Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [763]
“This is the Taggart Comet,” said Eddie Willers, choking.
“The Comet, eh? Looks more like a dead caterpillar to me. What’s the matter, brother? You’re not going anywhere—and you can’t get there any more, even if you tried.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t think you’re going to New York, do you?”
“We are going to New York.”
“Then ... then you haven’t heard?”
“What?”
“Say, when was the last time you spoke to any of your stations?”
“I don’t know! ... Heard what?”
“That your Taggart Bridge is gone. Gone. Blasted to bits. Sound-ray explosion or something. Nobody knows exactly. Only there ain’t any bridge any more to cross the Mississippi. There ain’t any New York any more—leastways, not for folks like you and me to reach.”
Eddie Willers did not know what happened next; he had fallen back against the side of the engineer’s chair, staring at the open door of the motor unit; he did not know how long he stayed there, but when, at last, he turned his head, he saw that he was alone. The engineer and the fireman had left the cab. There was a scramble of voices outside, screams, sobs, shouted questions and the sound of the side-show barker’s laughter.
Eddie pulled himself to the window of the cab: the Comet’s passengers and crew were crowding around the leader of the caravan and his semi-ragged companions; he was waving his loose arms in gestures of command. Some of the better-dressed ladies from the Comet—whose husbands had apparently been first to make a deal—were climbing aboard the covered wagons, sobbing and clutching their delicate make-up cases.
“Step right up, folks, step right up!” the barker was yelling cheerfully. “We’ll make room for everybody! A bit crowded, but moving—better than being left here for coyote fodder! The day of the iron horse is past! All we got is plain, old-fashioned horse! Slow, but sure!”
Eddie Willers climbed halfway down the ladder on the side of the engine, to see the crowd and to be heard. He waved one arm, hanging onto the rungs with the other. “You’re not going, are you?” he cried to his passengers. “You’re not abandoning the Comet?”
They drew a little away from him, as if they did not want to look at him or answer. They did not want to hear questions their minds were incapable of weighing. He saw the blind faces of panic.
“What’s the matter with the grease-monkey?” asked the barker, pointing at Eddie.
“Mr. Willers,” said the conductor softly, “it’s no use ...”
“Don’t abandon the Comet!” cried Eddie Willers. “Don’t let it go! Oh God, don’t let it go!”
“Are you crazy?” cried the barker. “You’ve no idea what’s going on at your railroad stations and headquarters! They’re running around like a pack of chickens with their heads cut off! I don’t think there’s going to be a railroad left in business this side of the Mississippi, by tomorrow morning!”
“Better come along, Mr. Willers,” said the conductor.
“No!” cried Eddie, clutching the metal rung as if he wanted his hand to grow fast to it.
The barker shrugged. “Well, it’s your funeral!”
“Which way are you going?” asked the engineer, not looking at Eddie.
“Just going, brother! Just looking for some place to stop ... somewhere. We’re from Imperial Valley, California. The .‘People’s Party’ crowd grabbed the crops and any food we had in the cellars. Hoarding, they called it. So we just picked up and went. Got to travel by night, on account of the Washington crowd.... We’re just looking for some place to live.... You’re welcome to come along, buddy, if you’ve got no home—or else we can drop you off closer to some town or another.”
The men of that caravan—thought Eddie indifferently—looked too mean-minded to become the founders of a secret, free settlement, and not mean-minded enough to become a gang of raiders; they had no more destination to find than the motionless beam of the headlight; and, like that beam, they would dissolve somewhere