What Happens in the Darkness (8 page)

He laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh she knew. Whatever was standing in front of her, it wasn’t her father.

Raising her arm was probably the bravest thing she’d ever had to do. She pointed the light toward the man’s face.

He was gone.

Janelle moaned. She shivered, suddenly so cold her head ached. She leaned forward and retched, her stomach heaving, legs shaking. Saliva dripped from her chin.

Sounds behind her. Scrapes and scratches.

And suddenly she was moving blindly through the tunnel. Not slowing, not stopping, barely breathing.

She reached the Eighty-Sixth Street station again.

“Harry!” she screamed as she threw herself on to the platform.

“Harry? Please. Please wake up. You have to wake up!” She shook him, but he didn’t wake.

She dropped to the ground and pulled her legs into her chest, tucked herself into as small a shape as possible. Eyes closed because she didn’t care any more, couldn’t fight this. It wasn’t fair. She was just a kid. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen to kids.

If anything crawled out of the subway tunnel now …

Ears strained for sounds from the tunnel. Heart pounding in her temples, stomach clenching.

She wished she was dead. At least that way it would all be over. She would be with her family again.

God how she wanted her mother. Her mother would know what to do. She would comfort Janelle, would pick her up and make soothing noises and stroke her hair.

“Harry,” she whispered. “Get up.” She sobbed into his neck. She moved closer to Harry and spooned him, rested her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. Somehow it would comfort her.

The problem was, there was no heartbeat.

“Harry!” she yelled. “Don’t be dead!
Harry
!” Her voice was shrill, and she sobbed until her throat was raw.

“Harry,
please
. Please wake up. You have to wake up! God, no!” she sobbed, coughing through her tears, trying to catch her breath.

She moved away from his body and pulled her legs into her chest, tucked herself into as small a shape as possible. Eyes closed because she didn’t care any more, couldn’t fight this. It wasn’t fair. She was just a kid. Things like this aren’t supposed to happen to kids.

She calmed down, sucked in a few breaths, and rubbed her sore eyes with her palms. Tried to think. Had to try again. Had to. Couldn’t stay here in the dark with Harry’s dead body. Couldn’t stay here because there was no way out, no one was coming to rescue her, and she swore if she made it out alive she’d never set foot in a tunnel again.

One more try. That was all she had left, all she was willing to do. If this didn’t work she would come back here and die next to Harry.

Downtown station this time. Seventy-Seventh Street.

Janelle reluctantly dropped onto the tracks again, her entire being filled with dread and a sense of impending doom. The flashlight beacon sliced into the darkness of the downtown tunnel’s gaping maw.

Her last chance.

If the next station turned out to be blocked, there would be no way out. She tried not to think about it.

She stepped into the tunnel and started on her way.

Okay, not terrible, there was still hope. She could do this. She crossed the fingers on the hand not holding the flashlight. Her body shook in terror as a response to her bravado. 

*** 

Something moved in the darkness ahead.

She sensed the movement rather than saw it. Standing perfectly still she held her breath and listened. A small sound, like concrete being kicked. She wanted to call out but was petrified that someone—or something—might answer. Sweat dripped into her eyebrows.

Another scattering of pebbles.

She raised the flashlight, terrified to look, more terrified not to.

Its eyes reflected back in the light beam.

She nearly dropped the flashlight. When she sucked in her breath, its head jerked in her direction, a starved and crazed look in its half-dead eyes. Bones jutted from the animal’s emaciated flank. Its hind leg was clearly broken and hung at a peculiar angle to its body.

She tried whispering to it, because in her utter fear she had no idea what else to do.

It stared at her. Just stared, like it didn’t believe she was really there. Or like it was waiting for her to make the first move.

“Please, dog,” she whispered. “Let me pass.” She wasn’t really trying to reason with it, just begging out loud. This was a
dog
after all, and she was great with animals. Had even aspired to be a vet.

A low growling resonated in the back of its throat.

It lowered its head and stared at her, made darting little movements as if about to pounce. It bared its fangs, and the growling grew louder.

She looked for a weapon, her eyes darting from one side of the tracks to the other. A few feet away a wood beam leaned against the tunnel wall. The problem with these tunnels was that they just weren’t very tall, just high enough for train clearance. That wasn’t much height, but the designers likely didn’t build them to escape a crazed animal.

The beam was about five feet away. The dog was a little farther than that. She began to inch her way toward the plank, noticing how narrow it was, like the balance beam in gym class.

The dog noticed her movement and snarled, revealing teeth that hadn’t suffered much considering its malnutrition.

“Easy, dog,” she said sternly, hoping to show it who was master, hoping it was someone’s lost pet. The dog cocked its head but the snarls continued.

She crept toward the beam, afraid to move any faster.

The cracked two-by-four was all that stood between her and the dog.

The dog lunged. Its snarls and moans bounced off the tunnel walls. Its broken limb prevented it from gaining too much momentum. Its mouth clamped down on Janelle’s calf.

She screamed, pulling her leg free, jumping out of its way, landing on the beam. Adrenaline kept her moving, kept her from feeling the bite too badly. Blood soaked through her jeans. Walking sideways she inched up, arms flapping like a bird’s injured wings. The wood groaned and cracked in several more spots. She reached the tip of the beam and touched the tunnel ceiling, planted her palms against it for support.

The dog was too close, barely a foot away the end of the beam, and Janelle couldn’t go any farther. It lunged, snapping crazily at her feet.

She gripped the concrete ceiling so tightly her fingernails bled. “Stop!” she screamed, but the dog ignored her, lunged at her, tried to bite, its wounded leg the only thing keeping it from getting the momentum it needed.

Sobbing, Janelle looked away from the dog, tried to move farther up the beam. Nothing left but ceiling. Nothing useful in her backpack either, nothing that would make any kind of weapon.

The only thing left was the flashlight—her heavy-duty flashlight, weighing in around four pounds but thick, solid. She didn’t know if it could kill the dog but thought she might be able to do some damage. It was her only hope.

Planting her feet more firmly on the beam she shifted her weight, leaning her shoulder against the wall for leverage.

The dog showed no sign of tiring. It leapt into the air, flipped, and landed on its three good legs. It did this over and over, gaining more height each time, fangs snapping madly every time he was airborne.

She shined the light in its face when it jumped up at her again. It tried to hook its paws around the beam.

The light in its eyes showed nothing but a black craziness. It lunged again, paws making purchase with the wood, bringing itself inches from her. She raised the flashlight and smashed it down on the dog’s head. The animal squealed and dropped off the beam.

The force of the blow threw her to the ground, and the flashlight flew out of her hands.

She landed hard on her back, and it knocked the wind out of her. She groped until she found the flashlight lying in a pool of something. She could feel it was badly damaged. The parts rattled when she shook it.

“Oh no . . .” she cried, tears falling again. “Oh no.” Frantically she shook it, but that failed to make it work again.

In the blackness she couldn’t see the dog but it made no sound, and she assumed she had knocked it out or killed it.

She stood on the tracks, sobbing. This was it, she decided. Enough. There was no way out of this. It probably would have been better if she’d let the dog rip out her throat.

The blackness of the tunnel overwhelmed her. How was it possible not to be able to focus your eyes on
something
, some light source or another?

She forced herself to move again in the direction she guessed she’d been heading in. She walked haltingly, her arms sticking straight out ahead to feel for objects before smashing into them.

On her right, something flashed, a tiny speck of light, the size of a pencil point.

She reached out, but a wall blocked her path. She screamed in anger, frustration. This wasn’t fair! To have come so far, to have survived, only to be taunted by yet another speck of unreachable light. What the hell was going on here?

But she discovered it wasn’t a wall, it was the edge of the station platform, and it was level with the top of her head. Groping the edge, she managed to pull herself up.

She moved toward the light, her heart speeding, her breathing shallow. The closer she got to the light source, the larger it became.

Standing at the bottom of the Seventy-Seventh Street station’s stairwell, she peeked through the hole and stared into the sunlight. The hole was large enough to fit her hand through.

She screamed for help over and over until she finally saw a face looking down at her from the top of the stairs, a face as shocked as she was.

Janelle stood back and leaned against the rocks in the station and sobbed while the rescuers dug her out.

Behind her, on the subway tracks, the snarling, raving-mad dog had found her and was trying to make its way onto the platform. 

*** 

The small crowd that had gathered to watch the rescue cheered as Janelle was pulled from the collapsed subway entrance. Dozens of hands had rescued the girl from her tomb. Several rescuers had gone into the tunnel to try to help the dog. She told them about Harry and the injured woman but didn’t know if the rescuers would go in search of them.

Janelle was coated in dirt and grime and blood, and she trembled uncontrollably after being pulled from the hole. A woman examined her carefully, looking for wounds and broken bones, bandaging the bite on her leg. They asked Janelle what had happened.

Someone handed Janelle a mug of something warm, and she sipped it. Chicken broth.

“I got trapped,” she said quietly, still trembling, trying to steady the cup in her hands.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Janelle shook her head. The woman was around Janelle’s mom’s age, she guessed, and her eyes were dark like her mother’s.

“What’s your name, child?”

“Janelle.”

“Oh, now that’s a beautiful name.”

Janelle smiled and took another sip. Then she looked up—way up—at the hulking man standing before her, probably the tallest person she’d ever seen. His hair was as red as maraschino cherries.

“Close your mouth, kid,” he said, grinning. “You’re catching flies. Besides, I’m not
that
tall.”

“Sorry, I—”

“S’okay.” He squatted beside her, his hand swallowing hers whole.

“It’s just. You’re really tall.”

“Nah … about six-five. I guess I look really tall to a shrimp like you.”

She giggled, spilling her broth over the side of the cup.

“Name’s Matt. What’s yours? I didn’t hear.”

She repeated her name and then looked up at the woman who had checked her for wounds and had fed her the soup.

“Sandra. Dr. Sandra Mason. Call me Sandy.”

Janelle nodded. “I was living in the subway for a couple of days before getting trapped. I met these guys and one of them spent a night down there with me. But then the bomb came and he got killed.” She started to cry.

Sandy put her arms around her and caressed the back of her head. “It’s okay, Janelle.” They rocked together, Sandy holding her tight.

“Hey, kid,” Matt said, trying to lighten the mood. “You hungry?”

Her reply was muffled against Sandy’s shoulder, but her head bobbed up and down.

“What was that? You invent some crazy tunnel language?”

She turned her head and smiled at Matt. “I said I’m starving.”

“Let’s go then. Burger King? McDonald’s?”

“What?”

“Don’t pay him no mind. Matty’s a real joker.”

Janelle didn’t think there were any McDonald’s or Burger Kings open for business, but a small part of her held out hope that maybe he wasn’t kidding, that maybe in some small part of her world there was a section untouched by bombs, and this magical area included Whoppers and fries.

She suddenly realized the streets were crowded with people. Maybe hundreds. “Where’d all these people come from?”

“Survivors,” Sandy said. “From all over. I guess there aren’t too many left, but we all seem to be finding one another.”

The sight was amazing, and heartwarming. Janelle thought she’d never see people again, at least not in numbers this large. It had felt as if almost everyone was dead. So many bodies . . . so many body
parts
, but she didn’t want to think about it, filed it away in the dark recesses of her brain, to possibly be dug up again someday and cause her nervous breakdown. But for now, denial. Easier that way.

“Where do they all live?”

“Some in buildings, but mainly underground. Bank vaults. They provide shelter, but more importantly, the vaults survived the bombings, so they’re relatively safe.”

“Oh.” Janelle watched two young boys in the street fighting over a candy bar. “Aren’t you scared you’ll get trapped underground?” Thoughts of the claustrophobic subway tunnel came to mind.

“Smart kid,” Matt said, heading toward the boys to referee their fight.

“There are several exits, so no one can get trapped. At least in ours,” Sandy said.