It was David who’d figured out how he’d go incognito. Granted, he might not have fully understood the meaning of the word, seeing as how he was now six feet tall, walking on blocks of ice that he grew from his feet. Each step he took left a square wet print behind, but thankfully, the rain had continued, and it wasn’t noticeable so long as they stayed on damp ground. It probably didn’t help that David had donned another trench coat, this one sized for an extremely tall adult. To top it off, he wore an off-white fedora with a pink band above the brim, mirror shades, and a fake black handlebar mustache that was wider than his face, the ends curled up.
It was ridiculous, of course, but David was proud of what he’d come up with, and Arthur couldn’t help but admire his ingenuity.
“We get to go on that?” David breathed, stumbling forward, the blocks under his feet making an odd sound on the ground: thonk, thonk, thonk.
“We do,” Arthur said. “All the way to the end of the line. It’ll be a long trip, but I think you’ll find the journey worth it.”
“To the tropical island,” David said dubiously, still looking at the train. “Where it’s always sunny and warm. Perfect place for a yeti.”
Linus startled. “I suppose that’s true, but rest assured, we’ve made every effort to—”
David twirled his mustache. “Yes, quite. Indeed. Indubitably.” The train whistled loudly, and David dropped the mocking, lighting up. “It’s so loud. How fast does it go? Could you jump off it while it’s moving and not die? Would someone explode if they stood on the train tracks and let it hit them? I bet the blood and guts would go on for miles.”
A woman passing them harrumphed, hand on a little girl’s shoulder as she glared at David. “Excuse me, there are children present.”
David looked left, then right, head on a swivel. “Children, you say? Where? I heard they were extinct. Someone call the papers before—”
“Yes, ma’am,” Linus said, stepping in front of David. “You are absolutely correct. Thank you for bringing that to our attention. Have a nice day.”
The girl giggled as the woman steered her away.
“You can’t bring attention to yourself,” Linus said sternly. “Not here. Not now.”
David folded his arms, a grumpy expression on his face. “So all that back at Jason’s house about me being myself was—”
“We meant every word,” Arthur said. “That’s all we want for you, David. But you have to remember that not everyone thinks like we do. There are plenty of people out there who don’t want you to succeed. Don’t give them a reason to—”
“That’s not my fault,” David retorted. “Why should I give a crap what they think about me? If they’re scared of me, maybe I should give them reasons to be scared.”
“To what end?” Arthur asked carefully.
David shrugged. “Fear makes people do things they might not have before. It might even make them a little braver than they thought they could be. Being scared doesn’t always have to be bad.” He scuffed a block of ice against the ground. “At least, that’s how I think it should be.”
“That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Linus said. “Plenty to discuss, and trust me when I say we’ll be having many conversations over the next few weeks. We’ll listen, David. I promise. The only thing we ask for in return is that you do the same. Deal?”
David hesitated for a long moment. Eventually, he muttered, “Okay.”
“Good,” Arthur said, picking up David’s suitcase along with his own. It was lighter than Arthur had expected when Jason handed it to him that morning. David didn’t have much. It was always the same, wasn’t it? Talia. Lucy. Sal. Phee. Chauncey. Theodore. Coming with the bare minimum as if that were all they needed to survive. “I think you’ll find the interior of the train just as fascinating as the exterior. Though, I must admit, it’s no bus. Have you ever ridden the bus before? I took a bus trip a couple of days ago. They have this delightful line you can pull that’ll signal to the driver—” Something caught his eye. “Excuse me for a moment. Linus, be a dear, would you? Get David to the train.”
“All right?”
“Yes,” Arthur said. “I’ll follow momentarily.”
Linus looked like he wanted to argue but took David by the hand, pulling him toward the train. “What about him?” Arthur heard David ask.
“Arthur can handle himself,” Linus replied. “Here is your ticket. Do not lose this. It’s—”
“I get my own ticket?”
Without hesitating, Arthur stalked toward a stone pillar. Affixed to the front, a poster. A notice. Big block lettering.
WHAT WILL YOU DO TO PROTECT YOUR FAMILY? SEE SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.
Making sure no one was watching, Arthur tore the poster from the pillar, balling it up in his hand. Smoke leaked between his fingers, and when he spread them, ash sprinkled down to the ground. Without looking back, he made his way to the train.
For the first hour of the trip, David didn’t move, face plastered against the window as trees and houses and fields of rain-soaked grass passed them by in a blur. He pointed out everything he saw: a strange pile of rocks, an elderly man waving from the rocking chair on his porch. When the conductor came round to punch their tickets, David all but demanded he get to hand over all three, given that he now considered himself to be a bit of an expert when it came to riding a train. The conductor, for his part, barely blinked, taking each of the tickets from David.
“Going on vacation?” the conductor asked.
“Something like that,” Linus said.
“They’re certainly not kidnapping me,” David told the conductor. “Because I’m an adult who does adult things, like taxes and laundry and being sad for no reason.”
Unfazed, the conductor said, “How wonderful! I, too, am filled with an encroaching dread over my own mortality. I’ve always thought that being aware of one’s impending demise makes for a more interesting life, but I have yet to prove this particular hypothesis. Have a pleasant trip, and do let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your journey as comfortable as possible. Ta!”
“I’ll never understand humans,” David said after the conductor had moved on. He sat across from Arthur and Linus, the train rumbling around them, the gray world streaking by, water trailing against the glass windows in complicated rivulets that looked like a map from an inebriated mapmaker.
“I doubt anyone can,” Linus said.
David grew quieter after that, sitting with his hands folded in his lap, staring out the window.
The third hour, David slumped in his seat, his hat askew on his head. Little puddles appeared on the floor as his ice blocks began to melt. Linus pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, dropping it onto the puddles. David didn’t seem to notice.
The fourth hour, David began to fidget, legs bouncing, popping his knuckles over and over. He jumped whenever someone laughed, jerking his head around as if he thought someone was coming for him.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Arthur said, and David whirled back around, almost falling out of his seat.
“Nervous?” he exclaimed. “I’m not nervous. I’m aces.” He went for a smile, but his mouth must not have gotten the message.
