As Remo watched with increasing incredulity, they pulled out their wallets and began exchanging snapshots of diesels they had known and loved.
While they were lost in reminiscences, Remo found a thin piece of twisted black metal. "This look like a piece of a fan blade to you, Little Father?"
Chiun examined it with narrowing eyes. "Yes."
"Awful big fan."
Remo called over to Melvis. "How big of a fan on the Genesis?"
He had to repeat the question and go spin Melvis around in place before he got his attention refocused.
"Hey, none of that now!" Melvis roared.
"What's this look like to you?" Remo demanded, holding the metal in front of his face.
"Looks like a whopper fan blade."
"Off what?"
"Ain't off the Genesis," K.C. said.
"That's a fact. Looks too old."
"So it's off the other engine?" suggested Remo.
"Gotta be."
"The fan blades are mounted on top for cooling the engine, right?"
"Yeah, but that looks too big to be off an enginefan blade."
"So that leaves what?" Remo asked impatiently.
"You know," K.C. said, "I once heard about a critter called a rail zeppelin."
"Ain't no such animal," Melvis insisted hotly.
"Is, too."
"Let her tell it," Remo said, giving Melvis an eyepopping neck squeeze.
"Back in the thirties, when they were experimenting with high-speed rail, someone built a streamlined railcar with a great big old airplane engine attached."
"Do tell," said Melvis, fingering his collar.
"It's true. The propeller was in back, pusher style. When she started to spin, the rail zep took off like nothing natural."
"How fast she go?" asked Melvis.
"Don't rightly recollect. But they broke a few landspeed records for that time."
"This doesn't look like an airplane blade," Remo said.
"He's right, at that," K.C. said.
"So that means what?" said Remo tiredly.
"Hell, only thing I can think of is a rotary-plow train," said Melvis.
"What's that?" asked Remo.
"You seen snowplows?"
"Sure," said Remo.
"Imagine a big old engine with a big old rotaryplow blade framed in the front, like a big old lamprey's mouth with whirlin' fan blades instead of teeth."
K.C. looked back at the squashed black engine. It had round portholes on its sides instead of windows.
"Could be a rotary-plow engine, at that."
"Except for one dang thing," Melvis inserted.
"What's that?" Remo asked.
"It's the middle of summer. What would a plow engine be doin' out on the middle of corn country goin' the wrong way on a passenger line?"
"Causing a derailment," said Remo.
"You sayin' this is calculated sabotage?"
"Look at it. Wrong-way engine. Head-on collision. What else could it be?"
Melvis scratched his head. "Maybe the engineer was on dope."
"Which one?" asked K.C.
"Why, the plow engineer, of course. Otherwise, why would he take her out six months after the last snowfall and be goin' the wrong way on occupied track?"
"Sounds sensible to me, much as I shrink from the notion of an engineer on drugs," said K.C.
"They don't raise engineers like they used to," Melvis said sincerely.
"Or engines," said K.C., looking at the demolished Genesis.
Melvis rocked back on his boot heels. "Yes, siree, this could be the end of Amtrak."