Sci-Fi Shorts II

Tunnel Vision-2

“No, Stephen,” said Ron, tightening his grip on me.

I was momentarily taken aback at his having remembered my name, but then I started pleading my case.

Of course, as I’ve said, the man was heartless and totally impervious to emotional entreaties of any kind. But I had to try.

“Please let me go. I have a boring dead-end job with no career prospects. A boring life, no girlfriend, and my season ticket’s just expired. What do I have to live for back there? I’d rather spend the rest of my life out here.” I pointed at the lovely people outside. “And what about you? Aren’t you tempted?”

He was shaking his head. “They’re demons, Stephen. Sirens. Can’t you see? You’ve been enchanted by their spells, and you must resist. I couldn’t save Phil – or Gordon, for that matter – but at least I can save you.”

“What if I don’t want to be saved?” I moaned. “How do you know they’re demons?”

“Just look at Phil!” he said. “They’ve torn him to shreds!”

I looked at Phil, now largely n***d and with even more multi-coloured female company. He certainly hadn’t been torn to shreds, although some of his clothes may have suffered a few minor rips and tears in his eagerness to disrobe. He seemed the happiest man in this, or any other, universe.

“They’ve not torn him to shreds,” I protested.

“Metaphorically,” said Ron, which somewhat baffled me. “This is the second train driver we’ve lost. We can’t let it keep happening.”

I wanted to point out it hardly applied to me, given my not being a train driver, but decided against it.

I watched Phil being led off into the distance, and then looked down at my blonde. The more I looked at her, the more enchanting her smile became. I considered making a dash out of the cab, but I’d never get past Ron – he was too large.

In any case, he was bundling me out of the cabin – a little more forcefully than I appreciated – and shepherding me down the aisle, like I was under arrest and being led to the cells.

“I have a job for you,” he grunted.

As we passed the Japanese couple, the man stood up, tapped his watch, and fixed me with his piercing eyes. “Our plane leave at 1:30.”

I gave him an apologetic shrug, wondering why he was asking me. Ron shoved me past without a word.

The other passengers scarcely noticed us. They were mostly glued to the windows, waving to the beautiful people outside, blowing kisses, and signalling “I heart you” with their hands.

I noticed, with a pang, that my blonde was walking along level with me. Skipping, rather than walking, in a very appealing manner and occasionally giving me a wink. So transfixed was I by her gaze that I failed to spot a bag poking out into the aisle. My foot tripped on it, and I went flying headlong. I would have fallen flat on my face had Ron’s oversized hand not grasped me by the collar and pulled me upright with a “Steady, son.”

I blushed at my blonde beauty outside, dreading what she must think of me. But she gave another delightful giggle, making my heart do several somersaults.

When we reached the third carriage she could follow me no more, for this was the start of the tunnel from which we had emerged. My eyes stayed glued to hers for as long as was possible, before a tug from Ron broke our invisible bond.

We were now in the part of the train that was still in the tunnel. The passengers here were literally and figuratively, in the dark, looking to the ticket inspector for answers. Some ignored us altogether, carrying on with their reading, or their laptops, or their phones. A few offered Ron their tickets to inspect, but he brushed them aside. There was one, though, that made him pause.

“I’ll be back,” he said, pointing an ominous finger at it.

“The wi-fi’s gone,” complained a whiny teenage girl.

“Normal service will be resumed shortly,” assured Ron.

We trekked the full length of the train until we reached the driver’s cabin at the rear. Ron pulled me inside, shutting the door behind us. He switched on a light in the cab.

Through the window the tunnel was black as night, although a short stretch of the track was dimly lit by the cabin’s illumination.

He stepped aside indicating the driver’s seat.

“You drive,” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing to it. Just turn the power on and step on that pedal. We’ll be in Audley End in no time.”

“I can’t drive a train!” I protested.

“Every boy’s dream, isn’t it?”

I considered this. “Well ... maybe.”

“Now’s your chance. Off you go.”

“What about you?” I asked.

Ron sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Against union rules. Big no-no.”

“Must be against rules for me to drive, too. Surely.”

“Well, yes,” agreed Ron, with a humourless grin. “But you’ll be the one breaking them, not me.”

Once again, he indicated the seat. “Besides, I have a phobia. About parallel lines.” He indicated the dimly lit track ahead.

I eyed him with severe scepticism. Was he joking? Was this a Ron joke? A phobia of parallel lines?

I lowered myself into the seat. Then, with a trembling hand, pressed the large red button and, with a tentative foot, stepped on the pedal.

The train’s main headlight switched on, illuminating the brick tunnel walls, and the train jerked into motion. As it inched forward and then picked up speed, my heart started pounding.

Up ahead I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and my heartrate increased. The light grew larger. I held my breath, dreading what might be at the end of it.

But no, we emerged into daylight and the place looked right. No beautiful people. No lush vegetation. No blue sky. Just a steep, overgrown embankment with a grey sky above, soon opening out into plain old, dull old Essex. I felt a pang at the thought of the blonde I’d left behind.

After a short stretch, the platforms of Audley End loomed ahead. I slowed the train into an empty platform, stopping right where the line indicated.

Ron clapped my back, saying, “Well done, Stephen! Brilliant job.” High praise indeed from him. “Now let’s go to the station manager and tell our story of what just happened.”

We left the cabin, but Ron stopped me, his tone completely changed. “Aren’t we forgetting something, sir?”

“What’s that?”

He took out his notepad. “Travelling with an expired season ticket.”

I stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

He flicked through the penalty notices until he came to mine. “Stephen Bradshaw.”

“Have some compassion,” I begged.

He grimaced. “I don’t have any compassion. That’s why I became a ticket inspector.”

I looked at him, unsure if he was serious. Maybe another Ron joke? His face wavered for a moment, as if debating within himself. Then he cracked a sort of smile. “Just kidding! But do renew that ticket!”

“I will, I will,” I sighed in relief.

*

That happened months ago. The line closed for the day while scientists and engineers investigated the tunnel but could find nothing amiss.

They concluded we’d all suffered an episode of mass hysteria and no further action was required. The disappearances of train drivers Gordon and Phil remain a mystery to this day.

I constantly think about my blonde beauty and yearn to join her. I know she is waiting for me in that multi-coloured, joyful, parallel world. The memory of her lovely face never fails to cheer me.

That’s why I quit my job – it was lousy anyway – and I’m training to be a train driver. There’s something of a shortage, after all.

Whenever he’s on my train, Ron pops into the cab to chat. It’s not like we’re mates, it’s more that he’s checking up on me. Rather obvious as he always shows up as we’re approaching that same tunnel.

Wants to stop me doing a runner in case we ever enter that alternative reality again.

But I’m younger, faster and sprightlier so, quite frankly, he won’t stand a chance.