Chapter 2
May 4th, 1869
New York State
John and Amos made their way to the dining car. Judging by John's watch, it was time for dinner. The lanterns were being lit one by one, so that the cloud of darkness dissapeared in blotches here and there until the whole train was illuminated. John and Amos sat themselves down at an empty table with a good view of the countryside speeding by. John ordered a steak, while Amos settled for a simple stew. The food did not take long to arrive, and soon the duo's hunger was gone. They talked of what they saw out the window. A small farm sped by, followed by a town of near village proportions. John and Amos paid for their meal, then hastily left the dining car due to a rush of hungry people squeezing in through the door. John and Amos headed towards the sleeper car. John wanted to wake up early in the morning to take another look at the mysterious black car. John and Amos said goodnight, and retired to their sleeping cabins across the hall from each other. John put out the lamp and closed his eyes. He dreamed that the train derailed and exploded, and then he was flying high above the land only to come crashing down on his skull. John woke with a start, clutching the sheets, and a drop of sweat ran down his forehead. I'm okay, he realized. I'm still on the train going to San Francisco.
John walked into the dining car to find Amos already there, eating an apple and staring at the sunrise. " 'morning John" Amos said, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. John sat down, realizing he did not go to the rear car at all. He dismissed the notion and got a bowl of fruit from the basket in the middle of the table. "What's so interesting out there?" John questioned. "Nothing, nothing." said Amos, shaking his head. This seemed a bit strange to John, who always liked to know everything. "I should have been a journalist." he thought glumly. "Then I could have remained in Connecticut, and I would never have killed that poor man. He didn't deserve that, and I deserve all consequences." John stared at the apple core, taking a particular interest in the seeds. It fascinated him how such little insignificant things could turn into a tree bearing fruit. That is what I must do, he thought, go from being insignificant to being a beautiful tree full of fruit.
Suddenly, a man burst into the car bearing deep scratches on his left cheek. "The dead man!" He shrieked. "The dead man attacked me!" A gasp rose from the other diners in the car. The man fell to the floor, clutching his head, yelling about dead men. A doctor from compartment 9 managed to calm him down and dress his wounds. "What happened?" questioned the doctor. "I... I was checking on the caskets," coughed the man, "And I saw a funny looking fellow in the back of the car," the man lowered his voice, "I said 'Hello there!' and he leaped on me and scratched my face up bad." finished the man. "Where is this 'walking dead man'?" asked the doctor. "I locked him in the casket car." replied the man. "What cabin are you in?" "Number nineteen, yessiree." said the man, his eyes rolling back into his head, exposing the whites. "This man is sick, and must be quarentined!" declared the doctor. Spectators helped carry the limp body back to cabin nineteen, leaving him some food, water, and locking him inside the cabin. Amos looked through the little window on the compartment door. He felt sorry for the man. Maybe he was delusional. He clucked his tongue and walked back to cabin twelve.
Poll