Smoke still clung to the air when Phillip arrived at the crash site. Not from fire, but from the geyser of steam still leaking from ruptured boiler tanks. The twisted iron frames of the two locomotives lay motionless on the tracks, locked together like two beasts that had collided head-on with unstoppable force. One engine had ridden halfway over the other. Steel wheels had jumped the rail. Timber carriages splintered like matchwood. One third-class wagon was almost flattened entirely.
Bodies were already removed, covered with linen sheets along the embankment, but Phillip still felt like he could see them. A woman's torn bonnet hung from a broken coupling rod. A child's wooden toy lay crushed against a wheel. Splinters of carriage wood, jagged rail iron, shards of broken glass—scattered across the field.
He stepped down from the carriage.
Henry followed silently. He didn't carry ledgers today. He didn't say anything.
