Cameroon

This was madness, JoJo thought. Utter madness and the most dangerous thing he had ever done in his life. 

He crouched down on the harsh gravel in the dark. It left a painful impression on his right knee. If this had been any other time, he would have straightened up right away, but now he was too scared to do so. Instead, he pulled out his phone to dim the brightness and to turn off any conceivable noises coming from it. He didn’t want an errand text sound to end his life. 

The place seemed deserted enough. The brown and black boxcars and the occasional white silo containers were standing peacefully lined up on the tracks. Every once in a while a tall lamp cast an orange oval of light, but mostly it was dark. And cold. JoJo shivered and pulled his jacket closer around himself. 

How was he even supposed to find the damn thing? Yes, he knew the number by heart now. He had to find boxcar number 19174689. That had been the number Noah had texted him. 19174689. He really hoped Noah had got that right. Not that there was any way for his best friend to check that now. And even if there had been, there was no way to confirm, because Noah’s phone had died. 

JoJo shuddered. He had told himself that it had been the phone that had died. That was the most benign assumption. He got up, put his backpack on, and sneaked toward the boxcars. Were they even numbered in sequence? 

He read the first one while stepping carefully past it to not make a sound. 95673412. He approached the next one. 14563423. The one after that was 65497654. So no, not in sequence. Of course not. He would have to check out every last one of the boxcars. Great.

JoJo increased his speed, passing the boxcars. He decided he only needed to read the first two digits and he wanted to cover the whole depot as quickly as possible. He almost sprinted alongside the silo wagons. 

His heart beat way too fast for his liking. He wasn’t a young man anymore. If he survived this, he swore he would take up exercising more frequently. 

But that was for later. Now JoJo had to find Noah. He had to get him out of that freight train. And he had to get him safely to the apartment JoJo owned, God willing. He had to succeed. He owed Noah that.

JoJo reached the end of the first row. He had to cross into the light to get to the second one. True, he hadn’t seen any guards, yet. But he had seen cameras. What if someone was looking at a monitor right now, ready to come after him? He had to risk it.

He sprinted across, just as a train horn sounded. He pressed his body flat at the end of the boxcar he reached. He knew that the train horn had been a good distance away, probably from the proper railway station. Still, it had panicked him even further. 

On he went, looking for numbers. Four wagons down he saw 19. He stopped. 19174689. Was this true? Or had he just forgotten the real number? He didn’t even know anymore. He got out his cellphone and looked at Noah’s last text. Yes. Correct number. Good. That was step one.  

Listening very hard, he focused on the night. He did not hear footsteps. He did not see movement in the depot. He willed his own breath to calm down. He knocked lightly on the boxcar door. There was no response. Now what?

JoJo closed his eyes and leaned against the door. What if Noah was in there and was sleeping? What if he was dead? What if he had just not heard him? JoJo had come this far. Could he live with himself if he just left now? No, JoJo decided. He grabbed the metal handle of the door and pushed up. 

First it didn’t move at all. It just made a crunchy sound. Then it did move with a spine chilling screech as the doors rolled open just a little bit.

JoJo turned to the night with feral concentration. Somebody must have heard that. There was no way they didn’t. Whoever they were. He took another deep breath.

There was nothing to be done about it now, but to proceed. He turned his phone into the pitch black wagon. At first he didn’t see anything. He smelled piss and shit. Then, he saw movement. A foot. He heard some sort of scraping and finally, Noah’s face shone in the dim light of the phone screen. 

Noah smelled something awful and looked worse, but nothing could keep JoJo from enfolding him in a desperate hug. Noah, the kid who had lived next door to him. Noah, the wingman in High School. Noah who had bailed JoJo out when the little coffee shop he had owned had gone under. Noah who was godfather to his daughter. Noah was alive.

JoJo opened his backpack and got a water bottle out. Noah shook his head. 

“Let’s get out of here first,” he whispered. JoJo zipped it away and nodded.

“Can you walk?” he whispered back.

Noah clambered carefully out of the boxcar. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his arm. “Yeah.”

They both now tiptoed quietly along the boxcars, trying to make the gravel move as little as possible. One sprint to the fence and ducking through the hole JoJo had cut into it brought them out of the train depot. A quick walk two miles down the street led them to JoJo's car. They checked for any sign of being followed, but did not notice anyone. Once in the car, Noah emptied the newly offered water bottle in one go. 

“Screw ICE,” he said, as he wiped his mouth. “Screw them and screw everyone who helps them. If I hadn’t run away from them and hid in that boxcar, I would be halfway on my way to Cameroon by now.”

JoJo turned the ignition of the car. “I know. I’m so happy I found you! Let’s get you to a safe place and then find you a new home.”