Hinderwall (Engine Car #5) (children's fiction for adults...or adults fiction for children)

This is the fifth part of the story. You can read the first parts here:

Up to the Engine Car

Riot act (Engine Car #2)

The Trial (Engine Car #3)

Old Friends (Engine Car #4)

Somewhere far off, in a wilderness behind a town, behind the church in the valley behind the fields of war, there is a clearing in a forest. It's a most strange place that no one has ever seen before and come back to tell of it. It's a place that no one quite understand how it came to be, but luckily most do not care.
And on that piece of soft earth – because in the clearing, the land is always soft and fertile, regardless of the time of year – there are...railroad tracks, one that no man remembers putting there. The tracks are old, they're markings of a long dead society, of a long lost world. The ties either way to anywhere have been severed for many years and so, the little clearing goes nowhere. It is fixed in place, because nobody will arrive here by train and nobody shall ever leave. There is, of course, the question of who thought to build railroad tracks in such a remote spot in the first place. The clearing is far off from any town or village that might still exist and it is most certainly not in the way.
And so, passing through the clearing would be a matte of choice, rather than necessity. It's possible that whoever designed the road of the train did so on purpose. It can be easily believed, in the reader is so willing, that the man behind the rails knew exactly what he was doing and intended this specific spot as a place for hiding. It is possible that one such soul saw the beauty of such a place, of breaking away from the world entirely, of losing contact and establishing a whole new world and built his rails through here specifically with that purpose in mind.

But enough questions about our mysterious Creator. Humanity has always been keen on dwelling, particularly on such unanswerable subjects and not moving forth the story. And that simply will not do. Our time together is limited, you must go about your business and I mine, and our characters must be seen to before that happens.

In this clearing, so well hidden from other traces of human life,there is a sudden noise that rings out across the green plains and echoes through the mind of the sleepers. For there are, in this forest, two figures resting on two enormous plastic bags. Three, if you count the teddy bear in the boy's arms.
And they are all snapped awake by the shrill song of baby blue birds, crying high and loud, so as to make themselves heard throughout the forest. The cries wake the two sleeping figures, yet don't penetrate the thick walls of the train, where more sleepers remain unstirred.

Young Johann Earthstocking gives out a short cry and attempts to jump off the bag, but only manages to scramble to the ground – rather pathetically – and quiver behind the makeshift bed.
'There's nothing wrong, boy,' old Mrs Summers mutters, as she rubs her eyes, smudging her loud pink makeup. 'They're just birds, not monsters hiding behind the trees.'
'Then why are they screaming like that?' Johann asks, not moving from his hiding spot.
'I doubt anyone can tell you that,' the old lady murmurs and sits up with a screech.
'Aah, bones and ashes. We used to sleep in the rough for weeks at a time, when I was a dancer.'
Ann Summers has always been a mighty woman, and she's grown even greater with her old age, but the years have not been kind to her joints and although she did use to sleep outside for weeks, with her starving artist friends, that was a long time ago. She has grown accustomed to her soft bed inside the train and although she'd never admit it, even on pain of death, she missed her old feather pillow.

She scrambles off her own bed and attempts to jump around – an old wake-up trick, good for both eyes and bones – but only manages to limp around a little, before giving up altogether. She's awake enough, for now.
She shows Johann how to deflate the two bags, then wraps them carefully and puts them back inside her bag. She then closes that pocket, only to open another and bring out two sandwiches full of strawberry jam and crisp butter.
'You need some nourishment, my boy, there's a long road ahead,'
And they eat without another word, the old woman wondering what lies ahead and Johann wondering what else she's managed to stuff inside that bag.
Then, Johann Earthstocking and old Ann Summers, who used to be a ballerina, in her prime, abandon their home and set out to find a new one, into the great world of dust.

The two of them walk for a very long time, not really talking to one another, despite Johann's repeated attempts to find out what really happened to this long lost world. All in its time.
They follow the railroad tracks, or at least their general direction, as so many tiles have been removed, to prevent access to the clearing.
Johann wonders who removed them, since whoever did must've done it after the train arrived to the clearing, or else it would have no way of materializing. So whoever did it must know that the train is there...Well, of course they do, he realizes, they're probably on the train. Who knows, maybe even Mrs Summers helped take the rails out of the ground, all those years ago and it pricks his tongue to ask why.
He walks, trailing after the old woman, taking in the great world of dust that he's never seen before. The light of the sun nibbles at his eyes, forcing him to look away, to the sides or down. Never up, because then, he might go blind, and he really wouldn't like that. He holds Wilkins to his chest, facing out, and they stare in awe together at the tall trees that cast their shadows over their small faces, and at the fallen leaves and branches, so...different from anything they've seen before. And as they walk, attempting from time to time, to look up into the great big ball of fire, and shaking off the temporary blindness, they find railroad tracks once more. They're old and rusty, and covered in moss, but they are there, remnants of the old world.

They stick to the tracks, walking along the cold metal, Johann occasionally bending down low to touch it. Their train used to pass through here, before it stopped for good. It used to come from somewhere and go somewhere else and people didn't use to live there. They used to live in their own homes, with rooms, within buildings, with other people, and sometimes alone. Maybe they still do.

And although they walk for a long time, following the rail backwards, they eventually come to a stop. They find themselves standing outside a village, in the woods, a smattering of houses and other little brick buildings. Johann sees a distinct pair of gray-green eyes staring through the foggy glass of a window, following them down the empty streets. There is no one in the town, except perhaps for that one pair of eyes. Here, it's Mrs Summers' turn to stop in wonder, to stare at the buildings, to touch the walls.
She used to live in a place just like this one, once her dancing came to an end and she was too old to sprint up quite like she used to do. And she'd settled, in a town just like this one with a husband, whose name she's forgotten by now.
The town does not look deserted. On the contrary, there are warm ashes were a fire used to be till recently, and Johann stumbles on a wooden object in his path that turns out to be a small car, a gift to a child, perhaps.
Somebody's missing this, he thinks. He shows it to Wilkins, who nods and they share an imaginary thought of how much they miss their own toys. And yet, Johann wouldn't give this journey up for a trainful of toys. No amount of wooden cars and animals can rival the bright light of the sun on his skin and the mysteries that lie just up ahead.

'I saw someone,' he says, as they near the edge of town. Mrs Summers turns at once, a grave look in her eye.
'Then why didn't you say so, boy?' she demands and turns back. 'These walking shoes are not quite what they used to be.'
They limp together to the house where he saw the eyes, or at least, where he thinks he saw them. The houses all look so alike to Johann now, all built of yellowing bricks, same shape, same dirty windows.
And they knock on the door. Shy, at first, then with more passion. Their fists rap on the door until it slides open, revealing a dusty inside that looks all-forgotten.
Then, a long, thin face snakes its way to the front of the house, staring at the two strangers. It's like something out of a nightmare, Johann thinks.
'Where did you come from?' it asks.
And before Johann can open his mouth to tell the figure about the train, he feels Ann Summers' long fingers wrap around his bony shoulder.
'We came from the forest, good man. We were traveling with friends and we became lost, so we followed the old railroad tracks and found ourselves here.'
There's not a hair out of place on the old woman's head, but Johann can hear the soft tremble in her voice.

The figure nods, understanding and gestures for them to sit down, on two chairs made gray by dust.
'We don't often get visitors here and we tend to be a bit weary, I hope you understand.'
'Of course we do,' Mrs Summers nods, 'we've spent a good long while in hiding ourselves. It seemed the only logical thing to do.'
Johann bites his cheeks, leaving deep hollow marks, so as not to speak the words he's dying to ask, how come these people survived the virus as well? And how is it that they live here, in this world of dust?
He hadn't thought it strange that the world itself had survived, but that other people existed on the outside did. It seemed downright impossible.
'Do you have any idea where your friends are headed?' the ghostly man asked, not at all unkind.
It was Johann's turn to speak, he felt, because the words burned in his throat to be let out. He shakes his head.
'No, they didn't tell us anything, we were traveling with my mother and her boyfriend. He was leading us somewhere, to meet some old friends, he said, although he didn't say what that meant. He wasn't a very good man.'
The boy scraped around the corners of his mind for details about the little boy in Car 33, Ethan, his name was, and his life, for it was his tale that he was telling, rather than his own. He could see before his eyes the face of the boyfriend, a man with a rat-like face, a pointy mustache and mean little eyes, that always ordered the boy about, except when his father was there. But Ethan's father now lived in Car 2, with his new girlfriend and didn't come around so often.
This seemed to touch a chord in the ghostly man, who shook his head. 'Few men are, these days.'
He led them outside the dust-filled house and around the village where, one by one, other ghostly people began emerging from the houses, some came out of the ground, through secret doors that Johann hadn't noticed before, although now, they were all he could see.
He saw not only men and women, but also children rise from the earth and from behind the dark doors. Suddenly, the houses didn't seem alike at all – the people parading out of them were all so different.
Not that the people on the train were all the same, not in the least, but these here were more and far more varied than the people on the train had ever been.
These ghostly faces seemed to have so much more color and, despite all the dust, more life.
The ghost-man introduced himself as Hector.
'Like the defender of Troy,' he said, with a sad smile.
'Who's Troy?' Johann asked and Hector laughed.
'What. It was a city, long ago. Hector was its greatest fighter, who died defending it. Just like I will die defending our planet, kid.'
This got a small grunt of approval from the people around Hector. They would all defend their falling Troy, it would seem.
'Look, you're welcome to stay here with us. We can always use some extra hands around,' he said and winked at the young boy.

The ghostly people showed Johann and Mrs Summers to a house with a purple door. It was a most strange color, especially as all the other houses had doors of a deep navy blue.
'Don't worry, it's not haunted or anything,' Hector told them, pushing the door open.

It was a nice enough house, but then any would've been, to Johann Earthstocking, since he'd never really lived in a house before, nice or otherwise. It was decided he would live on the floor above, while Mrs Summers would take the large, well-lit room on the ground, because of her legs.
'My legs are just fine,' she protested, but the staircase looked rather steep to Johann and he convinced her.

So, the small town of Hinderwall – for that was its name – welcomed its newest inhabitants with kindness and joy, as they would any brother. And while they both appreciated this immensely, Johann couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed, since he still had no answers.
He had to be very careful, it was obvious, on how and whom he'd ask. Mrs Summers wasn't too forthcoming, yet he didn't want to set off the other inhabitants of this village. The boy spent a good few days watching the people, until he settled on Hector, the kind, ghostly man who'd been their first contact with the outside world. There had been something understanding in the man's eyes that first day, which gave Johann confidence.

He took his bear, dear old Wilkins, in his arms, having learned from the past not to leave on an adventure without him and set about his task. He approached the man, as the great ball of fire in the sky was setting.
Hector sat on a wood log, staring into a small fire.
'You've come, I see, finally,' the man said with a smile, then seeing that Johann didn't understand, he explained, 'there are questions in your eyes, boy. I saw them from the day I first set eyes on you. And I will try to answer them.'
Johann looked at the kindly man with weary eyes. Although he seemed a good man, nobody could be trusted. He'd trusted the people on the train and look where that got him.
'It's just that my mother's boyfriend wasn't a very...'
'You told me,' Hector said, quickly.
'Yes, and they wouldn't tell me much about the world, you know, about what happened. He wouldn't tell me much about anything, in fact.'
'You're a clever boy,' the ghostly man smiled. 'And you lie, I can tell. I have a feeling you know a whole lot...about anything. Still, I will humor you, child.'
And so, Hector, defender of Hinderwall and indeed, the human race, began telling his tale of destruction and dust.

to be continued...

I tagged the first part of this as Young Adult fiction, then the lovely @megan.emerald suggested 'children's fiction for adults', which I liked better. (Check her out, by the way, she's new). Well, I'm not sure where exactly it fits. Guess we'll see, huh?

Anyhow, credits for the artwork go to Cdd20 on Pixabay. And also, here.

Thank you so much for reading,