The Island's Swansong

V - Return to the Rails

"I've never come across this film," I finished jotting down the tale, "I'll have to look it up when I get home."

"I was given some copies of the poster," Abigail said, "My driver hung them on the wall behind me."

Spinning with my torch, there was the poster, behind me all along. It was now fallen the wall, frame broken by the hard floor of the shed. Split Perspex still covered the image in places. I stepped over the track, bending over for a better look. Water damage had blended the colour dyes, but the engines were still clear as day. There was no denying this was Abigail, and Gordon. Seeing the blue express engine for real, in a photograph, sent chills through my bones. He was real. The mystical blue streak, who raced up and down Sodor's lines more often than any other engine, was real. What a sight he would've been to behold in his prime.

Neither of the engines had their faces visible. The angle of the photographer and position of Abigail running in reverse, towing Gordon's train, hid them. Just as well for the film's continuity.

I brushed the Perspex with my fingers, the tips collecting grime. "I'm sorry you had to watch it decay like this," I said.

"It's okay," Abigail replied, "Fifteen seconds and all that. I had my time."

Worry stopped me from looking at her, as if my expression would reveal some kind of ill truth. Her situation was truly hopeless, as it was for Rosie. Sodor as it was remembered was never coming back.

But...

"You said Dart always kept the refuelling point full and clean?" I turned to her, showing my intrigue over my anxieties.

"Yes?" Abigail raised an eyebrow.

"How would you like one more trip? Down a different part of the island? Something new for you, one more thing. That's the best I can give you."

"One more adventure?" she smiled, eyes gleaming, "It would be my honour."

Leaving Abigail for the moment, I poked around the exterior of the diesel sheds. To the side of the tracks was an old ground signal box. Hauling the rotting wooden door open, twisted hinges gave way as their screws tore out the weakened doorframe. I ducked inside. A couple of point levers jumped out to me, a quick tug of one showing they were stuck in place. I left them be, saving precious energy for taking Abigail down a line likely fraught with hazards.

There. Under the table.

Lowering onto my hands and knees, I rested my elbows on the dusty floorboards. My fingers clawed the sides of the large metal box. A hideous scrape grated my ears as I dragged it over. Flakes of rust and red paint snowed over my hands. Piercing my eardrum with a hideous creak, I opened the toolbox to rummage. My hand grasped a promising handle, hauling the bolt cutters out of the box, rustling and clanking all the other tools. Not wasting any time, I clambered up and made my way back towards the sheds.

Forcing the clipping jaws around the loop of the padlock, the metal split apart as I squeezed the handle in my tight grip. The padlock clattered down onto the ballast. Throwing the bolt cutters aside, I knelt down, fingers grappling the bottom of the shutter. My face clenched as my arms and legs pushed to heave the metal door up. Slowly, and in a very sticky manner, the shutter began to rise. The higher it got, the easier the motion came back to the system. As it passed shoulder height, one more almighty push sent it to the top of the berth's entrance.

Abigail winced at the bright sunlight. "Oh my! I forgot how bright the outside world can be." Her huge eyelids fluttered. "My eyes feel... spotty."