Chapter 3: Up and Out
Then. Early Evening.
Time passed slowly at the station. Harold had arrived at just past ten and spent the better part of his afternoon in Felton Depot. Outside, the rain had steadily picked up until it was a light shower. He had gone hungry at lunch but his stomach couldn’t help but growl. The only other person in the depot was the station agent, who sat behind his desk, trying with all his effort to ignore the perceived degenerate who sat only a few yards away. Harold didn’t mind. The days when working manual labor was respectable were long gone and Harold was very aware that most people looked on him with pity, if they looked at him at all.
As seven in the evening approached, a woman arrived with a brown paper bag, which she handed to the agent. The two smiled at each other and Harold looked down. A moment later, the woman stood before him. The hem of her yellow dress was muddy but Harold could still make out the tiny white flowers speckled across it. He looked up sheepishly, but the woman smiled down at him.
“Robert over there says that you’ve been here all day,” she said. She took a seat on the wooden bench beside him. Harold squirmed uncomfortably.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got a ticket for the evening train, and I wanna make sure I don’t miss it,” he replied matter-of-fact. He held open his hand to reveal his heavily creased but still legitible ticket. He had been holding it since the morning.
“Well, don’t you worry. The train will arrive, you’ll see, and then you can be off to wherever you’re planning on going.” She continued to smile as she got up off the bench, but before Harold could lower her head, she turned around and handed him the brown paper bag. “Robert called up earlier and said you hadn’t had a thing to eat since you’ve been here. Nasty day, it is, so I figure I’d bring something to tide you over.”
Harold took the bag graciously, uncertain what to say other than a timid “Thanks, ma’am.”
The woman in the yellow dress walked back to the station agent, pecked him on the cheek, and whispered something to him. He glanced over at Harold and then back at her, but she was already walking out the door. Outside, a car engine revved and then the sound of rain returned. The agent and Harold both looked out the door. They then glanced at each other before quickly turning away.
Harold started to dig around in the bag, pulling out a ham sandwich with all the fixings. He consumed it slowly, savoring each bite. It was the first thing he had eaten for two days. When he finished, he looked back up to the agent, who was pretending to read a book at his desk. He decided against thanking the man for making the call. They both knew how much it meant.
Suddenly, a whistle sounded in the distance. Harold looked up at the clock. 7:25 p.m. The train was late. The rain must have slowed its progress up San Lorenzo Gorge. Harold got up and brushed the crumbs of his pants and blazer. Outside, he could hear the locomotive’s brakes screeching to a halt beneath the large water tower beside the depot.
A soot-covered engineer popped into the depot, and the agent and him went outside, leaving Harold alone. Harold looked around and realized he didn’t have any luggage, just his ticket. He left the shelter of the station as rain began to fall in sheets outside. This would be a long ride...
Now. Noon.
I was scratching my head befuddled. Why would the Santa Cruz County Board of Supervisors go along with Southern Pacific in its coverup. The evidence was so obvious. Even if there were no passengers on the train, the crew still seems to have disappeared on the evening of February 26, 1940. It made no sense. Thinking back to my previous research, though, it became clear that it did make sense. A lot of sense, actually. The supervisors had fought the Sentinel and the Chamber of Commerce throughout the following months as it became clear that the railroad sought abandonment. For whatever reason, they went along with the railroad company’s deception, even the two board members who voted against the motion. By November, the route was officially abandoned and the matter was put to rest permanently.
Cover-up or not, it was increasingly clear that a train had, in fact been buried in the mountains, or otherwise lost. The rumors, the ones I had so emphatically dismissed, were true. This troubled me more than I had anticipated. If a train was still out there, where was it? Surely it must be in one of the mile-long tunnels. The tunnel under Mountain Charlie Road had been exposed for decades and there was no train inside. This would require a whole new level of investigation.
The weather was good for a drive in the mountains. The unseasonably warm air provided the motivation I needed. I called up my two fellow explorers, Joe and Jonathan, and explained the situation to them. Both were eager to join me in this dig. And dig it would be.
Considering the two tunnels, I realised that the more logical one to search would be the Summit Tunnel, but that would also be the most dangerous. Plagued with methane leaks, oil slicks, and coal veins, it was dangerous. Rumor held that a team from UC Santa Cruz had drilled a hole into the interior of the tunnel in 1990 to inspect earthquake damage, but quickly sealed it back up when their monitors detected dangerous levels of gas in the chamber. Exploring that tunnel would be a last resort.
No, the tunnel between Glenwood and Laurel was our target. The portals on either side were easily accessible and the southern portal at Glenwood was obscure enough that locals probably wouldn’t ask any questions if we dug around there. Joe would bring along a pickaxe that he had, while Jonathan would provide the shovels. I had a heavy-duty crowbar and high-powered flashlight. Together, we would do what hadn’t been done in nearly eighty years. We would reopen the tunnel to see just what the Southern Pacific Railroad had left behind.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While some elements may be based on historical fact, the events described are entirely the author's own creation.
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