Chapter 16: Steam Train
The fastest mode of travel to Malolos was by steam train, built just a few years back in 1892.
We rode in the first-class coach, enjoying its comfortable leg space and the presence of very few passengers. Seated in the rows of two-facing-two seats, we were just another pair of men in Western-style suits.
Triviño sat in front of me, dozing off, his face pressed against the glass pane. The kid wasn't lying when he said he was exhausted.
With nothing to read and no one to talk to, something worse than boredom threatened to set in. As my reflection faintly appeared on the foggy pane, I saw the eyes of the girl from earlier—they seemed to stab me in the chest. The regret of having done nothing more ate at me painfully.
It was cowardice, I realized.
This was my second life, and I was afraid that further confrontation with the soldiers would endanger it. Unlike that fateful day in the Appalachian woods, I now dreaded the face of death.
My life had value now—all thanks to Isabela and the others.
With the rumbling of the train in the background, my thoughts threatened to derail.
I was able to snap out of it when we approached Caloocan.
Until then, I had only seen the usual: the untouched countryside outside the train's windows. But these were not usual times. There were two armies in Luzon, serving two different masters.
I saw the first Filipino units in the shallow trenches and dugouts, carved into the otherwise beautiful and pristine green fields outside the town. The soldiers were a mixed crowd, with some wearing faded rayadillo uniforms and others dressed in plain white, similar to what Abad's men wore. As I expected, most of them carried Remington rifles.