Chapter 10 - The Iron Freight
The old GMC pickup screamed as Miller hammered the throttle along the maintenance access path flanking the freight line. Branches tore at the side mirrors, whipping against the windshield like frantic fingers. In the bed of the truck, the wheelchair rattled violently against the tailgate, tied down with tow straps.
Nathan checked the glowing digital clock on the dashboard: 11:17 PM.
The rail spur curved through the narrow limestone canyon known as Dead Man's Cut. Below them, the swollen river roared over jagged granite boulders, black and violent in the darkness. Through the trees, a single beam of blinding halogen light pierced the fog, accompanied by the earth-shaking rumble of three diesel locomotives pulling a two-mile chain of black hoppers.
""There it is!"" Miller yelled over the engine roar. ""The midnight run out of the quarry!""
""Get ahead of the crossing at the timber yard!"" Nathan shouted back, gripping the grab handle with both hands. ""The grade slows down to ten miles an hour on the switchback!""
The pickup surged forward, tires spinning in the wet gravel before catching traction. They reached the timber yard crossing thirty seconds before the train's lead engine thundered past, its air horn blaring a deafening, two-tone warning that shook the truck’s chassis to its frame.
Miller threw the truck into park, jumped out into the freezing downpour, and wrenched the straps off the wheelchair. With a grunt of pure adrenaline, he pulled Nathan from the cab, seating him swiftly and strapping his legs securely with the footrest harnesses so they wouldn't tangle in the spokes.
""How the hell are we getting on a moving flatbed?"" Miller yelled against the noise.
""The maintenance loading platform!"" Nathan pointed down the track toward a raised timber dock built for loading ties.
Miller pushed with everything he had, his boots skidding in the soaked gravel. The coal cars were rumbling past them at twelve miles an hour—a wall of black steel, screeching couplings, and flying cinder dust. They reached the platform just as the coal cars gave way to a series of empty timber flatbeds near the rear of the train.
""On three!"" Nathan yelled.
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Miller didn't count. He hit the edge of the wooden platform, scooped Nathan under his arms, and threw his weight forward as a low-sided equipment car rolled past. Nathan grabbed the iron rungs of the maintenance ladder with both hands, his upper body taking the full, violent shock of the train's momentum. His shoulders wrenched, tendons screaming in protest, but his grip held.
Miller vaulted over the steel edge a second later, dragging the collapsed wheelchair behind him just as the end of the train cleared the junction and disappeared into the pitch-black tunnel of the gorge.
