The Beast on the Tracks Read online

  “This is a real shame, you know?” I say, stopping for a moment. “I really want to have a proper conversation with you, but I guess that can wait a few hours.”

  I reach around and start fixing the gag in place. He turns his head this way and that, trying to pull away, but I quickly pull the gag tight and twist the section that holds it to the back of his head. It's a good job that this particular gag is so easy to put in place, since Richard is really quite good at struggling and I don't think I'd have had much fun with a normal gag. Still, this one's nicely in place, and he's only managing a faint, muffled murmur as I step back around the chair and smile down at him.

  “Happy now?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “This is wholly unnecessary, but frankly you're starting to give me a headache.”

  He tries desperately to cry out again, but all he really manages is to slightly rock the chair against the stone floor. The bolts are holding, but one on the right side is maybe just a tad loose.

  “That's also annoying,” I tell him. “Would you mind stopping?”

  He doesn't stop, and I figure that maybe I need to try a different approach.

  “Do you know why I chose you tonight?” I ask as I crouch in front of him and look up at his terrified face. “I was standing in that kitchen, and I became aware of someone watching me from the hallway. Maybe you didn't realize that I'd noticed, but I had. And I realized that I could lure you away from the party. I'm not desperate, I don't go out hunting for people. I just put myself in situations where I'm likely to encounter someone I can bring back here and, well, you'd be surprised how often that works out. There are just so many people, male and female, who are willing to follow a girl like me into a big, dark forest.”

  I watch his expression, trying to judge his reaction, but his eyes seem filled with hatred. I get it, he's probably terrified, but would it hurt him to actually listen and maybe consider what I'm telling him? Is he really that closed minded?

  “It gets quite lonely down here, you know,” I continue, and I'm starting to feel the urge for a cigarette. “I'm not asking for sympathy, I'm just telling you how things are. Sometimes I just want company, but it never works out. For some reason, people always freak out.”

  I wait again for him to react, but after a few seconds I realize I can hear a faint scratching sound coming from behind his back. I hesitate, keeping my eyes fixed on him, and then I get to my feet and step around behind the chair. Sure enough, he's trying to rub the rope against one of the wooden sections, as if he thinks he can wear through his restraints and get free.

  “Oh, honey,” I say with a big, theatrical sigh, “that's never going to work. You know what? Let me pop outside for a cigarette, and then I'll tell you exactly what we're going to be doing together for the rest of the night.”

  Chapter Ten

  Milly

  Five years ago...

  I rush over toward the machine, just as the motor stops running and the blades stop spinning.

  Halfway along the conveyor belt, with his coat still caught on the chunk of wood, Dad lets out a sigh of relief as he slumps down.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “I'm caught!” he replies, trying to pull his coat free and then trying to somehow get himself out. “Damn thing, I don't even know what it -”

  Before he can finish, the motor starts up again, and Dad's once more jerked along the conveyor belt toward the blades. I blink, and in an instant I hear the wood getting ground to dust.

  “Milly!” Dad screams, still frantically trying to get himself free. “Don't just stand there, get me out of this thing!”

  His scream becomes a howl of pain as the grinding sound changes, and somehow deep down I know that the blade's metal teeth have hit bone. Dad turns and tries again to pull away, but seconds later blood splatters against the side of his face. I look toward the other end of the machine, just in time to see that there's blood mixed in with the wood dust that's being sprayed out across the forest floor.

  And the blade's whining sound gets louder still, as if grinds through Dad's hand and up into his wrist.

  A moment later, the machine cuts out again and I hear the blade winding down. Dad's still crying out, sobbing and whimpering as he tries desperately to pull himself free. I step close to him, and then I'm horrified to see his arm wedged deep inside the machinery with blood dripping from the blades. All around the conveyor belt, more blood has been splattered, and it looks as if the machine has chewed Dad almost all the way up to the elbow. I've never seen so much blood in my life.

  Dad tries to say something, but all that comes from his mouth is a spluttering, bloodied groan.

  The machine starts up again. Dad screams, and his body is jerked forward as the blades starts grinding his upper arm. In a flash, I remember the control panel on the other side of the machine, so I hurry around and reach out to hit the red button, but at the very last moment I hesitate. My finger is less than an inch from the button, yet somehow I stay completely still as I hear Dad's agonized cries getting louder and louder. There's another sound, too, a kind of wet slopping sound which I guess is caused by all the blood that's now coming out of the machine's other end.

  Why am I not helping him?

  Why am I just standing here?

  It's as if the machine is a god, and Dad is fated to be consumed. For all his bluster and yelling, Dad has always seemed like a very small man, whereas this machine is power incarnate. If the conflict is between Dad and the chipper, then I want the chipper to win, because it's the chipper – not Dad – that I respect more. Saving Dad right now would seem unnatural, as if somehow it'd be going against the laws of the universe. In this fight, the machine should always win, because the machine is ten thousand times stronger and better. Why should any human ever win a fight with this thing? How can I possibly think that I have any right to intervene?

  The machine stops again.

  Dad's still crying out, but he sounds weaker than before. I'm staring at the control panel, still poised to hit the button, but deep down I know that's something I'll never do. Strangely, I've never felt so certain about anything in my life, even as I wipe more sweat from my forehead. It's as if, after a lifetime of doubt and confusion and second-guessing myself, I've finally slipped onto a track that makes sense, as if I'm on my own conveyor belt that's leading me straight toward where I'm supposed to go. My plans to work as a teacher now seem totally foolish, as if they were just a desperate attempt to paper over the cracks in my soul.

  “Milly...” Dad gasps. “Please...”

  I swallow hard, but I already know that I can't be a coward. I have to see him.

  I hesitate, and then I make my way around to the conveyor belt. As soon as I look toward the blades, I flinch at the sight of Dad's mangled chest. The machine has drawn him so far in, almost up to the neck, and there's blood everywhere. I can even see tiny white blobs in some of the blood, and I guess that must be fragments of bone. Dad's face is covered in blood, and he's shaking violently as he slowly turns to look at me. Even the whites of his eyes are now filled with red, and when he opens his mouth I see more blood dribbling down his chin.

  “Milly,” he groans, somehow still managing to talk, “please, get me out of this -”

  And then the machine starts again, just as I knew it would, and Dad screams one final time as his head is pulled into the blades. The machine doesn't splutter or slow, and the engine doesn't even skip a beat as it grinds through his skull. I think he shouts something, but the words get lose in the ferocious sound of the machine's victory, and I don't look away. Not even as blood and bone particles get sprayed against my face, not even as Dad's body twists slightly at the very moment that his whole head disappears into the maw. I just stare, ignoring the blood that's in my eyes, and I feel an overwhelming sense of awe as I witness the sight of true, unstoppable power. It's really taken him a long time to die, and I can't help wondering whether the machine is trying to keep him alive for as long as possible. Does the machi
ne enjoy killing him?

  Finally I look up, past the tops of the trees, and I realize that I was right earlier. The sky does seem strange today.

  Chapter Eleven

  Milly

  Tonight...

  It's so nice out here in the forest. Peaceful. Calm.

  I'm sitting next to the bunker's entrance, which is little more than a hatch that opens up in the ground. There's not much light from the bunker, so I'm sitting in darkness as I take a drag from my cigarette and look out at the trees that stretch seemingly forever into the distance. It's at times like this that I feel as if I might almost be the only person left in the whole world, and that's not a bad feeling at all. Well, maybe I'd like one other person to be around. I mean, no-one wants to be completely alone, do they?

  I breathe out, letting smoke rise into the cold night air, just as some distant bangs indicate the start of fireworks. I heard that some people might be letting a bunch off at the edge of town, and sure enough I turn to see the first bright lights bursting high above. I've never really been a big fan of fireworks, but I have to admit that they look pretty cool right now as they fill the sky. I guess someone somewhere is celebrating something, but after a few seconds I feel a flicker of guilt in my chest.

  I shouldn't be watching fireworks.

  I'm not a child.

  And the last time I did watch fireworks, I was with Mom and Dad and it was years ago and I just wanted to run away from it all. Fireworks are for people who like their families, and who don't feel nauseous on the drive home after when everyone asks how they like the display.

  Plus, the fireworks are getting in the way of the stars, and I'd much prefer to be looking at the stars.

  I take another drag on my cigarette, and I'm starting to think that it's time to go back down to Richard now. I've left him on tenterhooks for long enough, although I have to admit that I always love dragging this part of the evening out. I just enjoy building up to the moment when I show my visitors what's down in the bunker, but perhaps I'm being just a tad selfish.

  I stub the cigarette out on the nearest tree and, after making sure that it's definitely out, I drop it to the floor. And then, as I turn to head to the hatch, I hear a train's whistle in the distance. I know the line through the forest is supposed to be abandoned these days, but every so often I swear I hear one passing. It's still weird to think of a train out there somewhere, moving between the trees. I can't see anything from here, of course; the line's a good mile away at least. But it sounds as if there's a train out there alright, chugging along in the moonlight as the tips of branches brush against its sides.

  Some weird shit happens in this forest.

  Figuring that I've wasted enough time already, I turn and start making my way back down into the bunker. As I do so, I can already hear a faint bumping sound, and I smile as I spot Richard still trying furiously to get free from his restraints. He stops as soon as he sees me, freezing as if he somehow thinks that I won't realize what he was just doing. I try to think of some witty comment, but witty comments have never really been my thing so instead I turn and wander over to the other end of the bunker, where the tarpaulin awaits.

  “You can keep doing that,” I tell Richard, “it makes no difference to me.”

  Okay, that might not have been witty, but it was kinda cool. Wasn't it?

  “I'm going to show you something that'll blow your mind,” I continue, placing my hand on the tarpaulin as I feel my heart leap in my chest. “I'm going to turn your whole world upside down and inside out, your whole understanding of the universe. I'm going to permit you a glimpse at something that changed me a few years ago. I'm going to let you look into the mouth of creation.”

  I turn to him.

  He's staring at me as if he doesn't understand.

  “I envy you,” I tell him. “You're right on the cusp of enlightenment. I was like you once, except there was no-one to warn me. No-one to prepare me. I had to take it raw, and I managed to handle it, but sometimes I think that a guide might have been useful. Someone to answer a few of my questions. But, hey, I muddled through, and that's what matters. I'm here now.”

  I wait, but he's really starey, more starey than most of the people I've brought down here. They're usually still struggling at this point, still trying to cry out. Richard seems calmer in some ways, but I bet he's just storing up all sorts of worry. It'll all be alright, though. He just needs to trust me.

  So I turn and start pulling the tarpaulin away, revealing the wood chipper in all its magnificence and glory. And I have to confess that for a moment, just a brief shining moment, I forget all about Richard as I place my hands on the chipper's cold metal surface and feel the touch of my god. I know I should be more circumspect, given that I have company, but I guess there's no harm in demonstrating my belief. Leaning down, I place the side of my face agains the metal and I close my eyes, and for a few priceless seconds I feel as if all is well with the world.

  And soon – very soon now – my god will feed again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Milly

  Five years ago...

  Looking back, it seems obvious now that Dad was going to end up in the wood chipper. I mean, the signs were all there. The arrogance. The swagger. The pride that comes before a fall. And I think deep down I sorta expected it to happen. On some subconscious level I was prepared.

  Mom's sobbing loudly in the front room, wailing with shock and sorrow. She's taking this real bad and, as I set out more biscuits on the plates in the kitchen, I can't help wondering why I'm so calm. After Dad died, I simply sat and stared at the bloodied machine. I even left it running. Eventually Nelson Riley showed up a little before sundown, to see how we were getting on, and that's when things kinda took a turn and started getting back to normal. Soon the cops showed up, and there were a lot of questions, and I was taken to hospital as a precaution.

  They think I have P.T.S.D. or something like that. They've accepted that I couldn't have saved Dad, that his death was an accident. But it wasn't an accident.

  It was fate.

  The machine was his destiny, and the conveyor belt took him straight there.

  One of the cops quickly figured out why the machine kept stopping and starting. By pure chance, Nelson had set it up with the heaviest part resting on a hatch in the forest floor. Apparently there are loads of research bunkers in the forest. Well, not loads, but several. Poor Nelson, who really shouldn't be blamed for any of this, had inadvertently set the machine up so that its own power occasionally caused the hatch to shift, and this kept tripping a fail-safe device in the motor. Of course, once the fail-safe had been activated, the movement stopped and the hatch went back to its original position, and then the engine started up again and the whole vicious circle was reset. The odds, I heard one of the cops saying to another cop, were a million to one.

  In other words: fate again.

  I guess that's why I'm so totally okay. Yes, I witnessed my father getting chewed to pieces today, and yes – despite our many disagreements – I loved him deeply. But any shock is more than overcome by a sheer sense of awe and wonder, because today I saw the natural world at its strongest and most devastating. I saw all the messiness and whimmery (is that even a word?) of a man getting utterly destroyed by the relentless grinding power of a godlike machine, and I simply can't pretend that I didn't like it. So that's why, as I finish setting the biscuits out, I'm starting to smile.

  Once I've got everything ready, I carry the tray of biscuits through to the front room. Mom is still weeping as she sits with Uncle Gene and Aunt Carol, but I understand her reaction. After all, she didn't witness the immense power that I witnessed, and I'm sure she'd have been duly impressed if she had. I'd probably be the weeping, messy one, but I'm glad that I'm not. I feel as if I was privileged today to be given a demonstration of how the universe really works and, as I set the tray down on the coffee table, I realize that I'm still smiling.

  Glancing to my left, I see that Uncle Gene is st
aring at me with a slightly concerned expression.

  “Sorry,” I say, somehow managing to subdue my smile, “we don't have any cake.”

  I wait, but he's still staring at me, as if for some reason he can't quite believe what he's saying.

  “Are you okay?” I ask finally.

  “Am I okay?” he replies, his voice trembling with shock. “Milly, are you okay?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “You're fine?”

  “Yes.” I pause, before realizing that maybe I should show a little more sadness. “I mean, I'm not okay,” I continue, “but I'm... struggling through.”

  Again I wait, and again he seems lost for words.

  “But you were there,” he says finally, “when...”

  His voice trails off.

  I hesitate, and then I nod.

  “You saw it happen?” he continues.

  “I did,” I reply. “It was... It was what it was.”

  “How are you not...” He looks as if his mind is about to break, as if he can't possibly fathom anything that doesn't fit into his narrow worldview. “I mean, Milly, how are you... you're so...”

  “If you meant the coffee and biscuits,” I say after a moment, “they're really nothing. And someone had to bring them out. Mom's so upset, I couldn't possibly have left her to do it.”

  As I say those words, I feel utterly proud of myself. I was given a lesson today and I learned it, and I feel almost like a completely new person. Not that I can say any of that to anyone, of course, because they really wouldn't understand. Maybe this is the kind of lesson that only a few people can ever learn, because maybe we need examples of weakness and messiness all around us in the world. But I know one thing for certain: I'm not going to waste this opportunity. I'm going to make sure that this is the first day of the rest of my life.