Starlight Express - The Novel

Burn and Crash

"Poppa, stop!" Rusty attempted to stop Poppa as he headed for the track with Dustin.

"They'll eat you alive! Please—listen to me!" He begged.

"Rusty, just stop!" Poppa turned to him, Dustin cowering behind Poppa. Rusty froze, Poppa had never yelled at him like that before.

"I'm going to prove to you that you can do it. If I can beat these engines in a race, then you can, too." He continued towards the track. "Poppa—" Rusty paused, before following him to the track, Flat-Top and the Rockies close behind.

"Let him get it out of his system, Rusty," Flat-Top said, stopping beside Rusty at the edge of the track. "Just let him do it. And if he burns and crashes.... So be it. It'll be his fault."

Rusty, Flat-Top, and the Rockies stood at the edge, watching Poppa line up with Ruhrgold, Coco, and Espresso, the Russian, French, and Italian engines.

Burn and crash. Burn.... and crash...

Rusty suddenly had a flashback to his first race.

The first race he ever watched. With Poppa and Belle. Where Greaseball lost his dad in a fatal accident..

It was a parallel— back then it was one against the odds, and it was happening again.

"They're gonna kill him." Rusty breathed, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. "He's gonna end up like Greaseball's dad—" Rusty panted. "What? What are you talking about?" Flat-Top raised an eyebrow to Rusty, who seemed on the verge of a panic attack, his eyes darting from Poppa to the Nationals.

"The race—- the first race I watched— when I first met Greaseball—" Rusty breathed, "he lost his dad to the steam engines, it was one against the others— it's happening again. They're gonna cheat him," Rusty backed away from the track, the trauma of the accident flooding back into his mind.

"Hey, what's wrong, Rusty? You're breathing really heavy," Rocky 1 pointed out,

"I—don't know," Rusty panted, out of breath. "It's okay, Rusty," Flat-Top smiled hopefully to him. "They're not gonna cheat. There's too many rules in place and the marshals will keep an eye on everything. Poppa will be fine," Flat-Top comforted.

"I shouldn't have argued with him. He's gonna die knowing I was angry at him," Rusty's voice trembled as he began to tear up, his eyes watering. "Hey, hey, Rusty! No! It'll be okay, He's not gonna die," Flat-Top soothed. "Poppa is gonna be okay. He's— he's got this! He's a hardened champion who knows exactly what he's doing."

Rusty's breathing began to slow down again. "You're right. It's okay." He smiled. "Just take deep breaths. It's okay," Rocky 2 softly pet Rusty's back. "Okay. You're right." He breathed.

Rusty flinched at the gunshot. The trains were off!...and Poppa was going the wrong way!

"Uhh, I don't think this is the right way, Poppa," Dustin nervously shouted at Poppa. "What?" Poppa asked over the hissing of his pistons, watching the Nationals take off in the other direction. "Oh, whoops!" Poppa quickly spun around and chased behind the Nationals.

Rusty watched as the engines battled around the track, Poppa doing surprisingly well. He watched as Poppa's trail of steam eventually caught up with the Nationals, and then passed them! Coco, Ruhrgold and Espresso attempted to cause both each other and Poppa to stumble, but Poppa had somehow managed to get through them and up front.

"He's doing it! He's winning!" Rusty beamed to Flat-Top. "Well, I'll be darned," Flat-Top marveled as the Rockies cheered. Before they knew it, Poppa had crossed the finish line, the Nationals right behind him. The crowd, who had gathered to watch, went wild with applause and cheer.

"He won!" Rusty cheered, "He actually did it!" He raced onto the track to find Poppa.

"Poppa!" Rusty approached Dustin, who turned to him sadly. Rusty was taken back by Dustin's solemn expression. "Dustin? What's wrong? Where's Poppa?" Rusty asked. Dustin moved to the side to let Rusty look.

Poppa had collapsed not too far past the finish line. He wasn't moving, and barely any steam was escaping his funnel.

"Poppa!" Rusty cried, rushing to Poppa's aid. Flat-Top and the Rockies had caught up to him.

"Oh, no," Flat-Top started, "What happened?" He looked up to Dustin. "It was my fault— I'm too heavy for an engine so old," He blushed in embarrassment. "He got overheated?" Flat-Top asked, Dustin nodding sheepishly.

"Poppa!" Rusty tried to shake Poppa awake. "Poppa, please! I'm sorry!" Rusty's eyes began to fill with tears again. "I should have raced instead, I'm sorry," he cried.

"Rusty—" Poppa weakly sat up, "Oh, Poppa!" Rusty quickly moved to help him up. "Poppa, are you okay?" Rusty asked, "Your boiler is cold," he gasped. "Oh, Poppa, I'm so sorry," Rusty cried.

"Rusty, listen to me—" Poppa panted, "I can't carry on—" he coughed. "It looks as though my racing days have just come and gone." He breathed, "I proved I could do it, showed them I was great... but I can't manage now, I can't carry the weight—" Rusty shook his head in disbelief, "Poppa, no—" he squeaked,

"I've got you a place in the race, get in there and win the game!" Poppa cried.

"No, Poppa, no!" Rusty shouted, backing away in defiance.

The freight had gathered around to check on Poppa, some of the crowd circling to see what the commotion was about.

"Must I kill myself to make you see sense?"

"I do not believe! No point in pretense," Rusty softly.

"You couldn't face that losing shame..." a familiar voice boomed from behind him.

Rusty jumped at the voice. It was Greaseball, and his gang of diesel engines behind him.

"Well, well, well!" Greaseball said as the gang circled the steam engines and freight, keeping them enclosed and from running away. "Look at what we have here," Greaseball snarled to Poppa.

"Don't stop now, Poppa, the race has just begun!" He laughed, the gang giggling to back him up. "Get out of here, diesel," Poppa bared his fangs, "I'm fine. I won the heat," he growled.

"Barely!" Greaseball chuckled. "You couldn't win against me even if you found the strength to get up and fight in the next race!"

"What is going on over here?" A zap of electricity sparked behind them. "Buzz off, Electra," Greaseball growled. "This is my turf,"

Rusty noticed Electra, Pearl behind him. Rage sparked in his boiler, boiling up into his funnel.

"You're clearly unfit to continue on," Greaseball looked down at Poppa, who was still fighting to catch his breath. "Oh, what a surprise," Electra joined in. "Who's gonna take your place?" Greaseball looked up at the Nationals, who simply shrugged.

"I'll take Poppa's place!"

Greaseball turned to Rusty. "You?" Greaseball laughed, "You? Race against me? Why, you're just a puny shunter! You're no more fit to race than your Poppa!"

Rusty's nose crinkled in anger. "I'm gonna race you, Greaseball, and I'm gonna race you, Electra! I'll show you all just what steam can do!" He barked, all of the engines laughing hysterically. "Well, then! See you on the track, mite," Greaseball shoved Rusty aside, leading the engines away and leaving Rusty, Poppa, and the freight in the dust.

"That's my boy. I knew you believed," Poppa smiled to Rusty, who had flushed red in embarrassment from Greaseball's bullying. Poppa patted the little engine's head, before getting helped up to his wheels by the freight and heading back to the roundhouse.

Rusty was left alone on the track, the cold night air nipping at his pistons.

"Poppa—" he squeaked to himself, "I have no choice-"