Flash Fiction Friday-Trains to Brazil
‘There are cats down there you know. Feral cats and dogs.’ Markie was talking again and it wasn’t going well, as usual. Breath steaming in the early morning cold, he hefted another washing machine and as usual, the servo in his cargo pants shot steam eight feet sideways. Lilly side-stepped neatly around it, pirouetting as she did so and smiling.
‘Really? Cats and dogs. Wow.’ She stooped, picked up a washing machine herself and began walking towards the Slug line. ‘Where’d they come from?’
‘Opened slugs, Lil.’
She turned, throwing the washing machine lightly from hand to hand. ‘What do they eat?’
Markie smiled a little patronisingly. ‘Opened slugs, Lil. You remember that meat delivery that broke open just outside Doncaster?’
‘The one I had to clean up you mean? Yes it has lingered in my memory, just a tad. You need a hand with that?’ She was actually jogging backwards now, the servos in her cargo pants humming contentedly. Markie hated her, just a little, for a moment.
‘I’m good, thanks. Seriously, mate of mine up at Edinburgh’s seen them. Big enough to ride he says.’ Markie paused. ‘Although it must be said, he did also say he once opened a slug and found Elvis inside it.’
Lilly frowned. ‘What was he doing?’
‘Torch song trilogy apparently.’
Markie held her then, for just a second, before she burst out laughing. She kept jogging, still moved with that effortless, dancing grace, somewhere between a servo-assisted ballerina and Bruce Lee with better hair.
‘You.’
‘Absolutely.’ Markie put the two washing machines down, waited for the impact gel to wrap around them and helped Lilly put hers in place, even though she didn’t ask. Standing, he adjusted his back support and turned to look out over the Cargo Hall. In front of them, a monolithic stand of kitchen appliances stretched a hundred feet into the air, and two hundred feet in each direction. Beyond that, a rack of cars gleamed, the sun rising behind it and casting the windows of a thousand sports cars the colour of liquid fire.
What’s next?’
Lilly boosted herself up on top of the nearest washing machine. ‘For this slug? Nothing.’
‘Great.’
‘Ever think about getting yourself sealed in?’
Markie looked up at her. ‘And go where?’
‘Wherever you wanted.’
He looked at her for a long time before saying anything. ‘All the time.’
‘Me too.’ She clapped her hands together, suddenly very prim. ‘How about today?’
Markie blinked, felt his stomach tighten. ‘Are you coming?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of COURSE. Where do you want to go?’
‘What’ll we do?’
She smiled. ‘We’re contracted to the company, not the depot, Markie. We’ll do this, just somewhere else for a while. You in?’
‘…And you’re definitely coming?’
‘Markie.’
‘I’m just checking.’
They found an alcove between the washing machines and got comfortable. Markie cracked a can of impact gel and as it expanded, offered Lilly his hand which, with faux delicacy, she took. The gel felt warm, like childhood baths and as it flowed over their bodies, Lilly spoke up.
‘This friend of yours in Edinburgh. Does he have any spare rooms?’
‘Sure. Although Elvis takes the sofa apparently.’
She was still laughing when the door shut.
(with thanks to
jaylake for linking to a great article about cargo slugs being used to transport consumer goods)