Prelude: Train Tickets

Ayla Carter:

It wasn't as if they cared. But you know. That was the last damn straw. When they found the stash in the larder, no one at the Foster Institute could take it. Letters were sent. Advisors came. Seems you have an issue with authority you overhear. Somehow these people think you've been a problem for far too long. And to sneak your boyfriend into the dorms? What is wrong with these people anyway. They must be prudes, never having fun. Let alone letting you have any fun. But from your little session in the administrators office, alone, at night revealed that they were going to ship you off to some specialist who deals with 'problem children who can't take the system' in a town called Amherst.

Thats okay. Ricky West has been dealing out that way for a while now. You could just arrange to have all your swag ported out that way. You certainly have the scratch for that. You know that town by name at the very least. Its cool. Take the ride the center here is going to give you and you can escape. There ain't no 'specialist' whose going to make your ticker 'tock' like he wants to. Its only a matter of days now. Then; FREEDOM!


Lucas Sanderson

Oh god. Where did they get that photo? Maybe it was through one of your many women 'friends' you've picked up lately. Well, its not that the photo is recent. More like a student picture. Pphhhst, wait...when did you ever really stay in school; let alone for a school picture. Maybe it was that time you were arrested as a teen. But hey, seems they want to give you money. If only you had money right now. Just need to get in touch with some attorney guy in that town of Amherst.

The next few days are filled with a few last minute swindles and picking up some more 'friends'. Luckily those friends tip well. They pay you to leave. No time for love. Just the never ending grind for easy money. You check out the local scene in Amherst, through one of your 'girlfriends' laptops and give a few places a glancing over. Suede Club looks nice. No male strip clubs. Those are trouble for you anyway, too many others like yourself looking to make a bigger tip.

Mr. Mason contacted. A train ticket is waiting. So is all that free cash.


Celina Murphy

It was decided that after the suit against Detective Allington for sexual harassment that you were advised to move on. No you didn't win. Harold Allington is still an asshole and got away with his greasy touch. But the man has connections. You call your father who had moved to some podunk town
called Amherst years ago, and as fortune would have it there was an opening down there for a detective. Seems he put in some good words for you already, after hearing about your troubles. Of course, that reminds you immediately that dear ole Dad is no angel. Yeah, he's a right black mark in society. A 'made' man of some sort. Retired maybe. But you got to admit, he's got the stuff you need right now. Even the thought of removing Allington crosses your mind. But there would be too many questions. It'd give you that quick fix. But leave a bad aftertaste.

So you put in. Packed your things and head down to the station for your ticket to Amherst.



Karl Wood
Oh man. Oh man. You have got...to...get...out...of...town. Dump the car. The man is on your ass again. Now they are sending Census letters to find out who you are. Last week is they were at the station asking for background information about all the drivers. And so on. Everywhere you go, the man starts digging in. You pack your suitcase. It's heavy. I mean three guns and ammunition. Don't want to forget your journals, clippings and lucky charm. You'll have to dump the car though. They'll track it. If they haven't already. Sweat pours over the one pair of underwear you manage to stuff into the suitcase. Oh shit. Where you going to go? Fuck it. Just take a train. They don't check luggage there and you can just grab the first train leaving. Oh yeah. This time it will be different.

The motel room was cheap, maybe the cheapest in town. The once white walls had yellowed with time, the paint curling down as it reached the ceiling. The ghost of long ago spilt beers, coffee and sex clung to the mottled carpet like a host, its scent subtly clinging to everything in the room. Ayla sat on the edge of the bed in her batman panties and Eric’s tee shirt, the boy was snoring behind her. In an hour or so she would have to wake him up, so he could drive her to the train station.

The ticket was sitting on the rooms little table, next to her backpack. All of her other worldly goods had left the day before yesterday in a U-Store-It, We-Haul-It container. It depressed the girl that all she had to put in it was her bike and two duffle bags full of clothes and shoes. A few posters of bands she liked and a handful of CD’s. She had sold off what of her stash that the Law Dogs hadn’t confiscated, sending a money order to West so she would have some 420 to sell.

Ayla spent her last hour in town showering and stealing two of Eric’s tee shirts; she liked to sleep in them. They smelled like him. She got dressed in her favorite pair of jeans, the knees ripped from years of wear and tear, not because it was fashionable. Her bike jacket covered the girls black tank top, and her strap was shoved into the back of her jeans. She put in the piercing she took out when she slept, and when she was fully dressed, the girl woke up Eric.

An hour later, Ayla was getting dressed again, cursing the boy playfully and in a bit more of a hurry. She had, after all, a train to catch.

Timothy Hallenbeck:

Well. At least the transfer is done. Lynne has gone on ahead to Amherst a few days ago to get the house all settled. You've been left in a motel room thinking about things for a bit. All those boys you have led into battle, out there in the mountains and desert. You brought them all back. Did they reward you? Nope. What the hell. You figure you'd be past captain at this point, working up to Major and so on. But no. Captain is where you have been stuck out.

So here you are. All the transfer paperwork is done. You just need the H.T. doc (Honorable Transfer) tomorrow morning and it's off to the train station. Yeah, some of your peers took jabs at your posting. Fuck. Who has ever heard of Amherst. Fort Claude is supposedly where they send guys to clean up septic tanks or some such. But you've heard the whispers in bars and offices. About that quiet zone Claude has got. Some sort of electromagnetic measuing station. No communication allowed in that place. And then there are the wild rumors about it being the new Area 51. Good ole D-71, the new alien homeland! Yeah. Thats right.

But there was something in Colonel Gent's voice, the CO of Claude that hinted that it is at Amherst where you will make your mark. You tap the train ticket in your hand, put it down on the nightstand and shut off the light.