed to consider this, and his demeanor softened. “Okay, then. In the absence of a bus, I suggest we continue walking.”

“Maybe we can find one,” Leroy reasoned. “We’re right by the city.”

“Sure. A small city, which likely does not have a bus system, but there is a chance. We should not, however, rely on that possibility.”

Leroy was still singing on the inside when they started to walk, watching the prints his shoes left in the sand. Not only had his little lie worked to get the El Camino man to leave, but he’d taken charge of the situation with Ant.
His
situation. They were small victories, but it was all part of the process of going from a child to a capable adult. It wasn’t a choice; he knew he wouldn’t survive the trip if he couldn’t make the transition.

* * *

Leroy hadn’t complained once since his vow to become an adult. Good Lord, had he wanted to—his legs were barely usable in their tenderized state; he’d had to lock his knees every time he stepped. Complaining didn’t help anything, though, and he was determined to stop.

He was, however, free to express relief as thoroughly as he liked.

“
Thank God
,” Leroy cried, and dropped to his knees out of necessity as much as happiness. They stood before a brick crew change station that reminded Leroy of an old schoolhouse, aglow in the evening twilight. The clock at the top read eight-thirty.

Ant reached a hand out to help Leroy up. “We must keep moving. Before we can rest, we should at least scope out the yard, perhaps speak to the crew about outgoing eastbound trains.”

Leroy grasped the hand, and Ant lifted him to his feet, but his knees buckled as soon as Ant let go. He declined further help and, after a struggle, stood on his own, then they crossed the woodchips to the back of the building.

The racket of the station fulfilled Leroy. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to love the song of an idling locomotive engine, the muffled shouting of workers, even a whiff of diesel fuel, when he wasn’t choking on it. The sum of it all had a rejuvenating effect on him.

This yard before them was bigger than the last crew change point. A few hundred feet to their left, the FRED for two trains positioned away from them blinked out of sync. The train between faced them, headlights shining brilliantly.

“Those must be outgoing,” Ant noted.

On the patio just behind the building, a man in overalls inspected a clipboard. He raised his eyes above the brim of his glasses for a casual glance as they approached, before looking down again.

“Good evening,” Ant said, but before he could continue a train’s horn blasted from nearby, startling the two of them, but not the worker.

“Hello,” he said, fixated on his work, scribbling numbers and checking boxes. A short burst of static discharged from his walkie-talkie. “Good to go?” a man’s voice asked. The clipboard man lifted the device to his lips and said “Good to go.”

The brakes of a train pressurized with a trebly hiss as it jerked to a slow trundle. Ant turned and saw the third in the trio rolling away from the station.

“Could you please point us to—” Ant started with more urgency, but static and another voice from the man’s walkie-talkie cut him off.

“If you don’t mind, I’m very busy,” the worker stated, and lifted the device to his mouth again. “Good to go. Wait thirty seconds, then proceed.”

Ant raised his voice and said “I just need to know—” and then was cut off again by the brakes on another train pressurizing.

“Any of those eastbound?” Leroy shouted.

“Rail three. You just missed it,” the crewman said over the clamor. He pointed to the third train, picking up speed as it pulled away.

Just then, the second train began to roll toward them.

Ant tore off across the yard.

Don’t complain, he reminded himself. Don’t complain. Leroy dashed after him as best his fatigued legs would allow, sucking in deep breaths, thankful that he’d tightened his backpack earlier in the day.

“Hey! Be careful!” the man called out to them, but caution was the last thing on Leroy’s mind. He and Ant scampered through the yard, weaving between barrels and workers, who cursed them for their recklessness. They ran parallel to the rails, blocked from crossing them by a row of wooden pallets, stacked high with plastic-wrapped boxes. Just as they rounded the corner of the last one, the train on the second rail
whooshed
past going the other way, blocking their path.

They watched their ride chugging away between the passing cars.

“I don’t have it in me,” Leroy panted, words whisked away by the train.

“We are not missing our ride again,” Ant asserted, and took off running against the grain of the train that blocked them.
 

Leroy’s thighs burned as he followed. He watched grainer after boxcar after flatbed pass by at double-speed as he ran alongside the tracks. The wind created by the train going the opposite direction wore him down, but he kept up with Ant.

They reached the train on the first rail, sitting still with its FRED blinking lazily, and squeezed in between it and the moving train. Leroy grew disoriented in the dark corridor, zig-zagging as he tried to keep up. He felt a burn from his mouth to his lungs as he took in a bitter breath of diesel fumes. Ant’s figure faded into the darkness ahead of him as he slowed, coughing and spitting. His legs cramped up, threatening to give out if he stopped for even a moment, which was all he wanted to do. Stop. Breathe. Sleep.

Then the last car of the hotshot rushed by him, and he could breathe again, see again. He saw Ant, still running toward the eastbound train, and actually catching up. He was exhausted, but Ant was right—they couldn’t afford to miss their ride again. He had to do it for her.
 

A surge of adrenaline pulsed through him, numbing the pain as he sprinted. He felt his feet slapping the ground faster than ever, the gap between him and Ant decreasing until they were neck and neck, only ten feet from the rear grainer car.

“There you go!” Ant shouted when he noticed Leroy next to him.

Leroy was too focused to respond. He burst forth with everything in him, every ounce of energy and strength he had, and stretched his arm out. Just a few feet away. He ran, pushed, strained, and when he was inches away from it, he closed his eyes and jumped.

He didn’t know why he did it. He knew it was a terrible idea. But he did. Relief nearly crushed him when he opened his eyes and found himself clutching the ladder on the side of the grainer for dear life. He cautiously unwrapped himself, found the bottom rung with his foot, then climbed onto the platform. He collapsed backward against the wall, bashing his head, though he hardly noticed. His heart was beating so fast he thought blood would squirt from his skin. Desperate for air, he inhaled, but it was as if his body didn’t want the air; he couldn’t get it in. He sat up, straightened his body, inhaled again. The fresh air got in this time, bringing feeling back to his limbs.

Leroy was awestruck. He’d actually made it. He’d found strength he hadn’t even known he had, scraped from the recesses of his being.

He was still reeling when Ant peered his head around the divider and grinned at him, breathing hard. “Well… this is familiar, no?”

Chapter 7

Denver, CO

Leroy scratched off the design he’d been sketching. He couldn’t get it right. Drawing people and animals by sight was one thing, but working from a mental image, something seemed to get lost in translation between his brain and his hands.

His sunrise-brightened eyelids had awakened him. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it must’ve been a while as it’d only gotten dark when they’d hopped on the train, and he passed out shortly after. Either way, he felt better than he had in days, albeit a little sore in the legs. He was too deep inside his head to notice.

Leroy had thought a lot about his ‘monica’ in the spare moments and frustrated silences of their travels. He knew what he wanted to draw: Mr. Twist because he was an orphan, double helix for the ‘i,’ letters interconnected. He was proud of the design, because there was meaning to it. It was slightly embarrassing, but the idea had come to him after thinking about the Legs strip club logo, the way it had incorporated a meaningful image.

With all that in mind, he still couldn’t correctly produce it on paper. Bob Ross could create a mind-blowing picturesque landscape in just a half hour, and Leroy couldn’t even get a simple logo right. What hope could he have of ever creating a legitimate work of art?

“What are you working on?”

Leroy hadn’t noticed Ant’s face peering around the metal divider. He stuffed the pad of paper back in his backpack and said “Nothing.”

“Hm… Okay,” Ant said. “Are your ears popping from the elevation?”

“That what it is? Thought I was getting an ear infection.” Leroy wriggled his finger inside his ear as he opened and closed his jaw. He didn’t know why he was embarrassed for Ant to see him working, but he was. He justified it as simply wanting privacy.

“The skyline has changed over the years, but it still feels the same,” Ant sighed. “Lucky for us there were no stops overnight. We made fantastic time, and got a good night of sleep, to boot.”

Leroy craned his head toward the front of the train and saw fog-obscured buildings, irregular like jack-o-lantern teeth, against a mountainous backdrop. He considered how similar many of the large Western cities he’d seen looked. There were insignificant differences in the design and size of the buildings in each city, but overall they looked the same. Must be a reason, he concluded, disappointed. A city could be so much more. He knew it.

Turning back to Ant, Leroy said “You been here? Where are we?”

“We are outside Denver. I was awarded my Ph.D. here.”

“Hope you don’t plan on staying long,” Leroy chanced.

“No,” Ant responded, settling back, “that is a trip for another time. I am curious to know what you plan to do once we stop, though.”

Leroy cursed himself for not having considered the question. Planning the next move was essential, but so was planning beyond. He had to work on that. “You sure we’re gonna stop?” he asked with timid hope.

“Positive. It is illegal for a crew member to work for more than twelve hours, which is why crew changes are necessary. I would guess we have been riding at least ten hours, and given that we are under an hour away from Denver Union Station, a stop is inevitable.”