Alone Against Tomorrow by Harlan Ellison

of Mata Hari. Old man scratched at the beard he’d sprouted since he’d come on at noon. “She bought a ticket for KayCee. Train’s `bout to pull out.” Then I realized I’d been hearing the whoofing sounds of the train all this time. When my sac goes, everything goes. I started hearing and smelling and feeling the grain of the ticket counter under my hands. And bolted out the door. Train was just getting ready to slide; express freight was almost loaded. Behind me, the stationmaster was bellowing. “Ticket! Hey, mister… ticket!” “Get it by the conductor!” And I vaulted up onto the coach platform. The train edged out. I pushed open the door to the coach and looked down the rows of Pullman seats. She was there, looking out the window into the darkness. I started toward her, but thought better of it. There were a couple of dozen passengers between her and me. I couldn’t do anything here, now, anyway. I dropped into a scungy seat, and puffs of dust went into the air. I slid down and took off my right shoe. The twenty was folded neat against the instep. It was all I’d put aside. But I knew the conductor would be along to punch my ticket. And I didn’t want to get caught like Jed Parkman. I wanted my fare to be paid. We’d see about it in Kansas City. It was a change. Riding inside. She went to a phone booth and dialed a place without looking up the number. I waited. She went out to stand in front of the terminal. After a while a car with two women came up, and she got in. I went dark and