Power Play (Book 2)

Chapter 4: Train of Thought

Winning Choice: Head down to the rail yard and see who was sending me the message, whether it was a friend or a trap.

Recap: Brandon visited his home to retrieve a picture of Nicole and some other personal documents. While he’s there he receives a strange message via a digital picture frame in his living room that shows a picture of a train and warns him to run…

For a half mile, I hop from rooftop to rooftop, approaching the rail yard as stealthily as I can. Nothing happens. There’s no military, no helicopters, and no attacks. The less that happens the more nervous I get.

Around the edge of the yard is a high security wall topped with barbed wire. I assume it’s to keep non-flying troublemakers out of the place. And maybe hoboes. Are there still hoboes who ride the trains around? Maybe I’ve been summoned here by their king.

My random thoughts like that used to drive Nicole nuts. I remember one time we were listening to some DJ on the radio as she was driving. I wondered if people in radio worked there because they were too ugly to get a job in TV. 

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Maybe you’re a Librarian because you’re too much of an idiot to be on the radio.”

“No, listen,” I explained. “These radio people still get married and have kids, right?”

“I think that’s legal, yes,” she said, humoring me.

“But then they pass on their radio-face genes to their babies, with radio-face getting stronger every generation. There could be thousands of them. Maybe millions,” I said.

“Millions? Radio DJs like to make babies apparently,” was her reply.

“Well sure, they don’t get out in public much so what else can they do? But then you know what happens?” I ask.

“Please don’t tell me.”

“They’ll rise up. This whole society of people with radio-face will take over and blind us all so we can’t judge them. They we’ll be forced to work in radio while they rule over us as smooth, silky-voiced tyrants,” I said.

She tried to hold it in, but let out a big snort followed by that wonderful, silly laugh of hers. I need to hear that laugh again, and the thought brings me back to reality.

Perching on the edge of one of the rail yard buildings, I peek over the edge.

The train yard is a sprawling landscape of clanking machinery and metal. Dozens of tracks enter the yard from every direction, then curve and split and snake across acres of industrial chaos.

It’s like watching a giant machine grind away, but having no idea what the machine is actually doing. It’s mesmerizing. It’s also loud, with constant clacking, clanging, crunching, grinding and noise I don’t even have words for. Mixed in with all the metal is an occasional shout as the workmen and engineers belt out instructions to each other.

And it stinks. I don’t need to open my visor to get a whiff of the grease and oil.

Bottom line if there’s something going on here, trap or friend, I can’t spot it. Maybe I could see something better if I flew around but that’s going to leave me very exposed and I’d rather not draw attention to myself yet again.

Across the yard workmen in hard hats and bright vests guide the trains around to manage their cargo. Other workmen stand around in groups chatting or waiting for a train to move. A few individuals run back and forth on mysterious errands. It’s like an ant farm I used to have as a kid.

 Then I notice one lone workman standing near the back of a boxcar. He’s facing my general direction and looking around the yard. Something about him is a bit off but I can’t quite put my finger on it.