Troublesome Trucks

Arc 7 Anopha

The day continued on as if Gordon's act of violence never happened. As I waited in the goods shed I was growing to despise, no hate Gordon. How could he just get away with such a thing? Does no one really care about this type of brutality? Well I guess it should be of no surprise. Look what happened to Scruffey. A familiar bell rattled me out of my thoughts. Toby! He approached the sheds and organized a short line of trucks, including myself. He then took us the rest of the journey. Along the way, I saw several other engines. A blue tank engine with six small wheels, a green tank engine with four small wheels and what looked like a self driving green coach. I only noticed it then, but behind Toby was a Victorian era looking coach. She stared at me, concerningly. Not in a judgmental way, but it was as though she could see into my soul and saw something she didn't like.

Over a wooden bridge we rattled and once again the scenery shifted to that similar of the Clay Pits, though a lot rockier. Brown and yellow stone surrounded me at every corner. Although similar, this place was smaller than the Clay Pits. 

"Hey" I whispered to the truck in front of me, "What is this place?" 

"This is Anopha Quarry. Mostly you'll deal with heavy quarry stone here." The truck whispered. 

The quarry had some of the same features of the Clay Pits. Loading hoppers, rock grinders, and mines leading into the stone walls. Instead of Bill and Ben however, there was a singular black diesel. Not the Weasel, but a small black diesel that looked like Toby in regards to her wheels being hidden. The diesel was conversing with Toby, I didn't want to intrude, so I eavesdropped instead. Not the most polite thing but I was curious into the goings on here. 

"Are you gonna put these trucks where I told you to this time?" Toby asked the diesel. The diesel grunted, "Toby, we've been through this, I have my way of doing things here, just let me be." Toby wouldn't be persuaded that easily, 

"Mavis, you remember what happened last time. I don't want to put on another 'tightrope' performance." Mavis groaned, "Okay, I get it. By the way, they're gonna start blasting within the next few days. So you'd better leave Henrietta at the station." Toby blinked, "Again? But they just blasted last week." 

Mavis rolled her eyes, "They must've hit a rough patch recently."

After taking in some mental notes, I was shunted into one of the mine shafts. It was chilling in there, sounds echoed everywhere. The low ceiling and tight corridors made me uneasy. What happens if the mine collapses and I'm still inside? Dear God, get me out of this, please! It felt as though I was in those caves for an eternity. At last, I was loaded and was retrieved from that damned mineshaft.

As the light returned to my eyes, I came to realize it was now dusk. I was organized onto a short train of other stone trucks. Although it didn't bother me, I felt heavy. Not to mention that my brakes still ached from my confrontation with Gordon. 

At that moment, Toby pulled into the yard. He noticed me and blinked, "Excuse me, but have we met somewhere before?" he asked, I gave a slight chuckle, "You may not recognize me but I was the truck you were helping to test a few weeks back." I replied, Toby's eyes widened. 

"Oh my word, I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you at first. How are you enjoying Sodor?" He asked, I gave a fake smile, "Oh it's just lovely here, just trying my best to be really useful. My name is George by the way." Toby grinned, "Well, nice to officially meet you George. Just don't let that steamroller catch wind of you, or you'll never hear the end of it." I frowned, "What steamroller?" Toby chuckled to himself, "There's a steamroller who shares your name. Grumpy old fellow, very competitive." I offered a "Hmm."

After some more talk, Toby gently coupled up to our line, rang his bell, and off we went into the night. Feeling a tad tired, I decided to close my eyes. The hum of rails really does make for good white noise, and Toby pulled us so smoothly that I fell asleep.

Whilst I slept, I saw within my dreams a large raging fire. Trying to get away from said fire was useless, as my brakes didn't seem to exist in this nightmare. Looking back, I could see a faceless steam locomotive pushing me towards the inferno. As we edged closer, I could feel the heat of the flames. Suddenly, out of the fire, came a pair of amber eyes, and an outstretched claw-like hand. I screamed. 

I awakened in pain. My eyes shot open, and my jaw clenched. My brakes had jammed hard on, the sparking had felt as though I was on fire. I had run a hot box. 

I was on the mainline somewhere, still filled with quarry stone. The train came to a sudden stop, and the pain subsided Thank God. I thought I'd ignite. Eventually a man with a lantern came strolling up, immediately realizing the problem he signaled for help. The engine's driver came into view.  After a few failed attempts to unlock my brakes, they decided it best I not move or move as little as possible, as I'd damage my undercarriage further.  

Luckily, there was a small goods shed just up the line. Although it was painful, I managed. The engine, who was revealed to be James, grumbled as he shunted me into place. "And we were making such good time too." he complained. Unlike most goods sheds, this one had a door. Which the driver shut behind him as they left.

Alone, in the darkness, I attempted to fall back asleep. But all of my energy had returned and I found it impossible to return to the world of dreams. Then again, after my last nightmare, I wasn't sure I wanted to. 

Having been left behind closed doors, I never would've expected to hear the purr of a diesel's engine at this hour. Especially accompanied by the footsteps of multiple individuals. The individuals began to converse and laugh, their voices were muffled through the shed doors but I could distinctly make out the oily voice of the Weasel. What is he doing here at this hour? After several moments I heard some rattling noises and the sound of some hissing. Like a farmer spraying a pesticide. At one point, one of the people leaned up against the shed door. I held my breath, "Alright, thanks for the treat. Now, let's get down to business. What's the target?" Said a voice. Through the muffled wall I could just make out the word "Mail train." Eventually the people, as well as the Weasel, left. What the hell?

The following morning, all returned to it's norm. As Bear came to retrieve me, it was revealed that the side of the shed had been graffitied in blue spray paint with the words "Alive or tools?" on it. Most curious. A few days later, word had gotten around that a mail train had been robbed. An insignia in blue spray paint was found graffitied on the mail car, no arrests had been made. Did I overhear a planning meeting for a heist? One thing was certain, the Black Weasel had ties to these human thieves. As for how deep these ties went, I intended to find out.