Escape
Sarah checked her watch again. Almost seven. She shivered. It wasn’t just the cold evening or the raw soil she was sitting on, hidden behind the bushes by the road.
Why’s he late?
Steve should have arrived at a quarter to. A few more minutes and she would have to forfeit their plans and go back home.
Home. For Sarah, home was just a word.
She couldn’t go back. Not really.
Where are you, Steve?
Sarah heard the low rumble of a car approaching. She dared a look from her hiding point, and almost yelled.
Steve!
The car hadn’t had time to stop and she was already opening the door and throwing her tiny case in. They roared away at once.
“What’s happened?” Sarah was almost in tears.
“I’m sorry! The car didn’t start. For a moment, I almost thought it was him…”
“He cannot. Not with machines.”
“I know. But all I could think was, what if he has somehow found out and has just sabotaged my car? And I just got more and more nervous!”
“You’re here now,” she sighed. “We’re late.”
“I’ll speed up. We won’t be late. We cannot be late.”
Sarah just clenched her teeth and stared ahead, her knuckles white as she held to her seatbelt, while the car sped along the road. They reached a crossing and Steve turned right almost without slowing down. A dust cloud rose where the wheels had spun on dirt.
“I don’t want to die on the road,” Sarah whispered.
“You won’t. You’re not getting back, I swear. We’ll arrive on time.”
It was getting darker. The train station lights were already on. A digital clock showed nine past seven.
“One minute!” Sarah said.
“We’ll make it!” Steve said. He entered the car park, chose a place and just braked his way in. He engaged the handbrake, switched the engine off and took the keys. “Come on!”
They ran to the platform, hand in hand.
“The tickets!” Sarah stopped, pointing at the machine.
“I got them yesterday,” Steve smiled briefly. “With cash.”
Sarah nodded.
“What if the train is late?” she said.
“It won’t. It never is.”
There was a ping from the information panel above. The 7:10 train was running five minutes late. The clock ticked to 7:11.
Steve stared at Sarah.
“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Do you think he…?”
“You said it. Not possible.”
Steve started pacing the platform. Sarah just stared down the rails, as if wishing was enough to make the train appear.
Time stretched out.
7:13.
“Steve!”
He saw it. Tendrils of mist had appeared and were spreading everywhere. Already the traffic lights beyond the station couldn’t be seen. The fog grew quickly, clinging to all the surfaces like a live, poisonous hazy ivy.
Sarah hugged Steve and hid her face in his chest.
“It’s him! He’s found out!” she sobbed.
“No.”
“But this fog! I’ve never seen anything like it. What if…?”
“No. Don’t you even mention it.”
But it was difficult not to. Both of them could see it: the fog was condensing in the road, and now it concentrated around Steve’s car. As if it was alive, the densest clouds moved toward the station.
An unnatural icy chill accompanied the fog, as it curled and coiled its way through the platform.
Towards them.
Steve pushed Sarah behind him, as the misty cloud pushed upwards and started coalescing… into a human form that seemed to be pointing at them.
Then they heard it. It must have sounded before, but they hadn’t noticed, gripped by fear as they were.
The train’s whistle.
The engine broke through the mist, a three-eyed monster screeching to a halt right beside them. A door opened.
“Get in!” Steve said. He climbed aboard behind her and slammed the door shut. Had that been a bang on the door? They stared through the window as the train chugged off, slowly picking up speed again.
The shape in the mist raised its arms and roared.
~~~~
This is my accompanying entry for the Weekly Writing Exercise: December 4–10, 2017 at the Writer’s Discussion Group on Google+. I am responsible for creating the prompts for the Exercise, so I don’t take part, but I still like to write a story each week.
I fell in love with this photography as soon as I saw it: I thought it was full of potential and, indeed, some of the stories it spurned were brilliant.
And here’s my own take on the image. As it’s becoming usual these last weeks, I’m writing late. Oh well.
