Page 1 of Her Final Hours

1

Sunday, March 18, 7:10 p.m.

Adirondack County, Upstate New York

It looked like a beast straight out of hell.

A fiery glow emanated from the front of the LORAM rail grinder. Hot sparks flew widely as the grinding wheels tore into the rails, shooting like a thousand fireworks in every direction. The imposing machine with a trail of cars behind it resembled a mechanical beast from the depths of the underworld; its massive body and sharp, screeching wheels were a monstrous sight. High-pressure nozzles mounted on the cars sprayed water continually on the tracks to keep grinding equipment cool and reduce the amount of dust and sparks. The sound was deafening to those nearby, with a constant grinding and deep rumble that reverberated and shook the earth.

Up front in the warmth and safety of the cab’s enclosure, two men focused on the tracks ahead of them. The only soundsenveloping them came from the engine’s hum and the clickety-clack of wheels on rails.

The train’s headlights pierced the darkness, their fiery gaze illuminating the tracks with a blinding light.

The way was clear.

The evening was dry.

All was normal.

The engineer, Don Hammond, worked a lump of tobacco around in his gums before spitting a glob of black into a plastic bottle. While his job was the cornerstone of every railroad maintenance program, he liked to play it up and joke that he ran the train to hell.

He wasn’t far wrong. Rail grinders were a confusing and terrifying sight at night as the massive, unyielding machine barreled along, leaving a trail of sparks, water, and smoke in its wake.

Unlike its counterparts — the freight and passenger trains that operated at higher speeds — this moved at a steady pace of no more than 10 miles per hour when working, slowing down to even less when a heavy grind was required for a specific section of the track. Designed to keep the rails safe and smooth by removing fatigued metal and defects, his job had him working at night to avoid interfering with other rail traffic.

That evening he was working the line up to Plattsburgh, giving a railroad freight conductor a ride back. Hitching a ride was generally forbidden. The rule was simple. If they weren’t on the clock, they weren’t to be on the property. But after a day of drinking, Frank Rodriguez had missed his ride. He’d used the freight trains for the longest part of the journey as it was faster and then called him for the last stretch to chat and share a brewski.

“I appreciate this, Don.”

“Don’t mention it. They still got you on call?”

“Yep.” He took a bite of a sandwich, staring out.

“You never thought of jumping ship?”

“And take a drop in pay?”

“Ah, but it’s less B.S. doing this.”

“Might be right about that.”

A quiet settled between them.

“Things still good with Janice?” Don asked.

“Wouldn’t know. That ship sailed, my friend.”

“Ah, man. Come on. You separated?”

“Four months this April.”

Don shifted in his seat. “Sorry to hear that. Always liked Janice.”

“It appears someone else did too.”

Rodriguez glanced over, a smirk forming. He removed his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Hey, her loss, right?” Don said.