The station was empty.
As in, empty. Carl’s train was scheduled to leave at 23:53, and he was fairly certain it was the only train running at that point anywhere in the country. There was one other person at the station, a half-asleep security guard hiding behind his desk in a booth on the next platform over.
This is why Carl was surprised to see the drunk. He was about six-foot-three, weighed easily two hundred pounds or more, and reeked of every kind of liquor you could name. Carl could smell each one from down the platform as the man weaved his way towards him. Carl had no idea where he’d had come from, but as he glanced over at the security guard to make sure he was still awake (he wasn’t), it struck him that were this man to attack him, he’d have literally no way of defending himself (beyond pleading). He was certainly drunk enough, and certainly big enough.
The drunk never made eye contact, despite Carl’s frequent glances. He just stared at his own feet as he made his way closer and closer.
He sometimes swerved dangerously close to the yellow line at the edge of the platform, but always managed to stumble away, right back to the wall, where he’d lean for a second or two before venturing on.
Carl tried not to stare at him, but as the shambling footsteps got closer and louder it got harder and harder. Carl picked a vending machine a few platforms away and fixed his eyes on it.
The drunk continued his inexorable march towards him.
“Heh-“, he started.
Carl swallowed audibly.
“Heh-, hey”, he finished.
Carl turned to look at him.
The man was only a few meters from him now. With a lurch that made even Carl’s head spin, the man stumbled the rest of the way over to the platform edge. He teetered there for a moment, both of them knew what was about to happen, and he fell with a sickening cracking sound onto the rails.
Carl jumped at the sound. He dropped his bag, swearing, and ran to the edge. The security guard was still sleeping, and there was no way he could hear anything Carl could shout at him. The man was lying on the rails, groaning, his eyes closed. Carl checked the time on the schedule board, it was 23:50. He couldn’t just watch the man be crushed by the train, he had to do something. This guy wasn’t small though, and he didn’t know if he could manage it. He squatted down.
“Mate.” No response. “Mate, you’ve got to get up.”
The man just moaned. He didn’t look like he could move, let alone stand up.
“Mate, you’re on a train track and there’s a train coming. If you don’t stand up now. . .”
Carl had intended to finish that sentence, but as he was about to say it the reality of it hit him. This man wasn’t going to be able to stand up. If he didn’t stand up in the next three (Carl checked his phone), no, two minutes, he would die under a train where he was lying. And Carl would have to watch.
Swearing again, he dropped down onto the track, trying to land in between the rails. When he looked up at the station from this entirely new angle, panic’s fingertips rested on the back of his neck. He tried shaking the man.
“Please get up, the train’s going to be here any second.”
The man only groaned.
“You’ve got literally minutes.”
Nothing.
Now panic’s whole hand was around his throat.
There was another track and between him and the opposite platform. Carl knew that if he couldn’t lift him (there was no way), he would have to roll him.
He checked his watch – 23:51:37. For the first time in his life, he hoped the train would be late.
Carl was by no means strong. He moved the mans legs round until he was roughly parallel with the tracks, and reached under his body. With a heave and a grunt, he managed to lift the man’s shoulder up by about five inches. He felt something start to go in his back and panicked. He dropped him again and checked the time. 23:52:02. Less than a minute.
Again he lifted, this time from the legs and with more strength than he knew he had, he managed to get the man on to his side. Relief exploded through him like a drug, but was quickly replaced with horror as he felt the subtle vibration of the tracks through the man’s body. Panic was choking him now.
There was no time to check his phone.
“Come on you cunt!” Shouted Carl in desperation. He pushed the man the rest of the way over on to his stomach.
“Come on!” he shouted again, this time in frustration. The man’s left shoulder and leg were still on the track – the wheels of the train would slice him in half.
Carl had never seen a train from this angle. He’d never realised how tall they were, or how fast they moved.
He forked his hands under the man a second time, and stretching every muscle in both legs, he lifted. With a lump in his throat and his neck and back slick with fear, Carl managed to roll the man off the track and on to the next one over. Again the relief, and again the terror as he heard for the first time the train’s horn screaming at him. He screamed with it and leapt over the man, his body a blur and his mind a chasm except for desperation.
* * *
The next thing Carl knew he was rolling over to lie on his back, both of his hands bloody, watching a train roll past him. He propped himself up on his elbows. His legs were resting on the man’s stomach. When he stood up, he was like a lamb standing for the first time. He checked the drunk for damage.
His face was fine – a small scratch from where he’d fallen, and Carl expected there would be bruising, but at least it was attached. The top knuckle of his middle finger on his right hand was also still attached, but completely crushed. His foot on the same side, however, was not so lucky. It now stopped about four inches from his ankle.
Carl turned and leant on the platform, his arms crossed and his forehead rested at the crook. He could hear the security guard’s voice, but not the words he was saying. His legs were still shaking, and he couldn’t get the picture of the train coming towards him out of his head. He felt the guard’s hand on his shoulder and looked up at him. The guard was a mess; there was no colour in his face and he wouldn’t stop asking if Carl was okay. Carl lifted his hand (it felt heavy, like he was drunk), and waved at him, managing an “I’m fine” or two before pointing to the now completely unconscious man and half whispering “sort him out.”
Absently, Carl realised he was going to miss his train.