by H. J. Lawson
The overhead display says the trains are running on time, and the next train to Grand Central station will be here in two minutes.
This all feels so wrong. We’re standing here waiting for a train like everything is fine. I even brought a ticket. As if the conductor is going to check it. Is the train even going to come? Maybe they are letting the trains run so people can get home; they normally do that when there is bad weather. They give people a few hours’ notice, but there isn’t going to be loads of snow. A virus has taken a grip on the world.
I look up and down the train tracks for a sign that a train is going to come. There’s nothing, just leaves gently blowing in the wind.
This was a stupid idea. I’ve wasted too much time. I head back to the car; I’m going to have to drive to NYC. Maybe I could take all the back roads. They maybe quieter.
As I get to the Prius, I heard the pleasant sound of a train rolling along the tracks. It can’t be. I shake my head in disbelief. It is! It’s a train, one which I’m not going to miss. I run back to the station.
The silver train pulls up and it’s packed; a lot of people are going to the city. I get on and stand at the opposite door. I want to remain as close to the exit as possible.
Looking around the car, empty seats are beside the sick people. The healthy stand away from the sick, and there are a few seats taken up by those not infected. All the windows are sealed closed, and we are all basically breathing in infected air. I really need to think out my ideas before acting on them, as if being in an infected metal box was a great idea. Yes, I will get to NYC faster, but I may be sick before I get there. Looks like this is a chance I’m going to have to take, I think as I watch the car disappear into a blur as the train picks up speed.
The eyes of the non-sick are glued to their phones watching for updates. I do the same, hoping there is some news about a cure or it’s not really as bad as they think. I search for most of the journey to NYC and can’t find anything about either. It’s bad news after bad news which I can’t look at anymore. Much to everyone’s relief, the train doesn’t stop at any other stations; instead it zooms past them. If more people had gotten on, we would have had to move closer to the sick, as the healthy are already squashed together like sardines.
The view of NYC appears up ahead. I’ve nearly made it. My feet are aching from standing for so long. I wish I’d put my sneakers on instead of my black boots.
The views disappear out of sight as we enter the tunnel. People look up from their phones; there is never any reception in the tunnel. This is also the point when we’re meant to slow down. We don’t. If anything, the train starts to go faster.
Fear appears on people’s faces.
“We’re not slowing down,” I say loud enough for others to hear. We’re going to crash.
“Everyone get to the back of the train!” I scream. They look at me, as if I’m the crazy woman from the road. Is this how people look at my mom?
People start to move for the car exit.
“Faster,” I yell.
The sick remain seated, as if my screams don’t faze them at all. All the healthy bodies are now up and scrambling to the train car door. They start to walk into the next car to get to the back of the train. People start to knock others out of the way, as panic strikes. A woman screams as she’s knocked out of the train in between cars, crashing onto the train tracks. Her screams quickly fade as the train speeds over her body.
I make it out of the front car to the next one, looking behind me as I go from one car to the next. I don’t want to end up like the women who fell. No one is pushing me forward; I’m the last person left in the car. Well, that’s not true. I’m the last person trying to get out of the car. The people with the virus are starting to move, but in the wrong direction. They are moving towards the front of the train, where the impacted will be the greatest.
A baby catches my eye. She can’t be older than a few months. My heart sinks when I see the blood on her shirt. Then I look at the mother and see the blood is from her dripping nose. She’s the sick one, not the baby. It’s her blood. They’re moving towards the front of the train.
Without thinking, I run over to her and shake her.
“You’ve got to come this way,” I tell her. She’s dazed and confused, but I get her to start walking with me to the back of the train. I manage to get us to the last car packed with bodies. I try to grab hold of something as I prepare for impact.
The sound of metal being ripped apart fills my ears. I look up and see the top of the train being torn open like a can of sardines, leaving shards of angry metal sticking out from where the roof once was. Sparks of light shoot from the metal as it connects with the stone tunnel roof.
The floor flips upwards, lifting me from the ground. We’re plunged into darkness and haunting screams cry out.
I’m flipped into the air.
Sparks from the metal give off some light and I see everyone tossed in the air like dolls I used to play with.
Crashing down, I see a metal pole right in front of me. I don’t hesitate to grab ahold of it as the train continues to throw everyone around. When the train comes to a sudden halt, I lose my grip on the pole and I’m flung forward one last time.
Everything goes black.
Chapter Seven
Cries from a baby wake me up from the darkness. My head throbs. Slowly, I open my eyes and blink a few times. I wiggle my fingers and toes; everything is still intact.
Other people don’t look as lucky as me. Their bodies are mangled. Everyone is stirring and groaning from all the pain of being thrown around the train.
Smoke or dust fills the car and my lungs, and I crawl towards the sound of the baby crying. She’s in the arms of the infected mother.
“You saved our lives,” she coughs over the baby. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be alive or how long until the baby is also infected. Did I do the right thing by saving them or did I prolong the pain?
“Let’s get you out of here.” I take the baby from her mother’s arms, and the baby instantly stops crying.
“She likes you,” her mom says, as she instantly gets to her feet. I look down at the baby; she looks like she’s smiling. With the cuff of my sleeve I wipe her face clean, removing her mother’s blood.
“You need to get to a doctor. Is there anyone who can watch your baby while you get help?” The image of the crazy woman on the road plays in my mind. What if this woman turns the same way; what will she do to her own baby? I shake the though from my mind. A mother couldn’t hurt her own baby. I know there were crazy people in the world before the virus who were sick parents, but no, she wouldn’t hurt her own baby.
“My mom, she can stay with my mom. She’s not sick, at least …” This time the virus doesn’t take hold of the women, it’s fear. “At least she wasn’t when I last spoke to her. We have to go,” she says, taking her baby from my arms. She disappears into the train station, as the baby’s cries echo in the tunnels.
Other cries fill the absence of the baby’s cries; there are other people still on the train. I’ve got to help them, whether they are infected or not.
A man bumps into me as I climb back onto the train.
“Get out while you still can. It’s only a matter of time before they infect you. Don’t go near them!” He sprints away. I’ve been in contact with so many sick people: Chen, River, the woman from the road, the mother, and all the people on the train. But, I don’t feel any different. It’s weird, maybe I can’t get infected. If I am immune to this thing, I can use it to my advantage to help others.
Each time I step off the train with a person, I look for some sort of security to come help us, but no one arrives. We’ve just crashed into one of the busiest train stations in the world, and no one is coming to save us.
After looking through the empty cars, I don’t find anyone else alive. Stepping off the train, I begin my journey into Grand Central Station.
The injured passengers are staggering through the
terminal, and the infected are walking zombies, not clear of which direction to head. I’ve been in this station so many times, and I’ve never seen it so empty and deserted. It’s eerie and feels wrong since it is one of the main places used as transportation in and out of the city.
There is a clamber of feet as a family runs down marble stairs at one of the entrances towards the train time tables in the middle of the station. With the iconic clock ticking away as if counting down the end of the world, fear washes over their faces. I look up at the huge overhead times table. Next to all the trains is the word ‘CANCELLED’. That would explain the why the station is deserted. No one is going to be able to get out of the city. Our train must have been one of the last times running. They look back and forth between one another, not knowing what to do. Then, they look over at me cautiously. They huddle together whispering, and then run back towards the stairs and exit out of the train station.
The sun beams in through the windows, giving me a lighted path. I make my way out of the old worldly train station to the exit, just like the family. I have no idea what to expect out there, so I take the deepest breath I can, then walk outside.
Chaos. Pure and simple chaos.
People are running all throughout the streets screaming about others being infected or talking on their phones trying to get ahold of family members. Others who are clearly infected stagger around, some asking for help. People swarm away from them like they have the plague because they do.
I didn’t know what to expect, but this is worse than anything I could have imagined. It's straight out of an end of the world movie.
A honk from a car quickly snaps the movie idea out of my head. The street is like a car park, everyone is honking and trying to force their way through a gap that’s not there. Thank god I decided not to drive into the city, although once I find Willow I have no idea how we’re going to get out of here. A train is out of a question, and taxis are hard enough to get when the world isn’t flipped upside down. I can only imagine what it’s like now.
I start to make my way through the crowd, needing to get to 79th and Central Park where the Natural History Museum is located. All I can hope for is that Willow is still there. I pick up my pace, starting to run towards my goal. Passing past a church, I hear people preaching that “Now is the time to repent your sins. Stand beside your fellow man.” To be fair, they are. The sick stand beside them, but they wear a look that says they haven’t got a clue where they are. At least the dedicated religious people will have the sick to bond with.
Seeing them makes me think of my mother, who’s still shacked up at the institute for the insane. It’s going to be nearly impossible to get her out of there; it’s the first place she’s ever seemed like she was at home giant stone front steps of the museum. I keep sprinting up, letting my adrenaline fuel my body. I reach the door and run inside only to find that, just like Grand Central Station, the place is deserted.
Chapter Eight
I walk around the museum, refusing to call out in case there are some infected in here. It’s still not clear what they are capable of, so I’d rather not attract attention to myself.
As I walk through, I stare up at all the extinct animals. Mammoths, T-Rexes, and all sorts of other monstrous creatures. None of them walk the Earth anymore. Are we humans going to be next? Is there going to be some sort of species in the future that’s going to make a museum dedicated to what we once were, taken out by some invisible virus? I push these thoughts deep down; I won’t become extinct.
Walking through the exhibits, I see a few people moving. Thankfully they don’t pay me much attention. Maybe the woman on the road was a one off.
I come across another woman sitting on the marble floor with her back against a wall. She’s wearing a security guard uniform. She must work here; the name on her badge says Bree. Slowly, I approach her. Fresh blood flows from her nose and she looks so scared. I kneel down next to her and calmly ask, “Do you know what happened to the school kids that were here? There were from Rosehill. The girls were wearing plaid skirts.”
She blinks at me a couple of times, unsure of what she’s doing on the floor. She doesn’t make any movement to get up. I ask again.
“Bree, can you hear me?”
“They … they …” She struggles. “They took them.”
Panic starts to rise within me. “Who? Who took them?”
What … happening to me?”
“Listen, you need to focus. Who took them?”
“Took who?”
“The school kids. Who took them?” It takes a lot of restraint to remain calm. I need her to tell me, but I don’t want my anger to scare her.
“The men … in these clothes … to protect them from the virus. They … left us here. To … die.” Tears start to form in her eyes and it pulls at my heart. I feel bad leaving her here, but I need my sister.
“In vans … they’re in vans…”
“It’s going to be okay,” I lie to her. It always seems to be what people say in the most terrible situations. This seems no different.
I stand up and Bree keeps staring at where I once was, as if she thinks I’m still there.
Willow is gone. I pull my phone out and go to the last call. Dad. He can’t help; he’s miles away. If he could have helped, he would have come to get us already. I look at my contacts. Mom wouldn’t be any help either. The only person I can think of calling is River. I don’t know what good that will do since she’s infected, but it’s the only idea I have.
I walk away from the infected woman and call River.
The phone rings a few times. Pick up … pick up I plead, pacing. “Hello?” River answers.
“River? You’re okay?”
“Who is it?”
My heart breaks. My best friend doesn’t know my voice anymore. “It’s Paige.”
“Why are you calling me? Why don’t you just come over?” she mutters slowly, not making any sense.
“River, I’m not there.”
“Yes, you are.” River starts to get upset. “You’re here, Paige,” she whispers, as if questioning herself.
“River, do you know where Willow is?”
“She’s right here … talking to you.”
“Talking to me? Can you give Willow the phone?” I nervously wait. River must be hallucinating. I’m not there and neither is Willow.
“Hello?” my little sister says at the other end of the line. That’s her; I know her voice.
“Willow! Are you okay?”
“Duh, I’m okay.”
I pause. “Do you have the virus?”
“What? No. They brought us all back. Everything is okay.”
“How is everything okay?”
“Because Brooke is here.” Brooke. My sister that disappeared ten years ago. My phone slips through my hand. Somehow, I manage to catch it before it smashes onto the tiled floor. None of this makes sense. Willow must have the virus if she thinks she’s with Brooke.
“Willow, are you still there?”
“Yeah, Paige.”
“Can I talk to Brooke?”
“Sure, one sec.” I wait and hear the phone being passed around.
“Hello?”
My heart freezes as I recognize Brooke’s distinctive voice. It’s been so many years, it can’t be her. My mind is playing tricks on me, making me think I can hear something I want to hear.
“Who is this?”
“Brooke.”
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but stay away from my little sister. Put Willow back on.” The imposter doesn’t say anything.
“Paige?”
“Willow, where are you guys? Stay away from that girl. There’s no way she’s Brooke.”
“We’re at Fort Hamilton. Why are you being so mean? Of course it’s Brooke. Who else would it be?”
“Willow, listen to me. It isn’t her. Now where is this place? It sounds familiar.”
“It’s on the sign every time we go visit Mom in Long Island.”
Now I remember. We always pass the sign whenever we take the trip to visit her.
“Paige, she looks just like Brooke,” Willow says. “Like in all the pictures we have.”
I can’t even deal with this. Nothing makes any sense. It’s impossible.
“Willow, I’m coming to get you. Stay away from whomever that is and the sick. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.”
“I love you too, Paige. Really, don’t worry. I’m fine,” she says.
She then hangs up, and I try to wrap my mind around all of this.
Chapter Nine
I have no idea how I’m going to get to Fort Hamilton. I quickly Google the locations; luckily the maps are still working. I haven’t got a clue how long that will last, and navigations are like my kryptonite. If I was born before Google Maps were invented, I would have been screwed. I take screen shots of the location in case the maps go down, along with the ones on the route to get my mom.
Fort Hamilton is in Brooklyn, which is right before Long Island. Perfect.
Now, how to get there. With all of the sick staff here, there has to be some cars parked in the staff parking lot. But maneuvering a car through all the street chaos would be a nightmare. Driving might not be the best idea.
I head over to Bree again. She’s still staring at the place where I was kneeling before, so I take the same spot. “Where’s the staff office and does anyone ride a motor bike to work?”
She nods and slowly points to a wooden map of the museum on the wall. God, I hope someone brought their motor bike today. I take a quick snap of the map. I’ve been in this museum before, and I’ve been lost in it. It’s like a maze. I plan a route, then sprint towards the office, praying that I take the right turns. I can remember math equations with no problem. I can fix stuff and recall how stuff works, but getting from point A to point B is a nightmare.
