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Chase disappeared down a stairwell and made his way to the galley. In the main dining salon the crew could be heard joking among themselves as they adjusted the television dish antenna to pick up signals from a passing relay satellite.
A sudden chill raised goose bumps on Giordino's hairy arms, and he reached inside the wheelhouse for a windbreaker. As he was pulling up the zipper he hesitated and cocked an ear.
Chase appeared and handed him a beer can. "I didn't bother with glasses."
Giordino held up his hand for silence. "You hear that?"
Chase's brow furrowed. "Hear what?"
"Listen."
Chase tilted his head, his eyes locked in the unseeing stare of a man concentrating on sounds. "A train whistle," he announced indifferently.
"You sure?"
Chase nodded. "I can hear it plainly. Definitely a train whistle."
"Don't you find that odd?" asked Giordino.
"Why should I?"
"Diesel locomotives have air horns. Only the old steam engines blew whistles, and the last one was retired thirty years ago.
"Could be one of those kids' rides at an amusement park somewhere up the river," Chase surmised.
"Sound can carry for miles over water."
"I don't think so," Giordino said, cupping his ears and swinging his head back and forth like a radar antenna. "It's getting louder . . . louder and closer."
Chase ducked into the wheelhouse and returned with a land road map and a flashlight. He unfolded the paper over the deck railing and beamed the light.
"Look here," he said pointing to the tiny blue lines. "The main rail line cuts inland twenty miles south of here."
"And the nearest track?"
"Ten, maybe twelve miles."
"Whatever is making that sound is no more than a mile away," Giordino said flatly.
Giordino tried to fix the direction. The blazing moon illuminated the landscape with crystal clarity. He could distinguish individual trees two miles away. The sound was approaching along the west bank of the river above them. There was no movement of any kind, no lights except those of a few distant farmhouses.
Another shriek.
New sounds now. The clangor of heavy steel, the throaty, pulsating exhaust of steam and combustion split the night. Giordino felt as if he was suspended in air. He stood rigid. He waited.
"It's turning-turning toward us," Chase rasped as though he was still trying to convince himself. "God, it's coming off the ruins of the bridge."
They both stared upward at the top of the abutment, unable to breathe, unable to grasp what was happening. All at once the deafening noise of the invisible train exploded out of the dark above them.
Giordino instinctively ducked. Chase froze, his face a ghastly corpse-white, the enlarged pupils of his eyes black pits you could fall into.
And then, abruptly, silence-a silence deathlike and ominous.
Neither man spoke, neither moved. They stood rooted to the deck like wax figures without hearts or lungs. Slowly Giordino gathered his thoughts and took the flashlight from Chase's unresisting hand. He shone its beam on the top of the abutment.
There was nothing to see but time-w
orn stone and impenetrable shadows.
