Tales From The Temp Folder

[TZT] (RLT) The Last Ride

*Be advised: major spoilers for TZT ahead.

So this one's actually kind of embarrassing. After four years in development, I have not actually thought up an ending to this story. Well, technically yes, I already have. (If you count book 4, than yes.)
TZT: The Road less Traveled is going to be the last in the "Main Series" of TZT. After which, I will be writing spin-offs, side stories, and other snippets of the world after the apocalypse. MCU style, if I could describe it like that. I actually have a grand total of *14 original story ideas for the TZT "universe," so book five isn't going to be the end all end all. Keep your eyes peeled for those.

At least for right now, this is an example ending scene for the end of book five. Where Will, a reformed person worthy of taking up the mantle of Secretary of Transportation, now takes the 844 for her first, actual, non-showcase, revenue run since being repaired and refurbished. He's been since mentored and broken into being a secretary by Chief Engineer Powell (Marvin's friend since the 2317 days), the Jerez family, and many others along his path. Newly confident in himself, his abilities, and the people under him, and proven after competition from a rival company lobbying a corrupt government. Will rounds out the year a dramatically changed man since the death of Marvin, for the better of R&S and everybody.

I walked out into the yard. The warm sun on my face. The smell of steam, smoke, and oil. I took a long breath of the saturated air, breathing out just as slowly and relaxed. The smell of soul, of hard and honest labor, and of good men.
The mournful crying of whistles in the crisp December winds. Those chimes rang out clear amongst the mountains. The sounds of giants, long since past, finally making their return trip home.
I cleared the main, just in time to see one of the S160s whistle through. The sound alone shook the earth. Five, six, seven, eight gondola cars loaded with various sediments, bound for one of the many businesses we serviced now.
I guess Powell caught me staring aimlessly. I didn't notice he walked up to me, only when he laid his hand on my shoulder.
"It's all yours." He began. "You did all this, not me. Probably not even Marvin."
"He just laid the foundation, we built it up."
Powell nodded. Patting me twice.
"So. Are you ready to take her out on her first revenue run?"
My vision passed back over to the engine simmering at platform one. A beautiful beast of a locomotive. She stood proudly, reflecting the sunlight off her black, glossy, leathery, coat.
"You're ready." He said again. "You've been ready."
"Yeah." I chuckled. "I guess so."
He probed me, pushing me forward. "Go on."
I nodded with a smile, walking up to the ladder. Grabbing hold of the rungs, I pulled myself up onto the footplate. The warm smell of oil, the faint taste of metal. It all felt familiar.
I sat in the same seat he used to, when he was my mentor. I looked over all the gauges. I knew every single one, what each lever and cock did, and how I was supposed to use them.
Through the seat, she was already talking to me. The gentle heartbeat of the air compressor. The whirr of the dynamo. The roaring of the atomizer and fire. The hissing of steam; the life force of this great locomotive. This personality. One I've grown to learn.
I smiled, taking hold of the chain around my neck. I lifted it up and over my head, letting the crucifix rest on a small hook just before me. Jesus swung gently, as I watched him.
It was again that I was filled with so many presences. Not evil spirits, rather, they filled me with pride, confidence, and determination. I could breathe easier. And there was one distinctively familiar presence. One, who laid a hand on my shoulder, smiling and nodding at me.
"Alright Paul." I looked over to the young boy, not much younger than I was. His face and gloves colored with streaks of black. But yet, with wide eyes looking around. "You ready to take her out?"
"Ready as I'll ever be." He said with a hand on the fuel handle, the other on the atomizer.
"Alright."
I looked up, and saw the green light on the signal device.
"844. Highball." Came a worn voice over the radio.
I pulled hard on the chain, the deep rumble of the whistle. The echo reverberated from the mountains twice over. The bell clanged slowly, sharp and clear.
I took in the soul of the beast, an old soul. One, that has been through much more than I have. Whom I've grown to respect and revere.
I felt the engine sigh in content, as I finally released the brakes. Everything was set for our first-final run.
I closed my eyes. Releasing the throttle lock, notching it up with two, metallic, clicks.