Death Knows No Silence

Prologue

The colorful array of fall foliage frames the private estate known as Ellie Tal situated high above the town of Millaine, North Carolina. The mansion overlooks the roaring water of the Damson River as it meanders in and out of the small community. Several marble verandas surround the massive home for the enjoyment of the spectacular view. Eight stone columns, three stories high crown the grand entryway, home of Tom Talbert and his new bride, Kathleen Stevens.

Tom’s father, Buford, bought Crook Mountain back in 1982 and named the estate after his wife, Ellie. Tom was born in the house and had lived there all of his life, except for the four years when he was a student at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. His mother passed away shortly after his return from college, and Tom inherited the estate. The walls of the home held many memories, some good and some too horrifying to tell.

No one ever understood why Buford Talbert built such a massive home, unless it was to satisfy his ego and represent his Godlike power over the townspeople. Just about everything in town belonged to Buford, and eventually, Millaine became known as Talbert Town.

Buford gave little care to the welfare of his tenants, the mill workers, or the poor. He did not give a ducks tail about the unfit conditions that they lived in. He thought of them as his people, for he believed he was God, he owned them all, and he alone controlled their destiny. Buford made sure they could never repay their debts, and he never hesitated to squeeze more money out of them at every opportunity.

The permanent scowl on Buford’s face had made him appear much older than his young age of thirty-two when the locals nicknamed him Old Man Talbert. He was a ruthless, angry tyrant with penetrating eyes and big bushy eyebrows that curled up at the ends. Buford never hesitated to step on people to get what he wanted and his arrogant manner was a warning to move out of his way. He got pleasure out of inflicting pain, physical or mental, and some people believed the devil himself lived inside of him. Obviously, Buford hated life, and he wanted everyone to be miserable too.

Strange as it may seem, there was once a time when Buford Talbert was a pleasant outgoing young man with a bright future. But then a chain of events turned him into a monster.

PART I

Chapter One

On January 24, 1946, the Steam Rail Express roared down the tracks nearing the final stretch of its homeward-bound run. Shortly after the train crossed over the river and rounded the next bend, something went terribly wrong. Without warning, the train derailed near a large farm.

The locomotive uncoupled from the other cars, and then skipped the tracks and tumbled down a steep embankment into a deep ravine below. The first three passenger cars jumped the line and rammed into the main barn, home of fifteen Arabian horses. The rest of the train went flying through the farmland at record speed, strewing twisted metal, bodies, and debris in its path. The runaway train tore down sheds, ripped out trees, dug trenches throughout the land, and finally left the caboose at rest several miles down the track.

Captain Malcolm Palmer of the Mencken County Fire Department was first on the scene. A crew of 16 plus 283 passengers reportedly boarded the train at the last stop, and Captain Palmer’s responsibility was to find each one.

The massive mounds of twisted metal and broken bodies scattered across the horizon looked like a war zone. Never before had he seen such devastation from a train derailment. Two railcars were on fire, and Palmer prayed the passengers were no longer inside.

The Grayson County Volunteer Fire Department responded to the first call for help. Two engines, followed by eighteen men, arrived about the same time as Palmer and headed for the blazing fire.

Palmer called for additional help. The medical response team came in like a swarm of bees, invading the scene with sirens blaring everywhere.

The captain commanded his crew to set up a task force station for the rescue workers, directing the first response team to determine the extent of survivors’ injuries. The second group would provide emergency care as needed and prepare patients for transport. The third group’s job was to move the deceased to the on-site temporary morgue.

Riding in railcar number nine were John and Mae Talbert and their four-year-old son, Buford. They were on their way home from a ski trip in the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee when the tragedy occurred sixty-five miles from their home in Millaine, North Carolina.

The powerful force of the moving train coming to a sudden stop lifted little Buford out of his seat, and the thrust sent him flying through the air as the top of the railcar was ripped apart. Miraculously, he landed on top of a huge mound of hay about forty feet from the wreckage site. The hay cushioned the blow, and he suffered only minor injuries and a few bumps and bruises.

Dazed, Buford sat up, rubbed his eyes and looked around. He was in shock and did not know where he was or how he got there. Everything seemed strange, and he was afraid. Little Buford was confused when he saw the twisted train scattered about the field.

The sight of bodies lying among the debris terrified him. Some people were crying as they struggled to move, others lay in silence as if asleep.

Pieces of luggage were strewn about and the assortment of clothing littered here and there seemed odd to him. He was a scared little boy sitting there alone. He struggled to remember what had happened. Buford thought he must be asleep and that it was all a dream, but it wasn’t. It was a nightmare, and he wanted to wake up. More than anything, he needed his mother and cried out for her, but there was no answer.

The last thing he remembered was sitting next to his dad reading the story about a giant. His dad left to go to the bathroom two cars down, and Buford laid his head on his mother’s shoulder. What happened? Where am I? What’s going on? He wondered.

Buford closed his eyes and rubbed them vigorously with the back of his fists. Opening his eyes, he stared into space for a moment and then he became fully conscious.

Mama? Daddy? Where are you? I’m over here! Buford yelled.

When no one answered, his first thought was that his parents had left him there. Yet he knew in his heart that they would never leave him alone, and he cried out again.

Mama, wait for me! Don’t leave me here! Daddy, please come get me! He started to cry. Tears fell fast and felt hot against his skin.

Buford yelled louder. Still, there was no response.

The sheer shock of being alone in that strange, scary place surrounded by bodies was too much for him to understand, and he grew faint.

Buford felt his heartbeat fading away. Thump, thump, thump… thump, thump… thump.

Beads of sweat covered his little face and ran down his neck. He couldn’t breathe. Desperately gasping for breath, his vision turned black as he hyperventilated.

Abruptly, he came to his senses when he heard a familiar voice call out his name. Sitting up, Buford felt a little dizzy but more alert. There was that sound again. Is that you Mama? Yes! She’s calling me, he said aloud, relieved to hear her voice.

Here I am, Mama! Can you hear me? he screamed as loud as he could. It’s me, Buford! Where are you?

Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and Buford gained the strength to stand up. Now he could see more clearly. He scanned the horizon desperately looking for her, and leaned his ear to the wind in hopes of hearing her voice again.

At last, he saw a familiar-looking figure in the distance lying across one of the tracks. Without thinking about how high off the ground he was, Buford jumped down and fell face first, hitting the ground like a rock. Pain shot through his legs and arm, and stars flashed like streaks of lightning before his eyes. Buford was sick to his stomach, but the retching didn’t come.

His mother’s voice echoed in his memory, and he believed she was calling him again.

The burning sensation in his arm was almost unbearable, and it hurt when he tried to put pressure on his knee. He had trouble moving it, but somehow Buford managed to pull himself up. His mother needed him and nothing would prevent him from getting to her.

Hold on Mama. I’m coming!

Mae Talbert never heard her son. She’d suffered substantial blows to the head and chest and passed into unconsciousness after she called Buford’s name.

Buford ran hard and was out of breath when he made it to her side. He fell down next to her and gently touched her face. He tried not to act frightened when he saw the blood oozing from her mouth and ears.

Mama! Mama! Wake up! You’re scaring me! Stop pretending you’re asleep! It’s not funny. I don’t like this game. Wake up! Wake up. You gotta wake up! he cried in despair.

Mae didn’t respond.

Buford looked at her closed eyes and motionless body. She was sleeping, just like all the others lying around him. Suddenly, Buford realized that he was wrong earlier when he thought the people lying on the ground were asleep. They weren’t asleep; they were all dead. Dead? Buford sadly whispered.

No! No! You can’t be dead! he screamed, shaking her body hard and begging her to open her eyes. But she remained lifeless.

I won’t let you die. I won’t! Now, wake up! Mama, please wake up! Buford sobbed until he couldn’t cry anymore.

Overcome with grief, Buford leaned over, touched her cheek with his, and lingered a soft kiss on her bruised battered face. His heavy heart tugged at his inner soul, and he cried out a mournful sound of excruciating pain. He lay down beside her, resting his head on her chest and needing her comfort to make the pain in his broken heart go away.

Buford longed for her to hold him in her arms the way she used to do when he got hurt. Instead, Mae just lay there, unresponsive to the pleas of her only child. He clung to her, afraid that if he let go she would be gone.

After some time had passed, Buford straightened up, slowly pulled away from her, and gently laid her arms to rest across her chest.

He just sat there staring at her in silence, as if he were under a spell. He didn’t even bother to wipe his tears.

Sadness filled his heart with such magnitude that his little child’s brain couldn’t begin to grasp the immense pain. His own survival instinct kicked in and his young imaginary mind took over. A great white whale was coming toward him with a wide-open mouth, and it swallowed him up. Doom overshadowed him, and Buford decided to hide in its belly forever. Alone now in the dark, he believed he would never see his mother or father again.

Suddenly, a wailing cry came rushing from the pit of his stomach, as though someone or something was reaching down his throat and ripping his insides out. His body shook uncontrollably. Through quivering lips, that dreadful cry came bellowing out once again, echoing a shrill sound across the valley of carnage.

Chapter Two

One of the passengers on the train was a young doctor named Scott Murray. He was on his way to Durham, North Carolina, to begin his internship at Duke University Hospital.

Scott was the only survivor among the forty-two passengers traveling in railcar fourteen. He remembered the terrible screeching sound and the smell of burning brakes.

Without warning, Scott was jolted out of his seat. He collided with other passengers, hit the ceiling and finally landed upside down in the back of the car.

Everything came to a grinding halt with a loud, hard jerk when the commotion ended. Scott awoke to find himself lying on top of a dead elderly woman. He hoped she had already taken her last breath before his body slammed into hers. Sadly, he would never know for sure.

The last thing Scott recalled before the accident was playing cards with a freckle-faced boy named Bobby and his older sister, Jeannette. They were on their way home after a visit with their grandmother in Nashville, Tennessee. Scott found them cuddled together. He hoped they died upon impact and that they did not suffer. Plainly, Jeanette took the brunt of the impact by curving her body around Bobby. Warped metal rails from one of the passenger seats had twisted around their bodies. Scott did not want to leave them like that. He did everything he possibly could to free them, but he was not strong enough.

Scott had never known the pain of losing children, and it was difficult for him to accept the loss of his newfound friends. His whole body trembled as he cried his heart out.

Deep in despair, Scott was startled when he thought he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, but no one was there. For a split second, he wondered if it could have been an angel. He glanced back at Bobby and Jeanette. Perhaps it was the angel of death. The hairs on his arms stood up. A chill ran over him. He wasn’t afraid but that eerie feeling wouldn’t go away.

Scott heard a clicking sound, a strange noise that pulled him back into reality. His friends were gone and there was nothing more that he could do for them.

Phenomenally, Scott had no serious injuries, although he was in extreme pain from what he believed to be a broken ankle. He felt nauseated and light-headed each time he placed his weight on his swollen right foot. He took off his shirt, ripped it into strips, and tied it around his ankle for support. He made his way through the rubble looking for other survivors, but found none. The door to the outside was jammed, and he pushed as hard as he could, but it would not budge. Finally, he found a small hole in the side of the railcar. It was a tight fit, but he managed to squeeze his body outside the car and fell sharply to the ground. The makeshift cast he had wrapped around his ankle earlier offered little relief as he limped from one survivor to another. It was hard to stay focused and concentrate on his duties with the grueling pain. Nevertheless, he couldn’t give in.

The sound of a crying child captured his attention, and Scott headed in that direction. There he found a little boy kneeling beside a woman whom Scott assumed to be the child’s mother, and she appeared to be dead.

My name is Scott, he said, as he approached the boy. Is this your mother?

The little boy did not speak. He only nodded his head.

I’m a doctor, and I’m here to help her, Scott said, while feeling for her pulse and looking at the boy. Are you okay?

Yes sir.

What’s her name? Scott asked.

Mama.

No, I’m sorry. I meant, what is her real name?

Mama is the only name I know, the boy replied.

What’s your name? Scott asked.

Buford.

Scott bent down to examine the mother. There was no pulse or heartbeat, and she was no longer breathing. He had no way to know how long she had been dead, but Scott had to try to revive her. Scott recalled an article he read while waiting to board the train back at the depot. In 1903, a Dr. George Crile reported a successful resuscitation of a drowning victim using a closed chest, cardiac massage technique. The article had described the procedure in detail. Immediately, Scott began the resuscitation procedure.

Little Buford stood there helpless, watching Scott press down on his mother’s chest over and again. Then he would stop and put his face close to hers to try to feel her breath.

Buford was too young to understand what was going on and thought Scott was trying to kiss his mother. If his dad were there, he would be mad if saw the doctor kissing her, but Buford knew in his heart that the doctor was only attempting to save her.

Suddenly, the woman coughed. Scott cleared her throat with his bare fingers and took a piece of his shirt to wipe out some blood.

Scott sighed with relief when the woman’s chest began to rise and fall in regular succession as she took in shallow breaths.

For a brief moment, the woman opened her eyes to find her son looking at her, grinning from ear to ear.

Scott told the woman not to be afraid. She and her son were going to be okay. Before he could tell her the ambulance was on its way, she closed her eyes again and slipped back into unconsciousness.

Your mother is strong, but it will take some time for her to be well again. Let her sleep, she needs to rest. She’ll be in pain for a while, but she’ll be all right.

Buford was incredibly happy to hear Scott’s reassuring words and leaned over to give his mother one more kiss.

Scott had been on autopilot since he’d emerged from the wreckage. Overwhelmed by the tenderness of the woman and her son, he could no longer hold back the emotions that weighed heavily on his soul. After all, the woman had been dead when he arrived, and now she was alive. Scott had never been religious, but he did believe there was a God. Humbled in prayer, he thanked God for saving the woman and her young son and for giving him a second chance at life.

His prayer was broken when the sirens blared, and the cries of the injured echoed in his ears. Scott ended his prayer, as it was time for him to move on and help someone else.

Before Scott could stand, Buford wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, thanking him for saving his mother’s life.

Gently, Scott pulled away from Buford and held his tiny shoulders, sensing the boy needed some reassurance that his mother would be all right. Scott didn’t want to leave Buford there alone with her, but there were others also in need of medical attention.

Looking into the scared and puffed-up eyes of the young boy, Scott asked, Are you okay?

Buford nodded.

How old are you Buford?

I’m four years old, he said in a small panicky voice while holding up four fingers.

You sure are brave to be only four years old. I know your mother is mighty proud of you. Stay with her, and don’t worry if she doesn’t open her eyes for a while. She’s going to be okay, but she might be a little scared and confused when she wakes up. It’s important that you be here when that happens, so don’t leave her. An ambulance will soon be here to take her to the hospital where she can sleep in a comfortable bed. Remember, don’t go anywhere, stay right here.

Scott could see that Buford was still scared to death and understandably so. Don’t worry, little buddy, she’s going be fine. It will be difficult for her to breathe, but she can get enough air, so don’t be afraid. I can see that you’ve been taking excellent care of her. Stay strong for your mother. She needs you.

The young doctor said goodbye and limped over to help another victim. Buford never saw him again.

Buford sat down beside his mother, kissed her on the cheek, and gently played with her hair. He whispered in her ear that she was okay. He tried his best to make her feel better, hoping she would wake up soon. He wanted to ask her about his daddy, but he was afraid she would get upset and cry.

Buford was tired, and he was in pain, particularly his knee and elbow. He didn’t dare let on to the doctor that he was hurt—his mother had needed help more than he did. He had to be a big boy and it was his job to take care of her.

Buford looked down at his mother’s hand covered in dried blood. "It must hurt," he thought to himself. Mama always kisses my hurts. He lifted her hand to his, kissed it all over, and his tears washed off the dried blood.

Suddenly, Mae began to shiver. Thinking she was cold, Buford looked for something to keep her warm. He found an open piece of luggage nearby and pulled out a man’s shirt. He laid it across her chest and covered her legs with another one.

Lying down beside her, Buford scooted as close to her as possible. He wrapped his arm around her waist and then drifted off to sleep.

Buford had a dream. Someone was coming. He heard footsteps drawing closer. A tall dark figure was walking toward him and calling his name.

Chapter Three

Buford’s father, John, was wedged in a corner of a crumpled railcar with hurled seats, bodies and other debris. Before the derailment, he had been reading Buford a story. He then left their car to go to the men’s room two cars back.

John remembered standing at the sink and washing his hands. Without warning, his feet went out from under him and he fell backward into the corner. He recalled feeling the rush of a fierce wind blowing against his face, and he felt the impact of his head hitting the stainless steel wall. Everything was fuzzy after that. John had a massive headache,