It was foggy, and the scrublands began to thin, and there was the faint echo of machinery in the distance.
Wayside crosses scattered everywhere on the road.
Then a loud whistle carried across the open air.
Gideon sat up straight. "Did ya hear that?"
"The train?" Amos said, perking up, brushing his left eye.
"The station's just over that rise." Gideon nudged Pudding's side, picking up her pace.
They crested over the small hill, and there it was: a transcontinental railroad station.
The station was a squat building; it was squat but massive and made of dark red bricks. Steam hissed and rolled between the platforms as multiple trains came and went.
It was intimidating for a western country boy like Amos.
A town surrounded the station, rows of buildings fading into the mist. At its border stood more crosses, scattered both inside and outside the town.
Pudding slowed, her ears twitching at the noise.
Amos stared, wide-eyed; he hadn't seen anything like this ever. It felt impossible for something like this to exist.
It was Amos's first look at civilization.
"T-This place is… somethin'." he breathed.
Gideon chuckled. "Yeah? well, if this is impressin' ya… You sure as hell ain't ready for New York."
They rode down the slope; the ground went from dirt to gravel to the half-paved road of this town.
The town was awake—way more awake compared to Clearwater; it was loud, busy, and very alive. People hurried past with crates, luggage, and tools. Someone in the background was yelling about a missing mule, and a newspaper boy darting between wagons.
The crosses they'd passed on the outskirts were still everywhere inside the town, standing between houses and storefronts; they were hammered into porches and nailed above windows, hanging from rafters and door frames, and some were carved.
There were crosses literally everywhere.
Gideon noticed Amos staring at all the crosses. "It's to stop demons from coming in; it sorta creates a wall that they can't easily pass."
"They can still pass?"
"Yep, crosses can stop weak demons from comin' in, but they're useless against a stronger demon."
Amos could also smell undercover B.O.A. rangers. They blended into the crowds, but Amos could pick them out instantly. Their eyes always scanning.
They reached the hitching posts near the freight office. Gideon swung off his horse, tying Pudding's reins.
Amos slid down awkwardly, boots thudding on the board.
Amos was surrounded by what felt like everything: train horns, shouting vendors, horses, and clanking metal. Amos forgot to breathe; he was so overwhelmed.
He looked up at the towering brick station, its windows lit with a bluish glow from inside. It felt like standing at the foot of a cathedral made for a giant.
Gideon stepped beside him. "You still got the brass coin?"
"Yeah." He rummaged around in his coat pocket, pulling out the coin.
"Good, let's go."
Amos tucked the coin back into his pocket and followed close to Gideon.
Warm air rushed out the moment Gideon pushed the station doors open. The smell of coal, sweat, smoke, and perfume rushed into Amos's nose. Porters shouted destinations, businessmen barked orders, and there was the metallic grind of couplers.
Amos nearly froze.
Inside, the station looked even larger than it had from outside. The ceiling arched like a church vault, painted with peeling murals of angels holding lanterns on top of trains.
Amos's eye couldn't stay still, darting everywhere to women in traveling dresses, soldiers with rifles slung across their backs, and the undercover B.O.A. rangers silently watching.
And there was a group of children running around.
"Welp!" Gideon said, standing still with a proud look on his face, "Guess this is goodbye!"
Amos's head snapped toward him. "W-What? Already?!"
Gideon grinned like it was obvious. "Kid, I ain't goin' to New York. I got my own job to get back to; besides, I ain't built for New York." Gideon cracked his finger. "Civilization… it's a weird thing; you'll understand when ya get there."
Amos's stomach tightened, curling his hands into a fist, the corner of his lips twitching down. The crowd felt like it got louder.
Gideon sighed, not knowing how to deal with this situation. Hell, he too was getting a tad bit emotional; he got a little attached as well in the few days they traveled together.
Amos looked up.
"It… uh… was nice… talkin' to you…" Amos said, not really understanding what he's saying.
"Why you actin' like I'm dying or somethin'? Just say goodbye you idiot." Gideon said, crossing his arms.
Amos blinked, caught off guard. "I—I just… goodbye… then."
Gideon smirked, though his eyes softened. "Ahh… that's better. Now go on; ya don't wanna miss yer' train now."
Amos then turned around and walked toward the ticket counters.
Gideon watched for a moment longer, like he was waiting for Amos to turn around or something.
"Kid's gon' be somethin', hell… I can almost feel it…" He muttered, tucking his hands in his coat.
Then Gideon turned around and walked away.
Amos turned around to see him one last time, but he was already gone. The feeling felt similar to death even though Gideon didn't die, thank God, but he realized that he might never see Gideon again; in those few days, he got pretty attached. After all, Gideon was his first friend in a long time, but he was gone now.
Amos then turned around again, his hands in his pockets and his head down.
Amos reached the ticket counter, fumbling slightly with the brass coin. A clerk with a crisp uniform leaned over, peering at him curiously.
"New York City?" The clerk said, handing him the coin back.
"Y—Yeah…"
The clerk gave a curt nod and handed him a ticket stamped with the city, date, and the words 'first-class.' "Boarding's in ten minutes. Platform three."
Amos nodded.
He turned and sat down on the bench. An old woman was sitting next to him, holding up a crying baby.
"Shhh…" she said, patting the baby, trying to calm it.
Amos just sat there.
He just sat there. Half-expecting for Gideon to just magically show up.
Amos sighed.
"S–Sorry, she don't like staying still." The old woman said she had an Irish accent.
"I wasn't sighing at ya."
"Oh…" she said, a little embarrassed. "Well, what are ya sighing at?"
Amos scratched the back of his neck. "Stuff…"
"Well… Stuff can be heavy," she said. "Anyways, why ain't ya in school? It's school hours, ain't it?"
"I don't know."
"Whaddya mean ya don't know?"
"It's not my thing!"
The baby cried louder.
"Ain't your thing? Ya gotta go to school! How else ya gonna get a job to feed your family and such?"
"I don't care about family… Or school."
"Ya don't care about family! That's ridiculous! Everybody cares about their family! See this baby cryin'? She makes me wanna rip my hair out at times and chuck her out a window, but I'd go to hell for her."
"I don't care."
"Ughh… yer' a bitter lad aren'tcha, Where's your mother? I oughta tell her 'bout yer' manners!"
"Good luck with that."
The baby cried even louder.
A train horn blared in the distance.
The woman stared at him a bit longer and decided to stop talking to him. The baby wouldn't shut up, though.
The train that arrived was on platform three; he stood up and disappeared into the crowd.
The baby suddenly stopped crying.
"Platform three—boarding now!"
Amos adjusted his coat and took a deep breath. People hurried past, voices calling, whistles shrieking, and steam hissing from the engine.
His eye started to ache a lot more. It wants out.
The train loomed ahead, black and shiny, smoke curling from its stack. He could see the conductor waving passengers aboard, calling out, "All aboard! Last call for New York City!"
"Ticket, please!" the conductor said.
He gave the conductor his ticket; the conductor took a moment to read the ticket.
The conductor glanced at him for a second and then back at the ticket.
"Okay! Come on in!" He guided him into the first-class car.
As Amos stepped in, his jaw dropped. The cabin was lavish, with dark polished wood panels lining the walls, brass fixtures lustering, and velvet seats that looked like they were descended from heaven.
"Your own cabin, until New York," he said, standing at the sliding door frame.
"Bon Voyage!" He said, and then he slid the door shut.
Alone now, Amos sank down into the soft and plush seat.
A small window revealed the station receding behind him; smoke curled up into the sky. Outside was buzzing with activity—a crowd of rich people that all smelled very good, like expensive cologne and perfume. But inside his cabin was calm.
"This is nice…"
He turned right; there was a button, and he pushed it.
Nothing happened.
He pressed it again.
Nothing.
He kept pressing it repeatedly.
An attendant knocked and then opened the cabin door.
The attendant stepped in, a polite smile fixed on her face, but her eye was twitching. "Did you call for service…?"
Amos didn't move his hand from the button. "This thing ain't workin'."
"That's because it alerts ME, sir," she said, her twitching more often now. "Is something the matter, sir?"
"Do ya guys have any food…?"
She blinked. a little perplexed on who this boy was. "Okay… uh… sit tight."
She then stepped out and closed the door.
He pressed his hand to his aching left eye. "Ughh… could ya screw off!"
There was a soft knock on the sliding door.
The attendant slid the door. "Sir? Your lunch."
She carried a silver tray, a steaming plate of food, and a crystal carafe of water.
She carefully set it down on the table in front of him. She gave a polite nod, then left, leaving him alone with the train's rumble.
He took off his hat, strands of hair falling down on his face, his mouth drooling at the sight of roast chicken, vegetables, fresh bread… all the things he'd never imagine he'd put in his mouth.
He grabbed the silver fork and knife, trying to cut a piece of chicken; it kept getting stuck, and it wasn't going anywhere.
"Ughh… how do rich folks do this…?" He kept trying; his tongue stuck out. "Whatever." He set the utensils down and started eating the way he always does, with his hands and messily.
He tore a hunk of bread, dipping it in gravy. He took it all in his mouth; it was warm, soft, and amazingly delicious.
Amos picked up a plump piece of chicken and bit down on it with a satisfying crunch. Juice was dripping down his chin, his shirt, and he did not care.
He licked all of his fingers one by one, then he washed it all down with water.
Then his eye ached again. "Oww...!"
He quickly locked the door and closed the curtains.
Then he slowly opened his left eye.