“That’s better.”

I find clothes in this fancy compartment that almost killed me. I check the rooms, rifling through travel bags, suitcases and purses. Nothing I find fits well, but at least it’s something.

Boxers. Work boots. A few pairs of socks, so I can fit the heavy boots better. A pair of jeans and sweatpants. Shirts, a sweater and a water-proof jacket. A thick belt. An analog watch. Fingerless gloves. A beanie.

I wear layers to keep the teeth out of my skin next time. Hopefully, they keep my guts from touching the bare ground again.

I find a few things to stuff the pockets of my sweatpants and jacket. Dollars and coins. Lighters and matches. Pens and a small pocketknife.

“Tch!”

All the phones are dead or locked. No signal. No Wi-Fi. I try a few random password combinations: strings of ones and zeroes and nines. The screens fill with asterisks, until each try is rejected. After getting locked out of a few phones I give up.

I find a silver crucifix to string around my neck. I try to wipe the blood off with a handkerchief, but stubborn bits still cling to the hard to reach places and the fine links of the chain, giving it a rusty, abandoned look.

“Good enough.”

I pick up a cedar cane with a handle carved like a bird’s beak and a copper cap on the end.

I feel as ready as I can, so I step onto the little platform between train cars carefully. The wind roars at me again. I clutch the cane and look around. The only sounds are the ones made by the train itself.

It looks like we left the forest behind. We pass fields, wooden fences, snow covered hay bales and blocky buildings. A few lights gleam on the horizon. We’re getting somewhere.

The next train car welcomes me quietly. The seats and the floor are dark fabric. The roof and overhead are pale plastic. The windows show fields on both sides. I pass a room I assume is the bathroom, and shuffle deeper, ready with the cane in my hand.

There’s no sound but train sounds, and no lights but the ones through the windows, in the distance where the snowy ground meets the night sky. The world is grey again, in many shades deep and dark.

I flinch when the train’s horn lets out a long cry. I glance around to make sure nothing is moving on me, covered by the sound of the horn. The horn wails again, long and lasting. I wait for another cry once it stops, but minutes pass and nothing else comes.

I ease down the aisle between rows of empty seats. I pass their tall backs and scan each seat as it’s revealed. Bags and purses and wallets sit in easy reach. I could grab one. I could grab a few. The compartments overhead are latched shut. They could be empty or overflowing. I could just pop one open. What I find could save my life.

I… no. Something tells me I’ve stayed too long in this place. My steps as quiet as I can get them, I reach the end of it, and move outside to reach the next compartment.

The door is locked. On the other side of the porthole, I see figures moving. They wear white uniforms, with hairnets and caps on their heads. I jingle the handle a few times and one of them looks at me. Pale, angry eyes cut to the side. It gestures with a chef’s knife. ‘Around! Around!’ is what the motion says.

I look around. Not exactly clear what I should do. Trying to get in, where zombies are waving weapons at me sounds like a bad idea. I see one of them hobbling around with a boiling pot. No. No.

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So what’s the plan? I glance up. That’s the only way. I leap to the roof. I judge it wrong and fall on my face again. Next time, I’ll jump from farther away, and jump harder. Either way, I’m moving over the locked cabin. When I reach the edge of the roof, I find rubber wrapped around the gap between cars. There’s no way to get down.

“Shit!”

The train rocks and rattles. My foot slips and scuffs snow. I fall on my hands to keep from sliding over the edge. The dark surface of the train is revealed where icy powder is scraped away. Down below, The steel of the tracks and snow covered ground flash past.

I leap across to the next roof, searching for a way back down. Instead I find another rubber corridor between the cars. My way is blocked off. I cross another roof, slipping and sliding, only to find more rubber. More than a dozen cars ahead, the engine leaks smoke into the air., I cough it in, blinking stinging eyes.

It’s starting to look like I won’t find my way back inside. I cross the coupling and walk along the roof. Snow crunches underfoot and I struggle for balance. The train shudders as it runs along the tracks.

The next junction has no rubber corridor attached. It’s just a metal grate floor, with metal railing on the sides. I drop on the grate with a clang. The doors on either side aren’t that dense metal with tiny portholes anymore. They’re polished wood, with brass handles and massive windows. Snow gathers on the ridges and frost covers all the glass, making the interior look hazy and indistinct. Grey not-darkness. Shapes on shapes and quiet things.

I should go back to see what that strange room was, with its frantic, knife-wielding zombies. Don’t want to miss something important.

I open the train car’s door to find a dining area. Two long booths line the wall on the right, and two-person tables line the other. Golden lights glow from lamps on the tables. Round white lights shine on the ceiling. After all the monochrome gloom, the room seems to glow with the light. The drapes, lampshades, table covers, floor tiles, paint and furniture are all deep, royal blue, or pale yellow.

There’s not a single speck of blood, and only one person stands inside. It bows from across the cabin while I close the door.

When I move into the room, it matches me, step for step, perfectly silent. It wears a serving uniform: shining shoes, black slacks and a white apron with deep pockets, a white shirt with ruffles on the chest, a black vest, black gloves and bowtie. Dark hair is pulled back in a single braid, not a hair out of place. Slanted, cloudy eyes sit in a pretty, tan face filled with dark veins. If not for the zombie eyes and the strange, red lips, it would look just like a regular woman.

“Um, hello?”

The zombie bows around the cloth hanging on its arm, and from nowhere she hands me a paper.

“What?”

When she says nothing, I look at what she handed me. A menu: thick paper, folded like a brochure. I open it. No pictures. Blocks of text cover every fold. The headings are deep and dark red. They seem like they should be seeping out of the paper, smearing my hands.

The rest of the words are embossed in golden, flowing script that stays in my head as I look away. The symbols float in front me. I try to blink glowing words out of my mind. They fade and I glance back to see the menu in English.

“What?” I say again.

It’s just a normal menu. The prices are in Roman numerals, but the options? As regular as can be. Starters. Seafood. Meat. Salads. Soups. Chef’s Special. Beer, wine and mixed drinks.

“Can you talk?” I hand the menu back, and the zombie takes it in silence. “I have so many questions.”

I get no response, no sign that it knows what I’m saying.

“Hello? What is this place? How did we get here?” I wave around at the cabin. “Why are you dead things walking? And everyone else, where are they? What happened to my body? Where…”

I look into its dead eyes. ‘Where’s my heart?’ I want to say. ‘How could someone take that from me?’

The zombie points to one of the side tables, pulling silverware out of its apron.

“No. I’m not here to eat, just to talk.”

The zombie glares at me and bares bloody teeth. I think it understands.

“Just tell me where I am. What’s going on?”

I lean back when the zombie shoves the menu in my face. The biggest heading catches my eye. ‘Luke Duke’s Infernal Cooking, Circa 1328’. And under that: ‘Finest dining on the engine!’

“Infernal… there a demon in that kitchen?”

What the devil? Haha…

The zombie points to the door behind me. After a few moments of silence, I back away. I’m not hungry. I’m not looking for a fight. If I can’t find answers here, then it’s time to move on. With every missed beat and bloodless breath, I fear I’ll fall apart.

I know my heart is out there, somewhere. Somebody stole it- tore it right out of me and left me for dead. Now I have to get it back before it’s too late. How long can a man live without his heart? How long do I have? I don’t even know how I’m standing…

I need to hurry. I need to make myself whole again.