It was a far better day for traveling and being out in the snowy wilderness than the day before. For starters, their journey began by departing peacefully from a hospitable hostel in a quaint village rather than by crashing in from outer space in a bugged-out dropship. Secondly, the weather was decent; the wind was low, the sun was bright (maybe a little too bright—the snow was actually glaring white), and, moving downhill, while tiring in its own treacherous and rocky way, was a lot easier and faster than the alternative.

It was only mid-day by the time they reached more level terrain and found the train station, which basically amounted to a sheltered train platform mashed up against a colorful house-like building in the middle of a simple village. Signs of modernization were patchy, but present; the tiny town was rich with traditional elements, just like the place the travelers had left in their wake, but also had automobiles parked here and there, including couple track-driven snowcats.

The travelers seemed to be right on time. A train whistle hazily tooted across great distance, reverberating off the mountainous terrain. Their ride, an old diesel train pulling both freight and passenger cars, was pulling in soon.

Casey, their big, hoggish guide (or at least a stand-in for a guide, in lieu of anyone they could actually pay), trundled slowly along the train platform along with his overburdened porter. Funny and even seemingly impolite as it was, the burly pig carried next to nothing, while svelte little loris Latika had the equivalent of a military outpost stacked on her back.

"This is as far as I'll be goin' by foot," Casey turned on a heel and announced to the others, hands planted on his sides. Or, rather, hand and gun. (Wince-inducingly, he was poking the barrel of his gunarm straight into his own side, seemingly unaware.) "Any chance by now you've all figured out what you're gonna do?"



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Casey nodded quietly along with Geoff's contemplation, but looked at Desmond ... strangely. Latika had voiced his thoughts to a certain extent (regarding geography), but things had gotten all the more odd when Desmond suddenly shifted gears and made small-talk about Casey's gun arm right when it seemed they were moments from parting going their own separate ways. The hog only twisted up his mouth, furrowed his brows, and looked utterly perplexed as he shifted his attention to Geoff again without answering Desmond.

"I think some'a your party's injuries are a lil' worse than we thought," he observed aloud to the hedgehog, then looked worriedly toward the approaching train. "Maybe it'd be best if we found a way to get you on this train, and back to civilization, and... hospitals..."

It became very noisy as the train started pulling into station. Casey had to lean toward the hedgehog and speak in a high voice just to be heard.

"No," he answered blatantly, "probably not! Everybody needs money these days since the takeover."

Fortunately, considering the next thing he said, there wasn't much risk of being overheard outside the party with all those squeaking brakes and wheels, and the rumbling diesel engine.

"Easier to ask forgiveness than permission! If ya ask for a handout they'll be watchin' for you, so just wait just outside'a station 'til the train starts movin', jog alongside, and hop on a freight car before it gets too fast!" The noise stopped, and his voice lowered accordingly. "Y'look like spry kids, anyway. Shouldn't be hard."

And with that, and a little wave (and too-wide, knowing grin), he approached to board, motioning for Latika to bring his stuff.

The train's cars looked old, to put it bluntly. It wasn't for a lack of maintenance — save for some bad paint and a little graffiti, they looked alright. They were just not very modern in design. The cars were mixed and mismatched, with a couple looking like some sort of old military sleeper cars, while the others looked like quaint, classic passenger cars with lines of windows.

One in particular stood out, though, and not because of its design, age, or condition, but because of who was tending to it. Near the rear of the train, one of the freight cars had no less than five guys loitering around it, all wearing suspiciously long and baggy coats as if to conceal something, and wearing scarves across their faces, as if to conceal themselves. When the time came to board, they went inside that freight car rather than going to any of the designated passenger cars, and none of the railroad crew gave them any trouble for it.

The car Casey found himself directed to once he showed his ticket was closer to the front, much farther from that shady crew, hooked up to a baggage car. Latika had been directed to dump his stuff in there; Casey had gone to thank her for her help, but was naturally left scratching his head and looking around in circles by her unexpected absence. Eventually, he was ushered to get back where he belonged, so, with just a slightly remorseful shrug, he did.



***


A few minutes in station was all it took before the train was loaded, boarded, and ready to chug along its lonely way again. It was an easy, but curvy ride through the mountains, rolling down a steady, gradual grade, with just the occasional short climb. The rails were almost serpentine in the way they moved with the land and along great trestles, seeming to only truly straighten for the occasional bridge and short tunnel across ravines and through particularly impassable ridges.

The red-jacketed boar shivered once in his seat. The passenger car was poorly heated, so he searched for a scarf in his satchel, but found none. Determined not to freeze, and perhaps curious about his acquaintances' success, he stood, shuffled to the door of his private compartment, and, with effort, wedged his way through the narrow opening and into the equally narrow windowed corridor, and started rearward toward the back door.

An unfortunate passerby, a mouse-like man, had been approaching but stopped dead in his tracks, blocked utterly by the hog.

"..."

They stared at each other a second. Casey's bulbous torso was literally touching both sides of the passage even though he was already crabbing sideways.

"Yeah, sorry pal, you're gonna have to be the one to take the loss here," he said with questionable regret, and continued moving forward, forcing the poor little guy to just backtrack all the way to his own compartment.

Eventually, Casey got to the back door and opened it. Cold air blasted in and almost instantly frosted his eyebrows.

"HnnNnNngh?"

Teeth bared, and bottom eyelids pulling up in discomfort, the big guy hastily stepped out, closed the door behind him, traversed the narrow and hazardous gap between cars, and opened the door to the baggage car to peer inside. And, by peer inside, this means jump in and slam the door behind him then look around inside.

His eyes adjusted slowly.

...

"Hello?!" he whisper-shouted. (This was probably unnecessary, being that there was enough clickety-clacking train noise to mask a violent murder aboard the thing.)