Trac Brothers

By Randy D Pearson

Jam and Jax Trachsel receive an unexpected inheritance from their recently departed uncle Mac– a fully-functioning Kalamazoo brand handcar from the 19th century. When they become stranded over 150 miles from home, do they set it on the train tracks and pump it all the way back? Or, when they find a hand-drawn map their uncle created, do they follow it even further north to the long lost town of Walton Junction?

What starts out as a thrilling, modern day adventure quickly becomes a battle for survival. Their journey through Michigan's scenic Lower Peninsula will introduce them to a world they never imagined, forever changing many lives. Can they trust the Rail Riders, the bizarre but friendly group of people living off the grid? Or will the Track Pirates, a ruthless gang led by the insane Santascoy, cause their demise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randy D Pearson
• Release date: Sep 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386648321

Book preview

To Wendy – The love of my life

~1~

I mean honestly, Minerva said with a loud exhale, "who even has a will reading anymore? She glanced over at her nephew Benjamin, who was sitting silently in the passenger seat of her Honda Civic. When he gave her little more than a shrug, she added, Ya know what I mean, Jam? It’s ridiculous! Forcing us to drive all the way up north. Mac better have left me something valuable, otherwise I’ll just start looting the place."

Benjamin Jam Trachsel nodded slightly and replied with, Uh-huh. With a quick glance in the back seat, Jam gave his younger brother Jackson a can you believe this woman eye roll.

Jackson, deep in thought, barely noticed his aunt’s ranting. His uncle’s death affected the young man too greatly to add much to the conversation. Not that Jackson knew Uncle Mac all that well. Neither of

the Trachsel boys had seen much of him in their lives, other than yearly family reunions and the occasional Fourth of July or Christmas parties. However, Jackson never knew anyone who had died. It overwhelmed him.

You still alive back there, Jax? Looking up, he saw his aunt’s wide face staring back at him, clogging up the rear view mirror.

He briefly tensed up before replying, Yes, Aunt Minerva. Just thinking. He wanted only his parents and brother using the shortened version of his name. It was a family name to him, and he did not rank his aunt in that category. He thought about correcting her, as he had done numerous times in the past, but at this particular moment, it hardly seemed important to him. He added, Are we almost there?

Jam pointed to his right. Outside the car window stood a large, sprawling farmhouse, surrounded by acres of corn. That’s the address we were given. This must be the place.

Minerva rolled her rusty blue car around the long dirt driveway, attempting, and mostly failing, to maneuver around the deep potholes. She parked on the weed-filled lawn next to a beat-up, ancient-looking wood-panel station wagon. Pushing open the car door caused a painful squeak to slice through the air. "All

right, she muttered, let’s get this over with." She slammed the door and marched toward the farmhouse, leaving the brothers behind.

Once out of the car, Jam turned to Jackson. Y’know, for a big lady, she sure can move fast. When Jackson did not smile, Jam draped his arm over his younger brother’s shoulder, staring with brotherly concern until Jackson met his gaze. Seriously, are you okay, Jax?

Sighing, he replied, I suppose. It’s not like we knew him all that well, but he was a friendly man. It’s just hard to fathom that he’s dead.

Yeah, I know. Death sucks.

Despite himself, Jackson smirked. Yes, Jam. Death sucks. That’s very astute of you. Shall we now talk about how water is wet? He could not let an opportunity slip by to tease his older brother.

Punching him in the arm, Jam replied, Shut up, ya chud-head! Let’s get in there and see what Aunt Minerva is taking home.

As they approached the old farmhouse, Jackson said idly, This place could use a paint job.

True, replied Jam, but otherwise it looks in good shape.

They trudged up the wooden steps, across the wide porch, and pulled open the screen door. Once inside, they looked around the expansive living room. While these walls also needed a fresh coat of paint, the structure looked solid, though between all the family members milling about and the plethora of random knick-knacks and paintings everywhere, it was hard to tell.

Leaning in close to his brother, Jackson whispered, Uncle sure did collect a lot of stuff.

Before Jam had a chance to reply, a loud voice boomed over the din. May I have your attention, please?

At the front of the room stood a tall, heavy-set man with a bulbous nose and a thick mustache. His commanding voice filled the room. Hello, everyone. I am Arthur Sanders, Mac Trachsel’s attorney, and the executor of his will. While I realize this is unusual, Mr. Trachsel explicitly stated that his will reading take place in his house, where he lived for many years. It appears most everyone is here, so let’s begin with the will reading. With a wide sweep of his arm, Mr. Sanders added, Please take a seat anywhere in this room.

Some people, including Jam, Jackson, and Minerva, did as instructed, while others crept closer to the lawyer.

After mentioning a couple other relatives, Mr. Sanders read, "To my sister Minerva. I always adored her, though I regret that we grew apart in later years. To her, I hereby bequeath the following items: My

collection of ceramic cookie jars, all three Darth Vader bobbleheads, the Pong game system we used to play as kids, the black and white TV attached to it ..."

As the lawyer continued to list off additional knick-knacks, Minerva’s face grew increasingly scarlet, and the lines in her forehead deepened. Interrupting, she pointed at the painting above the couch. Is that on anyone’s list? I want it!

Her cousin Paul yelled, No way! I’m taking it!"

When others started to shout about what they desired, the lawyer raised his booming voice. Silence, please! Silence! Allow me to finish the reading. I have barely begun. Please be patient and respectful of Mr. Trachsel’s wishes.

Jam sat back, trying hard not to let his amusement of this absurd situation show. A quick glance told him his brother was also on the verge of a guffaw.

After a few more family members received their inheritance, Mr. Sanders read, For my nephews Benjamin and Jackson Trachsel, Jam and Jax to their friends and close family. First, let me say that I wish I could have spent more time getting to know you fine young men better. This is another of my great regrets in life. To both of you, I leave a real treasure: My 1897 Kalamazoo brand handcar. You will find it located in the barn, under a blue tarp.

Jam glanced over at Jackson with a furrowed brow and whispered, A handcar? What’s that?

Jackson replied in an equally hushed tone, "I think it’s one of those old-timey devices that sit on the train tracks. It moves by pumping the handle up and down. They had one in Blazing Saddles. Remember that?"

Scratching his head, Jam replied, I think so.

The brothers refocused on the lawyer as he continued with the reading. And finally, to Clare Halifax, the love of my life ... Pausing, he scanned the crowd for a moment before asking, Is Ms. Halifax here?

The family in attendance glanced around, trying to catch a glimpse of this woman.

Enough people looked perplexed that Mr. Sanders said, She doesn’t appear to be in attendance, and she didn’t answer my correspondence. Does anyone here know her? Lots of shrugs and puzzled expressions filled the large room. I’ll have to locate her later. I will continue with the will reading. He cleared his throat and said, To Clare Halifax, I leave this house, including the 14 acres of land, all the outbuildings, as well as anything else not specifically listed in this will.

Minerva turned to Paul. I’ve never heard of this woman. Have you?

Nah, Paul replied, he’s always been a hermit as far as I knew. I’d never even been up here. I had no idea he lived in such a huge... dump. Man, there’s a lotta crap here.

And that concludes the reading of Mac Trachsel’s will, bellowed Mr. Sanders. Thank you all for attending. For anything small enough, I will help facilitate your removal of it. For anything else, we can set up a time for you to come back with proper transportation. But for now, please respect Mr. Trachsel’s wishes and only remove the items that were willed to you. He tossed a stern gaze at Minerva and Paul.

Those words were barely out of the lawyer’s mouth when family members started grabbing stuff off walls and shelves. Jam stepped back and out of the room, gesturing for Jackson to follow. Let’s get out of the way, he said quietly, as the vultures pick at the carcass.

The brothers stared at the melee for a minute,

astonishment filling their faces. As the lawyer tried in vain to stop the looting, Jam turned to Jackson and uttered, Jeez, look at these people!

Animals, the lot of them, agreed Jackson with a scowl. Let’s go into the barn and see what this handcar looks like.

Nodding, Jam replied, Sure, that’s probably the safe thing to do. I’m afraid if we stick around in here, one of our family members will try to claim us!

The boys left the house and found their way to the huge, faded red barn. Jam grabbed the metal, cobweb-covered door handle and gave a yank. It barely moved until Jackson lent his muscle to the situation by pushing on the side of the wooden door. Slowly it slid open with a long, piercing squeak. This revealed a storage area packed with tools, canned goods, old farm

equipment, cardboard boxes and plastic containers, and many more cobwebs. Jackson gave a low whistle. Wow. That’s a lot of stuff.

I’ll say. After spending a few minutes idly glancing around the cluttered barn, Jam pointed toward a blue tarp in the corner. So, ya think that’s the car thingy?

Handcar, Jam. It’s called a handcar. Let’s go take a look.

Grabbing the tarp in both hands, the older brother gave a long, hard pull. It revealed a rectangular device, around 10 feet long by five feet wide. The platform, made of thick and sturdy oak, had huge grooved steel wheels, clearly made to hug railroad tracks. On top of the wooden base sat a large, metal pole with oak handles on both ends.

Interesting, Jackson said. He stepped on the handcar and grabbed one of the handles in both hands. See Jam, one person pushes this side down, while the other person pulls up, and vice versa.

Nodding, Jam replied, Okay, sure. I get it. It’s kinda like a hand-operated teeter-totter. What a weird thing to have, and an even weirder thing to give us.

That’s for sure. Uncle Mac was definitely different. Noticing a one-foot square metal box attached to the side of the pump assembly, Jackson added, I wonder what’s in there? Squatting to examine it, he saw the keyhole but no door handle. We’re certainly not getting in this box without the key. We’ll have to see if Mr. Sanders has it.

How do ya suppose we’re getting this thing home? We can’t hook it to Aunt Minerva’s bumper and drag it home, can we?

I doubt that, though it would be quite the sight! We can worry about that later. Perhaps Mr. Sanders will have an idea. Hearing the sound of car doors slamming, Jackson quickly stood up. Sounds like people are leaving. We’d best go find Aunt Minerva.

Smiling at his brother’s practicality, Jam replied, You worry too much, Jax. After thinking about it for a moment, he added, But yeah, we probably should.

Exiting the barn, they caught a glimpse of a few family members rapidly tossing stuff into trunks and back seats, and peeling out of the driveway. Looks like the looting has continued in earnest, Jackson said with a shake of his head.

Jam pointed at Minerva, an armful of bowling trophies weighing her down. There she is!

They jogged over to her car. Peeking into the exceedingly full back seat, Jackson’s heart sank. Um, Aunt Minerva, where are we supposed to sit?

Looking over at the boys, her eyes grew large for a moment before narrowing again. Oh. Sorry. I kinda forgot about you two. My brother gave me a lot of his crap ... okay, maybe not all of this stuff explicitly, but I know he wanted me to have the clocks. And I watched him win these trophies. Some woman I’ve never seen before surely wouldn’t want them. She tossed the trophies into the already packed passenger seat before

glancing back at them. Anyway, I can’t afford to come back here again, so I really have to take all of this stuff with me. Maybe Bill or Mandy or Sally could ... well, I don’t see Sally anymore. Oh, and there goes Bill and Mandy. Huh. Well, I’d talk to the lawyer if I were you. Or just call your folks or some friends, or I don’t know, a cab.

Jackson’s eyes popped wide open. "Oh, no way! We are not calling our parents. They were seriously ticked off that Uncle didn’t leave them anything."

Jam nodded his head vigorously. Yup, definitely not Mom and Dad. And I can’t think of anyone offhand who would drive all the way up to Manton just to give us a ride. It’s like three hours from Lansing! And we certainly can’t afford the cab fare all the way back there. Jax just graduated high school and I’m ... y’know, between jobs.

Oh come on, yelled Jackson, his anger amplified as he watched his aunt slide into the driver’s seat. You can’t just abandon us here!

She smiled thinly through the open car window. I’m sorry boys, really I am. But I can’t leave any of this stuff behind. When she saw Mr. Sanders exiting the house, she added as she shifted her car into drive, Whoops! Gotta fly! Good luck, you two.

As Mr. Sanders spotted her and raised a hand to flag her down, she slammed down the accelerator and sped off. The lawyer shot Minerva a disgusted look as they all ducked bits of flying gravel. Pivoting to look at the brothers, he shook his head slowly. Jeez! Mac was right.

About what? asked Jam.

Well ... He hesitated for a moment, considering whether he should explain the situation to them. I was more than just Mac’s attorney. Your uncle and I had been friends for many years. He had this unconventional will reading planned out for a while now. I certainly expressed my objections, but he insisted on having it here at the farmhouse like this. I informed him that unless he paid to have a bunch of security guards in attendance, this sort of thing might happen. Do you want to know what his response was?

Jackson gave him a curt nod, so he continued. He said most of the stuff in this house was total junk. If his family stole it, all the less that Clare would have to deal with. Then he chuckled slightly. Mac was something else, that’s for sure. What did he call them again? Something along the lines of, ‘a giant, economy-sized box of disrespectful pirates.’ There was probably a curse word in there too. He liked to swear.

I’d call that assessment accurate, said Jackson through his still-clenched jaw. Curse words and all. In fact, the car that just sped off with a back seat full of our uncle’s belongings was our ride home. So we’d be inclined to agree with that. With the last of the clan gone, leaving only the three of them standing in the driveway, Jackson added, Any chance you’re going home by way of Lansing?

Pointing at his vehicle, a two-seater sports car, Arthur Sanders grimaced. Even if I was, which unfortunately I’m not, you both wouldn’t fit. I’m terribly sorry. Can I call you a taxi?

Jackson looked at the man with fire blazing up inside of him. What good will a taxi do us? We don’t have any money to get home!

Resting his hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, Jam said, Calm down, Jax. It’s okay, Mr. Sanders. We’ll work something out. Thanks for coming out here. It was nice meeting you.

Spinning to glare at his brother, Jackson yelled, We’ll work something out?!

Jam smiled and nodded. Yes, we will. Don’t worry. Looking back at the lawyer, he added, We’ll be fine.

That’s good. So, did you look at your inheritance? A turn of the century handcar. Kind of an unusual collector’s item.

Yes, we looked at it, replied Jackson evenly, forcing himself to calm down. It’s interesting. We have no idea how we’ll get it home. Would we be allowed to keep it here for a few days until we can figure it out?

Certainly. Arthur reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a business card. You can contact me when you’re ready and I can come up here and meet you. Or, he paused before adding, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but you both seem a lot more trustworthy than ... well, you know. Anyway, the barn doesn’t have a working lock, so you can just come back on your own and take possession of it when you can.

Thanks, said Jam.

Mr. Sanders, Jackson asked, we noticed the handcar had a locked box welded to the frame. Do you happen to have the key?

No, sorry, I don’t recall seeing any keys for that item anywhere in the house, and Mac never told me about your inheritance requiring a key. After a momentary pause, he added, Oh, by the way, do either of you know the whereabouts of, or have current contact information for, Clare Halifax? I need to make sure she knows about her sizeable inheritance.

They both shook their heads. Sorry, said Jam, neither of us knew our uncle very well, and I’m afraid we knew nothing about this Clare woman.

That’s disappointing. According to tax records, this house is her current address. I was not able to locate her, but I assumed she would be here. Well, if you do find out any information, please contact me right away. I wouldn’t want to see this property default to the state.

Sure, said Jam, That’s understandable. If nothing else, hopefully she’ll come back to harvest all this corn.

Actually, the lawyer said, "there’s no worry there. Mac leased out his farmland to a farming conglomerate, though the lease is up after this season.

Anyway, I must return to the office to finish some paperwork. I wish you the best of luck in returning home." With that, Arthur Sanders climbed into his red sports car and drove off, leaving the Trachsel brothers standing in the gravel driveway of their recently departed Uncle Mac’s farmhouse.

Again, Jackson gave his brother an angry stare. So how are we getting home, exactly?

Y’know little brother, you really do worry too much. Looking around, he added, We could always stay here.

Jackson shook his head. I saw the lawyer lock the door when he came out.

Off in the distance, a train blew its whistle. They both looked around until Jackson caught sight of the train as it rumbled behind the barn. Oh, the tracks are right there. Wow, that’s close to the house! I can’t imagine how Uncle Mac could’ve dealt with that! It would drive me insane!

The brothers stood in the driveway, watching the train roll past. Then, a sparkle gleamed in Jam’s eyes and he let a boisterous laugh spill out. Y’know, I think I got it. C’mon! He dashed off toward the barn, with Jackson in hot pursuit.

Stopping in front of the handcar, Jam gestured at it. We have our ride home right here!

Jackson’s forehead furrowed deeply. Excuse me? You want to use this thing? Seriously?

Well, sure! Why not? Pointing toward another sliding door at the rear of the barn, he said, Look at this! He trotted over to the door, unlatched the lock, and pulled it open. The train tracks are right here. It’s a no-brainer.

Jackson Trachsel looked at his older brother and sighed. Yes, I agree. You have no brains.

Why would you say that? We have a mode of transportation and the road on which it travels.

Dude, Jackson yelled, we have no idea where these tracks go. They could lead us farther up north, or off to either side of the state.

Chuckling, Jam replied, "Did you