The Passenger

The train was not designed for wheelchair users. 

It was an ancient relic of a bygone age that fitted in perfectly with its accompanying station and the ghost town beyond. My companion heaved my chair over the threshold and slumped down on the handlebars.

The carriage was packed tight. A beanpole would be be hard pushed to stand up, let alone a person. Me and my chair prompted a low mumble of irritation.

“As if there’s enough room on the train for one of them.”

“Shouldn’t let that kind of person on here.”

“What’s the world coming to?”

Still slouched over the handlebars of my chair, my Companion whispered in my ear. “Let it slide. Just ignore them.”

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “You’re not the one at crotch-level with ignorant, pig-headed bigots.”

“So much for ignoring them,” my Companion sighed.

“What did you say?” The question came from the bloke to my left. Bicep muscles as red as his checked shirt bulged from his rolled-up sleeves. From my lowly position in my chair, I could just about see his face. I craned my neck upwards.

“Oi!” I said, “It was me, not her. And I called you a-”

My Companion clamped a hand over my mouth, letting me finish my sentence in a harmless mumble.

“I’m so sorry. Don’t listen to her. She’s always grouchy in the morning, and she hasn’t had her medication yet.”

The burly bloke mumbled something about keeping me in check. I snatched my head away from my Companion’s hand and glowered at the scene beyond the glass in the carriage door. Clouds hung low and heavy over the deserted town. Feral dogs trotted between derelict buildings. A lump formed in my throat, making it hard to swallow. The town where I had grown up. The only home I’d ever known, abandoned and reduced to ruin. True, we were evacuated because of a nuclear strike, but still… Tears stung my eyes, causing me to blink as the train pulled away from its dilapidated station. My Companion squeezed through a gap between the door and my chair and squatted down with difficulty in front of me. 

“Hey,” she said, searching my eyes. “It’s okay. It’ll all be okay.”

Tears rolled down my cheek. “I’m forced to leave the only home I’ve ever known, running from a nuclear strike with a carriage-ful of-”

My Companion eyed me. “Don’t say it,” she warned.

I looked away and once again gazed out of the window. We’d left the town far behind and travelled through countryside, heading south, to God Knew Where. They hadn’t told us. They’d told us nothing. I heeded her warning and changed tack.

“And what about the others? The ones they’ve left behind? The ones who weren’t ‘important’ enough to get a ticket? What about them, Julia?”

She couldn’t answer. I could see it in her eyes, those brown pools of sympathy, the emotion I dreaded so much. She lowered her eyes.

“I’m sure there’ll be another train behind this one,” she said. 

It was a lie, and we both knew it. She busied herself rearranging the blanket across my lap, the blanket I insisted I hadn’t needed. The air was quickly becoming musty and filled with the odour of sweat. Condensation started to build up on the inside of the door’s glass, blocking off my view of the outside world. I closed my eyes.

Something shoved the side of my wheelchair, jolting me awake. I looked up, expecting to see Julia behind me, but all I could see was the glass panel separating me from the seat behind. People jostled for position, forcing my nearest neighbours to lean forwards or backwards over me. More than once my chair teetered on two wheels. A child sobbed. A woman’s scream was muffled in the distance and the press of bodies.

“Stay back! I’ll do it!”

“You can’t have that on here. You’ll blow us all up!”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Some lunatic has a bomb!” said the man in the red checked shirt.

“Let me see.”

“Huh?”

“Let me through,” I repeated.

“You? But you’re an-”

“Invalid. I know,” I said dryly. “Let me through anyway.”

He shuffled back, revealing a lanky kid in his early twenties. Despite the number of people on board the train, he stood in the centre of a cleared circle. The boy’s eyes were wide and he held a gun at arm’s length, pointing it towards anyone who dared come near. His other hand had a death-grip on Julia’s wrist. Julia’s face was white, her mouth open, her brow beaded with sweat that had nothing to do with the stale air. She implored me with her eyes, too frightened to speak. I glanced at her, conveying calm, then turned my attention to the boy.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

The gun swung in my direction. “Don’t come any closer! Stay where you are.”

I held my arms out. “I’m unarmed and disabled. I can’t hurt you. I simply asked you your name.”

“My name doesn’t matter.”

“Sure it does. It matters to you, doesn’t it? Matters to your parents?”

He sneered. “My parents abandoned me when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But surely you have a name?”

“Huh. You say that like you don’t know. But you do.”

“Do I?”

“Of course you do!” He screamed, shutting his eyes tight. “It’s Billy.”

“Oh, of course. Billy!” I’d never met him in my life. “Why don’t let her go?” I asked, indicating Julia with a nod of my head.

“Because.”

“’Because’ is not an answer.”

“She’s my girlfriend. And you stole her from me!”

That was news to me. “I think there’s been some mistake. This woman is my Companion. She has a husband and a child. They’re in the next carri-”

“No! It’s Phillipa.” He turned his wide eyes towards Julia. “Tell ‘er!”

Two men, one with blond hair, the other with ginger, broke through the crowd behind him and Julia. 

“I-I’m not Phillipa. I-my name is Julia. Like Madam said.”

“You’re lying! You’re both lying!” Billy’s voice sounded tortured. He broke down and sobbed, letting his arm drop to his side. The gun fell to the floor. Someone bent down to pick it up. Julia’s captor snatched it back. His eyes looked even wilder with a red rim and dilated pupils.

“Nice try,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “You tried to take her away from me, didn’t you? Well. It won’t work. Phillipa is mine, Steven! Mine.” 

The two men were edging closer to Billy and Julia. I had to keep him talking. He thought I was someone called Steven, so I would be this person called Steven. 

“Yes. Yes, I see that now. Phillipa is yours. Always has been.”

Julia shook her head in terror, silently begging me not to give up on her. As if I had. Behind her and her captor, the two men gained on them.

Billy nodded, a short bob up and down. “That’s right. I win and you lose.”

“Why don’t you give me the gun?” I asked. “I’ll keep it safe.”

“Ha! You think I’ll fall for that again, Steven?” I give you the gun and you’ll take Phillipa off me. Again!”

“I’m in a wheelchair. What can I do?” I asked.

He blinked, and I noticed his shoulders droop. The vice-like grip on Julia’s wrist relaxed. The men behind them seized their chance and sprung into action, grabbing Billy and wrestling him to the floor of the carriage. Julia ran to me and squeezed herself through a small gap in the crowd, to the safety offered by the back of my wheelchair, rubbing her wrist. The men hauled Billy to his feet, arms tied behind his back. The look of confusion and pain in his eyes would haunt me to my dying day. And then he was cut off from me as the crowd gathered around my wheelchair.  People who had cast me off as a second class citizen before, now beamed down at me, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Hurrah!”

“You saved us.”

“You’re a hero.”

“You’re so brave.”

I ignored them and raised my head to look at Julia. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, I am now.” She leaned down to whisper in my ear. “They have no idea who you are, do they, Your Grace?”

I chuckled. “No - and don’t you be letting the cat out of the bag, either.”

Soon after that, we reached out destination. The doors opened. I could feel Julia prepare herself to force my wheelchair over the threshold, when the guy in the checked shirt bent in front of me and lifted the chair up.

“To say ‘thanks, and sorry’ for earlier,” he smiled.

I accepted his apology with a bow of my head, then Julia pushed me away to the right, where the sea air beckoned. We came to a stop by a green bench overlooking the coast. Julia applied the brakes to my chair and sat down, a look of relief flooding her face as we gazed out towards the horizon, the sound of the waves crashing over the sand far below, and gulls letting out their mournful cry as they soared towards the setting sun and the pink-lined clouds. 

I closed my eyes and smiled, tasting the salty air on my lips. Yes, I thought. I could be happy here. Dame Anna Gilmore, Chief Negotiator of His Majesty’s Secret Service had a new home.