I'm slick with sweat in the heat of the sun by the time we've removed most of the debris from the tracks. It amazes me what the kids were able to scrounge in order to block the way, from old cars on rims with no rubber remaining to doorless refrigerators and decrepit furniture the train would pulverize given the chance. I step back, swiping at the moisture on my brow and upper lip as Beckett and two other boys, grunting with effort, roll the last car from the tracks. My eyes go to ...