Chapter 006 - The Infinite Train 06

  Five minutes wasn’t enough time to scout an escape route. Barely enough to glimpse the edges of a mystery.

  The moment the train groaned to a halt, I stepped off.

  This was Noah Station No. 3.

  The platform stretched in a grand, curving arc, reminiscent of its namesake—Noah’s Ark. On the left, a waiting lounge, a restaurant, and a grand hall dominated the space. At the far end, the exit gates loomed, their heavy locks an unmistakable warning. Here and there, makeshift souvenir stalls cluttered the open spaces, merchants peddling trinkets no traveler truly needed.

  To the right, I spotted a fuel supply station, a waste disposal center, and—oddly—a small internet café.

  Five minutes passed in a blur of cold wind and hurried glances. I had no time to enter any of the buildings. Elliot’s sharp tug at my arm forced me back onto the train just before the doors slid shut. I staggered into the carriage, my body trembling from the biting cold.

  No. 137 saw me shivering and immediately draped a blanket over my shoulders. “Did you find anything?” she asked, her voice hushed, urgent.

  “No,” Elliot answered before I could. Then, turning to me, he added, “Next stop is Riverplain Station. The station layouts seem identical. We only have time to check one place. Where do we start?”

  “The internet café.”

  Elliot’s brow creased. “Why?”

  I took a slow sip of the last remnants of strong liquor, letting the heat thaw the ice in my veins. “Because a normal train station wouldn’t have an internet café. A waiting lounge, a restaurant, even a souvenir stall—all of that makes sense. The fuel station and waste disposal center? Logical, considering a train running in a loop would need them. But an internet café? That’s out of place.”

  Elliot studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Good point. We’re both going?”

  I nodded and turned to No. 137. “Stay on the train. Watch our stuff. If we don’t make it back in time, do whatever it takes to keep that door open.”

  She hesitated, then nodded determinedly. “I’ll try.”

  Elliot, however, sighed, glancing between us. “Are we sure she’s… capable of that?”

  I shrugged. “No idea.”

  No. 137 clenched her fists, whispering, “I’ll do my best…”

  Three hours later, Riverplain Station emerged from the snow-blurred horizon. The sky burned crimson as the sun bled into the jagged silhouette of mountains. It was beautiful, in the way a dying ember is—glowing, fragile, ominous.

  We had no time to stare.

  The moment the doors hissed open, we bolted for the internet café.

  A lanky young man with a buzz cut greeted us, his grin stretched wide. “How long do you wanna stay?”

  Still catching my breath, I swept my gaze across the room. “Overnight price?”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Three hundred dollars,” he said cheerfully. “Planning to stay the night?”

  A cold knot twisted in my gut.

  Not because of the price.

  Because every single desktop was powered on, screens glowing with the default WinXP wallpaper—a blue sky over a rolling green hill. The light flickered strangely, shadows shifting on the walls.

  Yet…

  Not a single person sat at any of the stations.

  The entire café was empty.

  The manager’s grin didn’t waver as he leaned closer, the bluish glow reflecting eerily off his face. “So? Staying or not?”

  Elliot cut in smoothly. “Can we put it on a tab? We didn’t bring cash.”

  The smile vanished. The man’s voice sharpened. “No money? Trying to freeload? Get out! Go beg at the restaurant if you want a free meal!”

  While they argued, I moved swiftly through the rows of computers, scanning each screen. Every single one displayed the same, unchanging desktop—no open windows, no login prompts. Nothing.

  “Time’s up,” Elliot called, glancing at his watch. “Ninety seconds left.”

  I stole one last glance around the room. The manager’s shouting grew harsher, edged with impatience. Annoyed, I slammed my palm onto the nearest keyboard. “Fine, we’re leaving! Quit nagging already!”

  For a single, frozen second, silence settled.

  Then—

  The computers flickered.

  One by one, screens blacked out, plunging the café into total darkness. Then, just as suddenly, the first monitor blinked back to life.

  A single line of text glowed in stark white:

  Pay attention to the station name!!!

  A second screen lit up, displaying the same warning:

  Pay attention to the station name!!!

  Then another. And another.

  The entire café erupted in a chaotic chorus of beeping monitors, each flashing the same, frantic message.

  My breath caught. I reached for the keyboard, desperate to type, to test, to—

  “Shit,” Elliot cursed, yanking me backward. “Thirty seconds left. Move!”

  The loudspeakers blared: “Doors closing in twenty seconds.”

  We ran.

  Snow crunched beneath our boots, every step slower than I wanted. Ten seconds. Five.

  As the doors began to slide shut, we flung ourselves forward, tumbling onto the train in a breathless heap.

  And landed face-to-face with No. 137.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why are you clinging to the steward?”

  No. 137’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. She quickly released the flustered steward. “I-I was trying to keep her from closing the doors!”

  I smirked, dragging myself onto a seat. “She’s a steward. She doesn’t control the doors.”

  No. 137 blinked, her expression crumbling into confusion. “But… you told me—”

  “Just messing with you,” I chuckled. “You’re too gullible.”

  Elliot coughed pointedly, clearly unimpressed. “Let’s focus.”

  I leaned back, stretching as the warmth of the carriage seeped into my frozen limbs. My breath steadied. My mind did not.

  I stared at the frost-bitten window, at the crimson sky fading into the ink of night.

  “Alright,” I murmured, my voice edged with a new sense of urgency. “Let’s analyze this.”