strangersonatrain20.html
The following contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts between consenting teenage boys. It is a work of pure fiction and has no basis in the real world. Any similarities between people and places is just simple and plain coincidence. Do not read this story if you are under 18 or the legal age in your area; or, if it is just down right illegal to read this material where you live. And, don't go any further if you don't want to read about gay/bisexuals falling in love and having sex.
The author of this story retains copyright to this story and its characters. Reproducing this story for distribution without the author's explicit permission is a violation of that copyright.
Please, feel free to email me with your comments, questions, or just general thoughts for this story at mavjk99@yahoo.com.
Strangers on a Train
by. J. A. Adkins
Part 20-Chasing the Train
Enter, me, a stranger in a foreign land. I am but an infant in this world before me. Reality is checked at the door with my coat and expectations. Here I'm left to dance with these wilds-unknown and be fucked all night by my own fears which no longer stalk me but whisper in my ear.
With the hot, mid-afternoon wind whipping through my hair in the back of the old sports coupe being hurled down the winding dirt road with the dusty plains zipping past in a monochromatic blur of sun-bleached brown. I lost sight of the quiet, even cozy Baden compound some time ago. I had had my doubts when old Dewey met us at the bottom step of his front porch in the front seat of the maroon-colored roadster. I should have known better when I saw the excited twinkle in Maryln Baden's eyes. I couldn't imagine the sum of adventures she and her husband had in this car. I kept my hands on my lap. I didn't want to imagine those adventures. Pardon me while I shudder away the thought of straight-sex.
"Be careful, hun," Maryln had said as she hugged me goodbye.
"I will," I said into her shoulder.
She looked over at Darren who was standing a few feet away, appearing awkward and bashful. It was so attractive. "Ya' take care of this one, ya' understand?"
Darren smiled at me. "I will. Don't worry."
"Let's burn some tracks, boys!" Dewey yelled merrily.
Then, just like that, I was watching the Baden clan melt away into the background beyond the curling wake of dust kicked-up by the Batmobile-like jet-car propelling us across the country's heartland.
Now I found myself watching this new-found world of strange excitement pass around us. I felt like the blind being led by the mad. Or, was it the other way around? It doesn't matter. My life was suddenly in the hands of Darren and his former mentor. I stared at them absently as they talked occasionally on things completely beyond my brain's library. I couldn't help but reminisce for a moment on how I was still changing. I could almost see the shadow of my former life behind me, just on the edge of my vision. In the back of that former rust-bucket now rocket-on-wheels, I am all that was left of a boy who had let his demons consume him.
"What are you thinking about?"
I looked up. Darren's ice-blue eyes locked onto mine. He grinned softly. I shook my head. "Oh, just random things."
"We're gettin' close," Dewey announced suddenly.
I shifted my gaze away from Darren as he turned his attention back to the endless, narrow stretch of loose gravel and dirt. I looked at Dewey, watching him as he guided his prized possession across the plain as smoothly as a sailboat would conquer fair seas.
"Turning psychic are we?" I asked sarcastically.
Dewey glanced at me over his shoulder. He held is gaze a little longer than I thought was necessary. But then, what was he going to miss? There wasn't anything on the road to hit. The only way we could get in an accident would be if a spaceship making crop circles had suddenly flown out of a field right in front of the car.
"Psychic?" Dewey said, almost barking the word. "Psychics are more like scam artists in my opinion."
"Dewey," Darren interrupted, tapping his older friend on the shoulder. "Either the corn field is growing or you're veering too far to the right."
"What?" Dewey turned his head. "Oh! Whoops!" He quickly adjusted our course, turning the wheel with a graceful, well-practiced movement.
"Like I was sayin', though," he continued. "Psychics are scam artists. Everyone is a psychic, really."
"How's that?" I asked.
"Intuition. That's where the real power is. Crystal balls and a deck of cards...save that for Vegas and a hit of acid."
I couldn't help but smile at him. Darren was doing the same thing. It was obvious Darren had heard Dewey's feelings on the subject of supernatural powers more than once. Suddenly, for a moment, I felt kind of envious of the two of them. I had never known such an intimate connection before. My parents only really expressed their love for me after they were dead. And I had to read about that. Max certainly never loved me; and, there was always some kind of distance between myself and my friends. Yet, there seemed to be very few borders separating the two friends in the front seat of the roadster. I tried to imagine what the relationship between Darren and his father had been like. I didn't get much of a chance though. The last few moments of calmness I would know for a while were about to disappear with another shout from Dewey.
I saw his arm extend out over the side of the car. He pointed at something in the closing distance. Even before he said the words, I could see it. "There it is! There's the train!" Dewey said as if he had expected to see it in that very spot the whole time. "Just like I said. You see... intuition."
"Is that what you're calling your connections these days?" Darren said, smirking.
"Well... they helped too. How else was I supposed to know the finer details... like how the train had been delayed over night while it was inspected and a search for ya'll two had been conducted."
I felt myself smiling, not so much at Dewey's comments, but more because the sight of train's sleek, silver body glinting like a gem in the afternoon sunlight was a reminder of Chicago, of the life I was moving away from and the exciting new things ahead of me. From this distance, it truly was a silver lining.
By the next mile that we gained on the train's tail end, I was quickly reminded of what else the train meant. "All right, Darren. Open that satchel by yer feet. You boys start gettin' armed. Let's be ready for anythin'!"
Darren reached for the heavy, black leather bag between his feet. At the same time, the details of the train were starting to come into focus. The dirt road began to hug the sun-baked railroad tracks for longer intervals. The slick and heavy grinding of the train's wheels slipping down the sharp length of the rails was light in the blustering air and quickly getting heavier.
I stopped watching our destination, watching Darren, instead, when I heard him slipping fully loaded bullet clips into the polished, black and silver, semi-automatic pistols he was fishing out of the leather bag. He looked over his shoulder at me as he locked one of the clips into place, cocking the gun then setting the safety. "Here", he said, handing me the cold weapon butt first. "You might need this."
"I thought we were just trying to get back on the train not invade a small country!"
"You remember the last time we hung out with Devoy and his posse..." It wasn't a question. "I want us to be prepared this time." I hesitated but took the gun anyway. Darren turned back around in his seat, getting fast back to work.
I watched him a few minutes more when I realized I was hard. My heart was starting to beat faster. I could feel the adrenaline starting to rise throughout my entire body. I was nervous and beginning to fear what could happen as we got closer to the train. But at the same time, I couldn't deny that the sight of Darren so expertly working those guns was a huge turn-on for me. The way he jacked the loading mechanism I'd swear he was horny too.
"Two minutes, at least!" Dewey exclaimed. He had to yell now. I glanced up. The once growing silver line that was train was suddenly a multi-car vehicle pushing quickly over the dry expanse of terrain.
Damn, I thought to myself, this car really is fast. I could see the windows on the last few compartments and the painted stripes running down the side of each metal body. As the seconds passed, more and more of the train became visible. A thin patch of grass and small underbrush separated the dirt road and the tracks. In the windows I could make out figures,obscured by the tinted glass, moving about.
"We're ready," Darren shouted.
"Good," Dewy said. "'Cause here we go!"
"Oh, God!" I said, worriedly.
The median of natural landscaping disappeared with a rush behind us. The edge of the road seemed to almost suddenly reach out and grab the tracks. The noise of the speeding locomotive roared in the whipping wind around the roadster. I could make out every detail on the shiny metal body of the closet car. The heat radiated off the silver surface in sweltering waves. The skin of my palm hugging the handle of the gun Darren had given me was slick with sweat. My heart was beating in tempo with the rapid succession of thud-dud's from the tracks beneath the train.
"I'm goin' to close in on the last car!" Dewey yelled over the heavy din.
He slowed down just slightly, letting the train push ahead. I caught a glimpse of a familiar-looking figure hurrying through the interior of the cars beside us. He was alone at first. A few heartbeats later, that changed with the appearance of two other figures fast on his heels.
The side and then back of the last car came into view. Darren stood up as it went swiftly by. He glanced down quickly in my direction-his cue for me to stand up as well. I followed his lead. "Did you see in the window?!" I nodded my answer. "I think Devoy's on to us!" he added.
The small door at the back of the car, half-obscured in the cool shadow cast by the awning above it, opened inward. Jake Lagrimas, the young porter I had given a "special" tip to earlier in the trip, hurried out onto the little platform barely big enough for two people.
"It's Jake!" I yelled excitedly, relieved to see another familiar face. My excitement didn't last.
A thick hand grabbed my young friend's collar, throwing him back into the train car with a fierce jerk. In the same second, another familiar face appeared on the platform. Whatever enthusiasm I had felt a short second ago was completely gone.
"It's Devoy!" Darren yelled.
"And he's got a gun!"
A sharp crack split the wind and then my ears. I saw the muzzle flare in the same second I heard the shot. With a surprising snap, the bullet collided heavily with the edge of the windshield, causing all three of us in the roadster to flinch.
"And he's firing!" I yelled, realizing I was panicking and stating the obvious.
"Two can play that game," Darren hissed loudly. In a flash of motion he was standing back up and squeezing the trigger on his gun.
One-Two-Three shots tore away from his pistol and toward the train. Bright sparks exploded off its thick skin as the shells impacted around Devoy. The man flinched slightly, trying to avoid a bullet wound. In the next second he was firing again. I ducked lower as each tiny shell slapped against the frame of the car.
"Are you admiring the show or would you mind helping me?!" Darren yelled, firing another half dozen rounds toward his enemy.
"What do you want me to do?!"
"JUST FIRE!" Dewey and Darren yelled simultaneously.
"On the count of three! Okay?!" Darren said loudly, crouching while Devoy returned fire. Another storm of shots rang out above and around the roadster.
I nodded.
Darren took a deep breath, tossing the pistol in his hand aside and grabbing another two. He looked at me, waiting as I undid the safety on my own gun. "One... Two.... Three!"
I followed his movements as Darren sprang back up unleashed all the hell he could muster from the twin pistols he gripped tightly on his sun-licked and sweat-glazed hands. I looked toward the train and squeezed the trigger of the gun in my own hands. It fired before I knew it was going to, the shot kicking me back taking me by surprise. I recovered and adjusted, pulling back on the trigger once more.
A twisted and irregular network of gun fire danced across the metal platform on the train. Devoy ducked, giving room for the looming Mr. French and one of the evil twinks that had seduced me to step forward in his place. In each of their grips was the polished bodies of much larger, meaner looking guns.
"Oh... shit!" Darren yelled, surprised by the sight of their weapons.
"Duck!" Dewey shouted.
The word had barely left his mouth when the din of noise around the train was changed for the worst by the rapid-fire and deafening crackle of heavier weapons. Bullets rained out across the ground in a violent, white-hot storm. Dewey swerved and adjusted as best he could. Metal sparked and paint chipped and imploded as each of the pointed shells punched or pierced their way through the roadster.
I got as low as I could, feeling several rounds just miss the top of my back as they opened a line of holes through the left side of the vehicle. The leather seats beside me frayed around each deadly hit. "This is fucking crazy!" I yelled, but I doubt anyone heard me.
Glass cracked and shattered. Dewey tried to get his car further away. The sound in the air changed again. First from the front and then from the back. The left side of the feeling vehicle suddenly sank. The tires whined and exploded in a hot, dusty spray of shredded rubber and gravel. Dewey held the wheel with white knuckles, trying to keep control of his car. Then I heard the noise of the train get too loud and knew he had turned the wheel too far again. The naked front rim, still reeling from its dying tire, bounced hard against the rail of the track. The laws of physics decided the rest.
Our speed was to great to stay steady...or even upright. The jarring impact sent the roadster ricocheting away from the dusty track. I yelled, feeling the narrow car rise into the air and just as suddenly twist frighteningly to the right. In a blur of motion, noise, and dirt, the car landed on its side, skating across the flat road. I kept yelling, seeing the gravel on the road slide inches past my head for several more yards. Even when we came to a stop and the noise in the air began to grow still... I could hear myself yelling.
I didn't stop until Darren righted himself and rolled out of the car, guns blazing. But the train was already increasing its distance between us. I crawled out of the car, watching as Darren's shoulders sank in disappointment. "Shit," he said bitterly.
"Ow! Oh... darn," Dewey groaned above me. I looked, spotting his bleeding body still fastened into the driver's seat. He was fumbling woozily with the buckle of his seat belt.
"Darren!" I called out, climbing back into the car to try and help.
I heard Darren's quick steps over the stirred-up gravel. "Oh, no. Dewey!"
Together, the two of us released the older man from the confines of his battered car. I didn't realize how much his muscular frame weighed until he collapsed onto us, nearly knocking both Darren and I back into the dirt. We struggled for several painful moments to keep our balance and carefully drag him away from the bleeding roadster. The smell of gasoline was tainting the air.
Our timing couldn't have been better. Just as the blood-stained trail in the dirt leading to the opposite edge of the road had grown to mere meters, the cracked-open fuel tank ignited. A single spark from the dying car's settling form tore the the heap of maroon-painted metal inside out. In an instant it was lost in a blinding fireball. The eardrum-shattering burst of noise washed past us quickly. I looked at Darren, barely able to hear him over the ringing in my ear canals.
"That was too close," he said.
"Yeah..." Dewey said breathlessly, his voice cracking from pain I imagined was emitting through his whole body. A pair of bullet wounds bled warm, sticky blood from a spot on his shoulder and another on the lower right side of his chest.
"Are you all right, Dewey? Is... Is there anything we can do?" Darren asked frantically, tucking the leather satchel under Dewey's head. There was a sudden sense of fear and uncertainty in Darren's voice. It was a humbling reminder that he certainly was human after all.
"No, no... I'm fine. Really. It's..." Dewey glanced down at himself and forced a smile. "It's just a flesh wound."
Darren laughed. He was on the edge of crying. I was already crying for him. Against the sound of the wind-whipped flames eating away at the charred metal frame of the old roadster, a new sound began to replace the fading ringing which had plagued my ear drums for several minutes.
"Sirens," I whispered.
A moment later, Darren could hear them too. It seemed as if a whole city's worth of police cruisers were racing down the dirt road toward the column of choking black smoke rising from the smoldering ruins of the car.
"What do we do," I asked, looking back and forth between Darren and Dewey.
"You... You boys get goin' now. You get back on that train and you catch that bastard, Devoy."
"How, Dewey? The train is already miles away. And the car... Well..." We all looked at the pile of junk smothered in a heavy blanket of soft orange and deep crimson flames. "I don't think the car works anymore."
Dewey looked up at his former protege. "Consider it fate, boy. Look around ya'."
"What?" Darren asked, confused.
Dewey raised his left arm. It trembled as he pointed to the small, single engine plane puttering through the clear afternoon sky above us.
"It's a plane," Darren said.
"The local airfield is just... ughh... a mile or two west of here." He pointed with a jerky nod of his head toward the horizon behind he and Darren. "That way."
"I don't know how to fly."
Dewey smiled. "Ya' know someone who does, though. And... I... think he... ughh... still owes yer family a favor."
Darren suddenly sat up straighter. An unsettling look of anger and determination rolled over his face and stayed there. I was beginning to get nervous again. Pain had usually begun to follow that look. Gun fire, now, too.
"Now, go on!" The sirens were getting louder. The fleet of official vehicles would be rounding the bend in the fields at any moment. "Hurry, now."
"But, Dewey!"
"No, Darren. You go. Get him. Get Devoy. And don't stop until ya' do." He was almost pushing Darren away. I watch my young stud bend down with tears in his eyes and kiss the only living father figure he knew on the forehead.
Darren stood up, adjusting the guns he had tucked between between the top of the pants and the shirt Dewey had given him earlier in the day. "Come on, then," he said to me. "We have to hurry."
We took a few steps before Dewey called out one more time. "It was fate, ya' know! Even if ya' don't believe. It put ya' near the airfield..." He rolled over just slightly, smiling up at us with clenched teeth. "And, it brought ya'll two together."
Darren and I looked at each other. I knew what I felt. Personal history kept me from saying it.
"Ya'll two are going to be fine. Now... and later. Now get on! And stay together!"
"Good bye, old friend," Darren said with a weak smile.
With that, the two of us turned fast on our heels, disappearing into the dusty fields spread out before us with the chorus of police cars in our wake and the last leg of our adventure ahead.