"Then we’ll try them all. Come on." And she headed toward the nearest one.
"No." He ran after her and grabbed her arm to stop her. "The master is right. There is no one here but us."
"Letgo of me." She pulled away sharply. "Stay here if you want. I’m gone."
He watched as she entered the nearest corridor. He was about to go after her but changed his mind. His tunnel would only lead to fire and death, but he was certain she wouldn’t believe him if he told her. Green decided instead he would wait for her.
She was back within minutes. "Nothing," she said. "It leads to a blank wall. Just like the stairs." She fought to regain control of her nerves. "You’re right. We’ll have to trust the station master. Damn it anyway." Still sobbing, she followed Green back to Winstead’s office.
***
"What have you done?" Magdya asked as soon as Winstead and Gannon returned to his office.
"I’m sorry," Winstead said, setting down the bag of provisions. "What do you mean?"
"You’ve locked us in here! We can’t get out!"
Winstead frowned. "I still don’t know what you mean. I didn’t lock the door to my office. It can’t be locked."
She stomped her foot in frustration. "I mean the station. The door I came through is gone. Just...disappeared!"
Winstead looked at her, then Green. "You were out in the station?" he asked the escaped slave.
"She doesn’t want to be here," he said. "You should let her go."
"Idon’t want to be here either," Gannon said. "And now," she gave Winstead a withering glare, "you’re into me for $4,000."
Winstead ignored her. "You say the door is gone?" he asked Magdya.
"Yes. Just a solid wall. And Iknow it’s the door I came in!"
"We didn’t have much choice before," he said, almost to himself. He walked over to the model ofWestchester on the table. "Now I’m afraid we have none at all." He studied the display in silence. One by one, the others joined him, curious.
"What are we looking at?" asked Magdya.
"This isWestchester. As you can see, there are three separate sections. Here," he pointed to the west end, "is where the guard was killed."
"What is that cloud?" asked Gannon. "It’s covering nearly the entire back section."
"I don’t know. I sent a guard there to find out. He didn’t return. We’ll have to go instead."
"Oh, so that’s it. You want us to go on some wild goose chase and maybe get killed to pull your chestnuts out of the fire. And if we don’t?" Magdya asked.
He looked at her and shook his head. "Then I think it’s pretty obvious. We’ll never get out ofWestchester."
Magdya crossed her arms in defiance, then sat in the nearest chair. "You can just go on without me."
Winstead turned his attention from one to the other, pausing long enough to look each directly in the eyes. "I’ll say this one more time. You were each brought here for a reason."
"To buy that damn dictionary?" Gannon interrupted coldly.
"That dictionary is worth far more than what you paid. Youcan stay here if you wish, Magdya. But neither you nor Mr. Green should by all rights be here. The fact you are merely underscores your importance. There might be other people here as well, people I don’t know about. People who might be dangerous. There is safety in numbers, Magdya. I can do nothing to protect you if I leave you here by yourself."
"Green can stay with me," she said.
"Mr. Green is coming with me. He is, after all, my valet."
"You’re treating him like a slave," Magdya fired back.
"No, like an employee. Which he is. Weneed you."
"Really?" said Gannon. "So do you need me any longer? After all, I paid for your book."
"I don’t know," Winstead said. "But I strongly suspect so."
Gannon looked at the display once again. She held her hand over the darkened section of the model, but while the cloud certainly looked like smoke, there was no heat. And it didn’t stir when she waved her hand over it. And she had looked at it before and the station master was right: it now covered more of the station. "Curiosity killed the cat," she said softly.
"What?" Winstead asked but she refused to respond. "In that case we should be going. First things first." He removed the dictionary from the bag of fruit and went to his desk.
"You’re not bringing that with us?" Gannon asked.
"No. I’m putting it in the safe. I’m hoping to eventually return it to its rightful owner."
"Don’t forget you owe me for it."
He gave her a weak smile. "I’m sure you won’t let me."
"Damn straight." She stood with folded arms and wearing a smirk while he locked the dictionary away. "So what are we bringing?" she asked when he finished. "Tents? Sleeping bags? Canteens?"
He pointed at the fruit. "That’s it, I’m afraid. Whatever you have on you."
"No elephant guns?" Magdya asked only half in jest.
"No guns." He looked at Green. "Get whatever knives you can find in the kitchen. I doubt there’s anything else there that would help."
Green nodded and a few minutes later returned with a handful of cutlery. Winstead dutifully passed one out to each of them. "No flashlights?" Gannon asked as she studied the steak knife. She couldn’t imagine it being very helpful unless they came across a restaurant suffering from a serious dearth of utensils.
"If I had any idea what we were facing, I might be better prepared. Everyone ready?"
"Yeah, sure." Gannon lit her last cigarette. Well, I promised myself I would quit smoking anyway. "Lead on, McDuff."
"There is no smoking inWestchester anymore," Winstead chided her mildly as they left his office.
"Like I give a rat’s ass."
He merely shrugged as he led them through the first section of the station. He couldn’t tell them, but he understood and sympathized with each of them. He had felt much the same when he first came toWestchester. But whatever had to be done, he knew it was impossible without them. Whether they were willing or not.
Their footsteps and hushed conversations followed them in receding echoes as they made their way through the empty station. Despite its vastness, Westchester Station was always subdued, but now it reminded Winstead uncomfortably of a mausoleum.
"Why are they still here?" Gannon asked him with a tug on his arm. They had already passed the closed ticket booth, the closed magazine stand and were now passing the coffee shop. The patrons and waitress still remained, the men all hunched over their cups of coffee, the waitress flitting from one to the next with a coffee pot that never seemed to empty.
"They’re like us; they can’t leave either."
She grabbed both his arms to stop him. "When we get back, you have to put an end to her."
"I’m sorry, but I don’t make those decisions."
"You’ve said that before. Then who does? I want to give him or her a serious piece of my mind."
He smiled in resignation. "As I said before, I don’t know."
"Some station manager you are," she said and turned her back on him.
Indeed, he thought sourly. And I could be leading us all to our deaths .
While they continued into the station, Magdya sidled closer to Green. "You don’t have to put up with his shit, you know," she whispered.
Green frowned at her. He was not accustomed to women, especially white women, using such coarse language. "I must do what the master says."
"You’renot his slave and he’snot your master. In fact, I bet you’re not even an employee."
An employee? He had never had that term applied to him. Yet if he were indeed free, then that was what he was. "I think we have to do what Master Winstead says. He knows what’s best."
"I wouldn’t bet the farm on that." Then she walked away from him.
Green frowned as he followed. He was relegated to carrying their small stock of provisions, but that didn’t trouble him. He couldn’t expect the women to do it and Master Winstead was...his master
. It was much lighter than a bale of cotton and he could carry those all day. Still, had he merely escaped one plantation for another? But until he knew more—and he reluctantly had to admit he knew very little—he was going to have to remain as he was. An indentured servant to the station master.
As they continued, they passed below the huge sign listing arrivals and departures. Gannon looked up and noted that all the destinations had been crossed out and had "canceled" written next to them. "Geneva, Nome, Sydney," she whispered, reading down the list. "Where is ‘Manoa?’" she asked Winstead.
"You might know it asEl Dorado," he said, not looking at her.
Right. She turned her attention to the giant clock on the wall. The second hand was no longer moving but that wasn’t what caught her attention. The ring of dragons adorning it had disappeared. Did they leave, too? she wondered.
Then she noticed Winstead hurrying to catch Green and Magdya. What’s this about? She trotted over to find out.
She arrived to find Winstead pulling Magdya away from a drinking fountain. "What is your problem?" Magdya asked, jerking free of his grasp.
"Don’t drink from that," he said. "It’s...not safe."
"Why? You put chlorine in your drinking water? Lead pipes? I’m thirsty, damn it!" and she reached for it again.
"It’s for your own good," he said, pushing her aside. "We’ll come across other fountains later."
Magdya snarled at him but finally allowed herself to be led away.
"What was that all about?" Gannon asked Winstead as they continued. "If it’s poisonous, why don’t you put a sign up? Or just rip it out?"
"I can’t. Some people come here specifically for it."
"What is it then?"
"The fountain of youth."
"The fountain...yeah, sure." She paused, then suddenly flashed with anger. "Just one minute! When I first met you, you never said anything about that. Never warned me, nothing."
"It’s not dangerous. Although it can be abused, the effects are transitory. I suspect if you would have drunk from it, you would have enjoyed it briefly and never wanted to use it again."
"That’s not my point. Your job as station master is to protect your visitors!"
He blushed. "I do, as much as I can. But everyone must be allowed to learn aboutWestchester on their own. I told you before, everyone comes here for a different reason. The station is not necessarily benign. But I don’t have the authority to do more than...basically what I did for you."
"Then who does?"
"I told you before, I don’t know. I probably never will. I suspect Westchester has been here—wherever that is—long before there were trains. I am certain of this: none of us can leave here until we learn what is happening. And hopefully stop it."
"I still think you are feeding me a load of crap," she muttered as she started after Winstead.
Don’t I wish, he thought. Better he did this alone. Because, as station master, hewas responsible for the well-being of visitors. Even if he was limited in what he could do or tell them. But he was also certain that these strangers were brought here to help him, even if none of them knew how or why. And that is going to change. If we survive.
***
Huk smelled it before he heard or saw it. He called himself Huk now. He had never had a name before. His tribe had never really needed them. But now, somehow, it felt right. Huk. The hunter.
And now he had something to hunt. What it was he wasn’t sure. Its scent was unusual. But as soon as he had sensed its presence, he had climbed up one of the many fruit trees, both to hide and to spy.
Now he could hear it as well. Whatever it was, it was not large or moving very fast. Except for its passage through the tall grass, it made no noise. No growl of a predator, no grunts or squeaks of prey. Nothing to suggest what manner of creature approached. Huk moved farther up the tree for better camouflage. If the creature were a predator, Huk hoped the foliage would hide him.
It was closer now, and now it did make a noise. A whistling sound, and at first Huk thought it might be a bird. Then it moved into view below him and he realized it was not. It was not like any creature he had ever seen, in fact. It walked on two legs, but it was taller than he and partially covered by what looked like black fur. Except even from this height Huk could see it was not fur. It stood nearly below the tree he had climbed, then looked up. Huk held his breath, but the creature didn’t react. Instead it plucked a fruit and sat down cross-legged to eat.
He studied it carefully as it ate. It had hands like his, used them like he did. Was it a leaf eater? If so it was not a threat. Unless it was from another tribe. The more he watched it, the more he was certain. Not a tribe he had ever seen before, of course, but a tribe nonetheless. Had they attacked his tribe? Is that why he had not found them? He would follow this creature, he decided. Let it lead him to his tribe. Then he would decide what to do.
Plank finished the apple and grunted in satisfaction. This was much better than that strange orange fruit he had first tried. He had spit it out as soon as he sampled it, yet its bitter after-taste still lingered despite the apple. Still, he had much to be thankful for. First the mosque, now this garden, rising out of the concrete floor like an oasis in the desert. Allah be praised, he thought as he relaxed in the tall grass. He could easily fall asleep here, he realized. But that wouldn’t do. Sooner or later, someone would discover that guard, so he had to find a way out of this station. And fulfill the order from his leaders. "You will know what to do when the time comes." An interesting and confusing statement, he thought. Rare that his instructions were that cryptic. He could understand that if they were being transmitted by the Internet or post. But in person? Perhaps the man was not what he claimed. Yet he knew our code words.
He sighed in frustration and stood. He wouldn’t find the answers relaxing in this garden. Plank pulled a strand of grass to chew on and noticed something lying on the ground half hidden by the tall foliage. He reached down and pulled up what appeared to be a spear. It was made from a small limb, with a shaped rock head attached by strands from some vine. It was very small and light and he hefted it tentatively. How could this possibly get here? he wondered. But by now he was slowly becoming inured to the puzzling people and attractions ofWestchester. He had more important considerations. Such as fulfilling his duty.
Plank debated another minute, then threw the primitive weapon away. He didn’t need to be carrying that while he wended his way through this confusing building. A gun would have been welcome, but not this. He paused long enough to put several more apples in his jacket, then started out.
Huk waited until the creature was out of sight before climbing down from his perch. The creature had given no sign of being aware of his presence, which meant he was a poorly trained hunter. And it hadn’t even taken his spear! He retrieved it and breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken him half a day to chip the rock down to a usable form. Just further proof the creature was no threat to him. Buthe could be a threat. If he chose to be. Crouching low, he started in pursuit of the stranger.
***
The great overhead lights flickered. Only for a second, no more than what one would expect from a brief power surge. But it was enough to send a shiver through Winstead. "Damn it!"
The others looked at him and frowned. "What was that?" asked Gannon.
"The boiler room. The maintenance man must have left along with everyone else. We have to go there now!"
"Itold you we should have brought flashlights," said Gannon as they headed in another direction.
"And I told you I don’t have any. We’ve never needed them inWestchester before." And there’s no way we could surviveWestchesterin the dark.
"You should have thought of this before we left," Gannon needled him.
"I had a lot on my mind. I guess I couldn’t think of everything."
"Some station masteryou are."
Don’t remind me. They passed three corridors branching to the side before Winstead veered into one. The
re was a door marked "Maintenance" but Winstead went right by it. "Maybe he’s inside," Gannon said.
"You’re welcome to look but I doubt it."
Curious, she opened the door. But it led only to a small room with a table, chair, and an odd two-armed contraption resting inertly on the table and attached by a metal rod to the floor. Shrugging, she closed it and followed the others deeper into the passageway. It ended at a brief flight of steps leading down to a closed steel door. "I’d better go in first," Winstead said as they reached it. "I’ve never had to go in here before."
Gannon shook her head as he went inside. More and more, she was having less and less confidence in this man. He returned quickly and beckoned them inside. They found themselves in a small, nearly bare room. In one corner was a pile of coal with a shovel sticking in it. In the other was the furnace, its door open, the fire inside nearly out. The furnace appeared no different or larger than one found in an old fashioned steam-driven train. "That’s all there is?" Magdya asked. "That provides enough power for the entire station?"
"If the maintenance man believes so, that’s enough for me." Winstead ignored their questioning frowns. "Someone’s going to have to stay to stoke the fire."
Green didn’t hesitate. "I will, Master Winstead."
"No," Magdya said. "You’re no slave. You don’t have to do this. I’ll stay."
"I will," Green said as he set down their supplies. "Master Winstead can’t and that is not work for a woman." He walked to the coal pile and easily carried a shovelful to the furnace and threw it in. The flames leapt to gleeful life.
"I’m afraid you’re right," Winstead said, tapping him on the shoulder.
"But, but this isn’t right!" And Magdya stomped her foot in anger.
"I picked cotton on the plantation all day, every day," Green said, wiping perspiration roused by the fire from his forehead. He leaned against the shovel, already feeling comfortable. "This is child’s work for me."
Westchester Station - the assault Page 9
