Terror at Glasgow Station: Chapter 8: The Red Lantern

Marilyn had handled railroad lanterns many times, but never the red one.  That was always reserved for accidents.  It meant stop, and if an engineer saw one, he had to stop—no questions asked.  Even if it was a false alarm, the risk involved was one of death.  For this reason, the lanterns were used sparingly, only when necessary.

This was one of those necessary instances, though, and Marilyn ploughed forwards through the driving snow.  A few trains had come through during the afternoon, but falling snow had still coated the tracks with a couple inches.  Going was slow and slippery.

Worse of all, staggering over the tracks was no easy matter.  If you caught the ties, you had pretty good footing, but Marilyn couldn’t even see them through the layer of snow that covered the tracks.  The rocks were jagged and uneven, threatening to trip her at any turn.  If she fell and got snow in the lantern, the flame would probably go out, rendering her mission useless—

She staggered through the snow, the cold air finding its way through her coat and biting to the skin.  Marilyn was used to winter cold, but she wasn’t used to walking through snowstorms at night in Montana.  Once, her right foot hit a rail, and she quickly stepped back into the center of the tracks.  If she lost the route now, she could very well freeze to death!

The wind whipped at her face, snow got in her eyes, and the night was blackness before her.  Marilyn was proceeding entirely by feel now…the snow made it impossible to look straight ahead.  She waved the lantern at eye level, hoping it would stand out enough in the breeze for someone to see it.  How long had she walked?  Fifteen feet…a mile…two…she didn’t know.  All she knew was this lantern had to do its job, or Jim Dawson wasn’t going to be around much longer.

Valiantly, she fought her way on.  She was getting tired now.  It was the end of a long day, and running through the train hadn’t helped her any.  Fighting the wind took every last ounce of energy she had.  Her progress grew slower and slower as she fought her way over the ties, and more than once she almost fell.

I must keep going…I must, I must!  Marilyn told herself.  Her feet were hurting.  So were her hands, but in a different way.  Their pain was from cold air—mittens were only good for so long.  It was not ideal outdoors weather, even if you loved snow (like Marilyn did), but it was the only weather she could ask for and get.

An hour passed.  Then, two!  Actually, it was only ten minutes, but it felt like two hours to the girl.  No clocktowers were around now.  Once, Marilyn saw a signal—green.  Ha! she thought.  I know better!  Oh, I hope I’ve gone far enough!

She couldn’t keep this pace up much longer.  Her leg muscles burned, and she had a throbbing pain in her side.  She needed to sit down—No! she couldn’t sit down—Yes! She had to—doing so would mean certain death—

And then, far off in the distance, Marilyn heard it.  A higher, shriller noise than the Empire Builder’s horn, but one that meant the same thing.

A whistle!

Quickly, she raised the lantern and swung it high over her head, hoping that it would do its job…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jim Dawson gave another blast of the whistle and turned to his fireman.  “Won’t be long now, Dick,” he said.  “Less than twenty minutes, and we’ll be back in Glasgow.”

“How you know all our locations is a mystery to me,” Dick Harlan remarked, shoveling another load of coal into the fire.  He leaned on his shovel.  “You know, I’m glad we’re on this old steamer tonight.  There’s nothing like a roaring fire when you’re travelling in weather like this.”

“Here’s another crossing,” replied Dawson, pulling the whistle again.

“Now, how did you know that was there?” Dick asked, extending his head into the night.  “I don’t see any wigwags.”

“There aren’t any at this one,” replied Dawson.  “Just a crossing for a ranch.  I’ve got it memorized.”

“Heh, wish I could remember stuff like that as well as you.  Half the time, I can’t even remember my wife’s birthday.”  His brow furrowed.  “It’s January 23^rd, isn’t it?”

“January 23^rd,” Dawson said.  “You’d better go ahead and buy her a present.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Harlan.  “If I forget it this year, she’ll have my head.  Two years in a row have gone by, and we’ve had to celebrate it a week late because—”

“Dick! Look!”

The fireman went around to his side of the cab and peered out the window.  “What is it?  What’s the matter?”

“Up ahead, there.  See that little red dot, bobbing in the snow?”

Harlan squinted.  “No, I don’t see it…”

“Looks like a lantern,” said Jim, tugging the brake lever.  “We’d better stop.”

“Stop!  Are you crazy?” Harlan stared at his partner incredulously.  “There’s nothing out here—”

“I don’t know what it is, Dick, but I’m stopping anyway.  Could be a false alarm, might not be.  Anyway, we’re making great time.  We’ll still be early, if that’s all it is.”

“Suit yourself,” said Harlan, staring out the window.  “Though what a lantern would be doing way out here…say, wait a second!  I see it now!  That thing’s bobbing!”

“Sure is!” agreed Dawson.  “It’s a lantern, alright.  I wonder what’s going on!”

He soon got his answer—a minute later, when the train finally pulled to a stop in the middle of the driveled snow.  The lantern was now sitting in the middle of the tracks, one hundred yards ahead, unattended.

Dawson leaned out of his cab window.  “Hello!” he shouted into the night.  “Is anybody there?”

All at once, a figure with a parka drew alongside the train and started up the ladder for the cab!  “Daddy!  Oh, Daddy!” it cried.

A shocked look crossed Dawson’s face.  “Marilyn?  Marilyn!  What are you doing out here?”

Dick Harlan stared incredulously at the girl.  “It must be important whatever it is.”

“Oh, Daddy, thank goodness you’re alright,” Marilyn said, burying her face in her father’s uniform.  “Gangsters…at the station…they were going to run your train into…”

Jim Dawson hugged his daughter.  “Calm down, Marilyn.  Here, warm yourself up by the fire,” he said.  “Then, you can tell me exactly what happened—”

But Marilyn Dawson wasn’t letting go of her dad…not for another minute, at least!  She’d come too close to losing him to let him go that easily!