by Cate Morgan
CHAPTER FIVE
With less than ten minutes to go on their allotted hour—there was no sense pushing their luck, or the time they had before someone noticed they were missing at last—Tara led her rag tag group of misfits through the tumbled wall of the classroom she and Stephen had been in when the attacks hit.
The yard was a mess, too. Nothing was where it should have been, the landscape looking like a failed game of Jenga, only bleaker. Tara navigated her crew over the shattered rubble of the quad, the broken branches of what had once been the tree planted there for who knew how long.
“How are we going to get over the barbed wire?” someone wanted to know.
Tara put her hands on her hips and stared up at the lethal curls hanging over the top of the chain link fence. It seemed the nuns were quite adamant about kids not skipping school. “Someone hand me one of those blankets,” she said, after due consideration.
After a few moments’ rustling, Stephen handed her an army blanket. On the second attempt she got the blanket over a section of fence, and then she climbed up. She tested the blanket, and folded it length-wise twice to give the proper amount of cushion. “Jason, grab hold of the end,” she hissed. Then she vaulted over, using the blanket to slide past the wire and gain hold of the fence on the other side.
Stephen motioned to the others. “One at a time—quickly now.”
Some of them were better at climbing than others. Aaron rattled the fenced something fierce, until it took a round half dozen kids on either wide to keep the damned thing still. Finally, though, they all got over the fence safely. Jason was the last to come over, the others hanging on to the other side of the blanket so he could clamber over. Then the blanket came down to be folded and tucked away once more.
Stephen consulted his map beneath the beam of his flashlight. “Okay—this way. Come on.”
They ran for the nearest subway entrance, a few blocks down from the school. It was strange to feel New York so deserted, but deserted it was. The subway entrance was open, but apparently no trains were stopping. They hopped the turnstiles, for there was no one to stop them, and found nothing but a closed news stand in the tunnel. Other than one or two magazines and a haphazard selection of candy and gum, it was empty.
“What’s the next station?” Tara asked, looking around.
“Looks like this line is closed,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “We’ll try a station with a line change, see if we have better luck.”
It took two more attempts to find an active station, by which point they had several miles behind them and tired muscles into the bargain. They had to go easy for Aaron, who was wheezing and cuddling his inhaler like a teddy bear.
No one was taking fare here, either. It was every man, woman, and child for themselves. Whole families, what appeared their life’s possessions in tow, had gathered to take the next train to the East River. Tara and her charges waited around for over an hour, but finally the train arrived.
A mad rush ensued, even before the train had come to a full stop, people frantically pounding on doors and windows, screaming and yelling.
“We’re never going to get on the train at this rate,” Stephen yelled over the furor.
“Then we’ll just have to be less polite about it.” Tara started shouldering her way through the crowd, but working toward the end of the train. When the doors opened, she sped up, applying elbows. The larger kids soon got the idea and started behaving like rabid linemen. Soon she was running, carving a path with the others following in her wake. Finally, she caught the edge of the door and waited as everyone piled in. When they were all through, Tara jumped in and joined her group.
Stephen grinned at her. “Navigated like a true New Yorker.”
Tara wasn’t able to comment. As soon as they’d gathered inside more people flooded in, crowding against them. Tara was, however, able to enjoy the full benefits of someone’s laundry sack containing, apparently, their full wardrobe poking her in the side. Someone’s kid was on the soccer team, if the cleats were anything to go by.
It was a long ride to the docks. The train moved slowly, and the lights went out twice. Someone tried to relieve her of her backpack, so she stepped on their foot and relieved them of the feeling in the their toes instead. The cursing and jostling back at least gave her a modicum of breathing space. It seemed an eternity passed before they at last reached the last stop of the line.
When the doors swooshed open, Tara held her people back as everyone else in the car burst out like a herd of fleeing cattle. Only then did she usher everyone out, making sure they all had their possessions with them.
