//------------------------------//
// Escape! 
// Story: Thomas and Friends: The Retold Adventures 
// by The Blue EM2 
//------------------------------//

Edward was in the yard one day talking to Trevor when Douglas steamed by, pulling a long, heavy train of coal trucks. He looked to be in a bad mood, and his driver Bon-Bon looked like she had got out of the wrong side of bed that morning, as her hair was all over the place and her face bore a permanent scowl.

"Aye, Edward!" the Scottish engine called. "Stop gossipin' in the sun, will ye now, and get some work done! This railway won't run itself!"

Applejack looked over in dismay. "If Ah spoke like that ta anyone, Ah'd be grounded fer weeks."

"It was a little insensetive," Edward noted. "Sorry you had to hear that Trevor."

"Oh, I don't mind," Trevor said. "I've got exceptionally thick boiler cladding, you know!"

Just then, Grand Pear came back with a sandwich, and took the controls. "Alright Trevor, back ta work," he said.

"Goodbye Edward! Goodbye Applejack!" Trevor called as he puffed away.



Later, Edward spoke to Douglas about what he had said. "Trevor and I are old friends," he explained, "and we have a lot in common."

"Gossiping?" Bon-Bon answered, downing a bottle of water. "Why is it so hot today?"

Applejack shook her head. "No, it ain't talkin', or the fact they both work with members of the Apple family."

"You both narrowly escaped the cutter's torch," Edward continued.

Douglas gasped. "Don't mention that word!" he exclaimed. "It makes mae wheels wobble!"

"It has the same effect on Trevor," Edward said sadly. "And many engines have been cut up for scrap when still perfectly servicable. The Class 58 diesel comes to mind; the last was withdrawn only 19 years after the first had entered service."

"But Eddie and Ah helped ta save him," Applejack said. "Ah mentioned him ta mah family, and Grand Pear remembered that he had worked with him back in the old days. So we went down the next day and bought him, and now he works hard at Sweet Apple Acres or wherever he's needed."

"But we could do with another engine," Edward added quickly. "The workload is getting heavier each day, and there's only so much an old engine like me can do. We need a newer, younger engine, and a driver too!"

"I'll agree with you on that," Douglas added grimly. "And we need them fast."



That night, Douglas and Bon-Bon went to Vicarstown to drop off some goods. They had to travel across the bridge to pick up what was coming back as the engine that was meant to bring the trucks in had failed. This meant crossing the bridge, and travelling into the dark heart of Barrow-in-Furness.

In between the siding they were travelling to and the mainline, were lines of condemned engines, dating from the 1950s through to the present day. Their paintwork was peeling and bodywork rusting, and many looked as though they would just fall apart then and there.

"Help," wheezed an old Type 1 diesel as Douglas went by. "You can't leave us to die here!"

Douglas went on past. Truth be told, he felt sorry for these engines, and wanted to help them. But he had no way of getting them back, and it wasn't in the work orders anyways. So, deeper and deeper he went, and was about to couple up to the trucks when suddenly he heard a wheeshing sound.

"What was that?" he asked. "That sounded like a steam engine to me!"

"I didn't hear anything," Bon-Bon replied.

Suddenly, there was a weesh again. "Hello? Is there anybody there?"

"Who's there?" Douglas asked.

"Are you one of Sir Toppham Hatt's engines?" asked a quiet male voice in a gentle West Country burr.

"Why, yes I am," replied Douglas. He went onto the siding, and gasped. Before him was a dirty, dishevelled, rusty old tank engine. His tanks were covered in the words 'condemned', and behind him were a passenger coach and a brake van.

"My name's Oliver," the engine replied. "Me, my coach, my brake van and my driver are trying to escape to Sodor, and we've run out of coal and water."

Just then, a head popped out of Oliver's cab. It was a girl, with light peach skin and purple hair and eyes. She wore a hoodie, a shirt, a pair of slacks and boots to go with them, but they were so dirty it was impossible to tell what colour they had once been. The girl's hair was ragged and she clearly hadn't washed in weeks, as she smelled. So much so, Bon-Bon could smell the odour from Douglas' footplate. "Please," she said, her voice full of desparation that only a person has when a light has appeared at the end of the tunnel, "help us."

"What are you escaping from?" Bon-Bon asked.

"Scrap," Oliver replied. "And in my driver's case, abuse."

"Where are your parents, little girl?" Douglas asked. He regretted asking that almost immediately, as the girl began to tear up.

"I- I don't know! I've lived in an orphanage all my life!"

Douglas and Bon-Bon were touched by this, and agreed to help. Everybody got to work, readying the train to move as if this was a scrap movement. Once they were done, Douglas began to head for the exit of the yard.

"No time to turn aroond!" Douglas called. "I'll do this tender first! Bon-Bon, you're my eyes and ears."

"Got it!" his driver replied. Just then, a voice shouted at them.

"STOP!" the yard foreman called. "You can't take those! They're not on the stock list!"

The girl, who was in the brake van, began to hyperventilate. "Oh no," she whimpered. "We're doomed! They'll scrap Oliver, and send me back!"

Douglas kept his cool. "No, we can," he said. "This is for us, you see."

Bon-Bon jumped down from the footplate and showed him the paperwork. "Sir, we have transfer orders to take this to the Island scrapyard."

The foreman inspected the paperwork. "All is in order," he said. "Right away!"



The train cleared the station yard, and the odd formation rumbled onto the Vicarstown bridge. Douglas suddenly heard a ringing from the carriage. "What's that?" he asked.

"That's my auto-coach, Isabel," Oliver explained. "In order to save time when running on branch lines, she looks ahead for me when I'm running backwards, and rings her bell so that I know to go or stop. On the back there is Toad, a brakevan."

"If you don't mind me asking," Bon-Bon asked, "how do Great Western locomotives, rolling stock, and a girl end up here?"

Oliver sighed, the girl having joined him on the footplate. "I was built by the Great Western in 1935 at Swindon, and worked the Tiverton branch near Taunton for most of my life. That's how I met Scootaloo."

"Is she your driver?" asked Bon-Bon. "What an odd name."

"It's my nickname," the girl answered. "According to my birth certificate, my real name is Lucy Scott, but I hate that name. I much prefer Scootaloo."

"She lived in the orphanage in Tiverton," Oliver continued, "so we soon got to know each other. She would be down at the yard most days, either to talk to me or have a trip on the branch. The guard would let her ride for free, and when my line closed down we both agreed to escape to Sodor to get a better life. It was that or scrap, and the orphanage was pretty horrible for a girl her age anyways."

Just then, they cleared the end of the bridge, and Scootaloo cheered. "We did it, Oliver! We made it to Sodor! WHOO!"

Douglas whistled happily. "We're hear at last." They dropped Oliver, Isabel, Toad and Scootaloo at Crovan's Gate, said their goodbyes, and headed off to Tidmouth. Scootaloo nodded off on Oliver's footplate.



Later that morning, Mr Shutter, an older man with vaguely yellow skin and purple hair, walked into the yard to start his work as foreman of Crovan's Gate works. As he walked across the lines, he suddenly noticed an auto-tank and auto-coach, as well as a brake van, sitting there in the yard. "When did those get there?" he asked, and went over to them. He climbed up the cab steps, and looked inside to see a girl sleeping.

She suddenly jolted awake. "Aagh!" she cried. "Erm, hi?"

Mr Shutter looked equally surprised. "Where did you come from?" he asked.