//------------------------------// // Chapter 7: The Angel of Salvation // Story: Wreck of the Bridleway Limited // by Locomotion //------------------------------// Perspective: Octavia In the darkest depths of my subconscious mind, I found myself lying alone and injured in the midst of a rocky wilderness, with no other creature to be seen for miles around, sentient or otherwise. The sensation of a dozen daggers pierced mercilessly through my left arm, and my head pulsated with equal measures of pain, causing me to let out a yell of despair and agony for somepony to help me. But no-one did, and I could feel white-hot tears stinging my eyes as I began to fade away. But that was when I felt my world begin to tremble vigorously, and an anxious, youthful voice called out to me, pleading for me to wake up. It almost sounded like she did in her more vulnerable moments, and the image of her began to fill my head as I gingerly gathered my senses and opened my heavy-lidded eyes, whereupon the shaking ceased. The blur slowly cleared from my vision, and through the darkness that still reigned over me in the literal sense as well as figurative, I could see a little colt standing over me with an expression of worry on his face; while all around the both of us could be heard the anxious clamour of ponies and the fizzling sound of a flame cutting through metal. “What happened?” I asked, still unable to comprehend why I was lying in pain on a hard floor. The colt sighed with relief. “Cor, am I ever glad you're still alive, miss. That must have been a lucky escape for you.” He spoke with a thick Trottingham accent, almost a Cockney. “What was?” “Your train's gone and crashed into a pair of light engines,” the colt explained gently. “You must have been knocked out by the impact.” I gazed into his face, trying to ignore the ache in my head as I tried to recall the events that had led to my loss of consciousness. There was something strangely familiar about this colt as well, I noticed; he was red in colour, which almost concealed the few bleeding scratches he seemed to have acquired, and his tattered cravat bore the same emblem with which the locomotives and coaches were emblazoned. That was when I realised that this was the same unicorn colt I had seen running alongside the train at the last station, and that he hadn't actually been playing at all – he had been trying to warn us of the danger ahead. As the realisation flowed through my mind, so too did the memories of the accident. “...yes, it's...it's all coming back to me now. I had just been checking my luggage, and I thought I might take a walk through the train...I couldn't sleep, so I thought it might clear my head a bit...” I was briefly overtaken by a wave of dizziness, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness for a few seconds before I managed to will myself awake again. “...but just as I was leaving the luggage van, I...I heard this wailing noise, and there was a jolt beneath my hooves. I made my way back to this very compartment to try and see what was going on; but just as I was passing through the doorway, there was a much sharper jolt, and I was knocked off my hooves...that's about all I can remember.” “I'm guessing that's when you banged your head?” said the colt, forcing aside the palpable bout of mild panic that had crossed his face upon seeing me waver. “Yes,” I affirmed. “I must have struck the wall when I keeled over.” The colt pulled an anxious frown of understanding. “Can you walk?” he asked. I looked down at my left arm cautiously. There was a noticeable patch of dull crimson staining my fur around the cannon, and the entire appendage felt like it had been caught under a hydraulic press. “I...I don't know,” I replied uncertainly. “I can certainly try.” Deep in my mind, however, I knew that that was much easier said than done. And I was quite right too, for as I tried to move my injured arm, the stabbing sensation increased tenfold until it became a fierce burning feeling that shot all the way into my shoulder. With a loud, pained whimper, I let my arm give out underneath my weight and collapsed onto my barrel, the impact exacerbating my agony even further and bringing tears of anguish to my eyes. “It's no good,” I choked out, barely able to speak. “I can't get up. I think I've broken my arm.” The colt clenched his teeth anxiously. Once again, I could make out the slightest inkling of panic and uncertainty in his eyes as he began to realise the extent of my injuries; he clearly didn't want to leave me alone, but both of us also knew that he daren't try to move me of his own volition. He eventually fixed upon the linens that lay strewn untidily across my bed. “Right,” he said resolutely, “there's nothing else for it. I'm gonna have to improvise.” He tentatively stepped over me, climbed onto the bed, and to my utter confusion, began tearing the sheet apart. “What are you doing?” I inquired. “Making up a few bandages,” came the colt's muffled reply as he continued to rip strip after strip away from the linen cloth. I peered hesitantly at the makeshift bandages, silently wondering whether the railways would be at all pleased to find that a colt had been vandalising their own carriages. “But...wouldn't it be better to get them out of the first aid cabinet?” “No can-do,” said the colt gravely. “The front of that coach has been crumpled inwards; so there's no hope of reaching the first aid box now. Besides, there's no point in letting you sit here until your wounds heal.” Of course, I thought with deep dismay, the first aid box would have to be located in the one part of the coach that can no longer be accessed. Now I was left with no choice but to allow a young novice to treat my wounds, and all with absolutely no first-aid equipment whatsoever – just the bare minimum of whatever he had to hoof. Sensing my anxiety, he laid a comforting hoof on my good shoulder and said unto me, “Try not to worry, miss. I may not be a trained first-aid pony, but I know what I'm doing.” The anxious yet soothing tone of his voice seemed to comfort me with the knowledge that, while visibly uncertain of his own ability, he at least had an idea of the basics of first-aid, and was willing to do what he could for me. I nodded faintly in reply, and he set back to work taking pieces out of the bed sheets before applying them to the worst injured parts of my body, leaving my arm till last. After he finished wrapping up my chest, where I noticed that I had cracked a few ribs as well, he carefully examined my arm with a slightly lost expression, as if trying to locate the changeling among the crowd of ponies. Before I could ask what had caught his attention, he galloped out of the compartment, and came back brandishing a crowbar. Taken unawares, I held out my right arm in self-defence and mentally prayed for mercy. “Whoa, whoa, it's okay!” he exclaimed in a frantic tone; and at the same time, a dull thud registered in my ears. “I'm not trying to hurt you – I just brought this in as a splint!” Daring to open my eyes, I noticed that the colt had released the crowbar from his maw, and was now keeping his distance from me with an anxious look in his eyes, almost frightened. A wave of embarrassment washed over me as I calmed my racing heart, berating myself inwardly for thinking he had suddenly become unbalanced. “Sorry I startled you like that,” the colt went on. “I just...this was the only thing I could find. I'll try to go easy with it, I promise.” Without another word, he stepped forth and levitated another length of linen bandage with which to swaddle my arm, and once the crowbar was in place, he used another two strips of linen, tightly rolled, to tie both ends of the length of steel in place. I winced as the pressure singed my broken limb, but I knew that it would be better to endure the pain than to contract tetanus from the thin layer of rust, and I certainly didn't want my arm to become deformed in the aftermath of this accident. I couldn't be certain whether it was to do with the discomfort of my injuries or a severe loss of blood, but as the colt was tending to my wounds, everything around me started to blur until my vision was but a dull grey haze. The sound of her voice echoed in my head, desperate and tearful, calling out to me from the deepest recesses of my memory and imploring me to stay conscious. Other voices joined in, voices which I instantly recognised as members of my group – Frederick with the same gentlecoltly anxiety he exhibited in the tenser moments of our lives, Harpo clearly overcome with guilt and fear, and Beauty Brass in an almost terrified tone of remorse and despair. Another voice invaded my subconscious mind, and I looked up weakly to find an off-white Earth stallion standing in the doorway, his tattered cravat and the bruises on his face clearly indicating him as one of the engine drivers involved in the accident. The colt gently rested my arm in the sling he had made and looked up, clearly relieved to see him. “Cor, thank Celestia you turned up, John. One of the passengers has broken her arm and banged her head against the wall. I need help getting her out; she's not doing too good right now.” The pony he referred to as John looked me over, his brow furrowing. “Looks serious. Stay with her, Loco, and see that she stays awake. I'll go see if I can find something to carry her on.” He bolted out of the corridor without another word, and the colt was left to hover over my damaged frame. He returned barely a few minutes later, two adult unicorns following closely with what appeared to be a makeshift stretcher fashioned from a sheet of metal and some bed linen. The colt stepped aside as the three stallions carefully shifted me onto the stretcher and laid me on my back, covering me over with a clean bed sheet and tying me securely down before levitating me gingerly out of the coach and onto the grass beside the line. Now, looking all around me at the general scene of confusion, I realised the true extent of the collision, and how lucky I was to have survived the impact. Several ponies were sitting at relatively close quarters, most of them complaining of injury, and others were wandering around aimlessly, trying desperately to seek their loved ones. Upfront, the engine in charge of my train leaned heavily against the slope of the cutting, whispering mournfully like a soldier wounded in battle, its two comrades standing protectively over it in spite of their own injuries. The coaches lay at odd angles, and I noticed that the front end of mine had almost completely folded in on itself, destroying the luggage van ahead of it. Had I remained standing in the entrance vestibule, I realised with deep dread, the impact would very literally have been the end of my line. As it stood, however, it probably wouldn't be very long before I truly expired, for I was in such a frightful state of delirium that even my breathing was becoming somewhat laboured. The colt stayed by my side, gently filling my ears with words of encouragement that I would survive yet and pleading for me to hold on. I couldn't quite understand why, but his presence alone instilled a sense of safety that pierced through the film of fear and anxiety that had threatened to smother me, as if he were the Angel of Salvation sent from Eden to guard over my soul and preserve me for another decade or so to come. Perhaps it was because I had been closer to death than at any other point in my life. After what seemed like an age, the puffing and clanking of another engine echoed through across the mountains. Through bleary eyes, I gazed towards the source of those heavenly sounds of the angels that had come to our rescue; two engines pushing a crane, a coach and some flatbeds, with some pale green coaches situated between them which I surmised must be some form of ambulance train. From the coach in front of the leading engine, a rugged-looking Earth pony jumped down and trotted across to where I lay, a grim expression of anxiety stamped onto his face. “Loco,” he called out, “you okay?” “Uh...yeah, Max, about as okay as can be expected, I guess,” the colt replied after a brief hesitation. He was already flagging by then – quite understandably, given his age and the time of night. “What happened then?” asked the stallion. “I heard there was a bit of a mix-up with train movements.” I listened with growing amazement as the youth hurriedly explained to his elder about the accident. This stallion was clearly in a position of authority, to hear him talk; and yet not only did he know this colt personally, but he was also treating him like a respected employee of the company, and not just some juvenile trespasser. Was this colt really more than what he seemed? Could it really be that they trusted him enough to work among their ranks? The answer evaded me, but I was most relieved to hear that we would soon be on our way to the nearest hospital. One by one, the railway workers gently hoisted me and the other passengers aboard the ambulance coaches, the little colt briskly following suit of me, watching anxiously as the medical staff moved me across to another stretcher and administered me with some painkillers. It would turn out that he lived in the town near the hospital in question, and seeing how late it was, he had opted to secure a ride home. Eventually, the train set off back down the mountains, filling the both of us with a great sense of relief. The colt, by now almost as disoriented as I was, stood up wearily and turned to make his way down the coach, murmuring something to himself about leaving me alone to recuperate; whereupon a fresh wave of panic washed over me. Unfamiliar though this little pony was, I was almost terrified at the prospect of being left alone again, for fear of what might happen if I lost consciousness again and nopony was there to help me. “Wait,” I said, holding out my good arm in desperation; my voice taking on the tone of a little filly who had just arisen from a nightmare. The colt stopped and turned to face me again. “Can you...” I broke off, suddenly hesitant to ask any more of him than he had already done for me. “Can you stay here and keep me company? Please?” I pleaded with him. Come to think of it, I wondered inwardly, where in the world were Harpo, Frederick, Symphony, Beauty Brass and Concerto? Had they too managed to escape with their lives? Or were they still trapped in the train, desperately waiting for somepony to come and rescue them? Please, Celestia, I prayed, let them be alright... “Well...yeah, okay then,” said the colt at last, and sat himself down next to my stretcher. “I guess I could do with a bit of company myself after all that.” I could only sympathise, looking at the tiredness in his eyes – tonight had been nothing short of bedlam, and it was a wonder that the likes of a little colt such as him could have coped with all this pandemonium. But dear Celestia, what a trooper he was, working so selflessly to save the lives of myself and all those other helpless passengers – how he had managed to win such a position of trust among the railways was still beyond me, but I was truly lucky for him being there, and so were my fellow travellers... Perspective: Locomotion The next hour went by like a blur for me, no doubt because I must have dozed off on the way. I had initially considered going and sitting somewhere else in the train so as to let the grey mare get some rest, but she pleaded for me to stay, saying that she needed a bit of company to help her recover from the shock of the accident. The weird thing, I feel, is that she seemed to trust me even though she barely knew me – I mean, really, how can anypony feel so safe with a pony they've only known for something like half an hour? All the same, I myself could only sympathise with this pony, and in any case I was too tired to get into an argument, so I tactfully complied. In the meantime, the ambulance crews of Ponyville Hospital had been alerted to the disaster and were awaiting our arrival. As soon as we pulled up alongside the platform, they gathered round the coaches and set to work helping the casualties over to the station forecourt, where several carts were waiting to take them away; but even with the knowledge that these badly injured passengers were in capable hooves, I never let the grey one out of my sight until she was safely loaded onto one of the carts. The last thing I said to her before the cart set off was, “There you go, miss, you'll be alright now.” She never said anything, but gave me this soft, weak but visibly grateful smile in reply, as if to thank me for all I had done. Tired and shaken though I might have been, I could only return the smile as I watched her being carted off to the hospital. By this time, having been awake for more than eighteen hours, my tiredness was really starting to catch up with me. Perhaps it was lucky for me that Uncle Steamer had only just booked off by then, otherwise I'd have keeled over from exhaustion before I was within a hundred yards of my nice, warm bed. He too was rather worn out, but it didn't stop him from carrying me home on his back. Once we got there, he went and explained everything to my Dad, who had been up all night and waiting anxiously for me to return, while I staggered upstairs. After all I'd been through that day, the climb almost felt like a long, hard slog up Mt. Canterlot, and I think it was only through delirium that I managed to reach the top without help. Only when I was in my room did I finally allow myself to black out, and the last thing I remember was collapsing onto my bed before plunging into the realms of Dreamland. No doubt some of you must be wondering why I hadn't been traumatised by the turn of events, and why I seemed to remain unrealistically calm and collected for my age. Truth be told, deep down, I was indeed traumatised, not least because I had failed to warn them of the oncoming danger – heck, it's a wonder I'd managed to maintain any composure at all after that – but I was also upset at myself for those unfortunate passengers who had been killed and injured in the crash. It's a difficult feeling to describe – it's sort of like you wish you'd tried harder to save them even if it meant risking your life; but at the same time, you know full well that there was probably no way you could have averted disaster, and that makes you feel helpless too. Even now I was safe at home and tucked up in my nice warm bed, I couldn't help brooding over what I could have done to reach them quicker, and that's probably what led to the horrible dream I experienced that night. Picture the scene, if you will; there's this commuter train making its way towards one of the Canterlot termini, it's all packed with merchants, office workers, shoppers, etc., and I myself am at the controls with an adult as my firepony. We're going well at first, but then the train approaches a home signal, I start to apply the brakes, and all of a sudden, everything just spins out of control. For no apparent reason, the tank engine I'm driving doesn't seem to want to obey her controls, and no matter what I try – air brake, handbrake, reverser, whistle, even shouting a warning – I just can't stop her. As if that's not enough, I can see another train waiting to depart the next station ahead. I try my darnedest to slow her down, but then she hits a sharp curve and I'm thrown out of the cab. I manage to pick myself up, but can only watch helplessly as she ploughs right into the back of that other train. Next thing I know, I'm standing in the dock of a law-court with hundreds of angry eyes glowering upon me, and no-one's letting me speak up in my own defence. Even the judge seems biased against me, because he's openly berating me for having crashed this train and killed over a hundred passengers, and won't even hear me out when I say it wasn't my fault. He then throws me in a dark, damp dungeon cell way below Canterlot Castle, where an angry mob are standing outside and hurling insults at me. Again, I'm trying to protest my innocence, but nopony seems interested, and eventually I become overwhelmed with terror, despair and humiliation to the point where I'm just curled up into a ball, hugging my stifles and sobbing hard as I plead for mercy... “STAND ASIDE!!!” At the sound of those two words, I looked up. It was then that I saw the baying hecklers vanish instantly along with the walls of my cell, and I noticed a certain dark blue alicorn mare stepping forth out of the shadows, a soft, soothing smile adorning her face. “Greetings to you, Locomotion,” she said kindly to me. I stared in confusion. “Princess Luna?! What are you doing here?” “I sensed that you were experiencing emotions of guilt and despair after what happened earlier tonight,” explained Luna, “and thus I took it upon myself to come and offer you solace.” By “what happened earlier tonight”, I quickly twigged that she was talking about the accident with the Limited; but this only served to deepen my shame, and I couldn't even bring myself to look at her face I felt so unworthy. Instead, I looked sadly down at my hooves, struggling to fight back tears. “I'm sorry, Luna,” I faltered. “Truly I am. I...I did my best.” “And you did very well indeed, my gallant young subject. Most ponies of your age would have been wholly incapable of remaining level-headed under such pressure; and on top of that, twenty of our other subjects owe their lives to you.” “Yet nine were lost because I didn't reach them in time,” I murmured, and this time I think I must have let a few tears loose. “I should have reached them sooner, maybe tried harder to stop the express at Horse Junction – then I wouldn't have even had to rescue them in the first place.” I paused for a second, gritting my teeth bitterly. “A fine railway worker I turn out to be! Max Pressure should never have taken me on!” Luna's smile faded, and she took on a solemn, sympathetic expression. “Dear young Locomotion,” she whispered unto me, “many a little filly and colt I have visited in their dreams, but of all those I have seen since my return from the moon, never have their feelings pained my heart so much as yours. You with greater potential at your age than some older ponies within your main area of interest, and yet you put yourself down because of a collision for which you cannot be blamed?” She rested a gentle hoof on my withers. “I realise the severity of the accident and the guilt with which you are burdened, but you must not put yourself down just because nine other ponies had passed over to the afterlife. All were beyond hope long before you arrived; no matter how hard you tried, nothing in your power would have enabled you to save them.” I carried on staring at my hooves, unable to think of an appropriate response. “I can see it might be difficult for you,” Luna went on, “but you must not despair over the unlucky few. After all, you have still saved a number of lives just by being there to begin with, and that alone is something to be proud of. I assure you that your Superintendent and your uncle would tell you the very same.” At that moment, I noticed her beginning to recede into the darkness, her soft smile present once again. “Rest yourself, child; you shall need it after your harrowing experience.” I reached out a hoof to try and plead for her to come back, but she didn't seem to be taking any notice, and even my voice seemed to stall when I tried calling out to her. At the same time, I began to feel all dizzy and weak, and everything seemed to blur as the Princess of the Night slowly faded into the shadows, leaving me lost and alone once again. That was when I woke up and noticed how damp my pillow had become from all the tears I must have been shedding.