The wind blows dust in swirls around the building, stark against the barren ground. Brown plants, tangled in a ball, roll along the streets and fly against the train’s wake. A sign welcomes you to Greenfield, population 215, crossed out to 155.
There’s no longer much of the green in Greenfield.
The train pulls into the dusty station, and crowds of people await it. The engineer pulls out a sheaf of paper and reads off names. He hands down boxes to the merchants who answer. When he’s done, the people crowd around begging for more, but he slams the boxcar’s doors shut.
“These are bound for further down the line, friends. I got customers in Rainbow Falls, Silverwood, Atchaeoli, and Glendale all waiting on food and coal. Don’t worry, if the good lord’s willing and the road winds tight, you’ll see me on the other tracks soon enough.”
“Larry, we got any passengers bound for the line?”
“Not today, engineer.”
The people look disappointed, some even angry. He looks at you sadly.
“That’s another reason this train’s gonna stop someday,” he says. “Not enough goods to carry and fewer people caring about the next town on the line. Fewer people caring whether there’s another run and only about what they can get this time. The Pax Urbana is failing.”
They don’t stop in Greenfield, because Linden’s Lake is only two and a half hours up the line.
