Finally the glow from a few wristphones breaks it a little.
Trina grabs his hand and squeezes. “What in the world?” she asks simply.
He feels reassured because she doesn’t seem all that scared really. And it brings him back to his senses. Even though it’s never happened before, surely the subtrans is bound to break down eventually.
“Malfunction, I guess.” He pulls out his palmphone—he’s not rich enough for one of those fancy wrist things—but strangely, there’s no service. He puts it back in his pocket.
Soft yellow emergency lights come on, strips that run down the roof of the train. They’re dim but still a welcome relief after the blindness of before. People are standing up all around him, looking up and down the train, whispering furiously to each other. Whispering seems like what you’re supposed to do in such a situation.
“At least we’re not in a hurry,” Trina says. In a whisper, of course.
Mark has lost that initial sense of panic. Now all he wants to do is ask her what she meant when she said, “I really would, ya know.” But that moment has been shot down and killed for good. Of all the rotten timing.
The train shakes. Just a little. Trembling more than anything, like a heavy vibration. But it’s unsettling and people scream again, move about. Mark and Trina exchange a look full of curiosity with a spark of fear.
Two men stomp over to the exit doors, working to force them apart. They finally slide open and the men jump out onto the walkway that runs the length of the tunnel. Like a bunch of rats fleeing a fire, the rest of the passengers follow them, pushing and shoving and cursing until everyone is out. In a matter of two or three minutes, Mark and Trina are left alone on the subtrans car, the pale lights glowing above them.
“Not sure that’s really what we should do,” Trina says, for some reason still whispering. “I’m sure this thing will flip back on soon.”
“Yeah,” Mark says. The train continues to quake slightly, and that’s beginning to worry him more. “I don’t know. Something seems really wrong, actually.”
“You think we should go?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Yeah. If we just sit here I might go crazy.”
“Okay. Maybe you’re right.”
Mark stands up, as does Trina. They walk to the open doors, then climb out onto the walkway. It’s narrow and has no railing, which makes it seem really dangerous if the trains start again. Emergency lights have come on in the tunnel as well, but they barely do anything to break the almost tangible darkness of a place so far underground.
“They went that way,” Trina says, pointing to their left. And something in her tone makes Mark think she means they should go in the opposite direction. He agrees with her.
“So … to the right, then,” he says, giving a nod.
“Yeah. I don’t want to be near any of those people. Can’t even say why.”
“Seemed like a mob.”
“Come on.”
She pulls him by his arm as she begins walking down the narrow ledge. They both run a hand along the wall, almost leaning into it to make sure they don’t topple onto the tracks. The wall is vibrating, but not as strongly as the train. Maybe whatever caused the power outage has finally begun to calm. Maybe it was just a simple earthquake and everything will be okay.
They’ve been walking for ten minutes, not saying a word to each other, when they hear the screams up ahead. No. Not just screams. Something beyond screams. Pure terror, like people being slaughtered. Trina stops, turns to look back at Mark. Any doubts—or hopes, rather—vanish.
Something horrible has happened.
Mark’s instinct is to turn and run in the opposite direction, but he’s ashamed of himself when Trina opens her mouth and shows how brave she is.
“We need to get up there, see what’s going on—see if we can help.”
How can he say no to that? They run, as carefully and as quickly as they can, until they reach the wide platform of a substation. And then they stop. The scene before them is too horrific for Mark’s mind to compute. But he knows that nothing in his life will ever, ever be the same.
Bodies litter the floor, naked and burned. Screams and cries of pain pierce his eardrums and echo off the walls. People are limping about, arms outstretched, their clothes on fire and their faces half melted like wax. Blood everywhere. And an impossible surge