Death Ride Read online

  As he observes me to find out what’s going on, I can’t overlook the fact that his lips are motionless when he speaks.

  “Who are you?” I ask him.

  He looks stunned. At least, that’s what I can tell from his strange appearance and his fiery gaze.

  “Who am I?”

  “Yes, who are you, for God’s sake?”

  “It’s obvious,” he said in a calm voice. “I’m the lookout.”

  “The lookout? The lookout for what?”

  “The lookout, that’s all.”

  “Where are we going?”

  I’m so excited that this mystery is finally about to be solved. That the fog will dissipate, and everything will make sense.

  He shrugs.

  How can he not know? What kind of nonsense is this?

  “Is this a joke?” I say with a rage that catches me off guard. “You’re the lookout, but you don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Oh, I know where we’re going. But you don’t need to know.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s obvious.”

  “I have the right to know what the hell I’m doing on this goddamn train, don’t I?”

  The giant laughs maniacally with a cavernous laughter that almost bursts my eardrums.

  “You’re not entitled to anything,” he says to me unequivocally. “You’re here because you have to be here. That’s all.”

  “I want to speak to your superior right now.”

  He laughs even harder than the first time, forcing me to cover my ears with my hands. After a few seconds, I ask:

  “Why are you walking up and down the hallway, cracking your freaking whip, like this? What’s that all about? What’s this train?”

  “This train?”

  “Yeah, we’re on a train, aren’t we?”

  “If you say so.”

  I lose my shit. I can’t take it anymore.

  “What do you mean if I say so? Are we on a train or not, goddamn it? Will you tell me where we’re going?”

  “No.”

  Screaming and yelling, I insult him so much that I think I’m going crazy.

  Would somebody tell me what the hell I’m doing on this goddamn train?

  Suddenly, a bolt of lightning blinds me. I scream and cover my eyes with my hands.

  “What the hell was that?”

  As an answer, the guard walks away, puts his hands behind his back, still with his damn whip strapped on his belt, as if we weren’t talking a few seconds ago.

  “Hey, asshole!”

  He doesn’t hear me. Or if he does, he doesn’t give a damn.

  I try to get up again, but still can’t.

  I weep in anger as I look at the man sitting next to me.

  “Where are we going? Where are we going? Answer me, where are we going?” I ask like a possessed fool.

  No reaction.

  I grab him with both hands and shake him. His body is cold, but he looks straight ahead, without wobbling. I push him violently against the window on his right. Then I hear a huge voice that startles me.

  “Don’t touch the other passengers.”

  The monster lookout curses at me, his face dangerously close to mine. He’s towering over me, reeking of his fetid breath.

  He’s four times my size.

  I don’t answer back. I’m too stunned, scared to death.

  His deep and powerful voice frightens me. His burning sockets; his scaly skin—

  My body is shaking.

  I’m whispering for myself, “What’s going on, what’s going on? »

  I sense my energy gradually fading away. I’ll give up, I’ll surrender to what is coming.

  No matter what it may be.

  The giant walks away from me again.

  I stare at the floor. My mind wants to shut down.

  But I get a second wind, and I reason with myself.

  I must not give up.

  I have to understand. I have to fight back.

  Even if it means that I will die.

  At this point, nothing matters anymore. Nothing makes sense. All logic is lost.

  I’m thinking about my next move when a sudden noise grabs my attention.

  Like a muffled whimper.

  I turn to the person on my right, but he still looks dazed. The sound didn’t come from him.

  I look around. Everyone has the same catatonic look they’ve had from the beginning, and their lips are sealed.

  It sounds like strangled voices coming from the front of the wagon.

  I’m going crazy. I’m hallucinating sounds and bolts of lightning.

  I’m about to lose my mind.

  I wait for other sounds to come, but nothing.

  Only railroad noises.

  I frown and wince in pain as another flash of lightning strikes me. Not only do the flashes blind me, but they also cause huge electrical discharges in my body.

  I feel a little lighter, and manage to get up before an invisible force pulls me back to my seat.

  My plan is to jump off the moving train. It’s the only viable option if I want to gain control of my destiny.

  I don’t know where I’ll land, or if I’ll survive the fall, but at this point I have nothing left to lose. I might as well try something bold.

  The next lightning bolt is like all the others, except this time I hear a thud.

  Then there are these whispers that last for a moment before they fade away.

  I take a moment to regain my strength, and this time, after a huge push, I get up.

  I take a few steps towards the guard, who looks away from me, but I collapse to my knees when another bright light bursts out, sending another electric surge through my body.

  Eventually, I use the bench to my right to get up. The intense pain coming from these flashes is getting less and less severe.

  As though my body is getting used to it.

  I’m pissed that I can’t pin down where the damn muffled noises are coming from.

  I scan the other passengers one by one; they all have the same spooky look on their faces.

  Some have empty glazes and mouths sewn shut. Others don’t have their mouths stitched together but look terrified.

  Still, they don’t move.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The monster’s powerful voice coming from the back of the wagon resonates in my head like a severe migraine.

  “Sit down,” he says, speeding towards me.

  He moves with such force that I’m worried that the floor will give in beneath us.

  I instinctively move backwards, looking at him with intensity.

  “Why won’t you tell me where we’re going?”

  “I said sit down.”

  The look in his eyes is blood-chilling. With a sharp gesture, he grabs me by the throat and lifts me up in the air. His gaze is terrifying. Bright orange flames dance angrily in his eye sockets.

  I can’t breathe, I grab his arms to make him drop me, but my hands are too small for the enormous girth of his wrists.

  He looks like a villain from a Marvel comic book.

  An indestructible giant.

  He drags me to my seat, still holding me up with his powerful hands crushing my windpipe.

  Once next to my bench, he pushes me in and lets go of his grip.

  “I told you I won’t tell where we’re going. Just sit tight.”

  I would have answered back, but air is barely making its way down my throat. I massage my throat the best I can to open my windpipe, but no sound comes out of my mouth.

  “Where was I?” the giant says aloud.

  After a few seconds, he walks towards the front of the wagon, still with his damn hands behind his back and his whip on his waist.

  Again, as if nothing has happened.

  I need several minutes to breathe properly.

  That was a serious warning. I don’t think he will spare me next time.

  I’m worried about the irresistible impulse I feel to
go back into the passageway, at risk of getting my neck crushed again.

  My inability to sit still and wait to see what happens will be my downfall. But I can’t help it. I need to know. I can’t sit around waiting for God knows what, like all the other suckers on the train.

  I’m looking at a window I didn’t notice until now.

  It’s different from the others, illuminated by a clear, shimmering aura, unlike the opacity of the others.

  I wait for the guard to move away, so I can walk softly towards the window. The closer I get to it, the more captivated I become.

  It’s as if some supernatural force is driving me towards it.

  There’s something there, that’s for sure.

  A salvation.

  I make sure the guard is far enough away that I have time to explore the illuminated window.

  I approach to see through it, but it’s impossible because of the inner light reflection. However, I can better hear the whispers.

  The same murmurs that come after each lightning blow.

  I focus to decipher what these whispers imply, but I can’t figure it out. The train is too noisy.

  I can’t grasp what the voices are saying. I can’t understand anything.

  I get more and more frustrated by the minute.

  I’m slowly losing control of my mind and my emotions. I feel sick, nauseated, and I’m totally confused. I no longer have any reference to rely on. Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything seems fake to me, and yet, everything is real.

  The need I have to understand, the need I have to know why I’m here, on this train, is stronger than anything else.

  Stronger than the fear of what this half-insane keeper might do to me.

  Stronger than my fear of whatever’s waiting for me out there.

  One thing’s for sure, I will not reach our destination. Every fiber in my body compels me to run away.

  I have to get out of here as soon as possible, and this shining window is my redemption.

  All I have left is my intuition, a faithful friend, I must follow it and brave the unknown.

  Staying here means death. I’m sure it does.

  There will be no turning back.

  All I know is that if I don’t do something, eventually I’ll turn into one of those zombies.

  They’ll sew my mouth shut.

  I’ll surrender to my fate. Let all struggles cease inside me.

  When I think about the outside, I panic. We may be in Siberia, for all I know.

  Maybe it’s minus forty degrees Celsius out there, so escaping would mean certain death.

  I’m stunned to see that a man sitting in front of me hasn’t got his lips sewn shut either.

  A glimpse of hope.

  “Sir, can you hear me?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Do you speak English?”

  Nothing.

  “Monsieur, m’entendez-vous?” I say in French.

  I’m probably hallucinating, but I believe he nods.

  “Où allons-nous?” where are we going?

  I’m not waiting for his answer since I see that the monster will soon turn around and come back.

  I go back to my seat, re-energized.

  Invigorated by the contact I’ve made with this man.

  Finally, something positive.

  As I’m rusty in French, I’ll stick to short sentences and hope he can give me some useful information.

  Since I only spoke to my seatmate in English, I ask him the same questions as before, but this time in French.

  Unfortunately, he doesn’t respond.

  He’s clueless. There is nothing more I can do for him.

  I look at him for long minutes just to ensure that some small detail wouldn’t pop out, to see if some clue wouldn’t come to light, but, for God’s sake, he’s not breathing.

  That’s impossible. His eyes are open. Sure, there’s nothing reassuring about his appearance, but he’s moving. He turned his head when I grabbed his shoulder.

  I carefully put my hand under his nose to feel the air coming out of his nostrils, but I feel nothing.

  I grasp his wrist for a pulse, but his arm is so cold and his skin so tight that I can’t feel anything.

  His weary look is soul-shattering.

  Then, just as I resign myself to abandon him to his fate, he turns to me with an imploring look.

  I’m struck by the fear in his eyes, as if he’s asking for help.

  There’s no longer any doubt that he’s alive. His gaze rekindled for a few moments, like a man on his deathbed breathing one last breath.

  As if he’s playing his last card. As if I’m his only hope.

  He looks at the back of the convoy, then looks at me, shaking his head gently from left to right.

  I watch him in silence. I try to understand what he means to say.

  His gaze stiffens for a few seconds. Then it slowly fades away as he returns to his original state. Looking blank in front of him.

  It feels like I’m staring into a dying man’s eyes as he draws his last breath.

  Even if I want to help him, I can’t. I’m as helpless as he is. I doubt I can even help myself.

  I watch him for a few seconds, still shaken that his soul disappeared right before my eyes.

  I try a question even though I know he’s gone.

  “Is he the one who sewed your mouth shut?” I say, referring to the lookout.

  He doesn’t answer. He’s gone. What’s the point?

  The guard’s overpowering footsteps come up behind me as I look straight ahead, thinking about my next move.

  Another bolt of lightning hurts my eyes. I scream out in pain, or out of despair.

  I cry with rage and punch the back of the seat in front of me. But no tears run down my cheeks.

  I don’t care. Nothing surprises me anymore.

  Once the guard has passed by me, towards the front of the train car, I turn to the person sitting on my left, across the aisle.

  “Can’t you see those lightning flashes?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Can’t you hear those voices whispering?”

  Lost cause.

  I look at the bright window and wonder why it’s so different. What does that mean exactly?

  I’m sure some answers I’m looking for are in there.

  I get up and tiptoe towards it.

  I pass by the passenger I was talking to in French before, and he looks straight at me, saying nothing.

  I conceal my surprise the best I can. I don’t want to frighten him.

  I continue in French.

  “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” I say, pointing at the window. What is that?

  He looks to where I’m pointing, and, after staring at the window for about ten seconds, he looks back at me with no answer.

  Goddamn it, I don’t have time for this.

  I move closer to the window and reach out to touch it. To feel something, the surface. To find out what’s going on on the other side.

  But I don’t feel a thing, as if I stuck my hand through a smokescreen.

  Yet I have an irresistible impulse to put my whole arm through it.

  After weighing the pros and cons, I do it.

  Nothing.

  I remove my hand just before another flash of lightning blinds me. This time the pain is much more intense and stays in me longer.

  I give in to the impact and fall on the ground again.

  When I regain my senses, I move painfully towards my seat as the guard rushes towards me, but instead of walking heavily as usual, he now floats in the air.

  He stops when he reaches my position and remains there, silent and still levitating.

  He looks straight ahead instead of looking at me.

  I don’t move, breathing slowly so I don’t trigger a reaction from him. My legs shake with anticipation of what might happen.

  The man in front of me watches me with a terrified look, as if he wants to warn me that something bad is about to h
appen.

  The beast is still there, staring ahead, hovering in the air.

  He doesn’t look at me; he doesn’t talk to me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to act.

  I feel like an idiot standing there, frozen, but I’m petrified. I want him to go away so I can sit down and think.

  I’m running out of patience, so I take a step forward to see how he’s going to react. He doesn’t flinch.

  Another step, same thing.

  I realize that if I take another step forward, I’ll be halfway down the aisle, three feet from the guard. I look at him for a few moments to see what he’s up to, but I can’t figure it out.

  He doesn’t move, unwilling to show his hand.

  I gently put one foot forward and in a brisk gesture, he grabs his whip, quickly raises his arm and strikes his weapon down on me.

  I cower, shielding my head with my arms. I await my punishment while clenching my teeth. In resignation.

  To my astonishment, I feel no pain.

  I open my eyes and notice that I’m sitting on the opposite side from where I was originally.

  The lookout resumes his slow walk, his hands behind his back, his whip tucked neatly in his waistband.

  Did I imagine all this? Have I been sitting obediently in this seat all along?

  Impossible.

  I don’t understand what just happened, and it doesn’t matter. I have to stay focused on my task.

  The guard doesn’t seem to be upset. All the passengers are looking ahead of them like everything’s normal.

  Meanwhile, the right half of my body is numb.

  Massaging my arm to loosen it up, I scan the surroundings to locate myself. My former seat neighbour is sitting two rows behind me on the other side of the wagon. There’s another passenger next to him with his lips and eyes stitched together.

  I’m on the side of the car where the interesting window is. It stands in the third row in front of me.

  I don’t understand why I’m sitting here, but I’m glad I am. I’ll have the opportunity to explore that window without exposing myself too much.

  The more time passes, the less nervous and panicked I am. The more I regain my senses and think clearly.

  Little by little, I regain control of the situation.

  Except now, the right side of my face is going numb as well. I run my hand over my lips and, holy shit, a thick thread ties the corner of my lip.

  Work has begun. Soon, I too will have my mouth sewn shut.

  And then my eyes will undergo the same process.