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  OFF TRACK

  A Primordials Novel

  Neil Bullock

  Copyright © 2021 Neil Bullock

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by James at GoOnWrite.com

  Cover copy by BlurbWriter.com

  www.neilwritesthings.com

  Endless undulating sky,

  Shapes gray and white and black.

  They sing to me, these things outside,

  And dance for my regard.

  —Unattributed.

  contents

  part one Chapter 1

  part two Chapter 2 - All Aboard

  Chapter 3 - Mitch

  Chapter 4 - The Tour

  Chapter 5 - The Cleansing

  Chapter 6 - Breakfast

  Chapter 7 - The Surprise

  Chapter 8 - Gossip

  Chapter 9 - The Outside (1)

  Chapter 10 - Lara

  Chapter 11 - Kyle

  Chapter 12 - The Search

  Chapter 13 - Slumber Party

  Chapter 14 - The Night to Remember

  part three Chapter 15 - The Help

  Chapter 16 - The Hangover

  Chapter 17 - The Threat

  Chapter 18 - Emma

  Chapter 19 - Captive

  Chapter 20 - The Argument

  Chapter 21 - Explanations

  Chapter 22 - The Plan

  Chapter 23 - Reprise

  Chapter 24 - The Realization

  Chapter 25 - The Outside (2)

  part four Chapter 26 - The Discovery

  Chapter 27 - The Controls

  Chapter 28 - The Truth

  Chapter 29 - Eden

  Acknowledgements

  part one

  one

  Now

  April 30th

  It’s nearly full dark.

  The only illumination comes from the sleek black train quietly hovering three feet from the ground out in the street. There is a glowing white light running down the side, just under the rows of windows that line each carriage.

  The supermarket behind me is a dead place, empty and silent, its parking lot filled with cars that will remain exactly where they are, forever. The streetlights offer no respite from the darkness; the power went out a few days ago. I forget when exactly.

  Somewhere nearby, a soda can rolls around in the gentle breeze. I glance from side to side nervously, almost wishing there were someone else here to verify what I think I’m seeing. Impossible, of course. There is nobody else.

  I know this train. I dreamed of this train five nights ago. It was just a dream, though. How could it have been anything else? How could it be real? How could it have found me here, at the end of everything? I run my thumb over the glossy label on the bottle of Oxycodone I took from the supermarket pharmacy, then pocket it and begin making my way slowly toward the locomotive.

  Food Court Apocalypse

  April 25th

  I arrive at the food court at eleven-thirty, exhausted and hungry, but excited. My best friend Alice and I grew up together, but we’re both so busy that we almost never manage to get together anymore. This is the first time in months that our meticulous planning hasn’t fallen apart at the last minute. I scan the food counters, then go to the one I’ve been craving for weeks. There, I obtain an oozing, glistening monster of a cheeseburger, fries coated in powdered awesome, and a strawberry milkshake in a shiny metal cup. That’s three of the four basic food groups right there: fat, salt, and sugar. If only they served alcohol here. I carry my heart attack on a red plastic tray to the most remote table I can find and plop myself down facing the door, then pull out my phone to check that Alice hasn’t canceled on me.

  There are no messages from her. Thank God.

  I start on the fries, dipping them in the inadequate puddle of ketchup I was provided, then munching on them while I struggle to remember the last time Alice and I got together.

  It was a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, I think. I remember inviting her to my mom’s place for dinner. Mom and Nana consider her a surrogate daughter, but they see her even less than I do. I spot her then, across the food court, hurrying through the door in the process of extricating herself from the tangle of her coat and the messenger bag slung over one shoulder. She scans the food counters in much the same way I did, notices me, then throws her coat over her arm and makes a beeline through the crowd, much to the chagrin of everyone around her.

  I stand, and we crash into each other, grabbing hold and hugging tightly, then releasing. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “You know how it is.”

  I nod. “The life of a hot-shot doctor.”

  “Something like that. Guard my stuff? I’m starving.”

  “Sure.”

  I watch her thread her way through the crowd and approach a noodle vendor. She has the busiest life of anyone I’ve ever known. She never seems to be at rest, working every hour available to her. When she’s not working, she’s planning her wedding. I wonder what her next project would be, though I suspect I know.

  “So, how’s it going?” she asks in an expectant singsong. I hadn’t even noticed her return to the table, her own red plastic tray piled high with food. She sits.

  “Exhausted, actually,” I say. “I had bad dreams all night. Well, not bad. Just weird.”

  “About me not turning up?” She grins, but I see an uncertainty behind it.

  I smile reassuringly. “Nothing like that. Something about a train.” I shake my head to remove the stark monochrome images that still linger from the dream even now, hours later.

  “Weird. You were going somewhere?”

  “Nope. I wasn’t on the train. Just following it, I guess. Like a movie.”

  “How’d it end?” She slurps a mouthful of noodles.

  “It hit me, and I woke up.”

  “Huh. I guess that thing about dying in your dreams isn’t true then.”

  “Well, give it time,” I say, then start on my burger. It is, as I’d hoped, wonderful. Salty and greasy and savory and the perfect thing for my tired brain. When I’m done chewing, I look up to find Alice looking at me with an amused expression.

  “You eating that or fucking it?” she asks.

  I’m surprised into a laugh. “What?”

  “You moaned.”

  “I did not!”

  “Did too. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She grabs more noodles with her chopsticks and slurps them suggestively, closing her eyes, tipping her head back and performing her own exaggerated moan of pleasure.

  The mom and dad of a trio of young children three tables away fixes Alice with a glare and I burst out laughing, quickly covering my mouth with one hand. They look away, annoyed.

  “You’re going to get us kicked out,” I say, grinning. Then, noticing something is different, I grab Alice’s left hand and pull it towards me. “You finally decided on a ring!” I inspect it in all its gleaming splendor, then allow her to retract her hand.

  “No, no, the official story is that he finally got around to buying me one,” she says. “Nothing to do with me.”

  “Ah, that version.” Making a decision has never been a strength of hers.

  “It’s pretty spiffy, right?” she says, smiling a little tentatively and examining
it herself. I remember this uncertain, almost shy girl from childhood.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Her smile gains more warmth and she nods, apparently satisfied. “Thank you. I have something for you.” She rummages around in her bag and produces a small plain white envelope with the word Eden written on it in swirling script. She hands it over.

  “You set a date?” I can barely contain my excitement and struggle not to rip the envelope from her hand and tear it open with my teeth. Instead, I delicately wipe the grease from my hands on a napkin and pick up the envelope, open it as slowly as I can manage and pluck out the tiny piece of pink card within. It’s not an invitation, just a save-the-date, but setting a date is a big step for Alice.

  “I’ll have to check my calendar,” I say, joking, but I guess there are some things you just shouldn’t joke about. She covers the crestfallen look quickly, but I still catch it. “Of course I’ll come, you idiot! You couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Good,” she says, then looks down at her food. “Because it wouldn’t be much of a wedding without the maid of honor.”

  My heart skips a beat. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t spent some time imagining this conversation. I’d convinced myself that she would pick someone she sees more often, maybe one of her friends from the hospital, and I’d convinced myself I’d be fine with that. But of course, I wouldn’t have been. I can’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. “Me? You mean it?”

  “Who the hell else would I pick?”

  We lean awkwardly across the table and embrace. When we part, she reaches back into her bag and pulls out more envelopes. One for my Mom, another for Nana. “You’ll pass these along?” she asks, the tentative note returning to her voice.

  “Sure, of course. They’ll be thrilled,” I say, and they will. They won’t understand why she never comes to see them, or why she didn’t come to invite them personally, but I’ve come to realize that Alice suffers from a constant pressure to achieve. Her parents were never particularly encouraging about anything, let alone pressuring, but I’ve come to understand that was part of the problem. Alice’s parents aren’t even alive anymore, and conditioning her to always be searching for approval where none is forthcoming is one of the shittier things they saddled her with. I started to suspect that she’s simply acting out a desire to make the people around her proud of her when her visits to see my family started to dwindle. Now she only sees them at significant life events, ones where she can show she’s reached a milestone of some kind. Her graduation, her wedding. Will the next one be her baby shower? What’s after that? Since I realized this, I try to avoid saying things that will make her feel bad. Rather than suggesting she should come see my family and invite them to her wedding in person, I simply agree to deliver the save-the-dates.

  “Thanks, Eden,” she says, and slurps more noodles.

  We both eat for a little while. I finish off my fries and munch my way around the outside of the burger – the middle is the best bit – then we move onto more mundane matters.

  “So, any tours planned?”

  “Probably something in summer. We’re about to start rehearsing a couple of piano concertos, I think they’re booked for next month sometime, but they’re local.”

  “I should really try to make it to one,” she says, and I don’t agree or disagree. “I used to love listening to you play.”

  “Not when we were kids you didn’t.”

  “Well, no. But when you got good.” She looks wistful.

  I am a violinist in the Oregon Symphony, something I’ve been training for since I was five. By Alice’s reckoning, I got good around age thirteen. “I’ll email you the dates.”

  She nods and sips her Coke. “Cool. It’d be nice to do something cultural for a change.”

  “What, you’re bored of saving lives?”

  We’re both suddenly startled by the sound of a stack of the red plastic trays clattering to the floor. Someone apparently stumbled and knocked them over. People around the scene of the accident clap and cheer sarcastically and I roll my eyes. People are so good at being assholes to one another.

  We turn back to our food and I’m about to pop the center of the burger into my mouth when another noise causes us to turn again. This time it’s a stack of plates, and this is much louder and far messier. It’s quickly followed by a scream. I imagine someone cutting themselves on the shards.

  “What the…?” Alice stands and looks around, meerkat style. “Oh, shit,” she says, almost absently, and moves around her chair and in the direction of the scream. I stand too, putting my burger-middle back down uneaten, and watch Alice moving across the room. She’s hurrying, but she is blocking whatever she’s heading toward. As I’m adjusting my position to get a better view, another scream pierces the air.

  I glance in that direction, but I can’t see anything there either. “What’s going on?” I shout after Alice, but she doesn’t turn. People are getting agitated now. More people are standing. The family three tables away look confused, but also quite annoyed. Maybe because Alice said a bad word.

  I stand immobile for a second, then sit. There’s still some agitation, mostly over by Alice, who is now obscured by a low dividing wall intended to separate the dining area from the area where you line up for food. I pick up the middle of my burger, consider it, but put it down again before standing. I walk over to see what Alice is doing and freeze as I reach the wall. She’s leaning over a woman’s body that is bleeding heavily from the eyes, nose, mouth, ears, basically anywhere blood can escape. Alice is trying frantically to find some cause for the hemorrhage and apparently having no luck.

  Someone from the rapidly forming crowd asks, “What’s wrong with her?”

  Alice turns, her face flushed but fierce. “She’s bleeding to death. Somebody call 911, for fucks sake!”

  I pull out my phone, unlock the screen and dial the numbers, put the phone to my ear as I stare, horrified, at the dying woman on the ground. I hear a busy tone in my ear.

  “It’s busy,” I say as I glance around the room, watching more people getting up from their tables and coming over. A few gasp, but most are content to be silent, horrified onlookers.

  “What?” Alice turns to me. “What do you mean? How can it be busy?”

  It didn’t occur to me until she asked that there was anything odd about that. I feel a little dazed. I shake my head. “I’ll try again,” and I do, with the same result. I notice one or two other people around me get their own phones out and try, removing them from their ears moments later. We share a worried glance, then turn back to watch my best friend tell a dying human being that everything will be okay seconds before she takes her final breath.

  When Alice stands and turns toward the gathered crowd, she looks defeated. Blood is smeared all over her hands.

  “What do we do now?” someone in the audience asks.

  Alice blinks. “Is there anything we can cover her with? We still need to get an ambulance here. I need everyone to step back, too. There are some hemorrhagic fevers that might do something like this, and they’re not something any of you wants to catch.”

  “What about you?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and shrugs; a shrug that says this is what I signed up for.

  A bald man with red cheeks and dressed in an apron stands at the edge of the gradually retreating crowd and tosses a blanket Alice’s way. “Thank you,” she calls back, then turns to cover the woman with it. Then she stands, wipes her bloody hands on her pants and pulls out her own phone. I wait. Moments later, Alice pulls the phone from her ear and glances at her watch. “The hospital isn’t answering.”

  “Oh. What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know...”

  We stand there, not really knowing what to do when Alice’s pager starts to beep loudly. She pulls it off her belt and consults the screen, then dials another number on her phone. When nobody answers, she shoves the phone in her pocket, which is
when somebody else cries out, way back against the food counters where the crowd has migrated. I see a large man fall to the ground, clutching himself and hyperventilating. He emits several awful, pained shrieks as the crowd around him scatters, faces pale and frightened. I hear some muttered swearing and heavy panting. As people move faster, they start to panic more, and the noise level increases.

  “Is this the same thing?” I ask, dodging fleeing people, but Alice is already running for the man. I hear a cry of agony from somewhere else, followed by another scream. I turn. There are now several people on the floor, and probably a hundred others running for the exits as fast as they can. I see one older lady fall, making eye contact with me as she gets trampled to death. I can feel every blow she suffers in my chest. I find it hard to catch my breath, to move, even harder to know what to do now. Alice has moved on from the man who fell near the food counters to another woman lying near the table where the best part of my burger sits uneaten. She looks up at me and her face is a mask of pure anguish.

  I cross the room to her. “We need to get out of here,” I say.

  “I… I should try to help.”

  The arms of running people jostle me as I stand there. “You can’t. Is she the same as the first one?”

  Alice nods and looks around at the sheer number of people now lying on the floor. The noise is deafening and horrible.

  “You can’t help them, then. We need to get out of here. What if it’s a chemical weapon or something?” Her eyes bulge, and she nods again. I take her bloody hand. “Come on.”

  I take us to the double doors that lead back out to the concourse, then freeze when I pull them open. Beyond is a scene from a horror movie. No, worse. Beyond is like witnessing a genocide. There are hundreds of people, most lying on the ground gasping, groaning, crying, crawling, or simply dead. The ones not already dead are dying, that much is obvious.