Fallen

It seemed to Adam that he fell through the darkness for a long time.

Then drifting and rising through many layers, he awoke. Eye lids fluttering, senses returning, he stretched and yawned, a young man dressed in slacks and a jacket, short brown hair tousled from sleep. A window beside him, sun spilling in like diamonds to his lidded eyes. The seat beneath him, soft and smooth, he ran his hands across buttoned leather, taking in the luxurious feel and the fine smell. Sitting up he saw wood panelled walls, brass fittings, luggage racks above, felt the gentle bump and sway of motion as the compartment rattled and rolled over rails, heard the rhythmic chuff of an engine.

A train.

As if to confirm this, there came the husky whistle of a steam engine.

He scratched his head bewildered and looked out the window. Grassland plains rippled beneath the rising morning sun.

“How did I get here?”

He searched for a memory, a clue, but found none. He searched his pockets. No wallet, no keys, no phone. He wondered if he had he lost them when he… Adam paused. What had he been doing before? A glimmer of memory surfaced, more a feeling than an image, and for a moment he could almost recall. He had - fallen. And then it was gone.

Adam rubbed his eyes, squeezed them shut and opened them again. He glanced at the window and jumped, startled. The grasslands were gone, replaced by forests of tall trees. Rays of sunlight crept through the canopy to the forest floor. Birds nested and sang in the trees, and small creatures foraged below. Then there was movement among the trees, and a long line of labourers appeared, chopping and sawing, men with teams of horses dragging logs. As Adam watched, the woodsmen swept across the forest in a wave until nothing remained, no forest, no creatures, no dappled sunlight. Just bare earth and grey stumps, a cemetery of trees. Adam frowned, troubled.

The door to the compartment slid open, and a tall man strode inside. He was dressed in a tailored blue suit and waistcoat, his boots polished to a high sheen. His coat was lined with brass buttons, and he wore a peaked hat with the word CONDUCTOR printed in gold lettering. Stern grey eyes regarded Adam above a grey beard and moustache.

“Good morning, sir,” the conductor said.

“I guess you are going to ask me for a ticket,” Adam said, “I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have one.”

“No need to worry sir. Your ticket has already been purchased.”

“It has? I don’t remember buying a ticket.”

“Not many do,” the conductor said.

“Why wouldn’t they?” Adam asked.

“Because it happened so long ago.” The conductor stepped over to the window and looked out.

“It took the work of many minds to create this journey,” he continued, “to hew the path, to lay down the tracks and set the machine in motion.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Adam said.

“Every action has a reaction,” the conductor said. “Every choice a consequence. The ticket was bought long ago, and since then, many hands have passed it down, one to the other. Now it is passed to you.”

“Like the sins of the fathers…?” Adam offered.

“Not exactly. But you can be sure, no one here is just along for the ride.”

Adam thought about this, watching the passing view beyond the window.

“I’m not even sure where here is,” he said.

Outside, a city was materialising. Buildings and monuments appeared, law courts and hospitals, libraries and schools. Small workshops sprang up and grew into factories, their smokestacks pluming. Production lines churned out a steady stream of vintage cars and lorries that soon replaced carriages and carts. Bridges arched over rivers, and roads branched out like a pulsing network of veins.

“Where are we?” Adam asked.

The conductor took out a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket, checked the time and replaced it again.

“Mid-morning,” he said, “around ten.”

Adam blinked.

“Perhaps you could tell me when we will reach the next station?” he said.

“I’m afraid this is an express, sir. No stops until the end of the line.” The conductor turned and strode to the door.

“And where is the end of the line?” Adam asked after him.

“At the terminus, of course. All things end at the terminus.” The conductor slid the door open and paused before stepping into the hallway.

“Refreshments are being served in the dining car,” he said. “Lunch is at noon. Enjoy your journey, sir.”

Still confused, Adam turned back to the window, and was soon drawn in as the landscape outside continued its changing montage.

He saw soldiers going to war. Young men boarding ships and waving to their loved ones as though they were going on holiday. He saw fierce battles fought in the pits of trenches under razor wire and machine gun fire, a massacre of bodies bleeding and dying in piles.

“The first world war,” Adam murmured.

A time of great poverty and hunger came next, drought and famine, people struggling to survive. Men lined up for work, and for charity, empty pocketed, empty handed. Dust storms billowed over cropless prairies and farmlands. Deserted farmhouses sat bleached in the sun while ploughs poked up from the ground like prehistoric bones.

The depression, and the dust bowl of the thirties, Adam thought.

Then there was another war, this one different to the last. Modern artillery fired from the sea and from the air, cities blacked out at night to hide. He saw millions of people suffering, uprooted, and herded into camps, stars sewn to their clothing. He saw lines of them funnelled into buildings of no return, the tall chimneys belching out black smoke day and night.

“The holocaust,” he whispered, uneasy.

Then he saw a bomb fall to the earth. It detonated with a blinding light, and an immense fireball rose into the sky, as bright as the sun. The blast wave followed, a death ray fanning out rapidly in all directions. Adam saw a city levelled and people vaporised, nothing left of them except their shadows, charred onto the steps and pavements that remained.

Adam fled the compartment in terror. He ran to the end of the carriage, to a door marked DINING CAR. Leaning his head against the closed door, he screwed his eyes shut against his tears, trying to unsee what he had seen, trying to stop the images replaying in his mind.

A few people moved about in the hallway, but no one seemed to pay any mind to the young man with his head bowed, chest heaving. He took a few minutes to compose himself, and once his breathing had quietened, Adam stood up, straightened his jacket, and opened the door.

It was busy in the dining carriage. Adam was met with the pleasant clink of cutlery on crockery, people talking and laughing, and music streaming from speakers in the ceiling. The carriage was lined by comfortable looking booths on both sides, each with upholstered red seats, a laminated table, and partitions of frosted glass between them.

He saw a refreshment bar at the far end of the carriage, a curved counter of stainless steel and laminated wood, spotlights overhead and a digital clock stating it was a quarter past midday. Several people were waiting at the counter, while families and groups sat together in the booths enjoying their lunch. Gone was the chuff of a vintage steam engine, replaced by the powerful hum of a diesel locomotive.

“Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not on a steam train anymore,” Adam said to no one in particular. This was met by a woman’s laughter, and a cheerful voice.

“Well done, Dorothy, you got that right,” she said. She was seated in the booth closest to the door, her burnished face wrinkled with laughter. Spectacles sat on her nose, and her short dark hair was a riot of curls and ringlets. She wore a vintage styled dress, cream with delicate pink roses, and lace at the hems and lapels. A ribboned sun hat sat on the seat beside her. On the table Adam saw a teapot, cups and saucers, and a plate of delicious looking small cakes.

“You look a bit pale,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down and rest a minute. I’ll pour you a cup.”

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully.

Adam slid into the booth opposite and risked a nervous glance at the window. Cities continued to grow under the midday sun outside. He saw electricity, appliances, television. Jets soaring overhead, rockets blasting off into space. The scene appeared innocuous enough for now, but Adam felt wary all the same. He noted the train was travelling much faster than before.

“You’re Adam, right?” the woman said.

“Yes,” he was surprised, “how did you know?

“I’d like to say it was just a wild guess.” She laughed kindly, and he watched as she deftly poured the tea.

“My name is Ophelia,” she said. Ophelia passed him the cup and offered him a cake from the plate. He took one and savoured it. They sat in silence a moment, sipping their tea.

“I’m having a very strange day,” he told her.

“Yes,” Ophelia said. “It is the last day Adam, and the clock is ticking.”

Outside, the population was increasing at a rapid rate. Adam saw billions of people purchasing, consuming, and discarding, rubbish overflowing, industry competing to keep up with the demand for resources. He saw fields of oil pumps nodding, mining pits cut deep into the earth, and nuclear cooling towers lined up like pawns on a chessboard. Cars and trucks blocked the roads and freeways, the air thick with fumes, cities shrouded beneath sepia clouds of smog.

At mid-afternoon the weather began to change. Adam and Ophelia saw glaciers and polar caps melting under a searing sun, chunks of ice tumbling into the ocean. Storms battered coastlines, floods and drought destroyed crops and homes. Prices soared as supplies became scarce. A pandemic swept the globe, taking many lives.

“Everything’s moving so fast,” Adam said, perplexed. “It feels… out of control.”

“That’s because it is out of control,” Ophelia said. “Some things, once set in motion, cannot be easily undone.”

“Every action has a reaction,” Adam said, recalling the words of the conductor, “every choice a consequence...”

A disturbance broke out near the centre of the carriage, and Adam saw there were changes inside the train as well. Several booths had been barricaded, and armed guards were patrolling outside. Groups of the well dressed and wealthy sat behind the barricades, eating and drinking, while less fortunate families sat outside, trying to comfort their crying children, looking at their empty plates with despair.

At the far end of the carriage, a group of homeless people had camped beside the refreshment stand. Some sat on mattresses, begging for food and change, while others walked the carriage, harassing and mugging people as they passed by. One of the homeless approached the barricaded area to beg and was kicked to the floor by the guards.

Adam felt the train shudder and increase speed.

“Ophelia, tell me what is happening!” he said.

“Time is speeding up as we approach the terminus,” she said.

“And what happens when we reach the terminus?”

“The end of the world,” Ophelia said quietly.

Shadows ran long outside the window, and in the last light of the last day Adam saw the beginning of another war. Thousands of refugees fled an invasion force, while bombs fell on power plants, hospitals and schools, battles raging to gain control of resources. He saw world powers strategizing and mobilising, stockpiles of weapons and nuclear armaments at their command. People protesting in the streets, waving placards, Stop The War, You Can’t Eat And Breathe Money, Help Before It’s Too Late!

“Can it be stopped?” Adam asked, fearful of the answer.

Ophelia sighed, took off her glasses, and placed them on the table.

“I wish there was an easy answer for you Adam, I really do” she said, “but there are no easy answers, and we don’t have much time left.” Outside, the sun was disappearing behind the city skyline. Streetlights flickered on.

“What choices do I have?” Adam said.

“There are two choices,” she said. “On the one hand you can choose to ride to the end, in full knowledge of what the end will be. On the other you can choose to exit the train, not knowing if you will survive, or if you can repair the damage that has been done.”

Adam looked back toward the door through which he had come. It did not surprise him to see it no longer existed.

“No going back,” he murmured. The voice of the conductor echoed in his mind: ‘The ticket was bought long ago… now it is passed to you.’ He slid out of the booth and stood up.

“Thank you, Ophelia,” he said. “I think I know what I need to do now.”

“And I wish you Godspeed Adam,” she said. Her eyes were moist. Adam hesitated a moment, then bent to hug her.

“What if I fail?” he whispered against her hair.

“Then we will meet again,” she said.

Adam left her and made his way toward the far end of the carriage. As he approached the barricade a guard turned on him, gun raised in warning.

“No trouble,” Adam said, raising his hands, “only passing through.” Adam nodded in the direction of the refreshment bar, and the guard lowered his weapon and moved back a step to let him pass.

The refreshment bar was in darkness, shutters closed and locked. The once pristine counter was now covered with scratches and graffiti, the spotlights broken. A homeless man sat on a dirty sleeping bag at his feet.

“Got any change?” The man looked up at him, hopeful.

“I’m working on it,” Adam said.

He navigated the sleeping bodies and mattresses strewn across the floor. At the end of a short corridor, he came to a door leading through to the next carriage. The sign on the door said: ENGINEERING. Adam paused to take a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped through.

At first glance, the interior of the carriage made Adam think of a spaceship. Sleek black walls curved like a bullet toward the front of the train. Adam saw his reflection mirrored on the nearest wall.

Then a signal light blipped past, and Adam realised with a start that the walls and roof were transparent. Not black at all, but the darkness of night outside. The floor was transparent too, and Adam saw tracks beneath the train.

Signal lights continued to flash by at great speed, but inside, the carriage was as smooth as still water. There was no sense of motion, no sway, no sound of wheels on tracks.

Adam looked at the floor again. The tracks were still. He felt his stomach tighten a little as a terrible idea began to take shape in his mind. The train was no longer moving at all. It’s a singularity, he thought, fixed in place, and time and space are moving around it! He remembered what Ophelia had said,

“Time is speeding up as we approach the terminus... and we don’t have much time left.”

There were no seats in this carriage. People stood hemmed in, shoulder to shoulder, and not a word uttered between them as they travelled in silence. Adam looked at the faces and saw they had no eyes. Screens were fused into their faces where eyes should have been, and headphones fused into their ears. Adam recoiled in shock and bumped into the conductor.

“Good evening, sir,” the conductor said. “Don’t be alarmed.”

“Don’t be alarmed! Are you kidding me? Who are these people? And what happened to them?”

“They are augmented,” the conductor said. “There's no need to be afraid.”

The closest passengers turned their heads in unison and looked at Adam with their screens. Upon each screen Adam saw a replay of himself saying, “Who are these people? And what happened to them?” Then they turned away.

As he watched, Adam saw they were not silent after all. A continual stream of data exchanged between them, flowing from screen to screen, a virtual world through which they lived and communicated. In seconds his recording had circulated the entire cabin, their opinions stated and shared.

The conductor was making his way through the passengers toward the bullet shaped nose of the train, and Adam followed. They came to the front of the train and stood side by side, looking out into a night that whirled around them in a dark blur.

Adam could see a purple glimmer somewhere up ahead. Could it be light at the end of the tunnel? he thought.

“Where are we now?” he asked the conductor.

The conductor took out his fob watch, checked the time and replaced it again.

“Almost midnight,” he said.

The purple glimmer grew, and for a moment, Adam thought it resembled dawn. Then there was a blinding white flash. It expanded into an immense mushroom cloud rising above the horizon, directly ahead of the train.

Adam froze in terror.

“Nearly there now,” the conductor said as the terminus approached. “Nearly there.”

With great effort, Adam willed his legs to obey. He turned and fled back through the cabin, grappling and pushing past the augmented, while they screamed in silence, images of the fireball flashing from screen to screen.

Adam scrabbled in a desperate search for what he needed but could not find it. He felt along the walls like a mad man, stumbling, crawling, and clambering to his feet again, the light of destruction growing ever brighter behind him.

He was beginning to think it was not here after all, when at last he came upon it. A set of sliding doors. On the doors was a lever, and a sign above:

“IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PULL DOWN.”

Adam grasped the lever and pulled down hard. He heard the clunk of gears, a mechanism turning and unlocking inside. With a hiss, the doors slid open before him, and Adam was sucked out of the carriage, falling into the void.

It seemed to Adam that he fell through the darkness for a long time.