The Last Service

Text 1: The Last Service, by Rowan Vale

An original short story extract.

At the edge of the platform, the final train waited with its doors open. Nia climbed into the cab and shut the world behind her. The tunnel mouth was a black seam in the station wall. She eased the train forward, and the lights of the platform slipped away like coins down a drain. For a moment, the carriage windows showed nothing but her own face.

Beyond the station, the rails ran through the dark. A tremor travelled up through the floor and into her boots. The train leaned into a curve; metal shrieked against metal, then settled into a steady clatter. Nia kept one hand on the controls. The signals appeared, green and red, bright as small, watchful eyes. She knew each bend by heart, but the tunnel still seemed to shift around her.

At the last stop, the doors opened on an empty platform. Nia stepped out and listened. Somewhere above her, the city was beginning to stir. She smiled at the thought of all those streets and windows, while the train waited behind her, warm and humming. Then she climbed back into the cab. The tunnel received her again, and the lights of the platform gathered in the glass, small and distant as stars.