The click-and-clacks of the handcar being driven over the tracks reminded me of The Winter Train. But instead of a comfortable passenger cabin, we were stuck inside a cart that was dragged behind two other much more spacious wagons. Apparently, the cramp travelling arrangement was 'all they could find', the rebels told us, as they and their leader travelled peacefully in the wagon.

Though the cart was large enough for all four of us to have leg rooms, Amelia, John, and Lindsey still slept sitting, each of their heads against a corner, hugging their rifles like bolsters. Even though I could not feel physical discomfort, just the sight of their bodies, twisted stiffly in their sleep, had me adjusting my own sitting. I wondered how many nights they had spent like that, in awkward, ill-fitting position as they travelled the desolate wastelands.

A soft screech came from the front as the handcar stopped its acceleration, the makeshift train slowing down as it did so. Carefully, I got up and leaned over the edge of the cart just as we came to a complete stop.

I watched as two men got off the handcar extension. One simply climbed straight into the wagon behind them while the other stepped closer to me, signalling to us the change in shift before following his companion in.

According to John's watch, dawn was still two hours away, and we were expected to reach Roagnark by nightfall. The siblings had agreed to take the first shift together, but their peaceful, sleeping faces had me climbing out of the cart in their state.

As I passed the second wagon, Colonel Jason, sitting against the inner walls opposite the entrance, stirring awake and asking, “Just you?”

“Robot arm,” I replied, showing him my metal prosthetic. “And I don't sleep much these days.”

He nodded, seemingly in approval, before closing his eyes as he went back to sleep. I wondered how much of our exchange was just him reacting naturally to his surrounding, and how much of his words were said while fully conscious.

The handcar was as classic as it got. Steel framed and wooden planked for a flooring while paint peeled and chipped from the faded red base. The walking beam, meant to be operated by two people, positioned steeled in the middle. At each of the seesaw ends were a chair, both wooden, but of different makes and design, installed after for the comfort of whoever was operating the machine.

I climbed onto the contraption and took a seat facing the tracks. Almost gingerly, I placed my robotic hand on the handle of the walking beam and, solely with my elbow, pulled the bar down.

To my surprise, the machine moved smoothly, and I could not tell that my body had exerted any kind of strains from the action. It seemed that the entire work of moving the handcar had fallen to the gears in my arm.

With equal ease, I brought the bar up. Back down. And up again. The rhythm continued, and before I knew it, we were up to speed on the tracks, moving faster than we had been able to in the past six hours.

I chuckled, “I should have done this in the first place,” I said to myself, wind rustling through my hair.

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“You probably should have.”

I jumped in my seat. I was sure there were no one else on the platform with me. Releasing the bar in shock, I stared, mouth agape, at the new presence that sat opposite me.

“Oops,” the man said as the beam slowed itself. He waved one hand over the contraption. Even though I expected the handcar to decelerate and stop, it continued to move, the beam continuing its ups-and-downs without any force on my part. “There. No need to overwork that arm of yours.”

“What did you do?” I asked, only to immediately realise I had only about a dozen other questions that were significantly more essential than that.

He ruffled his deep brown hair, strands of white dancing as he did. A proud grin stretched his face as he explained, “Oh! I just wrapped this entire um...train in a time bubble. It's looping the few seconds that it was at its maximum speed. And we are travelling around two times the speed of the world outside.” His grin grew wider as he gave me two thumbs up. “Heard you were in a rush. We should get there before noon. You're welcome.”

The man looked familiar to me, his sharp face and smooth features stuck out, though not as much as his eyes, a setting black. Then, something he said jumped at me. “Time bubble?”

“Yes!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight. “I'm a time traveller, just like you!”

“Pausa...” I said the name, and the memory of the man I met at Leila's graduation flooded back to me. And I noticed, just as it was before, that the world around us was infinitely silent. The wind that blew past me before had gone still. Our little square, separated from the world.

“You remember my name! That's so nice of you!”

I stated, “It's only been five days,” and I was both surprised and relief at how casually I was able to say days instead of years. My instincts knew that whoever this Pausa was, he was not just a kindred spirit, but telling the truth. A traveller of time.

“Really?” he replied in surprise. “It's been a month for me. But then again, I've been around. Stuff to do. Things to see. You understand?”

Strangely, I nodded, as if I understood. At the very least, I seemed to have imagined that I understood. “But what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

“Look, Milton,” Pausa began, rubbing at the bridge of his nose to relax. “I knew your grandfather when he was a kid. When the whole Day of the Mist thing happened. I was there, and I couldn't do much for him, even though I had power over all of time,” he sighed, elbows sinking into his knees in genuine regret. “One wrong step in any direction and my entire time-stream collapses in on itself from the paradox. Billions of billions of people will die. There are so little things I can do to help these days. This here though, I can help. Getting you to Roagnark earlier. That much I can do.”

“I don't get it,” I replied, getting increasingly confused by the second. Every word he said made less sense than before.

“You don't have to get it,” he said, his energetic persona seemingly having ran dry. He was sombre, sincere, and, if I was not mistaken, tired. “Just know that there were people close to your grandfather that I could not help save. And that I owe him a great debt. Making sure you reach the end of the world is my way of making it up to him.”

Sadly, I no longer have headaches, but I was still getting dizzy. “You're still not making sense,” though the language he spoke was definitely English, the words, when put together, was like reading a sequel to another story that I had skipped. “What exactly did my grandfather do? You're telling me that him being a car mechanic that worked with the government and had the ability to predict the future with songs is not the end of it?”

“Well when you put it like that, of course it would sound confusing as hell,” he replied. “But, you'll find out soon enough, what exactly it was he did.” He held out his hand in front of my face and said, “Don't blink,” and snapped his finger.

Of course, reflexively, I blinked. And like our last meeting, he disappeared without a trace, the seat as empty as before.

A mixture of surprise, disarray, frustration, and revelation circled my thoughts. I muttered to myself, “I've got to stop hanging out with weird people.”

For a split second, I wondered if it was possible that everything I had seen and heard was just a dream, until I realized that the only noise in my ears were the ringing of dead silence. The handcar was still moving on its own, the walking beam still rising and falling to the steady breaths of time.