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Train achieves max capacity outside of Ukraine with the last 417 passengers in the Tail and 1,013 in the Economy and First Class sections. The Transcontinental train closes its doors for the last time.
The previous load of free-board passengers embarked two weeks prior, totaling 609.
In order to combat riots and deaths over thievery, Wilford the Benevolent Train Conductor orders guards to take away possessions from the Tail-End free board passengers on a temporary basis.
***
January 2015. 1 Day since the official Departure on New Year’s Day for the Race to Save Mankind.
They are scared, huddled with those they know and those that speak their language. Most speak English; most, but not all. The chill hasn’t dissipated from their bodies, and the fear of mortality trembles through them. They don’t understand the implications when guards take away their food, stating it’s contaminated and they’ll need to wait for more.
They are too scared to feel grateful, yet. Only a relief away from the penetrating cold. They don’t understand the significance of the door slamming shut and locking them inside.
An infant cries for food its mother cannot give.
***
January 2015. 3 Days since Train Departure.
Children begin school on board the Snowpiercer. A special curriculum has been established to teach them about the train, so that parents will not have to school their children on the history of the new generation.
The children cry now, and parents give them what little has been hidden in their pockets before the guards came through. Children ask why they won’t bring food. They have no answer to give.
Men bang on the doors to open up and give them something, anything.
***
January 2015. 7 Days since Train Departure.
A showing of Wilford’s biographical documentary is shown as a celebration for the first week.
The women and children start banging, too.
***
January 2015. 12 Days since Train Departure.
For the safety of the guards, the doors to the Tail Section remain closed, until such a time the free-board passengers stop pounding on the doors to reach the other cars.
They scream. They beg for help. The crackling panic has led to several fist fights ending in blood. Mothers and fathers hide their children where they can. Knives are drawn, but the fights never last long.
They’re too weak to keep fighting, anyway.
***
January 2015. 19 Days since Train Departure.
Young Missus Cheong has given birth to twins. Congratulations to the new mother, and the first birth aboard Snowpiercer!
Two of the eldest have died, and with nowhere to dispose of them, they are draped in cloth in a corner of the car. A mother screams when her child won’t wake up.
The smell fumigates them, and stifles the hunger for the first 24 hours.
***
January 2015. 27 Days since Train Departure.
Death would have been kinder.
***
February 2015. 32 Days since Train Departure. The Front holds a celebration. One month alive! The Train still goes strong. Humanity is saved.
When the next one dies, they aren’t sure they’re human anymore.
More blood, but not one has the strength to cry.
Nothing has tasted sweeter.
***
February 2015. 36 Days since Train Departure.
They have exhausted those on the edge of dying. Hunger still crushes them.
Those too afraid to pick up a knife stay hidden from those who will.
They look on in silent fear when men with knives walk past them, and stare out to watch when they walk past and head for the youngest.
The weakest are gone. Next were the extra mouths to feed.
***
February 2015. 40 Days since Train Departure.
No one stops them.
They kill, and the rest take. They are saving themselves.
He ignores the twisting agony that isn’t hunger in his gut.
***
February 2015. 44 Days since Train Departure.
“Just leave the baby.”
His stares with widened eyes at the offering before him, a substitute in the stead of the child still grasped like a prize in his arms.
No one behind him speaks. Revolted curiosity amidst a sea of writhing hell called them out to watch him and the others take food from a fighting mother. They are all terrified. So many have done this already, did what they needed to, but none dared to cross paths with those strongest and wielding the sharpest blades.
One of the men, his friend, his gang, calls his name with hesitancy. He still clutches his pri—the infant in his arms. He still has his eyes on the stained red flesh held out like a sacrifice.
His knees give out from under him, and now, his eyes are blank, blood thundering wildly in his ears. He can’t hear anything above the roar of blood, and the infant in his arms.
Still grasped like a hunk of beef in his hands, it screams and screams its piercing wail. He doesn’t fight when the old man tosses his bloodied knife to his feet, as well as his offering and takes the infant from his hands, cradled in his remaining arm.
His stomach wrenches inside from the consuming agony of emptiness, and the two behind him grab the meat in front of him, fight over it. Call his name again.
Everyone watches. Fear is no longer in their eyes. There is revelation.
Another man takes his own knife, and follows the example given. His agony shatters the air, but not as much as the cries of the mother and her child that will be burned in his mind forever.
He can’t take his eyes off the blood pooling around fogged eyes framed in soft brown hair.
He doesn’t know her name.
***
February 2015. 55 Days since Train Departure.
The old man’s name is Gilliam. After he saved the child from Curtis and the other men, people ask him for answers, what can they do. Gilliam only states that killing was not necessary. Not if they set aside their greed and hunger, and instead give a contribution for the greater good.
One by one, they start cutting off limbs, their arms, their legs. Screams echo against the walls, but nothing, nothing like before.
Several die from the blood-loss. But less watch them bleed out. More try to help.
Curtis tries. He carves to the bone before he nearly passes out, the pain overwhelming. He stops, and feels the hate like sickness lodge into his throat. He bandages his arm alone.
He can’t bear to look at any of them in the eye.