Your Carriage Awaits
“Did you ever hear about what happened on the Metro in 1992?
“Three days that train were stuck in the tunnel.
“First went the lights. Then the water. Then the air. Then their minds.
“You don’t wanna know what they found when they finally dug through to ‘em…”
The words hung for a moment and, before Joe could respond, the stranger sat opposite him continued
“They’d done all manner. All manner to each other. Blood everywhere. Toilet, toilet all over and,” he paused, lowering his previously brash voice to a stage whisper and mouthing the words wide, “Other stuff.”
Joe blinked and turned around in his seat to see if any of the nearby passengers were hearing this too, eager to share a knowing nod or pained smile in the gloom, but he couldn’t see anyone’s eye to catch.
The darkness stole every detail, no matter how close.
It had been six hours so far.
Well, six since the train had been trapped and about ninety minutes since the auxiliary power had withered and darkness had filled the carriage.
It had happened after rush hour, so it wasn’t as busy as it could have been, but there were still a number of people caught in the chaos. Joe counted seven, including himself, in the carriage, which was the last one of the train.
Joe wasn’t even meant to be there at all of course.
Not on that day.
The other carriages, as far as Joe could make out, were long gone. At the very least they were separated by a wall of broken concrete, splintered glass and twisted metal. The connecting end had been crimped together tightly as if it was made of pastry, and there was no getting through it from either direction.
Before the lights had gone, and after the initial commotion of the tunnel collapse, Joe had tried to keep his brain occupied by trying to build up stories about who was trapped in the carriage alongside him.
There was the old gent who had been chewing his ear off - metaphorically of course - in the darkness. Definitely retired, probably widowed. Joe thought he might have even been enjoying all this drama - a bit of excitement to fill the day and make the week go by quicker.
Then there was the young woman in her slick smoke-grey power suit, styled out with bright purple trainers and four battered, grimy tote bags, overflowing with files and folders.
Beyond that, by one of the sets of doors, there was a group of three men in their mid-20s, casually dressed in autumnal-hued flannel and each bedecked with different facial hair styles - one full beard, one Van Dyke and one pencil moustache.
Then, right at the far end, was a student, who was resting her head against the perspex barrier next to her seat, her turquoise hair draped down over her face.
She was still sobbing. So was one of the hipsters. To be fair, it had been quite the jolt and their part of the train had been left at an angle of 15 degrees. Certainly steep enough for all the rush hour debris to start rolling down towards Joe’s end of the carriage.
The emergency lights had come on, soft and warm, flickering occasionally but bathing the whole space in a kind of serene fireside glow.
It hadn’t taken long for the air to bristle and stiffen in the heat. It hung thick like a cheap nylon blanket and sweat had started to roll down Joe’s brow.
The red gloom was punctuated by the harsh glow from the various passengers’ phone screens. No signal in the depths of course, but the habit for checking ran strong and deeper still.
Sporadically someone would get up and shout out into the void beyond the mangled end of the carriage.
Otherwise a polite British silence remained of course, although it was punctuated by the occasional cough and underscored with the gentle sobbing that seemed to drift around the carriage, infecting one passenger for a while before hopping to another.
The other end, the very back of the train, hung in the air, held in place by the seesaw weight of debris from the collapse, with the locked door to the driver’s compartment sealing the occupants inside.
But then the emergency lights started to fade. Slowly at first, but then with a flurry of flickering before plinking out one last time and plunging Joe and the other passengers into darkness.
A wail went up from the furthest point of the space, followed by a more prolonged chorus of sobbing.
Now, an hour and a half later, as Joe sat and listened to the old bloke opposite wittering on, a certain level of serenity blanketed the carriage. It was resignation, Joe thought. The unmistakable feeling of hope evaporating.
He was suddenly jerked out of his thoughts by a realisation.
A new silence had descended.
His fellow passengers were no longer just sitting there quietly, they were listening.
Joe cocked his head, straining to catch up with what was happening.
There was something there.
Movement? More like scratching and padded footsteps along metal.
Talking? More like guttural clicks and gasps.
Joe turned his head to face where the noises seemed to be seeping into the carriage.
His eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, but there was so little light that it was still mainly just shadows on shadows.
But it was one of these shadows that caught Joe’s attention.
It was moving, but not in a natural or recognisable way. It was small and squat, erratic in motion. It couldn’t be a person; it was too small and too fast.
It came to rest pressed against the window furthest from where Joe was sitting, flittering around the sealed edges before slipping through, passing from the outside of the glass through to the inside.
It rested there for a moment, before being joined by a second shadow.
Then a third.
Joe felt a ripple of hot air wash over him as the shapes spiked purposefully out of the surrounding darkness.
It felt like the other commuters could sense this movement too.
Panicked breathing.
You could almost hear their darting eyes widen.
And then the first blow struck.
There wasn’t even time for anyone to scream.
Just the sound of sinuous effort followed by three gurgling voices and three bodies falling to the ground.
The girl with turquoise hair screamed, but it was curtailed by another pardine swipe from the shadows, punctuated by more gurgling and the sound of her body slumping forward.
Two more waves of warm air stretched their fingers down the carriage towards Joe, this time thickly stained with ferric droplets.
The commotion spread and now the businesswoman was screaming and Joe could hear the percussion of her jewellery clank and clatter together as she swiped at thin air.
Then another scamper through the darkness, a gurgle grew from where the woman once sat and a warm spray reached Joe and the old man opposite him.
Joe rubbed his fingers over his eyes as his last remaining carriage-mate started shouting and calling out to god - anyone - to save him.
One, two, three squalls of shadow blasted by Joe’s shoulder.
A flurry of motion, his ears filled with the sound of animalistic effort, wrenching flesh and burbling air escaping through rapidly spilling blood.
Joe flinched as it splashed across his face.
He could taste it, hot and metallic.
Even at such close proximity, Joe couldn’t make out any more details of the shadows, but he could hear their breath as it rasped from the effort of their onslaught.
Joe’s muscles tensed involuntarily, waiting for the assailants’ attention to seek him out in the darkness.
He stared out into the gloom and could start to imagine the shadows staring back at him, stalking closer, their breath growing heavier as they waited for the perfect moment to strike.
BANG!
The noise shocked Joe out of his position and his eyes blinked wide.
BANG!
It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest and he suddenly felt very alone.
BANG!
Joe blinked again and turned around in his seat to look around where the noises had broken through behind him.
Movement through the rubble.
The scouring shafts of flashlights.
Commotion.
And then a voice.
“Hello? HELLO! Can you hear me?”
The crack of glass.
The fizzing of granular debris.
“Can you… can you hear me in the- OH MY GOD!”
The lead rescuer’s flashlight whipped around the carriage, picking out the twisted angles of broken bodies and viscera.
Joe involuntarily lowered his brow and raised his hands, glistening stickily from the blood of his fellow passengers
The voice continued: “Wha-wha… what happened? What happened in here? What did you do?”
Joe looked up, squinting against the glare of the light and sighed.
“Did you hear about what happened on the Metro in 1992?”
He stared at the emotionless visors of the rescuers’ helmets.
“Oh well. It hardly seems to matter now anyway…”
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