Where Mercy Flows by Karen Harter Page A

side like I’d been there before. In the distance we heard the first muted thunder of the train.
     “Here she comes.” We listened to the low rumble fade in and out as it rounded hilly bends. Orange juice dripped through my
     fingers as I pushed the last whole section into my mouth. I licked my hands clean and wiped them on my jeans. Ten minutes
     later, the whistle blew pure and clear, heralding the train’s slow clatter through Dixon, and then the thunder mounted as
     the engine picked up speed outside the little town. By the time it neared the trestle, I was trembling from the vibration,
     the loud clamor and a rush of adrenaline.
    Donnie stashed the remains of our picnic in the paper bag and helped me to my feet. “Okay, it’s showtime!” He pulled himself
     onto part of the metal gridwork above the bridge and held an arm down to me. “You coming?”
    I shook my head. “No. I want to be right next to it!” The train erupted onto the bridge, a roaring, billowing volcano now,
     racing straight for us. Engine lights blazed on the tracks in its path. My whole body was sliced by the warning scream of
     the whistle. Feet planted on a railroad tie, I leaned against a girder for support. Donnie became a part of the superstructure
     above my head. In seconds the train was upon us. Donnie hollered something, but his voice was strangled by the explosion of
     diesel power and the crashing and clanking of each passing freight car. Sparks flew at my feet. I knew if I stretched out
     my arm, I’d draw back a bloody stump.
    This was the part where we used to hoot and howl with laughter, defying the monster and leaning as close as we dared. The
     strange thing was that I was not having any fun. Rhythmic sound blasts beat violently against my chest, pounded inside my
     head, shook me like a rat in the jaws of a terrier. My heart ached. I felt it trying too hard. My eyes closed and I tottered
     dizzily before grabbing the girder. I wanted the train to pass, but boxcar after boxcar after gondola after flatcar, it torpedoed
     on. It was the train from hell. The never-ending train from hell. I backed away. My mind swirled in the darkness like the
     river below. When I looked down everything became a blur. I felt myself falling.
    The next few seconds were recorded in slow motion in my mind. The clanking of the passing train, the thud and sharp pain in
     my shoulder, my body slamming hard against something, the top of my torso hanging precariously over a sharp edge. My arms
     flailed for something to hang on to. The train began to sound farther away and then it was the river that roared in my ears.
     I threw up.
    “Sam! Don’t move!”
    My body stopped vibrating as the last freight car left the bridge. I heard Donnie drop to the railroad ties. He pulled me
     from the low metal railing, laying my body alongside the warm track. “Sam, are you okay?”
    “I think so.”
    “What happened?”
    The railroad tie was a little rough but it felt cool against my face. “Lie down here and listen to the river with me. Let’s
     just rest for a while.”
    Donnie hoisted me to my feet. “Come on, you little lush.” He wrapped my arm around his shoulders and started walking down
     the railroad tracks. My legs were surprisingly weak.
    “I’m not drunk.”
    “Yeah. And you just puked your guts out for the fun of it. Dang it, Sam! If I had known, I never would have left you alone
     down there. You could have fallen off the bridge—or worse yet, onto the track. You’d be raw hamburger right now.”
    “I think it was the orange.” I tried to walk without Donnie’s support but found myself leaning back into him. The labored
     pulsing in my chest had calmed, but I felt achy and tired. Donnie got me back to the truck and we drove in silence. Long,
     peaceful silence. I think I dozed off. The crunch of gravel under the truck tires roused me and I knew I was home.
    “Stop here, Donnie.” We were only halfway down the long driveway. “I’m