Gallow slowly trotted towards the tracks just outside the depot. She had watched trains come and go for a long time, and she knew that the locomotive often stops past the end of the station platform. As she approached the depot, she walked right alongside the border of the platform, so as to guarantee a hit when the train approached. It also kept her incognito, so that no pony could intervene until it was too late. Gallow reached the tracks, looking both ways in order to determine where the train would come from. Sure enough, she could make out the triple headlight configuration and columns of smoke emitted by the 10:30 express train. She sat behind the edge of the platform, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out in front of the train.
Ironside had decided that the best course of action by this point was to bring his engine gradually to a stop. It would cut down the risk of damage done to the running gear, and it also would be less uncomfortable for the passengers. The train would end up overshooting the depot by a good amount, but after consulting with the passengers on the express, the conductor informed Ironside that it was overall the best course to take. So now, as the station came into view, Ironside began pumping the brakes on his train. He twisted the brake handle back and forth, applying and releasing the air brakes with a steady rhythm to ensure a gradual, smooth braking. About a quarter-mile from the platform, Ironside noticed that the train’s speed had dropped to about 70 km/h. He continued to pump the brakes, keeping an eye on the speedometer. But with his concentration on the gauges, Ironside had no time to look ahead at what was on the track.
Gallow knew the time was now. The train was not stopping anytime soon, as far as she could tell. Taking a deep breath and keeping her mind set on the heavens, she took her leap of faith and landed smack in between the rails. She stood up on her hind legs, spread her arms open, and shouted, “Come take me, my cruel fate!”
“Liebe Fürstin Celestia! Halt!!! (Dear Princess Celestia! Stop!!!)” screamed the voice in Ironside’s head. The colt shot his head out of the cab window, and his jaw dropped. Standing there, in the middle of the track, arms outstretched, was a little pony!
“Scheiße! (Shit!)” the engineer screamed. Instinctively, he spun the brake handle all the way to the right, locking it in the emergency position. 2398’s massive drive wheels locked, causing sparks to fly from the rails. The passengers in the coaches were thrown forward by the massive deceleration. Ironside grabbed the whistle cord and began blowing the single-chime in a succession of short toots: the official whistle code for, “Clear the tracks!” Darting his eyes toward the speedometer, he winced as he read “40 km/h” on the gauge.
“Get off the tracks!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Get the f*** off the tracks!”
It was no use. Gallow just stood there, staring right into the face of the oncoming locomotive. As the buffer beam closed in on the little pony, she took one last look into the sky, and serenely closed her violet eyes.
“Goodbye, cruel world,” she whispered. Then, there was a sickening crunch….
Ironside knew exactly what had happened before the train even came to a stop. He was slumped back in his chair, an expression of horror spread across his face. His breathing was raspy and wavering. His heart beat as fast as the locomotive’s thumping air compressor. He felt for sure that the little pony that had been standing on the tracks was crushed. But his shaky hooves reached for the Johnson bar, and with much strain, he pulled it as far back as it would go. Then, with hooves still shaking, he eased off the brakes and pulled the throttle back. 2398 slowly backed up, but it was obvious that he was horribly shaken by this as well, as his driving wheels couldn’t keep a good grip on the rails. Ironside instinctively opened the sand dome to increase the traction, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He peered out the window once more, to see if he could make out the pony he had just flattened. Sure enough, she lay there between the rails, in the same spot where she was standing only moments before. Her body didn’t look horribly disfigured, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t dead. Ironside weakly shut off steam and reapplied the brakes, bringing his train to a complete standstill. He then slumped back into his chair once more, his eyes beginning to tear up. I can’t believe it, he thought, I’ve killed a pony. Any remaining strength in his body immediately left him, and he fell to the floor and wept.
Meanwhile, the passengers had begun to stick their heads out of the windows of the coaches, curious to know what had just transpired. One rather enraged pony with long silver-white hair and glasses with purple lenses jumped out of her coach and galloped straight towards the cab of the engine. She placed her front hooves onto the bottom step of the ladder to the cab and lifted herself up onto her rear hooves, repeating the process once more before stepping onto the footplate.
“Herr Lokführer!” Photo Finish shouted in her native German, “Was ist los mit Ihnen?!”
Ironside looked up at the enraged fashionista, tears still streaming down his snout. “Wie bitte?” he responded weakly.
“What is wrong with you?!” Photo Finish repeated in English. “Don’t you know how to properly handle an express?”
Ironside couldn’t believe that he was being reprimanded for this. “I just killed a pony with this damned express!” he shouted back, highly upset.
Photo raised her eyebrow, unsure if what she just heard was true. “Come again?” she inquired.
“I… just… killed… a… pony…” the shaken engineer responded, he voice becoming more unstable with every word. “Just… look out… the window…” Photo Finish did so, peering past the engine’s boiler for a good look at the track ahead. Her squinted eyes then widened substantially, and she gasped in shock. Sure enough, there lay the poor little pony, knocked down by the massive train.
“Nein. Bitte, nein,” she whispered to herself. She looked back at Ironside, and it was only then that she noticed the tears flowing from his eyes. Any anger left inside her instantly vanished, replaced instead with compassion.
“I… I’m so… I’m so sorry,” Photo Finish said. Her voice became much softer than anyone who knew her would have heard. She crept up to the mournful driver and pulled him into a hug. “Forgive me, my dear,” she whispered, “I had no idea.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ironside responded, “You didn’t… wait…” Photo’s apology had just activated a flashback in his memory. He lifted himself up to the cab window, Photo Finish still holding him in her arms. He peered out the cab for a better look at the pony lying on the rails. His scanned her body, looking for something that might stick out to him. Neither her mane nor her braided tail looked familiar, but her coat did ring a bell. It was then that he noticed the two silver anklets on her left front leg. Ironside’s eyes widened again.
“What’s wrong?” Photo Finish inquired. She looked into his face, but recoiled slightly from the mortified look that she received. “My dear, whatever is the matter?” she asked again, her voice full of concern. Ironside didn’t answer. His eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed onto the footplate. Photo Finish had no idea what just happened, but she sat there, holding the fallen colt in her arms.