Rotten Rails - Episode 2

... Grease Bum's are so common-place that they go virtually unnoticed by most everyone that rides these coaster trains. However, due to our mission, my wife Lou and I were especially adept at noticing that which was out of the ordinary. The Grease Bum scrambled up the wooden structure of the incline well ahead of our slowly ascending train. His movements were more like that of some kind of animal than a man, a fact which I attribute to his adaptation to his surroundings underneath the dark and dank girders of the coaster train. His hands were gross and black from slathering the chains with the grease he had found, and he reached for something in a black bag he had strapped around his waist. My eyes were transfixed on him as my wife surveyed around us for an exit route. He pulled out a rusty old railroad spike and raised it above his head swiftly before plunging it into the chain that was hoisting our train up the incline. Immediately the entire works failed and the trained jerked to a stop. Beneath the girders the old chain motor, sputtered and shook. It began to build up pressure and released slack on the chain as per its failsafe. Everyone aboard gasped as the train violently dropped backward down the hill, even though it only lasted a few seconds. The Grease Bum realized the error in his plan and climbed inverted down towards the chain motor. His plan now would be to release us backwards toward the next train coming up the coaster track. Lou motioned to me and I realized that in my horror watching this unfold I had frozen myself into inaction. I was merely watching this play out without making a single effort to prevent it. Lou grabbed me by the shirt and we climbed forward advancing up the train, but of course before we did, we motioned to those on the train with us including Oliver that this was our only method of survival. Lou had a knack for making sure I stayed alive, and of course this made her a crucial part of our team. All of the passengers ran toward the front and climbed from the vehicle and on to the tracks. Oliver was last and as I pulled him from the front of the train the Grease Bum completed his quest and released the fail-safe handle on the chain motor. The chain broke loose with violent fervor and the train careened violently backwards and broke apart before reaching the bottom of the incline. The Grease Bum watched from underneath and seemed satisfied with his handiwork. I knew, however, that when he went to scour the wreckage for salvage he would realize the extent of his failure. I motioned to the people on the tracks to remain quiet by gently placing my finger to my lips. Everyone understood and we began to climb up the ascent beneath the cold moonlight. The Grease Bum was out of sight now, no doubt reporting his success to whoever had organized the assassination.It turns out that long ago when many great literary works were published; their authors had used people like Oliver for inspiration. However, when the Nazi’s began their book burnings and attacks on history and society, they had found out about this fact. One Nazi general began to collect these people into a secret concentration camp, his name was General Gutenwhilder. There General Gutenwhilder and his goons recorded the knowledge of these individuals and then they shut them away sealing them in these clear helmets. The helmets appeared to be like glass, but it was much harder than glass. They were square and had holes on the top where air could come in. Generally there was enough room at the bottom of the helmet, around the neck, that the wearer could stuff some food inside to keep themselves alive. Liquids were another problem and had to be dripped down through the holes in the top. Many who were encased in these died from all sorts of diseases and rot. It was an exceptionally painful and horrific way to die. It caused madness in some and in others suicide was the only retreat. Most died in the camps, but some escaped and still others were released when Hitler fell. General Gutenwhilder was lost somewhere in the chaos and has whereabouts are unknown. Not until Lou and I had come along had there been any hope for these individuals. Quite by accident one day I had been mixing some things together in my garage when two of the chemicals I had combined began to react. The reaction ate a hole in the floor of my garage and turned out to be the only thing that could eat through these devilish helmets. When I found the substance I had recently read in a local newspaper about someone finding one of these individuals and how everything they tried to remove the helmet had failed. I professed my intentions to find a way to apply my concoction to the helmets to free the wearer and Lou was right behind me all the way. We discovered in only a few days, a way to funnel the chemical, that I now called liberation 11, on to the hinge of the helmet without affecting the wearer. It was an elaborate process, but by the time I am writing this to you I have used it at least 5 times without a single incident thus far. There was one slight problem though, after it was made public that I had freed the first captive, I returned home to find nothing but charred remains where my home once stood. The bounty had been placed on me and Lou and we had to keep moving. We decided to continue releasing those who were encased, or as we now call them, the Truths. However, despite their release, it had made no major impact on the literary world. It seems that these Truths had little to do with the validity of major literary works but had held some sinister significance to someone else, and that is why we were being hunted...