Panic station, p.1
Panic Station, page 1
Panic Station
A Ghosts of Nowhere Town Prequel
By
Felicity Brandon writing as
Elodie Crowe
Copyright © 2022 by Elodie Crowe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: elodiecroweauthor@gmail.com
This book is entirely a work of fiction.
The author does not condone, nor endorse any of the acts in this book.
First edition 2023
Cover design by Wicked Smart Designs.
Editing by Karen Sanders.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
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Prologue | Sought-after Sanctuary
Chapter One | The Fog
Chapter Two | Trapped
Chapter Three | The Speaker
Chapter Four | Lost
Chapter Five | The Waiting Room
Chapter Six | Refuge
Chapter Seven | Cut. Off.
Chapter Eight | The Single Carriage
Chapter Nine | Accusations
Chapter Ten | The Past Shadow
Chapter Eleven | Oasis In The Fog
Chapter Twelve | Radio Silence
Chapter Thirteen | A Signaled Reprieve
Chapter Fourteen | Escalation
Chapter Fifteen | An Aligned Aftermath
Chapter Sixteen | Hidden Skills
Chapter Seventeen | In The Pursuit Of Hot Tea
Discover Emelia’s fate in book one of the | Ghosts of Nowhere Town series: | https://books2read.com/u/4DJrOr | Nowhere Bound
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Prologue
Sought-after Sanctuary
A crossroads—the point at which paths intersected and the traveler was required to make a choice. That was where I was in my life. It was where I’d been for too long.
Stumbling along the same track for years, I was doomed to repeat the mistakes I hadn’t repaired, but it had taken a loss to see the true picture. A familiar anxiety gripped my belly as I rehashed the previous few years. Life had taught me hard new lessons. Experiences I didn’t ever want to live again.
“Mum.” Laurel stood in the doorway of my bedroom, her face as white as a sheet.
“Laurel.” Putting down the paperback I wasn’t reading, I swung my feet from the bed and walked to her. “What’s wrong? I thought you were asleep.”
“I was.” She shook her head as her hand gripped the doorframe. “But I had this terrible dream and...” Her voice trailed away.
“It’s okay,” I soothed. At almost thirteen, Laurel had outgrown nightmares, but her childhood hadn’t been free from them. “It’s been too long since we hugged anyway.”
Throwing my arms around my daughter, I breathed her in. After everything we’d been through with her father, I’d learned to appreciate the small things, and cuddling was one I’d never tire of. She was the tower of strength I should have been; the reason I kept going.
“Thanks,” she squeaked. “I needed that.”
“You’re never too big for a hug,” I reminded her, though as she drew away, I realized she was almost as tall as me. “How are you?” Between work and school, it seemed like too long since we’d talked.
Laurel glanced up at me with those huge almond eyes I adored. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “Happy we’re finally in this place and...”
Safe.
She didn’t say the word out loud, but it was there, dancing in her eyes. Pain contracted in my chest as I read her expression. She had been through so much. Too much. Whatever her father’s culpability, I was to blame as well. I had chosen him. I’d stubbornly decided to stay. All she had ever done was be born.
“I know.” My arms tightened around her. “I’m so happy we’re safe.”
There, I said it.
“I like this place.” Peering around the room, her lips curled. “We can really make it ours.”
“We will,” I assured her. It had only been a few weeks since we’d moved in, but already, we’d chosen color schemes and furniture. “We’ll work on your bedroom next. We can finish it during the school holidays.”
“That’ll be good.” Flicking her hair away from her face, she resembled a girl far older than her years—another consequence of what she’d been through. “Maybe we can catch a movie then as well?”
“I’d love that.” Catching her hand, I drew it to my lips and kissed her fingers. “We can have some time together.”
“Yes.”
A weary silence bloomed between us where no words were necessary. Laurel had been exposed to more than was right, and to make sure her father and I hadn’t screwed up too royally, I insisted we attended weekly family therapy sessions. Anything could be aired there, and painful as it was, I could already see the benefit. She was less anxious since we started, the tension in her shoulders less noticeable.
“How are you feeling now?” I asked. “Do you fancy a cocoa before you head back to sleep?”
“No.” Smiling, she withdrew and wrapped her robe tighter around her body. “I feel better, so I think I’m going to head back to bed.”
“Good plan,” I replied. “We have a busy week ahead.”
“Right.” Turning, she reached for the door handle before glancing back to face me. “I love you, Mum.”
A bubble of emotion rose to my throat, robbing me of words as I reached for her shoulder.
“I love you too, kiddo.” Forcing a smile, I choked back the impending tears. “Always have, always will.”
Chapter One
The Fog
FIRST WAS THE FOG. It didn’t come fast, though. I barely noticed its clasping reach at all until, suddenly, it was there, everywhere, all around. Wherever I looked, its insidious shadow had seeped into the open spaces.
The day had started the same as any other. The same piercing alarm that splintered my sleep, the same hot shower that washed away the fragments of my twisted dreams, and the same inane chat at the coffee shop. So far, so normal, but in my heart, perhaps that wasn’t true. Had I sensed something was different, unnerving, and notable about the journey to come?
It didn’t matter. Whether or not my fate had been obvious did not change its inevitability. The train had still been on time, and I’d chosen my usual seat, losing myself in my new paperback for the thirty-minute journey.
“That mist is rolling in fast.” Maureen’s comment was the first I’d known about the inclement weather, and glancing up, I watched her exchange with Cilla from the opposite seat.
“Ugh.” The other woman shook her head. “That’s all we need. The trains will have to slow down and we’ll be late.”
The two women had been getting the 08:42 train for longer than I had, their conversation as well-worn as the seats. I had learned to drown out their relentless dialogue, but the urgency in Maureen’s tone captured my attention.
Glancing out of the window, I took in the scene for myself. Sure enough, a heavy mist had swept in, obscuring the usual field and river views. Through its haze, I just made out the pair of brown horses we passed every day running for the shelter of their stables.
“It is thick,” I murmured, putting down my book and looking harder.
I wasn’t sure why, but something about the conditions was oppressive, like a dense smog that threatened to cut off our air supply. Pulling in a deep breath, I concentrated on calming my racing heart.
Everything’s okay. The voice of my therapist echoed in my head. It’s just weather.
As if the climate sought to belittle my affirmation, the incoming mist grew denser, and by the time I reached for my phone and peered back through the train window, the fields weren’t visible at all.
“We’re slowing down.” A male passenger up ahead announced the verdict, but as I glanced around, I accepted that he was right. The train was slowing. A few passengers made their way along the train, leaving the carriage toward the driver, but I tried not to dwell on their movement. It’s nothing to worry about, I attempted to convince myself. Stop stressing.
“For safety,” Maureen answered. “They can’t drive as fast in the fog.”
Fumbling with my device, I clicked into the thread I shared with Laurel, typing out a quick message. She was at school and was safe but would pick up my text at lunch time.
Hey, Laurel. We have thick fog here. How’s the weather with you?
I tried to sound upbeat but couldn’t ignore the thrum of unsettling anxiety that permeated the air. The unexpected mist had come from nowhere and made familiar places seem eerie and unnatural. It didn’t take much to spook me since her father, but weather like this was disconcerting.
If you have it bad there too, be careful when you walk home. Fog can be disorienta ting and...
Brow furrowing, I deleted the last sentence, not wanting to perturb her.
I’ll let you know if it affects my journey home.
Stay safe,
Love you.
xxx
Staring at the screen, apprehension knotted in my belly. Had I done the right thing by letting her know about the fog? Weather like this could be isolated to random local pockets. I might have worried her for nothing.
“No,” I mumbled under my breath. “It’s better she knows. Forewarned is forearmed.” Plus, we’d agreed. No more secrets.
“What’s going on?”
The shout of another commuter drew my attention from my phone, and I straightened to see who had spoken.
“Are we stopping?”
Strained quiet stretched out in the carriage as everyone on board struggled to identify the answer. Without any bearings from outside, it was difficult to gauge the speed of the train.
“I think so,” I answered, raising my voice to be heard. “Where are we? Does anybody know?”
Murmurs of confusion flitted past my ears.
“I’m not sure,” one woman admitted from a few rows away. “What was the most recent station we stopped at?”
My attention darted to the electronic information board that each carriage was fitted with, expecting to find the list of station names. My heart skipped a beat as I realized it wasn’t working, the black screen mocking me as I fought to contain my heightened trepidation.
“I don’t know,” answered someone else. “Hey, where’s the information gone? When did that switch off?”
Bewildered gasps filled the air as passengers turned to see they were right.
“What’s going on?” Maureen sounded frantic as she stood and looked around. “First the fog, and now this.”
“I’m sure it’s normal procedure,” I replied, attempting to mollify my fears as much as hers. “They have to slow in bad weather.”
“And the board?” she demanded, motioning to the empty black screen.
“Maybe we lost power,” I suggested, but even as I said it, I knew it was rubbish. The train still had power. Only the message boards were offline.
“No.” Sally rose from her seat, her brows knitting as she turned to face me. “I don’t think so, Em.”
Locking gazes with her, I clutched the chair ahead. Sally had been traveling this line for almost three years and worked on the next road from me. In that time, we’d managed the occasional coffee after work, as well as friendly small talk. She was the closest thing to a friend that I had on board.
“No.” I loathed the quiver in my voice as I scanned the rest of the coach. “I think you’re right.” But I don’t know what else to say. I didn’t vocalize the final thought but guessed she could probably read it in my eyes.
“We’ve stopped.” Old Tom was on his feet, folding his broadsheet as he gazed over his half-rim spectacles. “We haven’t moved for a couple of minutes.”
Tuning into the noise of the train, my heart hammered faster as I was forced to acknowledge he was right. We were definitely still.
Shit. What did that mean? We’d stopped and we didn’t even know where we were.
“What’s happening?” a middle-aged woman I didn’t recognize asked, her eyes wide as she searched the rest of us for answers.
“Maybe there’s an obstruction up ahead,” Sally proposed.
“Shouldn’t they have given an announcement?” Maureen’s gaze narrowed.
“Perhaps the public announcement system isn’t working either,” I offered. “It could run on the same circuit as the notice screens.”
“This is the problem with modern technology.” Old Tom rolled his eyes. “It’s supposed to make our lives better but so rarely does.”
“So, what do we do?” the middle-aged woman demanded, looking at me as though I was the unelected leader.
“I’m going to find the driver.” Rising to his feet, Tom left his broadsheet on his seat as he climbed to his feet and started toward the same door other passengers had left from. “To find out what’s going on.”
The rest of us watched in uneasy silence as he pressed the button to open the electronic doors.
“What’s wrong with this thing?” Tom peered around, his brows knitting. “It was working a moment ago.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It was.”
“It’s obviously on the same circuit as the information boards.” The middle-aged woman motioned to the blank screen.
“So, we’re stuck in the carriage.” Hearing Old Tom holler our fate only ratcheted up my anxiety.
“For now,” Cilla added. “But the doors have to unlock, don’t they?” She glanced around, presumably searching for validation.
“They have to,” Sally concurred with a smile.
“And until then?” the middle-aged woman asked.
“We wait.” What else could we do? “We wait for information. I’m sure the line will clear and we’ll be on our way.”
Even as I declared the eventuality, I didn’t believe it. Every fiber of me sensed something else was going on. Something was very wrong on the 08:42.
Chapter Two
Trapped
PULLING IN A SHAKY breath, I watched the second hand of my wristwatch tick by. Tick tock. Tick tock. Each second was lengthened as though time itself had been sent to taunt me, every flitted glance to another passenger only amplifying the escalating sense of dread. It was gone half past nine in the morning. We should have reached our destinations, but instead, we were stuck on the line. God only knew where. The fact we couldn’t even leave the carriage heightened the growing tension. The rail company had bought fancy new coaches a few years back. Everything was shiny and new, and worked electronically, but rail staff were few and far between. We were effectively trapped inside the damn train. No way to get out. No way to reach help.
“This is taking too long.” Maureen articulated what everyone was surely thinking. “We should have heard something. Should have got moving.”
“Maybe they’re still clearing the obstruction,” Sally started. “These things can take t—”
“Oh, it’s not an obstruction!” Maureen snapped, scowling as she turned to Cilla. “We’d have heard something if it was.”
“Unless the public announcement system had stopped working,” I reminded her. “In which case, the driver would have no way of letting us know.”
“Oh, God.” The middle-aged woman I didn’t know was practically hyperventilating. “This can’t be happening. I can’t be stuck here.”
“It’s okay,” Sally soothed, peering back at me with concerned eyes.
“This is preposterous!” Old Tom snorted as he rose unsteadily to his feet and wandered along the carriage. “It’s time someone took control.”
“I hope you don’t mean you.”
Sally took the words right out of my mouth. Old Tom was a regular fixture on the train, although at his age, no one knew why he traveled on it daily. He liked to glory in his old-fashioned opinions whether anyone else was interested in hearing them or not. He was just about possible to endure with my nose in a book, but his right-wing views never failed to grate. The last thing we needed was a lecture about the benefits of free trade and privatization.
“I do indeed, Sally Morgan.” Tom stuck his nose in the air, his voice growing louder. “There is too much estrogen in this carriage. You ladies need a man to take charge.”
“Oh, please.” Sighing, I stepped into the gangway and blocked his path. “Sit down, Tom. This isn’t helping.”
I wasn’t generally one for confrontation—I would have been happier lost in my paperback—but life had taught me what happened when I didn’t stand up for myself. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“Pardon me?” Brow rising, he peered at me over his glasses. “Who are you again?”
“Who I am is irrelevant.” Blowing out a breath, I concentrated on not rising to the older man’s provocation. Sure, Tom came from a generation of more subservient women, but I had news for him. I was Gen X. My days of compliance were done. “You need to sit down.”
“Certainly not.” He smirked, apparently amused at my show of authority. “If I can’t reach him, then I shall call the driver.”
