D A Novel (George Right) - By George Right Page 0,11
the curved station, more resembling a corridor of an ancient dungeon, were sunk in gloom. Everywhere, as much as it was possible to discern under such illumination, a thick layer of dust lay, and from the semicircular arches either small stalactites or dirty rags of something like an old torn web hung here and there.
Logan looked back at the train. It still was at a stop, dark and silent, grinning with its black holes of opened doors and blindly staring with its cataracts of windows. Seemingly, nobody more would exit from any car. Was there anyone inside? The gloom did not allow Tony to make anything out from outside and he did not have much desire to go along the cars and look in. The poster with the beheading doors appeared again in his mind.
"Superstitious bullshit," Tony told himself without, however, any real confidence. "Anyway, from outside it's a train like any train. Simply something has happened to the electricity..."
Here, however, he paid attention to one more detail. Letters on the cars, designating the route... What he has taken for Q, was not Q at all. The "tail" was missing. It was the letter O–or number zero.
Neither route exists in the New York subway system, as Tony perfectly well knew, because the letter would be confused with the digit...
Behind Logan's back a nearly silent, insinuating rustle sounded.
Tony sharply turned back. At first he saw nothing–because he was looking at his own height. But then he lowered his gaze to the floor...
An absolutely black shapeless thing crept towards him. It was a size of a medium dog. A fat dog whose limbs and head were torn off. It now flattened, sprawling on the floor, then rose, inflating, and in silent entreaty stretched its black stumps towards Logan; now stiffened for some seconds, then again jerkily came nearer. Its movements had no rhythm; it just simply moved along the dirty floor, coming closer and closer...
Tony looked at these convulsive movements in mute horror although, apparently, the creeping thing could more likely cause pity than fear. But Logan could not even imagine what it was. It resembled no animals known to science, nor even creatures from legends. In the following instant it pulled itself toward him again–and wrapped itself around his feet...
And then Tony burst out in relieved laughter.
A bag. An ordinary black plastic bag from a supermarket, dropped by someone on the floor and moved by wind...
Only Tony did not feel any wind. But he told himself that he just did not feel air on his face and hands. Along the floor, however, there could be a weak draft–proving, by the way, that this station does have an exit...
Having shaken the bag from his foot (it as if has stuck, it was necessary to jerk the foot sharply several times), Tony turned to the nearest arch which led upward. But, having moved closer, Tony saw that the sign hanging under the vault did not say "Exit." It said "Downtown"–again without any route specifications.
After having walked the station from end to end, Logan was convinced that all the signs there said the same thing. It looked like there was no way from here to upper Manhattan (and whether only to Manhattan?).
The train still stood with open doors as if it was waiting to see whether its single passenger would return to its dark belly. But Logan resolutely went to the nearest arch. The staircase in the heart of it led into darkness, too–but at least upward. On the second step lay some newspaper–more likely even, a separate newspaper sheet. It had lain here for a long time, obviously, for it has grown a thick layer of dust like everything else here. But Tony still discerned familiar Gothic letters "New York Times" and a part of large headline under them: "Blood Bath..."
He stopped. As much as he remembered, no large accidents had occurred recently in the city or even in the world. And it looked somehow not like the respectable "New York Times" to use headlines more typical of the tabloid press...
Tony tried to clean off the dust with his shoe. Now he could read the whole headline:
"Blood Bath in Normandy! American Soldiers Torn to Pieces!"
What damned Normandy?!
Logan hunkered down to peer at the paper (he didn't want to handle the dirty thing). To discern the publication date under such poor illumination was difficult, but still,with straining eyes, he managed to do it. Not trusting himself, he reread it again and again.