There’s a collective exhale, some nervous laughter, a lot of tears. “Is everyone okay?” someone asks, and people begin to stand, take hold of the railings, breathing again.
A bright, blinding flash claps out, and they’re still. Frozen. Every one of them.
Except me.
The train goes dark as we head into the tunnel, away from the station, then screeches as we hit a corner. The whole load of passengers is thrown to the left, and, unable to control themselves, they fall, a mad scramble of arms and legs, tangling, people rolling this way and that. I’m thrown to my knees when a man falls on me, and it’s all I can do to pull a boy to the top of the heap.
The doors slide open two carriages down.
“Fuuuuuuuuck!” I clamber to my feet, falling over the useless limbs and bodies all over the floor, trying to escape through to the next carriage. People are everywhere. I grab a woman’s wrist and pull her sleeping body off the door, laying her down as carefully as I can, hoping no one will fall on her. The sound of the far doors opening sends a bolt down my spine.
I rip through the walkway to the next carriage. It’s slightly less crowded than the last, and I climb up onto the seats to avoid the people lying on the floor. Fast as I can, I make my way to the centre, then hit the emergency stop button.
Nothing happens.
Is the driver asleep too? Can this guy control him?Didhe do this? He must have. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
I don’t have time to think, only stumble through, swinging on the bars to avoid the few people who managed to keep their seats. The door sounds behind me, and I shout back at him, “Why are you doing this?”
My only answer is another shot just as we veer around a corner. Blue sparks light the glass from the rails outside as his bullet smashes through, and my hurt shoulder hits the ground hard when I’m thrown to the only body-free space on the floor.
I hear the chink of his gun, and some back part of my brain tells me he’s reloading, that I need to move faster. I make a desperate dash for the next door, then up on the seats, running, faster, faster. The next door, the next one, on and on through the train.
How long do I have? How long until they wake? Will he shoot them dead to get to me? He’s been reckless and could have so easily killed someone back at the station. I’m not sure he’d hesitate now. God, if I could just get off this train. But it doesn’t stop. It blasts through the next station at lightning speed, and I know the driver’s asleep. How long until we come upon another line and smash into another train?
He must know. He must know he’s going to kill all these people.
I can see the driver’s cabin ahead in the next carriage, but I know it will be locked. It’s endgame if I go in there. So I slink down, rip the brown coat off the nearest passenger, and pull it over mine. I drop to the floor, shove my head beneath someone’s shoulder, and lie still.
This is the best I can do. And if it’s not enough, there’s a bullet coming for my brain about thirty seconds from now.
Shink! The door slides open. I try to make my body loose, let it move with the rhythm of the train. Try not to look like I’m gripping this guy next to me, trying to stop him from rolling off me. I keep my eyes closed, even if theirs aren’t. Take slow breaths, like I’m asleep, when I want to scream. My head’s floating, dizzy, so dizzy I could pass out, my lungs begging for oxygen.
Can’t let hands shake. Grip them tighter.
His footsteps. Close. Moving fast. Faster.
The train slams to the right, the lights flicker, and his boot lands in the small of my back, smashing the air out of me, my scream stifled by the fist I shove there, hoping he didn’t see.A knee slams into my shoulder. “Fuck!” he hisses beneath his breath. His boot clomps onto the floor. He’s got his footing again. The sound recedes, dwindling fast.
When the doors slide open, I risk one look to see them close behind him, then I’m off, back down the carriage. The train’s movement throws me to the floor several times, but I push on until I’m back in the incredibly crowded carriage I started in.
Slipping off the brown coat, I roll it into a ball and shove it beneath a bundle of people, then grab another, a black coat, and try to find another group to hide beneath, to attempt to keep this charade up for as long as I can. But it’s a matter of time. He must know what I’ve done now, and be on his way back down, checking more carefully.
Dropping to the floor, I grab a man’s arm to shift him, then I’m thrown flat on top of him.
The train’s braking. It’s slowing. Is the driver awake?
Not a single person in this carriage shows any sign of consciousness.
No.
It must be the emergency override. They’ve noticed the train’s not stopping. So I leg it down the carriage as fast as I can for the back before he can find me. Back, back, running, falling, scrambling, on and on, always looking over my shoulder for that black figure moving between carriages after me.
The train slows, and I duck down in the last carriage, waiting. When we finally pull up at a station, there are whistles and paramedics running for the front of the train. The very second I lay eyes on them, there’s a bewildered groan about the carriage. Everyone waking from their sleep, rubbing heads, murmuring about what the hell just happened, picking themselves and each other up.
Stay on? Or get off? Hide amongst them? Risk being spotted?
The doors open, and people pour out. What if they all go? What if it’s just him and me left on here? And it’s going to be here a while too, while they figure out what happened to the driver.
