(In its report, the NTSB used the word “likely,” given that there were no survivors to recount what thoughts might have been going through their heads at the time.)

Many of the homes situated close to the rail line were effectively vaporized by the explosions, and those living within them would have died instantly. In retrospect, they were the lucky ones.

Those who ran outside to view the spectacle faced a different fate, and more quickly than individuals who remained in their dwellings. Investigators were able to conclude that the number of people who did this was very high, given how many bodies were found in yards and on sidewalks and in the middle of streets across Lucknow.

But remaining inside only bought people some time.

The chlorine cloud that settled onto the town like a smothering pillow quickly worked its way into all structures through ventilation systems, open windows, people throwing open their doors to see what was happening.

Regardless of how quickly the chlorine gas reached the good citizens of Lucknow, death came to them all. There were many, of course, who were not in town at the time. Some were on vacation. Some worked evening shifts in areas outside of Lucknow. But, as this was evening, and most people were home after spending a day at schools or jobs, the toll was high.

Initial symptoms would have been coughing and irritation to the eyes and nose. Those symptoms would quickly have escalated to a complete constriction of the air passages, and a burning sensation in the lungs. Many would have died within a few minutes, some would have taken up to thirty.

Of the 4,386 people residing in Lucknow (according to the latest census, of course) only 295 survived, because they were out of town.

The authors of the NTSB’s report were hesitant to say with absolute certainty that a hot box was the cause, but it seemed the most likely. Much of the wreckage was so charred, it was as though it had been through a nuclear blast. There was a degree of speculation about what had caused the incident.

Not surprisingly, no one came up with a theory that was even remotely close to the true cause—the derailment of a string of toy tanker cars on a layout created by something inhuman and unholy.

In retrospect, perhaps one of the lucky ones that evening was Lucknow police chief Harry Cook, who had bled to death from the wounds inflicted on him by Edwin Nabler before the first tanker car’s wheels had jumped the track. His death was undoubtedly painful, but perhaps not quite as horrific as not being able to breathe and feeling as though your lungs were on fire.