The city was burning behind them.
London's skyline ... once a map of dreams and ambition ... was now a jagged silhouette of fire and ruin. Towers leaned like broken teeth, windows spilling smoke and sparks into the night. The nuclear locomotive roared through the outskirts, its floodlights slicing through the haze as it dragged the long line of armored carriages into the dark.
Inside, the world trembled.
Kazuma stood near the front carriage, eyes locked on the glowing monitors that pulsed with engine diagnostics. His hands were steady on the rail despite the violent shaking. Every few seconds, he adjusted the throttle, fine-tuning power like a surgeon. Sweat ran down his temple, glinting in the red light.
Mike stumbled in behind him, breathless but grinning. "Mate, you realize you're driving a nuclear-powered freight train through hell, right? That's… insane. I love it."
Kazuma didn't look away from the console. "Insanity and innovation are close relatives."
"Yeah," Mike said, collapsing into the copilot seat. "Only one of them tends to explode."
The floor trembled as debris clattered against the sides ... shattered signs, loose cables, and the occasional body hurled by wind. From the observation window, the streets below looked like veins of molten metal. Fires licked across the rails, and distant shapes moved in the chaos ... dozens, maybe hundreds, drawn by the sound.
Leina's voice crackled through the intercom. "Rear section holding! No breach, but we've got heat buildup on the second coupling!"
Kazuma replied without hesitation. "Vent system B, reduce speed to eighty."
Mike turned toward him. "Eighty? We'll be target practice out there."
Kazuma's tone didn't shift. "Better slow than dead."
From the middle car, Dan's calm voice joined the channel. "Fire in the distance, but it's spreading north. Tracks ahead look clear through the next junction."
Luna added softly, "Radiation spikes near the east sector are dropping… it's stabilizing."
Kazuma nodded once. "Then we keep moving."
The train thundered across the outskirts ... bridges groaning, rails screaming under the weight. Every few minutes, another explosion bloomed somewhere behind them, illuminating the carriages in flashes of orange. It wasn't pursuit anymore; it was an ending swallowing itself.
In the dining car, Leina leaned against the window, watching the inferno shrink behind the trailing smoke. Her reflection was ghostly ... soot-streaked and tired, but still alive. She whispered, "Goodbye, London," though no one could hear.
Mike appeared beside her with two dented cans of warm cola he'd scavenged earlier. "Cheers to leaving the worst party ever."
She took one, managing a small smile. "Think anyone's still out there?"
"Plenty," he said quietly. "They're just not the same kind of 'out there' anymore."
They drank in silence as the lights of the city finally vanished behind a curtain of black.
Hours passed in mechanical rhythm ... the endless thunder of the rails, the low hum of the reactor, the occasional screech of metal against metal. The survivors took turns at watch, too wired to sleep, too exhausted to think. The night outside was a blur of fog and twisted countryside, broken only by flashes of lightning in the distance.
Then, sometime after midnight, the shaking eased.
Kazuma slowed the engine, scanning the control panel. "Power levels stable. We're clear of the inner zones."
Mike leaned forward, peering through the cracked windshield. "You mean… we made it out?"
Kazuma nodded. "For now."
The others gathered near the windows as the first signs of open land appeared ... dark fields stretching beneath a bruised sky. The flames of London still glowed faintly on the horizon, like a dying sun.
Leina exhaled slowly. "Feels wrong, doesn't it? Surviving."
Dan replied quietly, "Survival always feels wrong when you remember who didn't."
No one spoke after that.
The train rumbled across an old viaduct, its girders groaning under the weight. Below, rivers shimmered with reflected firelight ... a haunting beauty in the wreckage. Somewhere in the distance, a radio tower blinked weakly, one last heartbeat in a dead network.
Finally, Luna's voice broke the silence. "Eastline Station ahead. I can see the signal lights."
Kazuma adjusted the throttle again, reducing the hum to a deep, steady growl. The wind through the cracks of the window carried something new ... the faint scent of grass and rain instead of ash.
Mike slumped back in his chair, eyes half-closing. "Smells like not dying."
Kazuma gave a rare, faint smile. "A temporary condition."
The locomotive slowed as they approached the abandoned Eastline platform ... a wide stretch of cracked concrete and rusted rails buried under fog. The last of the city's glow faded behind them.
Inside the cabin, no one spoke. There was only the steady breathing of survivors who'd spent too long listening for screams.
When the train finally hissed to a stop, Kazuma killed the throttle. The silence that followed was heavier than any explosion.
Outside, the fog rolled across the fields, pale under the faint shimmer of dawn. The fires of London flickered on the horizon like ghosts receding into memory.
They had escaped the city.
Tomorrow, they would call this place Eastline.
And by sunrise, the world would feel ... if only for a moment ... almost alive again.