© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
Marcos placed his hands on the wooden boards in front of him and pushed himself up. His shirt and pants were soaked in the sludge of the subway floor, but it was this cesspool of garbage and rainwater that had saved his life. Marcos had pried his foot from under the protruding board just enough to squeeze himself into the small space. The train had passed over him, leaving him alive, but thoroughly shaken.
He carefully hoisted a trembling leg onto the subway platform, barely glancing at the unfinished Shigna symbol on his way out.
∙∙∙
I quickly stepped into the last car on the train. The cleaning crew always kicked passengers out to clean the cars before letting them back in. Some ignored them and remained seated, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I had meandered on the platform and entered after the conductor’s announcement.
“Hold that door!” a loud shout rushed through the doors, followed shortly by the disgraced Congressman. He glanced casually at me before finding his seat next to a very pale young man with dreadlocks and bug eyed shades. I self-consciously rubbed my neck, wishing away the bruise that was hidden under my denim jacket, and tried to find something else to watch.
The lights outside the subway car provided some small entertainment as we made our way past other trains and various routes. I counted the seconds in between stops, watching the lights outside the car as they changed from the dull yellow of the tunnel lights to the shiny red and green reflections of signal lights, to the bright, effervescent lights of the subway stations.
The train was making express stops, and it usually took about 3-7 minutes to reach the next stop. Then people of all shapes, sizes, and smells would exit and board the train. A nun, a pregnant woman with three children, a bum with a missing leg, a young kid selling candy, entertainers who sang familiar tunes, rapped their own lyrics, or beat drums. They filed in and out every 5 minutes or so, and I felt safe, hidden under a sea of diversity.
As we neared the end of the line, the trains emptied more and carried less. By the third to last stop there were only eight people remaining, including myself. Feeling exposed by the vacancy in the car, I returned to watching the lights. As before, I saw the passing lights of the uptown train and the yellow lights of the tunnel. A fast snap to the right, followed by a loud groan, caused several passengers to slide on the porcelain seats, including myself. Another jerk slung one man to the floor and another into the pole. A young woman cried out in frustration as the poor fellow’s arm slapped her face. The subway car continued to groan and became very turbulent, as if the train were sliding on a gravel path. My stomach began to churn and I glanced nervously outside the subway car. After several painful seconds I observed that it was pitch black. There were no tunnel lights.
I immediately knew something was wrong. The train slowed to a crawl before finally stopping, and a loud hum erupted from the PA system.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your conductor speaking. It appears the train has malfunctioned and detoured into a retired route. I am currently awaiting directives from our dispatcher. We should be moving shortly.”
A few passengers shook their heads and others gasped. The old routes were supposed to be blocked off. How could we possibly have ended up here?
∙∙∙
Billy wiped the sweat from his brow as he tried to connect with the dispatcher for the fifth time. “Dispatch, this is Car 17, do you copy?” He waited an eternity before trying again. No answer.
Billy swore and snatched the tunnel diagram from the side wall. He hadn’t meant to take the old route, but after misreading the diagram he’d never bothered to learn, he found himself halfway through. He was too far in to put the car in reverse, and there was no radio signal coming in from the dispatcher. All the manuals with the old routes had been updated with new manuals for the new routes. Why keep diagrams for routes that were out of service?
A faint buzz sounded by Billy’s ear and an angry passenger’s voice rang through the car.
“Why have we stopped? I’m going to be late for work!” Billy ignored the complaint and rapped his fingers on the clutch. Another buzz came in with more complaints. After five minutes of nonstop complaints with no forward movement, Billy became increasingly anxious.
He had to find a way out.
***
We all heard the slow creak before we felt it. The train whined forward, at first slowly, and then with more speed. The windows revealed only pitch black walls. I looked at the passengers in the car ahead. Some of them anxiously stared into space; others silently moved angry lips.
Someone screamed. Whoever it was wasn’t in my car, but in the next one. It wasn’t long before we knew the reason. The train suddenly dipped and a loud crack sounded beneath us.
“What was that?” An anxious passenger nervously glanced from one face to another.
Another crack.
The train lurched, as did the rest of us, and then came to a sudden halt.
Everything went dark.
Panic ensued as everyone in my car watched the passengers in the next slide forward. Whatever had stopped the train was pushing up the back end of the car in front of us. Consequently, our train began moving as well, but in the opposite direction.
“Hang on to something!” The congressman screamed. We all grabbed hold of the bars as our train car leaned backwards. It tilted only slightly before we felt the forward movement of the train. The conductor was trying to move the subway train forward. For a moment, he was successful. Our car moved back down.
I heard a loud pop and shut my eyes. I knew whatever made the sound was too awful to see. Someone whispered, “Oh, God,” confirming it.
“The cars just disconnected!” someone shrieked in panic. “They’re leaving us! The train is leaving us!”
Our car whined forward before violently tumbling back.
Everyone screamed in panic as we struggled to keep our grip on the bars. A young man with dreadlocks fell from the top and landed with a sickening thud. He cried out in pain, screaming, “My leg!”
I glanced down and saw his leg. It was twisted at an odd angle, and his bone had cut through his skin. I swallowed hard, fighting tears, praying it would soon be over. A limber young woman climbed down to help him as the rest of us struggled to stay upright. The subway car tilted further, causing several passengers to crash to the bottom, landing on top of each other. I tightened my grip on the pole, screaming each time the car jerked.
Most of the passengers were crying. The old congressman had remained calm and was still hanging on. The subway car was now standing nearly straight up. He climbed to the top and gestured for me to follow his lead.
Too afraid, I shook my head fervently.
“Come on!” he shouted.
“What if I fall?” I cried.
Immediately, another passenger fell helplessly to the bottom.
“That could be me!” I tilted my head in the direction of the injured party below. I wanted my bones to remain inside my skin. That’s why I came to the subway to begin with. I shrunk my head inside my jacket, hiding the finger marks on my neck.
“We need to tilt the car forward!” the congressman persisted. “Now move!”
Something clicked inside me, and I obeyed. I had no idea what he was planning to do. With so many people at the bottom, how could we tilt the car back?
We made it to the top, and the congressman instructed me to lay on top of the bars. I did so on the left side, he did the same on the right.
“Listen carefully,” the congressman instructed me. “I need you to sit on the floor.”
“Why?” I protested.
The congressman was red with fury. “Just do it!”
I sniffed and wiped at the tears pouring down my face. “Alright, I’ll do it! But don’t yell at me, okay?”
The congressman softened, “I’m sorry, Miss. Please?”
I squatted down until my rear was on the floor.
“Now place your back on the floor like this,” the congressman showed me what he meant, and I mimicked his movements precisely.
“Now, on the count of three, I want you to push your back into the floor, okay?”
The subway car creaked forward and I panicked. I ignored the congressman’s words and clamored towards the safety of the bars, hanging on for dear life.
“No!” the congressman grabbed the bar as the entire car jerked to the right. I screamed as my body was flung from the safety of the bars beneath me back into a hanging position. Unable to keep a solid grip, I slid along the floor to the right side where the congressman was. My body slammed into the base of the porcelain seats and my face smacked the bar.
I felt myself slipping to the bottom, which was already amassing a heap of broken and bruised bodies.
I thrashed at the floor, filled with terror and praying I didn’t fall to the bottom. The subway car creaked downward, and I felt the creased, but firm hand of the congressman on my arm. He pulled me towards him, and I desperately scrambled to the top.
I looked down at the bottom as several people furiously clamored to the top. Many of them had hands covered in black muck.
“There’s water coming in!” someone shouted.
The subway car shifted down and my stomach dropped.
We were sinking.
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