An Adventure Aboard the Train that Never Stops (Part 4: The WILD)

After a night aboard the Möbius, Ezra, John, and Sophie prepare to uncover the truth about the thieves. In the morning light, the WILD stretches out before them—a beautiful yet haunting landscape of deserted hills, valleys, and plains, where an unsettling stillness reigns. Tasked with watching for the elusive bandits, John and Sophie set back out into the wind, taking up lookout positions along the racing train. As John spends more time with Sophie, he feels an undeniable pull toward her—yet Ezra warns him: Sophie may not be who she claims to be.

Welcome to "The Atlantium Mysteries"! I am Joseph Compton, the creative force behind this podcast, where we embark on thrilling journeys filled with mystery, intrigue, and unexpected twists. Each episode invites you to explore a world of powerful figures, hidden secrets, and moral dilemmas, all crafted with rich storytelling and dynamic characters. As the sole writer and recorder, I am dedicated to creating captivating tales that the whole family can enjoy. With a passion for storytelling and a commitment to connecting with listeners, I pour my heart and soul into every episode, navigating the challenges of writing, editing, and production. Prepare for a captivating ride that inspires joy and curiosity, making each installment an unforgettable adventure!

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Transcript

I woke to a sound. It was still dark inside the Phoenix Fire, but I knew it could be high noon outside and I wouldn't know for sure unless I opened the door or activated the outside monitor. The engine was thrumming, and I began to wonder if I had imagined the noise. Ezra was still sleeping heavily behind me. I glanced at the bunk where Sophie had slept, but all I could see was the black sleeping bag—whether she was in it or not was unclear.

I convinced myself I had only dreamed the sound, but as I felt the stiffness in my limbs, I knew there was no way I was getting back to sleep. Suddenly, I heard another noise, then the door to the small water closet opened, and Sophie stepped out. She paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before sitting down on the bench. Not wanting to appear as though I were spying on her, I rolled over with a noisy moan, pretending I had just woken up. But my feigned sounds quickly turned into genuine groans as I felt the ache in my back and limbs. Painfully, I dragged myself into the captain’s seat.

“Good morning,” Sophie said softly. “I’m sorry to have woken you. I couldn’t hold it any longer.”

I glanced at my watch. It was just after six. “No problem,” I told her. “Probably best to get up sooner rather than later.” I stretched my back and rolled my head to ease my stiff neck.

She asked pityingly, “How was it? Pretty terrible?”

“I was fine until the moment I woke up and felt it,” I told her.

She apologized sympathetically, then I asked how she had slept. She replied that she had slept well enough, and then we fell into silence, unsure what to say or do. My mind raced for something to discuss, but nothing seemed quite good enough. Finally, she broke the silence. “Should we wake Ezra?”

“Nah,” I said. “He seems to have an unnatural control over his sleep. He can turn it off and on like a switch and has different settings. He can sleep so deeply that I could clap my hands next to his ear, and it wouldn’t faze him, or so lightly that a whisper in the next room would stir him. If he wants to be awake, he will be; if not, it’s fine, we won’t have to talk to him that way.”

“That’s not very nice,” she said, laughing. “But from what I sensed from him last night, I think I know what you mean. I like him, he’s clever, but he’s…what the word…brusque.”

I chuckled wryly saying, “Yeah that’s one word for it.”

Her lovely eyes smiled at me in the low light as she said, “But you two are good friends, right?”

I sighed, contemplating what friendship truly means. “Yeah, I guess we are. I trust him. I know him better than anyone else, and I get that he can be grating. But he doesn’t mean it maliciously, which makes it different. The rest of us often spend so much time softening our words that we practically unsay what we really mean. You know what I mean?”

She sat back, contemplating for a moment before responding. “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like telling someone they’re being rude but then excusing them, shifting the blame to myself for being too sensitive. We can’t express what we really feel because we fear we’ll have to defend it forever. That’s what I dread most about talking to people: the pressure that whatever I say has to be true indefinitely.

“Why can’t I share my feelings now without worrying about changing my mind later? Not to be flippant, but haven’t you ever felt strongly about something and then, years later, realized it doesn’t matter to you anymore? Why is there such a stigma around changing our minds? I guess it’s fear. If I admit it’s acceptable for me to change my mind about something I once felt certain about, then I’m afraid someone else might do the same to me. Like if you told me you loved me, I’d have to accept that, at some point in the future, you might not feel that way anymore.”

Her words carried a potency that spoke of a painful past, but my mind was overwhelmed by a singular thought: telling her that I loved her. What a dream. What a distant, unbelievable dream. Instantly, my thoughts spun into a future where our lives were intermingled and inseparable, but I lingered in these fancies overlong. And I realized too late, I had left her in silence for too long. The moment for a response had passed.

She stood, dismissing her own words with a half-hearted laugh that pained me to hear and said, “Well, that’s all just nonsense.” Moving passed me toward the screen she said, “How do we turn this on so we can see outside?”

I felt like a fool. She had offered me sincerity and depth, and I had been—John Spencer—the bumbling fool. Not knowing what else to do, I stood and approached the console, searching the dimly glowing buttons for the right one, allowing the distraction to distract. Soon, I found it and pressed it. Instantly, the cabin was bathed in soft gray morning light. We both squinted, momentarily turning away, and I heard her laugh again—her true, beautiful laugh.

As our eyes adjusted, we gazed at the wild world before us—sometimes racing along open expanses, other times plunging through dense forests. The train ran straight and level, undeterred by hills or valleys. We had left the Appalachian Plateau and entered the Central Lowlands, yet the landscape still rose and fell like the ceaseless swells of a great green sea. Mist lay thick in the gorges and hovered over the rivers. 

“It’s beautiful,” Sophie said. I had no response. Mile after mile of earth in its natural state unfolded before us. We gazed out the window without seeing a single sign of human existence, aside from the track, which seemed to appear on the horizon like magic. It felt as though we were on an empty planet—a place where man had not yet set foot, and this train and its tracks were relics of a different race and time.

Then, far off to the right, we spotted a house on a hillside. We scrutinized it silently, both of us wondering the same thing: Is it inhabited? It was a lonely-looking place, shrouded in dark shadows. As we passed by, we saw a tree growing right through the roof, confirming my suspicion.

This sight gave me an eerie sense of the emptiness and isolation of the WILD. I knew there were still people out here—large communities, even cities—but living in them must feel like living on distant islands in a deserted ocean. I wondered what life had been like for the people who lived here fifty or sixty years ago. There would have been many more homes nearby, like the one we had just seen, had they too escaped the fires. The very land beneath the tracks could have once been a thriving town, with homes, offices, industries, children, schools, and playgrounds.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Sophie said.

“Yeah, it is sad,” I replied. “I’m not sure if it’s right to say that, but it does feel that way. Maybe to humans it will always be sad, but the land seems content.”

She was thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I learned on Eliot’s plantation that it doesn’t have to be this way: man versus nature, one or the other.”

“Hm,” I replied, considering her words. “I’d like to see that.”

She brightened. “Oh, John, you should! I’ll take you there after this if you want. Eliot and Sarah are amazing, and their place is incredible. The soil is coming to life, and the rivers— the way they explained the rivers is fascinating. They’re improving, too. They used to be much deeper, and the water connected everyone: producers and buyers. Everything traveled on the water. But the decades of overuse and pesticides killed the plants on the banks. Without those plants, runoff carried silt into the rivers, making them wide and shallow. But they aren’t like that anymore. They’re deep and clean, and Eliot says maybe soon they won’t need the Möbius. They can go back to boats like they used to. Boats are so efficient.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant. I had never heard of rivers changing, but if they were improving, would that put the Möbius out of business? “Rivers are too winding,” I argued. “Sure, water is efficient in a way, but rivers twist and turn constantly, this must significantly increase the travel distance, while we’re going almost perfectly straight.”

“We’re only going straight because people made it that way. Consider the cost of all this.” She gestured at the track slipping beneath us—hundreds of feet of rail every second, countless beams and steel supports.

“True,” I conceded. “But much of this work has been done over generations. Ms. Jackson bought thousands of miles of old, abandoned highways. Sure, Phoenix Corporation had to straighten and level some, but they didn’t do it all.”

Sophie sighed. “When I came out here, I expected everyone to complain about how she had bought up so much land and forced people out. But there’s hardly anyone left to care. She took down dangerous, crumbling bridges and removed old roads. She actually brought new life.”

“I guess you thought she was a bad person at first,” I said.

“I knew she had to be,” Sophie said her tone showing her confusion. “That’s how we feel about people with so much—they must have taken it from others. But now I’m not so sure.”

“There’s always an exception, right?” I prompted.

“Maybe,” she replied. “Maybe.”

After a moment, I asked her, “So how did you find out you two were related?”

“It was in my research,” she replied. “I wanted to see if the claim was true—that she came from nothing and built all this herself. I discovered her mother’s maiden name was the same as my grandmother’s. Digging deeper, I found they were cousins. It isn’t much, but I thought it might interest her enough to give me a meeting.”

I hesitated to ask if she knew about Ms. Jackson’s will. I wanted to know her, to understand her, but I didn’t want to insult her. 

Just then, Ezra groaned and sat up, looking bleary-eyed. “Good morning,” he said to us both. I studied him, sensing that his grogginess was exaggerated, perhaps feigned. He settled into the captain’s chair, groaning and stretching excessively. I assumed Sophie was taken in by his act, but it was clear to me that it was all a performance. I knew Ezra to be a silent sufferer, so I didn’t feel sympathy; instead, I pressed him, aware he had been eavesdropping on our conversation.

“Well, Ezra, now that you’ve decided to wake up, what’s the plan?” I said, somewhat hotly.

Sophie lightly chastised me. “John, let the man wake up.” She handed Ezra one of the bottles of water we had brought from our packs the night before. He accepted it with an angelic smile, took a drink, and said, “The same as it was last night, John. Identify the thieves’ car.”

Sophie rummaged through her pack and pulled out some energy bars. “I made these. Would you two like one?”

“Sure,” I replied. “We have some food to share, but it’s just prepackaged stuff, I’m afraid.”

As we began eating, Ezra explained, “Right now, we’re passing through the Chicago launches.”

I interrupted him, complimenting Sophie’s bars. “These are really good!”

“Thanks! I’m glad you like them. I always make too many. It’s so hard to cook for just one person.”

“Oh, you live alone?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

“Yes, sometimes I take roommates, but they can be a bother,” she replied.

“Yes, I know,” I said, nodding significantly at Ezra.

She laughed, but Ezra continued, oblivious. “Once we’re beyond the Chicago launches, we need to take up our positions.”

“Positions?” I asked.

“Yes, you must hide on different cars along the Möbius to identify the thieves’ den without being seen. I went through all the cars on the computer last night and identified a couple that may have good hiding places for you.”

“What?” I interrupted. “When did you check the cars?”

“While you two were sleeping,” he replied.

“I thought you were asleep too!”

“Eventually, yes. But for a while, I was thinking, then I worked. I checked each train car to see what kind it was and how long it would be with the Möbius. We don’t want to position ourselves on a car that will be leaving before our work is done. Since we only have access to the type of car and not its specific cargo, I had to make some educated guesses. Fortunate as Sophie was on her first trip, it’s unlikely we’ll find another passenger car with unlocked doors. However, I believe I’ve identified some prime possibilities for you two.”

“The two of us? What about you?” I questioned.

“I think it’s best for one of us to stay in the engine to monitor incoming cars. Given my familiarity with the system and upcoming launches, I’m the best man for the job.”

I was about to dispute this claim when I realized my arguments would ultimately reveal my fear of going back out there, so I withdrew my challenge before it left my lips. However, both Sophie and Ezra could tell I was about to say something, prompting me to stammer irritably, “Fine. If you’re leaving it up to Sophie and me, we’d better start and get it over with.”

“You don’t have to get so worked up, John. It’s what we agreed to do for Ms. Jackson. However, Sophie, you made no such compact. You can assist or not, but two sets of eyes will be better than one.”

The way he portrayed me as the insolent coward and himself as the chivalrous gentleman infuriated me. Sophie, considering her own situation, responded resolutely, “My whole purpose in being here—remember, Ezra, I chose to do this alone—was to prove the train is being robbed and expose those responsible. Of course, I’m ready and willing to help.”

Her bravery and determination, as I’m sure you can imagine, made me feel even smaller and pettier. As we prepared and Ezra explained our tasks, I pushed aside my irritation at him and my dislike of going back out into the wind, trying my best to appear resolute and fearless.

Ezra handed Sophie the extra helmet he had brought for her, ensuring we were all in communication, and then slid open the door. We then saw the golden morning with our own eyes and the wide world spread before us, and truth be told, the feigned bravery seemed to have stirred something authentic within me. In that moment, I actually felt courageous and heroic. Stepping out of that door felt like something much larger than a mere physical act. I was saving Ms. Jackson’s train and reputation. I was righting a wrong. I was confronting the bad guys.

Like skydivers leaping from a plane, we stepped out and felt the wind pull at our bodies. “You should go as fast as possible,” I heard Ezra say in my helmet. “They could be joining the Möbius any minute.” I nodded and Sophie and I set off down the catwalk. The morning felt much different than the night before; we could see everything clearly and I could communicate with Sophie. Instead of fighting against the rushing air, we simply had to keep our feet and let it carry us along.

Sophie, being faster, agreed to go further down the train, somewhere around halfway, if possible, while I chose a hiding place about a third of the way from the engine. As we moved along, raising the catwalks behind us, we watched a couple of launches come in. I wondered if they might be carrying the thieves and if they had windows or cameras that could see us. But I realized they wouldn’t really need anything like that.

All of the new cars settled far down the line, allowing us to move without interruption and make good time. After only a few minutes, I found the car Ezra had suggested as my hiding place. It had joined the train during the night, and he suspected it was hauling some kind of large agricultural vehicle. He was right; the huge two-level car contained six massive pieces of farming equipment—not tractors, but, as I later learned, harvesters. The hope was that such vehicles would be less likely to be locked, but even if they were, their bulk and complexity might offer some nook or recess where I could conceal myself while still having a good view of the train.

Yet, to achieve this panoramic perspective, I must, of course, conceal myself on one of these machines on the second level. Craning my head back to look at the agricultural behemoths high above me, the bluster and bravado I had felt only minutes before seemed to be blown away by the wind. I dreaded the idea of climbing the mounted ladder to that height and scrambling over those steel giants.
I looked to Sophie, who gave me a reassuring smile and said, “You’ll be fine, John. Just be careful and use your clips.” She squeezed my hand and then moved on. Reluctantly, I watched her go, reminding her to be careful as well.

The sun was getting higher, and I knew I must hurry. Tremulously, I grasped the ladder. After pressing the button to lower the catwalk, I began my ascent. I maintained my carabiners, though they slowed me down, clipping one to the highest rung I could reach now and then. While I had grown more comfortable on the catwalk, each step away from it reignited my old fears. The wind seemed intent on pulling me from the steel rungs, like strong arms grabbing at my body and tugging—tugging, constantly tugging. I tried not to look down at the ground speeding past.

At last, I reached the end of the ladder, uncertain how to access the second level. It seemed there was nothing to hold onto. I clipped my carabiner to the rail that ran the length of the car and then grasped the wood decking with my fingers. It offered me nothing, and I considered giving up when I noticed I might be able to grab the tire of the harvester. My fingers searched, but my body felt frozen, reluctant to go any higher on the ladder lest the wind take me. Clip or no clip, that would be a dangerous fall, my body likely slamming against some jagged piece of metal.

Suddenly, I felt the giant tread of the tire. Grabbing onto it, I dragged myself over the ledge of the platform on my belly. Shaking, I clipped myself to the step of the machine and rested, catching my breath. At length, I sat up, propping myself against the tire, and looked ahead for Sophie. There was a slight bow in the Möbius, and I could see she was already several cars down the line. I had certainly been slowing her down. She easily raised and lowered the catwalks, making quick progress. I was impressed by her, and lost in watching her, I forgot I needed to find a hiding place.

Unclipping from the car rail, I slowly stood, pulling myself up using the steps and handrail of the harvester. Below me was a drop of at least thirty feet to the racing ground. I looked up from this dreadful sight to the land that stretched away before me. It was still a beautiful wilderness of green, without a sign of humanity anywhere.

Breaking into my moment of observation was Ezra’s voice. “Remember, John, you have limited time. The thieves’ car might join the Möbius at any moment.” He spoke as though he were watching me and knew I had not yet hidden myself away.

“I know,” I replied irritably.

“Are you doing okay, John?” Sophie asked with concern.

“I’m alright,” I answered shortly, regretting my tone immediately.

“What kind of vehicles are on the transport?” Ezra inquired.

“Big ones,” I said.

I heard Sophie laugh and say, “They’re combine harvesters, John. They’re for harvesting grain.”

Ezra responded before I could, “Excellent. Have you checked the door, John?”

Slowly, I turned around and looked up at the door several feet above. “Great, another ladder,” I sighed.

Ezra continued, “I understand, John. When it comes to a choice between a ladder or stairs, I always choose the latter.”

Sophie chortled at Ezra’s pun, but I felt irritated with him. He was casually making jokes while I was the one clinging to this machine, high in the air, on a train going a hundred miles an hour.

With nothing else to do, I gripped the handrails and began climbing the ladder. The door was made of glass, with the handle set near the bottom. Furthermore, the machines, like Sophie’s car, were facing backward, which was ideal; otherwise, the door would simply be torn from my hands, sending me flying to my doom far below.
Pulling down on the handle, I heard a click as the door popped free of the latch. “It’s unlocked,” I said, delighted.

“That’s great, John,” Sophie replied.

Pleased that I would soon be out of the wind, I climbed higher. I needed better leverage to pull the door open wide enough to slip inside, yet as I reached the level of the cab, I cried out and nearly lost my grip on the rail. Inside the glass cab was a face looking out at me. 

“John, are you okay?” Sophie asked, alarmed. Before I could answer, the face pressed up to the glass, its finger to its smiling lips. Shocked and perplexed, I stared back at Ezra. The entire front of his helmet was flipped up, revealing his face. I hadn’t realized they even did that. “What…” I began, but he shook his head violently and tapped his finger fervently to his lips.

“What’s going on, John?” Ezra asked, concerned, as though he wasn’t staring me in the face that very moment. Baffled, I stammered for a moment and finally said, “Uh, nothing. I’m fine. Just slipped on a step.”

“Okay, John, you’re doing great. Can you get the door open enough to get inside?” he asked, pushing it open and holding out his hand to me.

“I’m working on it,” I answered uncertainly as I slid through the narrow gap. Inside the large cabin, Ezra sat in the driver’s seat while I took the small jump seat next to him. Grateful to be sheltered but thoroughly perplexed, I waited for an explanation. Ezra kept his eyes on me, signaling with his hands not to speak as he asked, “How are you coming along, Sophie? Have you found a hiding spot?” In the quiet of the cabin, I could hear her breathing as she replied, “Yes, I think so.”
“Good work,” Ezra praised, and looking at his watch, he added, “We should see a launch within the next few minutes. There are only a few in the region, so one of them should have our thieves. Let’s just settle in and see.”

He pressed the mute button on his helmet and indicated that I do the same. After I complied, he tested it, saying, “Sophie, can you hear me?” There was no response, so he directed me to test mine as well. Still no response. “Good,” he said, loosening the chin strap and removing his helmet. Slipping my own helmet off I saw him raise a pair of binoculars to his eyes and say, “I almost didn’t bring these, I’m sure glad I did.”

“What’s going on, Ezra? What’s with the deception?” I asked, my tone a mix of annoyance and bewilderment.

Lowering the binoculars, he looked at me impassively. “I needed to speak to you alone, John. However, now that we’re with Sophie, I had to create a ruse that wouldn’t alert her to our suspicions.”

“But I’m not suspicious of her,” I countered.

“Unwise, my friend,” he replied.

“How so?”

“Because you don’t know her, John.”

“But I have no reason to doubt her.”

“And I have no reason to trust her.”

“What are you talking about, Ezra? What could she gain by pretending to have seen a robbery while being part of it?”

“I’m not here to speculate; I’m here to gather data.”

“That’s a safe wall of words to hide behind, but come on, Ezra, what could her motive possibly be?”

He sat back and looked at me seriously before speaking. “Okay, John, the first possibility is the same as for everyone involved with Ms. Jackson right now: her will. Sophie emerges from nowhere and claims to be related to Ms. Jackson. I believe this is called a red flag. As you know, I don’t like playing the speculation game, but if you press me, I will. Here’s how it goes for this possibility:

“Sophie sets up the robbery to expose it. It fits the stereotype of a journalist feeding on their own news. The problem is that no one seems to notice or care that farmers are being stolen from, so she has her thieves expand their range. She doesn’t do this initially, John, because food is easier to dispose of or sell, whereas electronics are more traceable and harder to fence without leaving an evidence trail. Once Sophie is sure her thievery captures Ms. Jackson’s attention, she can appear as the savior. In this way, Ms. Jackson not only comes to know Sophie but finds herself in her debt. It’s not great, but you pressed.”

I had intended to defend Sophie against this accusation but found myself uncertain on what grounds I would build my refutation. Meanwhile Ezra continued.
“Second possibility: she is connected to this Mr. Ashford. This plantation owner has talked about reestablishing rivers as the primary means of transport. Maybe he is pushing for this, trying to get other farmers on board. But why would they? If the Möbius is reliable and cost-effective, why invest in something new that might not work out? So, Mr. Ashford starts complaining about being shorted, spreading rumors to stir up trouble. He even starts robbing other cars, taking a little from each to encourage the farmers to collaborate on a river system. 

However, Mr. Ashford isn’t getting any attention for this. He increases the theft and reaches out to a certain journalist. Maybe an old friend or a new acquaintance; it doesn’t matter. Their aims align. Mr. Ashford wants people to see the Möbius as greedy and underhanded, and the journalist, like all journalists, wants a juicy story where the wealthy and power-hungry are the villains and the hardworking producers are trod underfoot. Throw in a potential inheritance, and it’s a real win-win for a slimy journalist.”

I was stunned by this additional speculation. I hadn’t considered that Sophie might not be who she claimed to be. Ezra saw my disappointment and said, “I’m not saying I believe any of that, John. You just wanted to know what might be. We need more information. But remember, Aurelie Blanchard: not all damsels are in distress.”

Pondering his words, I needed to vent, so I said, “Speaking of falsehoods, maybe I’ll give you a good kick the next time you’re supposedly sleeping!”

Ezra laughed and replied, “I’m sorry, John. I wasn’t eavesdropping at first; I was just thinking. But then I heard what she said and thought it might be best if she wasn’t aware of what I knew.”

“I don’t understand this water situation. Is that even possible?” I asked.

“Sure,” Ezra said. “The vegetation along the river in the riparian zone holds the soil together and filters runoff. In their natural state, most rivers would be narrower, deeper, and flow faster, carrying sediment downstream rather than allowing it to build up.

“This isn’t new, John. Across the world, even in pre-industrialized cultures, we’ve identified sedimentation of waterways linked to the removal of riparian zones, from the Maya to the Indus Valley cultures. I’ve even identified two dwelling sites simply because the sedimentary deposits in nearby rivers indicated that the land, though overgrown now, had once been cleared for agriculture.”

“But if you can find evidence of this from thousands of years ago, how could this grower claim to be repairing the waterways now?”

“It could happen, John. It depends on the soil type, the flow of water, and the extent of reduced plant life. However, with the extensive availability of land and the ability to drill wells, people in the WILD don’t have to plant right against the water. Plus, they can significantly increase the speed of recovery by allowing native riparian vegetation to return, planting cover crops, building terraces, and removing dams. This has been happening naturally for decades. There’s no doubt that the rivers in this area are likely unrecognizable to those who once lived here.”

As he spoke, he pointed to the first ghost town we had encountered. We had come out onto an open prairie, and a few miles away, we could see the crumbling remains of a long-abandoned city. I stared at the empty town: the vacant brown buildings, the streets overgrown with weeds, and trees pushing through the sidewalks. I had seen photos, but seeing it in person was surreal and sad. Fires had ravaged most of the abandoned structures, yet some had withstood nature’s onslaught, like that home, slowly drooping closer to the ground as nature reached up to drag it down.

How strange it all was. It felt like looking over a precipice—the precipice of time—where you could gaze at something, even touch it, yet it remained alarmingly distant. People had been there—my own forebears. Not foreign strangers in a distant land, not a medieval Frankish castle or an ancient Roman city, but Americans in America from only a generation ago. Their lives had led them elsewhere, yet their city, like a haunting dream, remained: in sight but beyond comprehension.

Ezra’s voice broke into my musings over the forgotten town. “Now, John, if Sophie hasn’t given us inaccurate information, my study of the launches leads me to believe our undesirable guests will be joining us soon.” I saw he was checking the time on his watch.

Suddenly, I felt nervous and excited. “Do you think we’re hidden well enough here?”

“No, I don’t think so. You can fold up that jump seat and crouch out of sight, but there isn’t room for both of us. I wasn’t planning on staying anyway.”

He raised the binoculars to his eyes again. “Can you see Sophie?” I asked.

“Yes, she’s right there,” he said, pointing and handing me the binoculars. As I looked, he added, “I wasn’t sure precisely what would be on her car, but in researching the shipper, I guessed some kind of open tanks. It looks like I was correct.”

Sophie was indeed peeking out from the top of what I thought were precariously stacked shallow concrete tanks on the second level of the double-deck flatcar. I wondered how she had managed to get to the top; there was no ladder, so she must have scaled them.

“I hope Sophie is safe,” I said, alarmed. “That climb must have been terrifying. Too bad she couldn’t find another unlocked car. That was lucky.”

“Lucky?” Ezra questioned dubiously. “I would say extremely improbable. Farm equipment may not be locked, but a passenger vehicle almost certainly is. Anyway, even if there had been a car hauler on the Möbius, that’s not where I would have sent her. I wanted her in that location; I couldn’t have asked for a better setup. It’s perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” I asked. “When she looks out, she’s completely exposed.”

“Precisely,” he said, indifferent to my reaction. He began slipping on his helmet, securing the chin strap. He directed me to stay low and not move, as movement catches the eye. Then he opened the door and forced himself out into the wind before I could say a word. I saw him press the button to turn his mic back on, then begin his descent to the deck. I didn’t move but watched blankly as he easily slipped over the edge to the ladder, lowering the catwalk to make his way back up toward the engine. Soon, he was out of sight, and I saw the catwalk retract.

For a moment, my thoughts swirled around everything Ezra had told me, and I began to feel as if the Möbius had swept away, leaving me behind—confused and empty, just like that ghost town. Since nearly the first moment I had met Sophie, I had felt drawn to her. She seemed alive and fiery, determined and bold, yet kind, sweet, gentle, and compassionate. But in that moment, I felt like a rube, taken in once more by a pretty face. How could I have been so foolish?

Suddenly, Ezra’s voice pulled me from my despondent thoughts. I could hear him muffled and low, speaking in my helmet, which sat upon my lap. “Sophie, are you out of sight? I think the bandits will soon arrive.”

I put on my helmet just in time to hear her reply, “Yes, but my hiding spot isn’t ideal. When I look out, my head is quite obvious, and I have to lay completely flat to stay out of sight.” She sounded nervous and uncomfortable.

“You’re doing great, Sophie. All you have to do is confirm which car the thieves are using, and then you can lie back.”

“Okay,” she said, her breathing heavy and tense.

Another launch was coming in. The split in the Möbius occurred far down the line from me. If Ezra had left me the binoculars, I might have been able to confirm my suspicion that it was very close to where Sophie was. Moments after the launch settled into the Möbius, I heard Sophie say excitedly, “It’s them! They’re here.” Then came the sound of a hard thump.

At her words, I quickly slipped to the rubber floor of the harvester, wedging myself between the driver’s seat and the jump seat—my heart racing. This was the moment we had been waiting for, yet I felt unprepared, as if part of me had never truly believed we would witness a train robbery and was now surprised by the reality.