The Saturday Train

Roxy leaped from the concrete ledge of the railway platform, one hand touching down and her knees buckling just short of grinding into the gravel. “Go already, hurry! I’ll catch up with these,” she shouted up at Francie, as she grabbed for the two worn canvas knapsacks under the platform, each marked with an oversized, dark blue “A.” Roxy had hidden them on a day less portentous than the one ahead of them. She looked up to see Francie hadn’t moved, only stood still, looking toward the station agent. Roxy tossed a knapsack up to her.

“I think he’s watching,” Francie said, though she knew he wasn’t. “We’ll wait for the whistle, when he leaves the booth. Then he can’t see us.” Francie looked overhead at a steely, threatening sky. An acrid mix of forest pine and creosote stung her nose and the back of her throat. Her fingers ached. She stretched them against stiffness wrought by the damp, frigid air. She’d forgotten to grab gloves from one of the cubbies at Avery House, or maybe hers were stolen by another kid there, or was it, she thought bitterly, that the carers at Avery House didn’t even know kids needed gloves so there were never any to be found. She blew warm breath on one hand then picked up the knapsack and slung it over her shoulder.

“At least walk that way," Roxy said. "You have it, don’t you, you didn’t forget?” Roxy’s feet crunched gravel as she leaned back to talk up at Francie. Francie scanned the opposite end of the platform. 

“No, I didn’t forget it, thank you very much,” Francie said in one irritated breath. She reached into her coat pocket. Her fingers closed around freezing metal. She had sworn to Roxy she could stick to the plan. Down further on the platform, she spotted a possible target. Black skirt, black shirt. With no coat, no hat, no gloves, a lanky form moving in a straight line, lagging behind the group in grey tracksuits now shuffling onto the train. 

If you can stop one, you will stop them all, Francie recalled, if she believed the Avery House legend, a claim passed from one misfit child to the next, in secret notes, in hand-hidden whispers. The phrase was even scratched into the underside of one of the industrial-green metal desks, seen only by Avery kids who were so depressed they had crawled underneath to mope. If you can stop one… though over the years, the kids only guessed at what it would take.

They’re intuitive, quick, but they can’t be indestructible, Francie reassured herself. More vulnerable when in close to each other, that was what she had heard, though no kid had an explanation for that. Then, as she reassessed the target, she saw it. The figure in black on the platform carried the “suitcase,” another snippet from the kids’ tales about what might be done, but none so far had been brave enough to take any action in that particular direction.

The whistle rang out and startled Francie. She watched the station agent, his blue uniform studded with copper buttons, as he pulled his cap low and stepped outside the booth. The train lurched forward, preparing to leave the station. Francie saw him look at his watch; a 1:13 p.m. departure on Saturdays, but chances were good the train would still be late to the next station. Avery House kids hated the Saturday train; she’d heard he’d once caught some strays prying at spikes on the tracks.

Roxy had climbed backed up to the concrete platform. She and Francie hurried toward the train. The knapsacks had been Francie’s idea. The agent would think they were traveling, not just strays, Francie reasoned. Avery House kids shouldn’t be out on their own, unless on a sanctioned outing, with official gear. Even so, they were always subject to detention by any adult, for any minor infraction.

The two headed toward the train door. “There, the one in the black skirt,” Roxy said, under a breath she squeezed through her tightened jaw. 

They were close. Francie gripped the cold metal in her pocket, but held it there, inside. The last of the group boarding the train, grey-suited, expressionless, passed by the conductor at the door. Francie looked at Roxy, then looked back at the one in black, the target, approaching the back of the group.

Francie gasped in cold air. Then, as she exhaled, in a rushed whisper, she said, “I can’t, Roxy, okay, I can’t.” Francie turned away from the train toward Roxy, threading her arm through Roxy’s to pull her close. “She looks like… that one looks so much like my mom. I remember her, I know you don’t believe me, but I do.” Francie felt heat rise in her face, then tears welling. She lifted a sleeve-covered hand, wiped it across the wet tip of her nose. She looked back at Roxy, but felt Roxy’s arm whip away. Roxy darted toward the black-clad figure, its foot just reaching for the first step onto the train.

Roxy charged the figure, pulled at the silver, hard-shell case. The case hit the concrete platform with a loud crack, then sprung wide open. Inside, wires pulled away from silver and black metal plates; red lights blinked in rapid, then halting patterns; gears whined as they whirred out of sync, disengaged. The figure stood still, one foot hovering over the stair in mid-air. Roxy kicked the opposite leg and the figure fell backwards. She flinched as the head cracked on the concrete. Looking down at the face of a woman, Roxy became transfixed by its eyes. Open, unblinking eyes that filled in with flashing blue light. 

Inside the train, the grey-suited passengers had stood from their seats and turned toward the windows. Some moved toward the door. The conductor, frozen as he watched the “woman” fall, now stepped into the train. He spun to his right, then left, arms out, palms up. “Stop,” he yelled. Just then, as the last red light in the silver case blinked out, the passengers did stop, right where they stood. The conductor closed the door, then searched for another silver suitcase. He found it stashed over the seats.

Francie had run for the end of the platform as soon as Roxy kicked the woman. She watched the station agent, who had darted away from the booth, approach Roxy from behind. At that, Francie whirled away and jumped from the platform. She dropped to the gravel and scrambled over the opposite tracks. When she reached the road that ran through wide fields of tall, dry grass, she stood still and stared down the rows of pines that stretched away from her. Swollen, wet snowflakes dropped fast to the asphalt, swirled as the wind picked up. They frosted Francie’s eyelashes as she turned to look back at the train platform. Roxy’s voice came on the wind and pierced Francie’s heart.

“We don’t want them!” Roxy screamed at the conductor. “We don’t want them coming down to Avery House, we can take care of ourselves!” she screamed as she turned to the agent, who now gripped her arms from behind. “They don’t care about us! They can’t care, they cannot care about children! The can’t care about anything!” Anger tattered her voice. Spit flew with each word. The station agent pulled Roxy into him, put one hand over her mouth. She struggled. He subdued her. She doubled over, fell to her knees. The conductor opened the train door to lean out. The agent nodded him on. The conductor handed the silver case to one of the grey-suited passengers, another “woman” who stood closest to him. As she grasped its handle, Roxy watched, and through her tears, she heard the workings inside the case whirred to life. The grey-suited passengers began to move about. They settled in their seats. The 1:13 train left the station at 1:18.