Bullet Train Disaster Read online

  ‘Why would the switch be up this end?’ the bandit asks, starting to get suspicious.

  ‘It’s not,’ you say. ‘It’s near the front, but it’s on the outside.’

  You hit the button by the carriage door. The rear door slides open, exposing the snowy mountain-scape. The wind wails at you.

  ‘If it’s out there, how do you know about it?’

  The lie comes easily. ‘We had to stop for a safety check. I saw the switch when the conductor was fiddling with the brakes. Come on.’

  You step out and climb down onto the snow. The bandit follows.

  Turn here.

  The bandit with the cutlass thumps on the door again. ‘OK, listen up,’ he yells. ‘Are you listening?’

  No response from the conductor. You have the sudden feeling that he’s not even in there—that he escaped out an emergency exit and is running away through the snow outside.

  Or maybe he’s hurt. The train stopped very suddenly—he could have bumped his head. He might be lying on the floor inside, unconscious.

  ‘I’m going to give you five seconds to open the door,’ Cutlass Bandit continues. These guys seem to be big fans of the ‘five second’ method. ‘If you don’t open it, one of these passengers gets a cracked skull.’

  You don’t sense Club Bandit sneaking up behind you until it’s too late. He grabs your shoulder so you can’t run away.

  ‘Five,’ Cutlass Bandit says.

  ‘No!’ Pigeon cries.

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ you stammer.

  ‘Three.’

  ‘The conductor might not even be in there!’

  ‘Two.’

  The bandit raises the club high above your head.

  ‘Or he might be hurt,’ you say, ‘knocked out. Please, don’t—’

  ‘One.’

  The club comes crashing down and the whole world goes dark.

  THE END.

  For another try, go here.

  The air chills you all the way down to your skeleton. You and the bandit with the cutlass tromp through the slush towards the front of the carriage.

  The bandit shoves your back. ‘Hurry up,’ he says.

  ‘I can’t go any faster,’ you say. ‘I hurt my knees skateboarding.’

  ‘I don’t care. Keep moving.’

  When you reach the front, you crouch down and peer under the train. You can’t see the switch—and then you remember that you made it up.

  You stick your hand into the darkness in front of the massive wheels. ‘I can’t reach it,’ you say.

  You expect the bandit to get down on his hands and knees to take a look, but he doesn’t. Instead he just waggles the cutlass at you.

  ‘Crawl under there and flip it,’ he snarls.

  You wriggle into the space under the train. You can see plenty of tubes and bolts, but nothing which looks plausibly like a switch.

  ‘It’s stuck,’ you say.

  ‘Then push harder!’ the bandit shouts. ‘Or I’ll cut your feet off.’

  Your breathing quickens in the darkness. ‘I’m trying!’

  You can hear the blade tapping against the side of the train. ‘I’m warning you,’ the bandit says. ‘If you don’t—hey!’

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ another voice says. You can hear the sound of handcuffs ratcheting closed.

  ‘I’ll kill you!’ the bandit yells.

  ‘Add “threatening a police officer” to the list of charges, will you, Jenkins?’ the voice says.

  A friendly face appears beneath the train. Brown eyes focus on you hiding in the dark.

  ‘You can come out now,’ the police officer says.

  You crawl out. ‘How did you get here so fast?’

  ‘There’s a kid down at the bottom of the mountain. He says he fell out the back of the train, hiked down the tracks, and called us when he saw the helicopter land on the carriage.’

  So if you had saved the boy from falling out of the train, he wouldn’t have been able to call for help and you might both be dead right now. It’s almost too much to wrap your head around.

  The cop helps you to your feet. ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘You’re safe.’

  You survived! There are ten other ways to escape the danger—try to find them all!

  By the time you and Pigeon get to the front of the line, the train is moving dangerously quickly. If you jump out, won’t you break your legs?

  ‘Quick,’ Pigeon says. ‘Before it gets any faster.’

  She hurls herself out of the carriage door, landing like a cat between the rails. She turns around immediately and starts running after the train. ‘Jump!’ she yells at you. ‘Come on!’

  You stare down at the rushing blur of railway sleepers. The open door seems to suck all the air out of the carriage. You can feel Club Bandit looming behind you. Your heart is pounding.

  You crouch down.

  ‘Too slow,’ Club Bandit says, and pushes you out the door.

  You scream as you tumble out into the daylight and crash down into the snow.

  Pain flares up all over your body. You lie still on the tracks, too dizzy to stand, listening to the train clatter away up the mountain.

  Footsteps crunch towards you. You turn your head to see Pigeon running over.

  ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘Are you OK?’

  You cough and give her a thumbs up. The bandits won—but at least you’re alive.

  You survived! There are ten other ways to escape the danger—try to find them all!

  ‘I’m staying,’ you whisper to Pigeon. Her eyes widen.

  You check that neither bandit is looking at you. Then you squeeze yourself into the space under one of the chairs. Pigeon does the same.

  ‘What will we do when we get to the top?’ she murmurs.

  ‘Escape while their backs are turned,’ you say. ‘Try to get to the station and call for help.’

  ‘But what if they find us?’

  You’re worried about the same thing. ‘They won’t,’ you say.

  The other passengers have all jumped off.

  ‘Huh,’ one of the bandits says. ‘That went well.’

  ‘Easier than I expected,’ the other bandit says. His voice is higher now, as if he was intentionally putting on a tough-guy sound before. ‘Come on.’

  Their boots clomp up the stairs towards where you and Pigeon are hiding. You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut, as though they won’t be able to see you if you can’t see them.

  The bandits walk past without slowing down.

  You open your eyes. Pigeon has an amazed grin on her face. You wink at her.

  ‘Top Shelf, do you read me? Over.’

  A radio squawks and bleeps. ‘This is Top Shelf. What is your status?’

  ‘The carriage is clear. We’ll be in position soon. Get the chopper ready.’

  You give Pigeon a thumbs up. It sounds like the bandits are going to ride their helicopter out of here as soon as they’ve moved the train to a safe place. Once they’re gone, you and Pigeon can escape—and you can reveal the location of the stolen train to the police. You’ll be heroes.

  But something is bothering you. How will the bandits hide the train? They can’t get it off the rails, can they?

  The train’s brakes squeal. The seats shudder as the wheels slow down.

  ‘OK,’ one of the bandits says. ‘We’re in position.’

  ‘Locking on now.’

  You hear something clank beneath the floor, like a clamp pinning the wheels in place. The train stops abruptly.

  The doors hiss. The two bandits walk off the train. Just as the doors close, you hear Club Bandit say one last thing into the radio: ‘Activate the chopper.’

  ‘OK,’ you whisper to Pigeon. ‘We’ll wait until we hear the helicopter take off, and then we’ll run.’

  ‘Good plan. Do you think—’

  Pigeon doesn’t get any further. An enormous blade smashes down through the train, neatly slicing the driver’s compartmen
t away from the rest of the carriage. It’s as if a giant is attacking the train with a meat cleaver.

  The blade rises back up out of sight.

  You scream and flee towards the other end of the train, just in time. The tremendous blade crashes down again, ripping the seats in half as it shears off another segment of the train. The chopper isn’t a helicopter. It’s a machine designed to chop up the train!

  Pigeon is already at the back door of the train. ‘It won’t open!’ she shrieks.

  You slam your hand on the emergency button. She’s right. The two of you are trapped, and the blade is getting closer every second.

  ‘We’ll have to jump out!’ you yell.

  ‘But the door won’t open!’

  ‘Not that way.’ You point to the other end of the carriage, where the blade is carving through the metal like an axe through a sponge cake. ‘That way.’

  ‘We’ll be turned into mincemeat!’ Pigeon shouts.

  ‘It’s our only shot.’

  You watch the blade get closer and closer as it chops off more and more of the carriage. It rises up, clearing the way for you. You’ll have to time this perfectly.

  If you jump out, go here.

  If you tell Pigeon to go first, go here.

  ‘Good thinking,’ you say, and follow Pigeon around the corner. The view isn’t as good from this side, but at least your skin isn’t crystallising.

  A little window is protected by wrought-iron bars. Through it you can see the conductor’s bald patch as he talks rapidly into an old-fashioned telephone.

  ‘So,’ Pigeon says, ‘quite a day we’ve had.’

  ‘It’s not over yet,’ you say. You’re trying to be optimistic, but the words come out sounding ominous.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ the conductor is saying. ‘What are you talking about?’

  You lean closer to the window so you can hear him better.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Pigeon asks. You shush her.

  ‘Listen to me,’ the conductor continues. ‘There’s a boy stranded halfway up the mountain. He fell out of the train. He’s probably badly injured. You need to send someone right away.’

  There’s a pause. You can hear the muffled nattering of whoever is on the other end of the line.

  ‘What does it matter how many people are with me?’ the conductor demands. ‘I’m telling you—’

  Movement catches your eye. You turn just in time to see the balaclava man duck out of sight below the edge of the platform.

  ‘Did you see that?’ you ask Pigeon.

  ‘See what?’

  More movement, on the other side of the platform this time, near the huddled crowd of passengers. You whirl around. Another man in white camouflage gear is lurking behind the broken vending machine.

  ‘We’re in trouble,’ you say. ‘Two guys—’

  Someone grabs you by the hair.

  Pigeon screams. You can’t turn your head to see who’s holding you, but you can see that you’re not the only one who has been attacked. Yells ripple out from the passengers as three more camouflaged men materialise amongst them, grabbing their arms and shoulders.

  The guy with the camera shouts as one of the balaclava men rips it out of his hands. The old lady with the silk scarf turns to run, only to discover that the platform is surrounded. Dozens of figures stand between the stunted trees, watching the commotion from behind goggled eyes.

  A woman walks out into the centre of the platform. She’s not dressed like the others—her boots are black, and she wears a beret instead of a balaclava.

  ‘I want everyone to stand still,’ she commands, ‘with your hands up.’

  The conductor emerges from the little office. ‘What is this? What’s going on?’

  ‘Which one spotted you?’ the woman asks one of the balaclava men.

  He points a gloved finger …

  At you.

  Your heart leaps into your mouth.

  ‘You lot aren’t supposed to be using this station anymore,’ the conductor says. ‘The train company owns it now.’

  The woman in the beret ignores him. She walks over to you and holds your gaze with her dark eyes.

  ‘Who did you call?’ she asks.

  If you tell her you haven’t called anyone, go here.

  If you bluff, claiming to have called the police, go here.

  ‘I’ll catch up with you,’ you tell Pigeon. She gives you a strange look.

  ‘I’m just going to check something out,’ you say. Before she has a chance to object, you run across the platform and jump down into the snow, headed for the spot where you last saw the balaclava man.

  There’s no sign of him now. Just skeletal trees bending in the scathing wind. You look back towards the train platform, wondering if you’ve made a mistake—

  Then you see the footprints.

  They come from shoes much bigger than yours, with crosshatched soles for improved grip. Examining the trail, you conclude that the man walked towards the train station for a while, then turned abruptly and went back. Maybe he saw you looking at him.

  You follow the footprints into a thicket of trees. As you push the spiky branches aside, stumbling across the frozen ground, you see a chain-link fence topped with loops of razor wire. Behind the fence is a low building, painted white. It would be invisible from a distance, or from the air.

  Something’s going on up here. Someone has built some kind of secret base. But who? And why?

  You dig out your phone. No reception. You can’t call Pigeon or anyone else.

  Suddenly the balaclava man is visible again, walking towards the base. Behind him, part of the chain-link fence is moving. It’s an automatic gate, swinging closed.

  You duck through the gap just in time. The gate clangs shut, trapping you inside the compound.

  The man is trudging towards the building. You’re completely exposed. If he turns to look back, he’ll see you crouched beside the chain-link fence. So you run after him, the slush leaking into your shoes. The wailing of the wind conceals the sound of your footsteps—hopefully.

  Painted on the side of the white building is a blocky logo and the words DEPARTMENT OF DEFENCE: DO NOT ENTER. Why wasn’t that sign visible from outside the razor-wire fence?

  The balaclava man has reached the white building. He punches some digits into a keypad beside a big steel door. The keypad bleeps and the door clanks. The hinges groan as he pulls it open and disappears into the darkness beyond.

  The door starts to swing closed.

  If you follow him into the building, go here.

  If you stay outside and look for a place to hide, go here.

  ‘I haven’t made any calls,’ you say.

  The woman stares at you for a long time.

  ‘OK,’ she says.

  She turns around to address the rest of the group. ‘You’re all going to get back on the train,’ she says. ‘Do it quickly and quietly, for your own safety.’

  You wonder if that’s a threat.

  ‘This is preposterous!’ the conductor yells. ‘We have every right to—’

  The woman moves so she’s standing very close to him. You don’t see exactly what she does next, but whatever it is, it makes the conductor stop talking. He gulps like a fish, a vein bulging on his forehead.

  ‘Back on the train,’ she says again. ‘Quickly and quietly.’

  This time no-one protests. The camouflage men all release their prisoners. Your hair is suddenly free. You turn to look back, but whoever grabbed you has already melted into the shadows of the platform.

  You and Pigeon board the train along with all the other passengers. The conductor shuffles morosely into his little compartment. He doesn’t shut the door.

  Turn here.

  ‘I already phoned the cops,’ you say. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

  ‘Is that so?’ the woman says. She unlocks your phone. By the time you start wondering how she got it out of your pocket without you noticing and how she knew the code, she’s
already scrolling through your most recent calls.

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘I deleted the call record,’ you say. ‘For security.’

  ‘If that were true, you wouldn’t be telling me.’ She signals the guy behind you, who grabs you by the armpits and drags you across the platform towards the train. You struggle, but he’s impossibly strong.

  ‘All of you,’ the woman yells. ‘Get back on board the train. This is a restricted area.’

  The balaclava man throws you through the open door. You crash down onto the stairs inside.

  You had hoped that your bluff would encourage the other passengers to stand up to the goons, but they don’t. They just amble sheepishly into the carriage. The conductor enters his compartment, flops down into his chair and stares gloomily at the controls.

  Pigeon takes your hand and helps you to your feet.

  ‘How do they expect to get away with this?’ she asks.

  You look out the window. The woman is directing two balaclava men to open and unload an equipment case. Pigeon’s right. There’s only one way the soldiers can be sure the passengers won’t tell anyone what happened.

  You slam your hand down on the CLOSE DOORS button just in time. The doors slide shut just as one of the balaclava men lifts a grenade out of the equipment case and lobs it towards the train. The grenade hits the doors and bounces back onto the platform. The soldiers scatter.

  ‘Head down the mountain!’ you shout. But the conductor isn’t in his seat anymore. He’s emerged to see what the commotion is about.

  There’s no time to explain what’s going on. You run into the conductor’s compartment, trying to remember the images from the train company’s website. There had been some pictures of the controls. You look for the lever labelled ‘brakes’.

  You see it and wrench the lever upwards. The wheels unlock with a clank. The train starts rolling backwards down the mountain.

  ‘What are you doing?’ the driver shrieks.

  On the platform, the grenade is spilling clouds of green smoke. The soldiers weren’t trying to blow up the train—they intended to gas the passengers.