Chapter Text
Will’s lungs are burning, his chest is heaving. They’re not going to make it.
The Byers must make for a pathetic sight, the three of them jogging hopelessly down the leaf-strewn path, their homes strapped to their backs in heavy, uneven bags, shouting pathetically for help towards a horizon that offers them no response. And with every passing minute their stamina wanes, their shouts grow more desperate and haggard, the voracity of their shouts fading against the wind. It’s this or it’s nothing.
It also doesn’t escape Will that they’re putting themselves in danger like this. That even in the woods between these small clusters of towns and settlements, terrible creatures still find shadows to stalk between. He has to imagine that three winded, exhausted travelers would make their dry, undead mouths water.
But, once more, they have nothing to turn back to. No one is waiting for them at home. No home waits for them either. It plays in Will’s mind over and over again like a mantra; last chance, last chance, last chance.
And for a long minute, it feels as though the chance has passed. As they plod down the woodland path, Will can feel hope dripping down his skin alongside the sweat. Maybe they could have packed faster, maybe they could have left sooner. Maybe if Murray had come the day before- Will’s stomach folds in on itself and he has to work to hold back a retch.
Is this it? What are they going to do next? If they double back to the town, maybe they can beg someone there for a place to stay? It’s a long shot, but what other choice do they-
“Hey!”
The sound accompanying the sudden shout is familiar, in a way. Will’s heard hoofbeats before, but never like this, never so big, so fast. A horse gallops past a curve in the road up ahead, a mighty chestnut-colored thing with a rider holding tightly to its reins. Will feels his jaw drop, heart still hammering against his ribcage. Someone heard them?
Beside him, Jonathan forces himself to stop panting in order to raise a hand and wave him over. The rider holds himself tense as he approaches, his aged, leathery face carved into a concerned frown.
“Is everything alright?” He asks.
“That’s a funny question,” Joyce responds. She’s breathing even harder than him, her legs shaking from effort. Will’s chest squeezes. His mother looks unsure, small, dwarfed by the rider and his mount. It makes him that much more nervous. “We can tell you about it on the train.”
The rider’s expression wavers. “Oh, uh. Ma'am, boarding was taken care of back in town- I don’t have the permission to…”
“Please.” Joyce breathes, gathering herself. “We have a letter, a recommendation. There’s a man who owes Murray Bauman a favor and-”
“Ma’am,” The rider says again, trying and failing to sound authoritative. Will can see the pity in his eyes, the unsure way he adjusts himself atop his saddle. But he continues. “I’m sorry, I don’t have permission. You know as well as I that that letter could come from anywhere, and if I took you up there, I’d just have to escort you back down. This is nothing personal, if we took in every straggler who we chanced upon…”
Joyce isn’t listening. She’s reaching for her bag, digging deep inside for the envelope Murray had given to her three nights ago. Even as she produces it, filling the air with excuses and desperation- “We’ve been moving for almost three straight days to get here. We missed it by less than an hour- we were going to board properly,” - Will can see the argument isn’t making a dent. The rider is losing his patient air. Will didn’t know his stomach could drop even further.
“C’mon, man,” Jonathan is getting involved now, but the rider won’t meet his eyes. “At least read the letter. Give us a chance.”
The rider’s horse seems to sense the tension, hooves beginning to tap and mull the dirt as it shifts from side to side. So this is how it all ends.
All three Byers lurch in desperation as the man adjusts his grip on the reins, beginning to subtly move backwards and disengage. Will’s voice adds to the desperation, a choked, “Please,” that he knows will go ignored, but there’s nothing else he can do. He feels tears beginning to sting the corners of his eyes and he fights hard to keep them from showing.
The rider’s about two steps backwards when the sound of approaching hoofbeats reaches them once more, and a second rider rounds the same bend. This rider is a woman sat atop a silver stallion dappled with white spots. Something about her strikes Will as familiar as she approaches, but it’s not something he’s preoccupied with at the moment. His life is over, after all.
But Jonathan doesn’t have the same response. Will can see the breath catch in his lungs before she even reaches them, and it’s almost scary seeing the grin that comes to his face, the way his eyes light up. But he’s moving forward before she’s within speaking range. And in return, after she gets close enough to recognize him as well, the second rider nearly trips over herself to dismount her saddle.
“Nancy?" Jonathan gasps, springing into motion. "Nancy! Nance-”
“Oh my God. Jonathan? Jonathan!”
Once she’s on the ground, Nancy all but collapses into Jonathan’s arms, who does the same to her. The two waiver and wobble there, almost as though they’re trying to push each other over in order to get just a little closer. Jonathan ducks his head into Nancy’s shoulder, and Will can see how Nancy’s fingernails grip the sides of his dingy, well-worn T-shirt like she’s afraid it’ll get ripped away if she lets go.
Joyce, Will, and the other rider watch as the two collide, an array of reactions shared between them. Will can see hope bloom anew on his mother’s face, relief and excitement sharing precarious space with the desperation and fear. The rider is perplexed, he runs a hand down the line of his stubbled jaw and heaves a sigh at the sight.
And Will, he knows he should be relieved by this. If nothing else, seeing his brother in this moment of relief should make him happy. But Jonathan’s arms are slung tight around the form of Nancy Wheeler, a person Will had been certain he’d never see again. And it’s not the Nancy part that’s sending sparks of adrenaline up and down every muscle in his body. It’s not Jonathan’s delight and being reunited with his special person that’s pooling fresh dread in Will’s gut.
Because if Nancy is here, does that mean…
“Friend of yours, Nance?” The rider calls after the two have had their moment. They don’t even let go of each other as Nancy swivels her head to answer.
“Yeah,” She says, voice choked up and tight. "Yeah, he is."
Moving closer, Will can see that the past two years hasn't done much to her, but there are stress lines and dark circles that he doesn’t remember seeing before. But it’s difficult to tell anyway, with how red and tear-streaked her face is.
She looks well, Will can see, once Joyce finally peels Jonathan off of her and takes up the hug herself. Nancy just gasps and accepts the touch, holding on to Joyce just as tight as she says, “Oh my god, Joyce! And Will, you’ve gotten so tall. It’s so good to- oh my god you’re here- what are you, why?”
Joyce moves to speak, but something sparks in Nancy’s eyes then, recognition and remembrance. “Oh no, was it..?”
And Joyce and Jonathan only nod with tired grimaces. Nancy's hands move over her mouth, horror in her eyes.
“Oh my god. I thought they’d have given it up by now.”
“They did, for a while.” Jonathan sighs, “But Lonnie’s persistent. The issue kept coming up and getting pushed, I guess eventually someone either got tired of it or paid off.”
“Jesus.” Nancy says. “I’m so sorry.”
“There was nothing you could do.” Joyce says, and for the first time in a long time Will has to work to keep his mouth shut. “But- but it’s going to be okay. Murray, you remember Murray Bauman, right? He, he knew the conductor of this train, and the conductor, he owed him a favor. And Murray said, he gave us…”
Joyce resupplies the letter, but Nancy barely glances at it. She hasn't let Jonathan move three feet away from her in the moments since they’ve reunited, and Will gets the feeling that the letter isn’t going to be the thing making the difference right now.
“Okay, okay. That’s good!” Nancy says. “The Express is, it’s a good place. You’ll be safe there.”
By now the second rider has joined them on the ground, a well-aged man with a short beard that’s more salt than salt-and-pepper. He stands beside them with crossed arms.
“You know Hop’s not keen on picking up strays off the road,” He says, sounding unimpressed. “And I haven’t seen the last bed count since we shipped off.”
“We’ll make it work, Wayne.” Nancy breathes, inching closer to Jonathan until he can swing an arm around her waist. “Jonathan, these guys… We'll make room. I owe them this.”
Jonathan and Joyce fall over themselves to tell Nancy that’s not true, and Will once again says nothing. The man, Wayne, just shrugs and heads back towards his horse, muttering something about, “As long as it’s not my rations being cut.”
It’s a slow walk back up the road, considering three of the five people in the group are nearly shaking with exhaustion. Wayne and Nancy assure them that the tail-end of the train isn’t far, and from there getting situated will be much easier. Still, it’s only a few more minutes before Jonathan is helping Joyce up behind Nancy on her saddle, and then moving to help Will on to Wayne’s.
“I’m fine.” Will says. He’s not sure if it’s pride- if Jonathan can walk the rest of the way, so can he- or general nervousness at the thought of getting on top of a horse. Back home there had been farmers with goats or pigs, Will’s seen a decent number of cows in his life, but horses had always been few and far between. He's not the biggest fan of them, big and bug-eyed with sharp rocks for feet.
“You’re not.” Jonathan says, giving Will a long once-over. “We’re all exhausted, and you look like you’re about to drop dead on your feet. C’mon, it’s exciting.”
If it’s so exciting, Will wants to say, why don’t you get up there with Wayne instead?
But Jon’s giving him that, do it for me? Kind of look, and Joyce is expects much the same.
They’re worried about him; of course they are. Even with his last growth spurt they still see him as small and fragile, something in need of being protected. And god, Will would love a chance to prove them wrong, but it’s not going to be today. Not when his feet are this laden with lead, and Wayne is looking down at him so impatiently.
So with Jonathan offering his interlocked fingers to climb on and Wayne giving him short, clipped instructions, Will eventually ends up behind the other man, clutching him tightly as his skin burns with embarrassment. He feels a wave of sudden homesickness wash over him, a desire to give all this up and just turn back, but of course it’s just the tantrum speaking. He can only sit, distractingly high off the ground with his arms wrapped around a stranger.
Luckily, it’s not too long of a walk to the end of the train. After ten, maybe fifteen minutes at a soft pace with Jonathan on the ground, shapes and voices start to appear in the distance. Shouts and the sounds of clanging metal fill the air, as a small spread of people milling around a large wagon-like structure comes into view.
A wagon-like structure that Will finds, as they move closer, is only one in a long chain of wagon-shaped things. Will can see modified campers and truck beds, as well as what look to be re-tooled busses, gutted and whittled down to their bare essentials and placed on both wooden and rubber wheels. At the head of each carriage stands a pair of oxen, more beasts of burden that Will has only ever heard of, with heavy wooden yokes thrown over their shoulder, or chains attaching them to the carriages. At the moment the oxen are unmoving, grazing quietly while a group of about ten adults march around, shouting orders back and forth.
Is this… it?
Will fights to keep his expression passive as he takes in his surroundings. There can’t be more than four of these caravans that are large enough to fit more than maybe five people, considering how tightly they’re packed? And the rest are just flat surfaces on wheels, piled high with boxes, some with tarps pulled over top. This cannot be the famed Newhope Express, the train that circles the country looking to trade goods and help passengers travel to the established cities of the after-world.
From the stories Will’s heard, this is supposed to be the safest way to travel, with a vibrant, dedicated community of volunteers who receive a bed and two hot meals a day in exchange for doing their part to keep the train running. This is the impressive spread of train cars modified for protection and ease of travel he’s heard about? This is their ticket to salvation, to putting as much distance between themselves and their past as possible?
Will finds himself holding on slightly tighter to the horse beneath him. Suddenly he’s not as keen to get down.
“Shit, did we forget someone?” A voice calls as they move close enough to mingle.
“Nah,” Wayne calls back with a wave of his hand, “These are the screamers, Nancy’s bleedin’ heart brought ‘em back.”
“They’re not screamers, ” Nany clucks as she comes up behind him, unintimidated by Wayne’s tone. “These are friends. Good friends.”
“D’ya think Hop’s gonna like that?” Calls another voice. Among the gathered, Will can see an array of people, some as young as Nancy, others who look to be older than Wayne. There are no other familiar faces he can find. “He likes to be the one to make that call.”
“They’ve got a letter of recommendation.” Nancy says. “From one of Hop’s friends.” She dismounts the horse in a couple of clean, fluid motions. Joyce tries to replicate this as Nancy helps her down, and it doesn’t go as well.
“Is he here, this Hop?” Joyce asks, looking around. She’s better at hiding it than Will, but he can see the tightness in her jaw and the tension in her shoulders; she’s about as impressed with this place as he is.
“This time of day?” Responds another one of the workers. “Nah, he should be up by Car One or Five.”
“They don’t know what that means.” Nancy chides him. She’s leading her horse closer to the chain of caravans, where Will can see a #15 painted messily on a tarp hung over the side. She turns to address Joyce, “But all you need to know is I’m taking you to him.”
She kicks a lever with the edge of her boot, and the back wall of the wagon drops to form a ramp. This caravan looks to be made out of a repurposed pickup truck merged with some kind of hay bale wagon, with long, skinny metal bars forming a cage around the contents. From inside, Nancy pulls out an even smaller wooden cart that’s a little larger than a wheelbarrow, possibly large enough to fit two people.
Before they set off, Joyce speaks with Wayne again, and they talk more amicably now that he’s not trying to get her to leave. Nancy calls to Jonathan for a hand, and Will follows after, if only to keep near to what’s familiar. He then immediately regrets this, as all three of them are tasked with lifting sacks of corn and wheat and oats out of a nearby crate and pile them into the wagon.
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Nancy says, dropping a sack into the wagon with a satisfying thunk. “There's a lot of putting things in wagons and taking them back and forth.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Jonathan says as he heaves the last bag down from his shoulders, “But does this mean there’s more than just… this?”
Nancy smiles fondly, sounding proud as she speaks. “We do a lot to keep things moving and keep everyone safe, and that means the train usually ends up with these gaps. There are parts that spread out to an extent during the day, but then comes back together once it gets late. Have you ever seen an accordion? it's like that." She widens her arms and then pushes them back together to illustrate, and the boys not along.
She gestures down the line of caravans with an arm. “The cars you’re seeing, twelve through fifteen, are what we call the End Haul. Then up ahead you have the Passenger cars, numbers five through eleven. And then way further on is The Head, cars one through four. So far so good?"
Will and Jonathan both nod. It's a lot of names and numbers to juggle in the moment, and Will's still currently processing that they're even here, but the information feels useful all the same. It's sliding off of him now, but in time it'll sink in.
Nancy points then to her one-horse wagon. “I’m going to take you guys up to Passengers, and you should be able to meet Hopper there. He can be a hard-ass, but he's got a good heart. I don't see him turning you away without reason.”
“You’re incredible.” Jonathan says. Will stifles a gag.
From the look on his brother’s face, Will guesses that Nancy could have told him that they were getting thrown in the dirt and he’d still be happy because she was saying it. But this is good news for Will as well. This chunk of the train feels messy, harried, disjointed and disorganized. People are shouting back and forth from atop different carriages, grimages on their faces, clipboards with bunched-up papers in their hands. Trying to keep track of it all sends his head spinning. But maybe things are better further ahead.
It’s not too much longer before Nancy has her horse harnessed into the smaller wagon. There’s room for Joyce and Will to sit atop the grain sacks, and Jonathan might have been able to make room for himself on as well, but he’s more than happy to take the spot behind Nancy’s saddle. They push forward, and it’s not long before the ruckus fades behind them.
“So it’s not… much of a train, is it?” Joyce asks once they’re well out of earshot. “I mean, this is more the kind of thing you’d see on the Oregon Trail.”
Will's not familiar with what she's referencing, but Jonathan and Nancy seem to understand.
“You know, I thought the same thing for a while.” Nancy calls back. “But it’s reliable, it goes where it’s supposed to, it stays on-track and it carries goods and people across the country. I guess people started calling it a train, and the title stuck. Trust me, when you meet Hopper, you’ll see that he wasn’t the one who started calling it the Newhope Express.”
“But it’s… safe, right? That much is true?” Joyce asks.
“I mean, as safe as any travel is going to be in a group this big." Nancy says. "But numbers mean we can put a lot of work into staying vigilant and keeping our wheels greased. Doesn’t mean accidents don’t happen, but I feel safer here than a lot of other places I've been.”
“Oh gosh, that reminds me.” Joyce gasps, “I didn’t even ask what brought you here! You’ve done so much growing up in, what, how long has it been?”
“Almost two years.” Will answers.
“Two years?” Joyce parrots, sounding much more surprised. “It feels like it’s been months.”
“Huh, not for me.” Nancy responds, her voice notably flatter than a moment ago. “I think I’ve felt every single day that's passed. But you know, it’s been good, this place is good. But do you guys have any idea where you’re headed?”
They chat on. Joyce tells her they’re just looking to put some distance between themselves and the past, and Nancy responds that it’s not a bad idea. She brings up a few of the regular stops she’s familiar with, and the rest of the ride is spent comparing the different settlements they could end up in along the way.
Before long, a sight similar to before springs up. Lines of caravans-turned-train-cars attached to oxen, circled by busy-looking people. There is a difference though, in the atmosphere around them. These caravans, -cars, whatever the people here call them- are large, made out of the skeletons of semi-trucks and travel buses, gutted of their weight and melded together to be both efficient and impenetrable. These look to be more lived-in places, ones that are wider, with open-sliding doors on the sides and rears, and windows with chain-link spread over top.
Some of the cars have gutters on top that lead to barrels at the bottom, others have fold-out windows on the side, with people inside leaning out to hand goods to others standing nearby. Will can see many spots where the metal of these cars is mismatched, where the overlay isn’t even and had to be melted and hammered in, maybe due to a repair or an addition. They’re not particularly beautiful to behold, but something about them still strikes Will as well-loved.
The people moving in and out of the cars also look less winded and haggard as those at the End Haul. Instead of worn out and stressed like Wayne, they seem… fine. Not everyone is glowing with happiness, but they don't look miserable either. People are well-fed, their clothes clean, with patches sewn over tears and well-made boots on their feet. They chat pleasantly as they move about between the cars. Some people are snacking as they work, others lean over crates and gossip while the less-amused weave around them. Will spots a boy that looks to be his age adjusting the chains around an Ox’s neck before turning and heading in the opposite direction.
“Not so bad, is it?” Joyce asks him, and Will blinks back into the conversation. “It’s not home yet, but it’s a good place to start, hm?”
Will’s not as sold as she is, but he can at least muster a smile and a nod.
“It’s nice.” He says.
“I keep forgetting you’re back there, Will.” Nancy calls behind her. “I see you’re the same big talker as ever.”
“It’s been hard for him,” Joyce explains, and Will’s ears burn hot. She’s got that sweet, mothering tone in her voice that is supposed to comfort him, but it just makes him feel small, childish. “Hawkwood was all he’d ever known, and it hasn’t exactly been a friendly place. But he’ll be okay, he’s strong. He just doesn't know it.”
Will suppresses a snort. ‘Strong’ has never been a word that’s applied to him. Between stature and heart, he’s always felt waifish and small. He’d been born into an angry, hungry, aching world, and the truth of it had never been hidden from him. But where many, where the capable grew bolder, faced their problems and overcome the hurdles in their lives, Will only waited. Only watched, wide-eyed and nervous, until it was safe for him to creep out as well.
“I think you’ll like it here, Will.” She says. “You're just at the minimum age to ride The Express, so you've got a whole gaggle of teens for you to run around with. And- Oh, hey, there’s Hop.”
Nancy steers the horse and cart to the side of another car, one with a big #7 painted on the side. There are people milling around the entryway, most of them looking about Nancy’s age, with the exception of a large, fully-grown man standing at the head of them, talking and nodding in exchange.
“Right, right, keep an eye on it.” He’s saying. “Once I’m up at Two I’ll let ‘em know.”
The people Hopper had been talking to move along, and Nancy continues onward.
“Afternoon, Hopper.” Nancy says. She makes her way off of the horse and stands in front of him, fingers nervously intertwined. She holds herself tall, and her tone is polite, bordering on sweet. The man, Hopper, reads her instantly.
“What’s the matter, Wheeler?” He asks gruffly.
“Well." Nancy starts, suddenly at a loss. "Uh, we heard a commotion in the woods not far from the End Haul, and we came across some uh, actually, friends of mine. Kind of, more than friends.”
Jonathan, at her side, takes the opportunity to sidle closer. Hopper sees this and closes his eyes, tipping his head back.
“Oh, Jesus. This is Harrington behavior, Nancy. I’d expect better than you.”
“I know, I know.” Nancy says, talking fast. “But this is different. They have, uh, do you know a man named Murray Bauman?”
At the sound of the man’s name, Hopper winces. Not a great sign. “I’m familiar.”
Joyce hops in now. She supplies the letter, which Hopper glances over for a long minute before he re-folds it, and tucks it into his pocket.
“You must be in some kind of trouble if Bauman’s gotta vouch for you.” He sighs. Joyce lets out a joyless laugh.
“You have no idea.” Joyce says.
Hopper gives the family a long once-over, and Will can't imagine they're an impressive sight. He feels like a drowned rat that's just been fished out of the river, he probably looks even worse.
“You can work? Pick up heavy items and carry them a good distance? Swing a hammer? Skin something and then cook it?”
“Of course.”
“And the boys?”
Jonathan and Joyce start talking at once, assuring the man that they’re more than capable of carrying their weight. Hopper’s glance lands on Will, who feels his mouth go dry. Nancy had been right, this is not a man who would call his train something as hopeful and twee as The Newhope Express. The man is too large, his presence too commanding for something so soft. And Will has not had many positive experiences with large, commanding men. His own father was one, and look where that got him.
He forces himself to meet Hopper's eyes. “Yes, sir.”
“This is Will, my son.” Joyce jumps in. “Well, Jonathan’s my son as well, but. Anyway. He’s a little quiet, yes, but he just needs some confidence and time to grow, you'll see.”
I’m sixteen! He wants to snap. You’re talking about me like I’m a toddler! His blood grows hot with embarrassment, but hotter still is the shame in agreeing with her. He's gained some height and muscle in the past couple of years, but he still feels so small. Hopper gives him one last look-over before returning his attention to Joyce. He thinks for a moment in silence, hand brushing the pocket that holds his note. Finally, he opens his mouth to speak.
“You missed the train." He tells them. "I’m not the most punctual man myself either, but we keep this train running by showing up when we’re needed. I’m gonna need you to be more careful about that, going forward. Can you do that?”
Joyce almost collapses before she can shake Hopper’s extended hand. Jonathan takes it with both of his, and Nancy grabs on to his side, burying her face into his shoulder.
Will’s surprised at the wave of relief that hits him as well. That this hard, sucked-in breath that it feels like he’s been holding in for three days, maybe longer, can finally be let go. Nervousness still nags loudly at the back of his mind- so much is still unfamiliar and strange. But it sounds like he’ll have a bed to collapse in at night, and food to eat in the morning. His nose starts to sting as he fights to stop his eyes watering.
After a round of tearful thank-yous from Joyce, Hopper leaves them in the hands of Nancy, as well as a young man named Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington is a junior Guardsman, and their guide to the train at large. He's also jarringly handsome, which Will has to pretend isn’t at least a little distracting as he welcomes them into the fold.
Apparently he and some others would have given them an orientation at Carthage, the settlement that The Express had pulled through this morning. But Hawkwood, where the Byers had lived, was a fair distance out from there, and even with a couple of days notice, they'd been unable to make it in time. But days where they leave after doing trade with a settlement are often slow ones, as the priority is organization instead of distance. So it's a good day to take things a little slow, and to familiarize themselves with the places they'll be spending most of their time.
Nancy volunteers to show the Byers’ around, but Steve reminds her that she’s got a horse and a wagon that belongs back at the End Haul, and she has no other choice but to agree. She and Jonathan hug like they'll never see each other again -even while Steve reminds Nancy she can come right back- and then they're left in Steve's careful hands.
First he fills them in on the general things that everyone needs to know; stay away from the wheels when they’re moving, report to cars eight or nine if you feel sick or get injured. If you’re moving out of eyesight of the train, tell someone, two people if you can. If you hear one long whistle, that means the train is moving. Two long whistles mean food’s on. Two short whistles means get on the train immediately.
Any dangerous sightings are to be reported to a Guardsmember, the specially-trained long-time passengers of The Express who live on it, rather than use it as a means of travel. They're trusted to wield zombie-slaying weapons, and are often found patrolling the fringes of the path the train travels along, day and night, keeping an eye out for any trouble that comes their way.
“A lot of it is common sense.” Steve explains further to them, walking them up the line of caravans to the front. “But feel free to ask if anything specific comes up.”
Jonathan asks, “Why do you call them cars if they’re like, wagons and trucks and stuff?”
Steve snorts. “Because people kept correcting Hop whenever he’d call one of them the wrong thing. So now all of them are cars, forever.”
“What’s the restroom situation like, you know, in the cars?” Joyce asks with a bluntness only a mother can use.
Steve gestures at the surrounding woods. “You’re looking at it. Like I said, if you’re going out of sight of the cars, always tell someone where you’re going.”
“Has anyone ever been kicked off before, for not being able to keep up?” It’s not a subtle question, Will knows this, but he needs an answer.
Steve just gives him a once-over, reads him in a glance.
“That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”
Steve’s next task is to show The Byers around the immediate area, and introduce them to the place they will now be calling home.
At the head of the Passengers section of the train is Car 5, the one that leads the rest. This is a car that receives information from the Head and disseminates it down, as well as where they keep all sorts of 'resources', though Steve is reticent to specify what kinds.
“You can find Hopper here most nights,” Steve explains, “Or way up front with the Guardsmembers at the Head.”
The second train down, Car Six, is the passenger car, and it is massive. Headed by a trinity of oxen, it raises two stories into the air, with chained-over windows and herbal garlands hanging from the top. Inside are bunk beds built into the walls on each floor, with small fabric curtains that can be drawn across them for privacy. Due to its size, it’s empty during most of the day so that it can be more easily pulled, with only the Night Guardsmen aboard to rest. But at night, Steve swears, it is more comfortable than some genuine mattresses he’s slept on.
Car Seven is, as Steve introduces it, a Stuff Car. A lot of what the Express does is trade work, taking wheat to the part of the country that grows rice, and rice to the parts that grow wheat, on a scale that continues to grow larger every year. Plenty more gets traded than that, there are boxes of all kinds of random detritus stacked pretty much everywhere, but moving food around the country had been the Express’ first purpose. Thanks to that, it still flourishes in trade, and it’s lead to the hoarding of everything from children’s toys to musical instruments to items that were antiques even in the old world.
Also in Car Seven are a collection of small cots, worked in among the crates and storage containers. As Steve sheepishly explains, “Me and some friends kind of took over this one, when it felt like we were outgrowing our old beds. It’s less comfortable and watched-over, but it’s a little more privacy, you know?”
Cars Eight and Nine are food and supply cars, and they’re the ones with fold-down windows built into the side. They’ve got ovens built into them, with skinny exhaust pipes peeking up through the roofs. People move about inside with steaming pots and hissing pans, and Will can see garlands of braided corn stalks and garlic and herbal bundles and dried meats hanging from the roof.
One of the people inside catches sight of Steve and peeks her head out, a girl with bright blue eyes and freckles dusted across her cheeks.
“Look alive.” She calls, and a bright red apple goes sailing through the air. Steve fumbles for a second, but manages to keep it from dropping to the ground. While he glares, she laughs and rolls her eyes. “Fastest reflexes on the train, he says.”
“Robin,” Steve hisses, “This is the Byers family, they just joined up on the train today.”
“Oh, hey, welcome!” Robin says, much kinder than her tone with Steve. “Dinner isn’t for a couple of hours, but head back over here once you start smelling the beans and bacon. Oh, and If they ask you where you want to volunteer, be sure to say food and med service and not junior Guardsmember, or you’ll be stuck around this guy all day. Yikes.”
“Alright, we’re moving on.” Steve says, and Robin gives him a saccharine-sweet smile. “Nice to see you, Robin.”
“Nice to meet you! Welcome aboard!” She calls as Steve moves the Byers along.
After she ducks her head back into the car, he explains, “You just met my best friend, if you can believe it.”
There are two cars left after this, and the second to last is done up with gutters on the roof, and a body that has been made out of an old school bus. Steve explains that this had once been just another Stuff Car, known for being where they keep clothing items, hats, shoes, blankets, and other items around that category. But lately it had been taken over, much like he and his friends had done to Car Seven, by a friend group looking for a little room to breathe.
But Steve’s voice is soon drowned out by a collection of others, all raised in a clamor and coming from inside. Steve rolls his eyes and makes his way to the swinging metal door and gives it a tap with his knuckles.
“Gremlins, behave. We got new ones, don't scare 'em off.” He calls. As if summoned, the door swings open and out pour a line of teenagers, led by a boy in green with wild, chestnut curls. After him is the boy Will had seen before, dark-skinned with close-cropped hair. Then comes dark-haired girl, the only one not saying something back to the rest of the group. Final in the line is another girl, this one with hair that's the color of shined copper, shouting over the other girl’s shoulder. When the first one out sees that they’ve got company, he turns and shushes the rest.
"Shut up, shut up! They're already here." Curly-haired boy explains. The rest of them go quiet, slipping into a more polite, respectful posture as they see it's not just Steve visiting.
“So," Steve says, sounding very unimpressed, "This is Car 10. Once the clothes and fabric storage space, now The Teen Car.”
“It’s not The Teen Car.” Sighs the red-headed girl. “That makes it sound so dumb. It’s just Car 10.”
“Fine.” Steve says. “This is Just Car 10. And for the record, you are under no obligation to sleep in the same place as these freaks.”
Steve says this to Will, alerting the others to his presence. Four pairs of eyes swivel to him at once, and Will can’t help but shrink back from the collective gaze. People his age didn’t really hang out with him back home, especially not after things started to get bad. Suddenly being faced with a group of unfamiliar faces has thrown him.
“Say hello, honey.” Joyce tells him, and Will flinches.
“Mom.” He hisses. Before she can do more damage, he forces himself to take a step towards the small group. He clears his throat, eyes bouncing from one stranger to the next. “Uh, hey. Hi. I’m-”
The door to the Car 10 swings open again, a fifth person joining the rest. He takes slow, careful steps down the small set of stairs by the door, and exits the car on shaky legs. And this teenager is different from the others, in that he is familiar. Seeing him punches the air out of Will’s lungs, it drains the color from the world. It answers the question he’s been terrified to ask since the first time Nancy had come into view.
Mike Wheeler steps out from the train car. He’s watching cautiously as he begins his approach, eyes wide like he can't believe what he's seeing, and he needs every bit of spare iris to make sure it's real. He says, voice wavering on a single syllable, “Will?”