The Desert Train

The iron locomotive speeds across the Nevadan Desert, on its way to Las Vegas.

Philip, the train driver, looks at his watch. It’s 2:45. He is 30 minutes late. He knows that his boss isn’t going to be happy if he’s late again, so he pushes the train’s speed to its legal limit, trying to make up for lost time. The train rides along a stretch of straight track in the middle of the empty desert.

Suddenly, Philip sees the shape of people in the distance. It’s too far for Philip to see who they are, but they look like they are trying to wave at the train. Philip reacts immediately and pulls the emergency brake with all his might, closing his eyes, his fists turning white with the strain, and he prays the train stops before he kills the people on the tracks.

The train screeches to a sudden halt.

Philip opens his eyes, he can’t see the people from the train’s cab. He climbs out the train, but he still can’t see them. “Oh, no,” he thinks. “I was too late, I’ve killed them, I’ve hit them with the train”. He checks the buffers at the front of the train: no blood, body matter, or even a dent or a scuff. He looks closely at the train’s wheels, but sees no evidence of having run anything over. There wasn’t even any footprints in the sand, or in the gravel around the tracks. Shaken and confused, he climbs back into the cab, starts the train again, and tries not to imagine the moment he has to stare his boss in the face and explain why the train to Las Vegas was over an hour late.

Later that night, Philip lies in bed, thinking about his day. The warning he received for being late, the complaints about him from the train passengers for stopping the train, but most importantly, he thought about what he saw. He believes he saw eight people, standing on the tracks, but they disappeared. He wondered: just what had he seen? Did he see ghosts? A mirage? A figment of his own imagination? He can only come to one conclusion, the people that he saw in the desert weren’t real, in any way shape or form. With that thought in his head, he falls asleep.

Three weeks later, Philip is driving the train along the Nevadan desert. He looks at his watch. It’s 2:45, he’s half an hour late, again. He increases the train’s speed to it’s legal limit. He can’t be late again or he might lose his job. It was along a long stretch of straight track, when he sees them again, eight people standing on the road, waving at him. “They’re not real,” Philip reassures himself. “They’re not real, they don’t exist”. The train continues along the track at full speed.

7 teenagers died that day. The only survivor of the accident told his story: that he and his friends were exploring the desert, when one of his friends tripped over the tracks and twisted their ankle. The whole group tried to wave down a fast approaching train, hoping it would stop so they could help their friend and move him away from the tracks, but the train didn’t stop, and ended up killing seven of his friends. He jumped out the way of the train but was clipped by the buffers, and now suffers a broken leg.

Philip was arrested, he pleaded guilty to 7 counts of Manslaughter and gross negligence. He couldn’t understand, or comprehend the events of that day. It was a tragic day for everyone involved.