Transcontinental (6 page)

Leroy reached out for it and felt a solid object in an otherwise incorporeal environment. The door, slick and featureless, pulsated under his palms. He pressed his cheek against it, listening for anything that might give him a clue as to where he was or how to leave.Silence.

Leroy moved his head to a different spot.

Nothing.

He slid to another spot, because it was all he could think to do.

WHAM.

Something struck the door where his cheek rested.

WHAM.

He tried to pull away but he couldn’t.

WHAM.

A slow, distorted siren slithered in his ear and saran-wrapped his brain.

WHAM.

A woman’s bloodcurdling scream deafened him, begging someone to “Stop, stop it, why you doin’ this he can’t take any more stop it!”
 

The sounds sent a series of chills through Leroy. He thrashed as best he could in the hyper-gravity, but the more he did the more stuck he felt. It was if he was magnetized to the door, forced to bear this brutal hubbub. The shrieks and siren and pounding swelled to a deafening crescendo that drove him mad as he punched and kicked at the invisible boundary, unable to detach.

WHAM.

* * *

Leroy blinked his eyes rapidly, breathing hard.

The olive-skinned man hovered over him with a giddy expression, slapping his face. “Here we go, boy! The running of the bulls!” He grasped Leroy under the arms and extracted him from the boxcar, setting him uneasily on his feet.

The man sprinted into the woods and let out a long, high-pitched yelp, leaving Leroy looking around, dumbfounded. He was gathering his wits, when he glanced to the right and saw a white SUV barreling toward him, a light flashing at the top.

So that’s what the bull looked like.

Leroy’s daze hadn’t worn off, but it seemed the strange, excitable man had the right idea. As he scrambled to the tree line, he noticed the lack of weight on his back, and realized his bag was in the boxcar. He slapped his forehead. Brilliant move. He couldn’t just leave it; everything he needed was in there.
 

Leroy dashed around the boxcar and clambered atop the rolls of paper inside. Just as he snatched his bag, the bull mobile screeched to a halt behind him. He swung the bag over his shoulder and raced as fast as his addled brain allowed into the dense woodlands beyond.

A foot trail, clearly not there for official use, winded between trees as far back as he could see. He hurtled along it, too afraid to check behind him.

His lungs burned as he tromped over bushes and brush. That was twice in a day he’d had to haul it through a forest. At least he could see this time.

He skidded to a stop behind the broad trunk of an old Sycamore, then ventured a backward peek that revealed only trees and a vacant trail. A calm breeze writhed through the leaves as he caught his breath. He was alone.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. It was the man from before. Leroy side-stepped the man’s grip and looked at him askance.

He was panting, bent over with his hands on his knees. “The bastard did not even bother to give chase. Party pooper. Then again, why run around in the harsh sun when he can sit in a nice, cool car listening to Steely Dan? I get it.” The man unleashed a winning smile.

Leroy didn’t know what to make of the middle-aged foreigner. On one hand, the man did rescue him. He was the one who opened the door, and the one who alerted Leroy to the bull’s presence. On the other hand, why would he go through all that trouble for some random kid? It was dumb to speculate. Better to just say thanks and move on. If that train left without him, he could be stuck there for hours, or days, even.

“Can’t thank you enough, sir. But I gotta go.”

The man stood up straight, breathing hard. With sass in his lightly accented voice, he said “Okay, please do not call me sir. Just because I have some grey hair does
not
mean I inherently deserve respect. Anyone who says otherwise is old, insecure, and full of shit.” He stuck out a hand. “I am Antoine Bevilacqua, but call me Ant. It makes me feel appropriately insignificant.”

Leroy was at a loss. He’d never heard anything like that from an adult.

Left hanging, Ant pulled his hand back. “So what are you doing riding the old bob tail? She barely runs one-hundred miles both ways.”

The engineer had neglected to mention that. He must be laughing it up, Leroy thought. Maybe he’d even set up the door to close on purpose. He probably disliked anyone, let alone some inexperienced child, illegally riding the train.
His
train. Leroy shook it off.

“Going somewhere. Know anything about trains?”

“You have grit, kid. I will give you that. A little young for a sojourner, though…” Ant ran his palm over his short hair. “Are you not in school?”

Leroy opened his mouth to speak, but Ant answered his own question. “Summer. Right. It has been a while, but I should know that.”

“No offense, but I gotta get back on that train. Like, now.”

“You and I both, kid. Alas, it is the end of the line for that one. It will be split up and apportioned to other outgoing engines down the yard.”

Leroy wilted. Everything was going wrong. Why? What had he done to provoke this? “How can you tell?” He couldn’t be sure the man was telling the truth until he’d at least heard his reasoning.

“I have been catching out here near ten years. I know these tracks like my mother’s voice.” He scratched his bristly chin. “Perhaps not the most accurate analogy, considering she passed long ago, and the sound of her voice escapes me these days. I know these tracks like my own voice. We will go with that.”

Ant talked a lot, but Leroy couldn’t deny he found a certain appeal in the words, too. His assured confidence was inspiring, and he emitted an aura of intelligence. Leroy hadn’t come across anyone like him before.

Well, except her. But his memories of her were old, spotty, and for all he knew, unreliable. He was a small child back then. Then it hit him: everyone likes cute little kids, but would she want a teenage Leroy Smiley?

He set the thought aside, cursing his mind for jumping straight to the worst case scenario. Another gift from mom. But he couldn’t be deterred. The journey had begun, and there was no going back.

“This is called a hump yard. The train rolls up to the hump, they push the cars over, then gravity and computerized tracks take care of the rest. Now, one of the trains being assembled might be headed your way. Which is… ?”

Leroy hesitated to respond, looking off.

“I respect your reticence.” Ant clapped his hands together. “The jungle is but a short jaunt from here. I have chili on the fire I must tend to before it gets eaten. However, if you are hungry, I suppose I could spare a few beans.”

Leroy’s hunger ran deep, and chili sounded like a meal fit for a king. But he had ‘food’ of his own, and no time to waste. “Better keep an eye on the trains.”

Ant shrugged his slender shoulders. “If you would rather deal with him than me, be my guest.” Ant pointed behind Leroy. In the distance, he could just make out a flashing light on the edge of the trees.

“Your best bet is to wait it out in the jungle. I shall personally escort you to your ride when the trains are ready to go, squire.” Ant bowed, smirking.

Leroy wanted to leave as soon as possible, but if what Ant said was true, it wouldn’t matter where he waited. The key difference was, one spot had food, and the other had police. He wasn’t sure what the jungle was, but it sounded like the better option.

Leroy beckoned to Ant. “You first.” He wanted to have an out in case this man wasn’t who he seemed to be. For all Leroy knew, ‘the jungle’ could be what he called the back of his rape van.

A salty grin snaked across Ant’s face as he passed Leroy. “Good instincts.”

When he was a safe distance ahead, Leroy followed.

Ant spoke from ahead as they walked. “I can assure you, I am no threat. I am simply a misplaced soul, careening through a capricious life, wherever it leads me. All of us are, out here.”

Around a large oak tree sat a clearing, trampled to dirt from decades of fortune-seekers and families, tramps and travelers alike. Encircled by large stones, a middling fire flared under a pot hung from a stand made of branches.

Ant joined two others by the fire. To his right side was an older man, scrawny with a high waist and long chicken legs. His puffy, ashen beard seemed to grow straight down from below his jawline. No mustache. His eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
 

As Leroy approached the fire, Ant gestured to his right.

“Before you sits the one and only Cracker John. He is a good man. We have had countless discussions and debates over the years, and somehow he always manages keep up. Many in academia with whom I have had the… pleasure… to engage in discourse could not. Yet he is a man of few words. A rare and elegant combination, to be sure. Although you would not know by looking at him!”

Leroy offered a weak wave.

Cracker John offered a loose nod and a crooked smile in return.

Ant then gestured left to a round man with a pinched, sun-burnt face, gut protruding between his blotchy wife-beater and his too-low jeans.

“This gentleman has refused to tell me his name, yet has no problem eating my chili. He is lucky I am so munificent.” Ant turned to the man, getting close to his face. “You are lucky I am so munificent.”

The tension broke when Ant threw his arms around both men and said “But everyone is a friend in the jungle. One cannot afford not to be.”

The round man shrugged Ant’s arm off with a scowl.

“Leroy.” If Cracker John didn’t have to give his last name, he didn’t either. Unless Cracker was his first name. The thought boggled his mind.

He held his hand out to greet them. That was what men did, right? He shook hands with Cracker John and Ant, then after hesitating, the nameless man, as his hand was as stained and soiled as his clothes. The things he did to please people.

“Leroy.” Ant stood, then proclaimed “Well, now that we are all acquainted, sort of, let us eat.” He produced four paper cups from a rucksack behind Cracker John, and ladled chili into each, before passing them around.

Anxious to get some real food in him, Leroy immediately put the cup to his mouth as Ant warned him, his inflection ascending. “You might want to—”

Leroy spat the mouthful of beans and beef to the ground, dropping his cup in the process. Eyes wide, he fanned his mouth, but it was no use. His tongue was thoroughly burnt. So much for enjoying real food.

Ant finished his sentence. “Let it cool off.”

The anonymous man cackled at Leroy’s misfortune until he could no longer contain a repulsive, hacking cough. Leroy recognized it well as that of a smoker. His mother had made those same awful sounds all too often. For a long time he had found them scary; the thought of his mother being ill aroused a primal fear in him. But he grew accustomed to, and later irritated by them. He always figured lung cancer would take her, but hanging herself, dying of her own accord, was much more appropriate. A selfish end to a selfish life.

Leroy stared down at the scattered chili in the dirt. He felt awful for wasting Ant’s food. It could’ve been the last can he had, for all Leroy knew.

“I- I’m really sorry.”

Ant motioned to Leroy. “Come. Sit.” He nudged the nameless man left of him with his elbow. “Could I ask you to move over, please?”

He looked at Ant cock-eyed over the brim of his cup, eyebrows furrowed.

Ant elbowed him again, harder. “Scoot!”

“Poke me with that thing again and it’s gon’ bend the other way.”

Leroy knew there was something brewing between those two. It was only a matter of time before it boiled over. Pointing beside Cracker John, he said “I can sit over there, it’s cool.”

Ant shook his head. “This gentleman is going to make room for you.”

The ‘gentleman’ stared daggers at Ant, tipping the cup of chili to his mouth and chewing as he spoke. “Won’t do no such thing. This is America, not some damn Sharia state. I’ll sit anywhere I please.”

Leroy wished he knew how to defuse the situation. The last thing he needed was more drama, more trouble. The men stared each other down, and though Ant was taller than the stubby man, Leroy couldn’t help but think he was probably not the stronger of the two.

Leroy sidled over to Cracker John, who watched the situation unfolding with a calm amusement, then lowered himself to the ground.

Ant noticed and turned to Leroy. “Do NOT sit there!”

Leroy froze, mid squat.

“If the gentleman will not make room, he will have to leave the jungle.”

The fat man chuckled with a wheeze, his teeth like little yellow corn nuts. “Oh, yeah? And who’s gon’ make me?”

“I will. I have shared this camp with you for two days, and not once have you contributed in any way. No food, no drink, not even a decent story!”

The man stood, and Ant followed suit.

“You best watch what you say to me, boy.”