The Last Run
The night air in Chicago was thick with fog as Amtrak Train 742 sped southbound toward St. Louis. Inside the locomotive, veteran engineer Daniel Hayes kept his eyes locked on the rails ahead. Twenty-three years on the job had taught him one thing—complacency kills. The passengers behind him were settling in for a quiet overnight ride. Families, students, a tired nurse heading home—just ordinary lives moving through the dark. Then Daniel saw it. A faint, unnatural glint on the tracks. At first, he thought it was just the fog playing tricks on him. But as the train pushed forward at 70 miles per hour, his stomach dropped. The rails ahead were warped—twisted like a broken spine. “Not tonight…” he muttered. His hand slammed the emergency brake. The train screamed in protest, metal grinding against metal. Sparks flew beneath the wheels as the cars shuddered violently. But Daniel knew the truth—there wasn’t enough distance. They weren’t going to stop in time. In seconds, he made the ...
