Identity Crisis

THE TRAIN DERAILED AT 6,000 FEET gyrating and twisting like an injured snake as it crashed through trees and into boulders. The locomotives and the first two cars broke loose and plunged fifteen hundred feet into a ravine that bordered the tracks. Some of the passengers were trapped in rail cars while others were tossed through the air, plunging through underbrush, banging into trees and thumping onto the hard, frozen surface of the mountain. Train cars were bursting into flames, piling on top of each other, as sickening human screams reverberated from the mountain side. The powerful locomotives, that minutes earlier had been pulling a line of cars up the grades and through the tunnels, were now mangled, and the engineers crushed to death, as the front of the train punched into the base of the gorge below. The orange and red flames were growing taller as the black smoke and millions of sparks were shooting into the sky, intermingling with the white falling snow. As the fire continued to roar, the shouts and screams grew louder. Screams were coming from inside the cars and on the ground, along with excruciating shrieks rising from the gorge below. The anguish and crying could be heard all around as people were grasping for life itself. Then as the minutes slowly turned into hours, and time gradually passed into the night, the cries and wailing that had been riding on the wind started subsiding. The bodies that had crashed onto the ground were now being changed into carcasses, and the ones still trapped in the rail cars were being cremated. Time passed slowly for a while and then gradually quietness began to overcome the agonizing screams and cries for help. Only the haunting, crackling of the fire among the dead, or the crunching of occasional boards or beams falling to the ground, rolling into the ravine below and piling on top of the smashed cars, broke that silence. There was no sign of human movement. It appeared no one was left alive. There were no fire trucks or ambulances, or help of any kind. It all happened so fast that no one was able to call for help or report the pending accident. In this primitive area of trees, brush and boulders, and no roads close by, the only help would probably have to come from helicopters or emergency rail cars; but when would the authorities become aware of the wreck and get help on its way? That was the question.

It was December, Christmas a few weeks away. The snow continued to fall on the six inches that had accumulated the night before. A northwesterly wind was now gusting to thirty miles per hour, which would mean drifts, probably large drifts, and the temperature had dropped well below freezing.

On the far side of the ravine, on a rock ledge protruding out of the mountain, was a man lying on his back, trying to move his right arm up over his chest, and then it would drop to his side again. Moments passed and he tried opening his eyes and at first he saw nothing but a blur. He closed them and wondered if he was going blind. He laid on the rock quietly for awhile. His whole body throbbing and aching, and then he tried opening them again. Things were spinning, and he felt like he was falling, as he grasped the edge of the large rock that was supporting him. The feeling of spinning would last for a few minutes and then stop. Then it would start again. It continued doing this off and on for a few minutes, and finally it stopped all together. He wondered if he was just a little dizzy or could it be vertigo. He lay there trying to figure out what had happened, wondering where he was and how did he get there. It was all muddled, confusing, nothing made sense. He tried again to move his arms. It was easier this time, but still very painful. He tried pulling his legs up just enough to tell they weren’t broken, and then he slowly rolled over on his side and gradually moved into a sitting position. There was blood on the front of his leather coat that had come from some small cuts on his face. His body was badly bruised and he had minor cuts on his legs, but apparently no broken bones. He sat quietly for awhile, watching the fire, as his vision improved. He kept thinking to himself, “What has happened?” “Where am I?” He was sore, very sore. Every muscle in his body hurt, but he was able to move his arms and legs. Then it began to dawn on him as he thought aloud, in a soft voice. “Where have I come from? Where am I? Who am I?” He realized he didn’t even know his name. He wondered if he’d been on that train, as he watched it burn. He decided that he must have been or how else could he have ended up on this rock and in this condition. He had no idea what part of the country he was in, except he could tell he was in the mountains, but where in the mountains, and what mountains? He wondered if he had family. If he did, they might soon be worried about his whereabouts and condition. He was helpless, not knowing where to go. If he could find a town and get to a phone, he still wouldn’t know who to call.

Slowly, he was beginning to think more clearly. His vision was getting better. He felt in his pockets in search of a wallet, keys, papers, or anything that might tell him who he was or where he came from. Hip pockets were empty. Right front pants pocket had some change, but no keys. All the other pockets; pants, shirt and jacket, were empty. Now he realized, he was not only lost and knew nothing about himself, but was also broke, except for a small amount of change.