The Island's Swansong

XXIX - One Last Ride

The remains of what must've been Hackenbeck passed by, but I was too absorbed in everything to notice. Having shovelled like mad up until that point, I stepped away from the smoldering air emanating from the firebox. Awkwardly shuffling to the cab door, I threw my warm cheeks into the cool breeze rushing passed us. The smell of soot, blended with the humidity of Thomas' steam, tickled my nose and skin. The otherworldly sensory stimulation carried me away, until Anne called.

"Get back here, fireman," she ordered, like a Hatt, "That fire's not going to sustain itself."

We rounded a curve. A hillside, now held back by gabions, towered up beside us in a famed landslip location. Atop the hill was the remnants of a cottage, swamped by ivy and unchecked shrubbery. No red dressing gown waved from the window.

I pulled myself back into the cab and hobbled back towards the shovel. Anne was watching gauges, checking controls, in what amounted to wizardry to my uninitiated brain. No two trains controlled the same. Control layout and sensitivities varied between classes. Each engine was their own being, even without Sodor's mystical nature thrown into the mix.

"Everything looks so... wild," Thomas said, "Terence's field looks like a miniature forest!"

I craned my neck mid-shovel to look outside. What had once been a plowed field was drowned by grasses, wildflowers and silver birch trees the height of a man.

"What happened to him?" Thomas called back to Anne.

"I don't know," she replied, adjusting the brake and regulator. Thomas slowed, his puffs weakening enough to hear the rattling Defender on the tracks behind us. "How's the tunnel looking?" Anne called ahead.

"Hard to tell," Thomas answered, "I can't see the end."

"We'll have to hope for the best," Anne slowed us to a crawl as we approached the tunnel entrance. If there was the slightest blockage, she could stop us immediately, and hopefully reverse us out without issue.

Or so I told myself. Terence wasn't around to help this time.

We edged down the tunnel, pistons hissing. Steam washing a hot mist through the cab. Scratching and scraping disturbed the roof above me. "What's that?"

It wasn't falling rock, or soil. The dark tunnel took on a claustrophobic, constricting feel, not helped by the unidentifiable sound.

"It feels prickly," Thomas said, hushed, "I think its roots from the soil, creeping through the brick roof."

"We best get out before one catches us, and brings the bricks and dirt down," Anne instructed. Our speed kicked up a micro-notch, and light soon emerged ahead. "Tunnel's clear!"

We burst forth back into daylight, breathing in relief. I shovelled some more biochar into the firebox, then Anne stopped me with her arm. "It's burning slower than coal, but more efficiently. Let's see how we go."

I nodded, putting the shovel down as I returned to the cab door. Anne let Thomas gather speed. "What I'd give for some weedkiller," Thomas moaned, flattening some more horsetails and thistles we went. I wondered if they were irritating his undercarriage.

"How does the track-bed feel?" Anne called out, "Any loose rails or uneven ballast?"

"Not enough to concern me yet," said Thomas.

A rumble underneath us shook us, but we continued on.

"Best be cautious, just in case," Anne grimaced.

I looked out the cab. Callan river was running parallel too us. The track's embankment had had its side eaten away or into by fluctuating water levels over the years. The high-water mark was close to the bottom of the sleepers.