The Age of Amy by BRUCE EDWARDS

Author:BRUCE EDWARDS [Edwards, Bruce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction
ISBN: 9780983760412
Publisher: Lambert Hill
Published: 2012-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The Diner

It wasn’t long before my stomach began to growl. "Am I the only one feeling hungry?" I asked.

"How about another boost up, Amy?" said Devin. "Maybe you’ll see some golden arches out there this time."

Devin crouched down. I braced myself on his narrow shoulders, being careful not to muss his well-groomed whiskers. He staggered to his feet, then rotated me around like a periscope. I scanned the horizon. As usual, the view that hadn’t changed, but as Devin lowered me to the ground, something caught my eye. "Wait!" I said. "Take me back up."

Off in the distance, a column of smoke rose above the cornfield from a point directly in our path. Then I heard the blast of a steam whistle. "You hear that?"

"Sounds like a train whistle," said Lydia.

"And not too far off, either," said Devin.

I jumped down off Devin’s shoulders, and we raced toward the sound. I dodged the cornstalks as I ran, like a football quarterback through a defensive line. I could see daylight through the leaves up ahead. The end of the cornfield was coming up fast.

We broke through the last row of corn onto an open plain. Train tracks ran alongside the edge of the field right in front of us. Down the tracks, a huge steam locomotive hissed under a water tower, alongside a railroad station. Passenger cars were coupled behind the engine, their shiny chrome shells glistening under the sun. The train was still a good distance away, but close enough that I could smell its hot engine grease.

"Ladies," said Devin, with a gentlemanly bow, "transportation is provided."

Just then, the steam whistle blew again, and white smoke puffed out of the train’s smokestack. A bell clanged and the engine’s massive wheels began to turn. Our transportation was leaving—without us!

We ran for the train as it chugged down the tracks. There we were, running to catch a ride again, and like before, despite our efforts, it only got farther out of range. It was like falling down a well, and the rope to climb to safety on is just out of reach.

By the time we got to the station, the train was well on its way, leaving us no chance of catching up to it. We stood on the tracks, panting like we had just run the four-minute mile. "There’ll be another one along," said Devin. "You’ll see."

Somehow, that didn’t seem too likely. The train station looked like a whistle stop for a ghost town. Cobwebs clung to old-fashioned lampposts and waved in the breeze like torn curtains. Broken glass lay on the ground below every window.

"You think anyone was on that train?" asked Lydia.

"If there was," said Devin, "they were sure in a big hurry to get outta here."

"Who’s they?" I said. "Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here in ages." There wasn’t a soul around; no camera-toting tourists, no baggage-lugging porters, no tearful good-byes, no embracing hellos.

"Let’s have a look around," said Devin. We climbed onto the elevated platform, being careful to avoid the gaping holes where the wooden planks had rotted through.

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