Sunday, March 17, 2019

PLAN B


We ran down the alley. Moe was wheezing. “Almost there.”
“Almost where?” I asked as we squeezed between two buildings locked together in a mid-collapse embrace. We exited onto a disaster zone. I had no idea where we were or why an entire neighborhood of skeletal homes fronting an upheaved street existed under the dome. I could hear the P.E.A. in the distance. Somehow we’d managed to stay ahead and evade them, but not for long.
“Moe, what’s your plan, thermal imaging will pick us up any minute.”
“Not here.” Moe rounded a heap of asphalt and dirt.
“Where?” I followed. “What the blazes?” I drew up. Narrowly avoiding stepping into a sinkhole.
“Jump in.” Moe’s voice surfaced from the depths.
I hesitated for a second. “Oh, what the hell.” I landed in a haze of dust, jarring my shoulder and waking the ironworker in my head. Crap.
“Move it.” Moe urged from straight ahead. “Yer eyes will adjust to the gloom. There are cracks in the asphalt letting light in here and there from above. Jus watch yer step. The walk gets easier when we enter the tunnel.”
“Tunnel?”
“Almost there.” He said. “Un huh, I’m in. You’ll have to bend down or you’ll hit yer head and make yer headache worse.”
A fracture in the ceiling allowed just enough jagged light to reveal a breach in a thick, re-enforced concrete wall. I bent through entering a tiled corridor.
“It get’s dark up ahead, stay to the right. Use yer hand to mind yer bearings,” Moe said from somewhere up ahead. “Careful though, some of the missing tiles are hidey holes fer…Hellafire! Rats. Thermal imaging shouldn’t work now, I think. Or so’s I’ve been told. Gaah!”
“What more rats?”
“No just twisted my ankle. Yer shoes don’t exactly fit none too well. No worries. I’m fine. I’ll wait fer ya here at the top of the stairs. Going down’s tricky in the dark. Watch ya don’t run into me.”
His shoes didn’t fit! Seconds later, I ran into Moe. He grabbed my sweater as he teetered.
“I said don’t run into me. Nearly bowled me over and down the stairs ya big lug.”
I took a deep breath. “I can barely see my own hand in front of my face, Moe, and you’re wearing black.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m jus a little wound up. Captain Draypace. Of all the rotten luck.”
There was a story there but now wasn’t the time to ask for details. “Moe, I may not know much but I’m certain the P.E.A. scanners can pick us up on thermals down here.”
“Yeah, well maybe, but they gotta know how to get into the subway line, the entrance to the Jets collapsed in the Big One. The only way in is to get in the hole we used. Well okay not the only way in but the only one nearby. Once we get down to the train tracks we’re safe.”
I wasn’t so sure. “I just see one small problem with your plan B.”
“What’s that?”
“I can barely see you up here now. How will we navigate below ground in the Stygian black?”
Moe harrumphed. “It ain’t dark down there. As often as the city engineers try to cut the power to the tunnels, someone turns the juice back on agin. I ain’t saying it’s like daytime down there but the emergency lights do the job. We just have to get from here to there.”
“St. Clements?”
“Yep, where yer car is.”
“Fine, you lead. I’ll follow.”
Moe didn’t move. “Ya know, I was thinking, maybe yer right. We might not have to go there through the ol’ Jet’s line ifn’ we wait here for a bit. Sooner or later the boys will tire of looking fer us.”
“Sounds like wishful thinking. Thermals are damn good. And while I only caught a glimpse of Draypace, I know a man bent on achieving his goal when I see one. And catching us is a priority. No, Moe. We move ahead, back means dead.”
“That’s catchy.” Moe said repeating several times as the image of a large, ebony skinned man came to mind. I glanced at Moe’s waist. “Moe, give me my belt.”
Moe glanced at my waist. “That was dire. Why the belt? You reneging on our agreement? It’s mine now remember? Besides, ya don’t need a belt. Yer pants are tight; ya even got a bit of a love handle squishing out above the waist.”
“I do not have a love handle. Nor am I reneging.”
“Ya do to. An if I give ya my belt, my pants will fall down.”
“Just hold them up.”
“No, I’ll trip… Oh wait, are ya thinking we should tie off like climbers so we don’t get separated in the dark? Makes sense, but yer gonna have to go extra slow down those stairs what with me having to mind my pants an all.”
I glared at him - not that he could tell in this gloom - and held out my hand. “The belt.”
“Ya sure are tetchy about this thing. Ain’t never seen no horses up close in real life but the ones on this buckle sure look pretty. Was the first thing that popped into my head as I was taking it off yer waist. Too bad, there’s a scratch down the middle of the buckle. Maybe I can polish it out.” He handed the belt over.
The oval buckle embossed with two galloping horses wasn’t just nice. It was practical. I grasped the buckle with both hands snapping it along the scratch line. It began to glow a phosphorescent green. I put it back together, then handed it over.
Moe whistled. “Well isn’t that something. I ain’t never seen a belt do that before.” He looped it through the tabs and buckled up.
“Right. Now let’s go.”
“Sure, sure.” Moe wiggled his hips illuminating the stairs.
“Move it. I think I hear footfall.”
“Uh huh,” Moe swiveled his hips one last time before taking the lead.
The descent was hazardous, likely impossible without the phosphorescent glow. I turned back often expecting the P.E.A. If they’d entered the tunnel, they’d decided not to follow. Troubling. The last three steps of the staircase were missing. We jumped, landing on crushed concrete and veered left toward the turnstiles frozen by rust. I vaulted over the obstacle as Moe climbed over awkwardly. We descended the immobile escalator to the rail line.
Moe was correct. Down here, buzzing, amber, emergency lights illuminated the station. Corroded, pin holed pipes crisscrossing the peeling ceiling fed a half dozen sinkholes visible below heaved floors.
“Saint Clements’s is that way,” Moe, whispered as he led us toward the stairs at the end of the platform. “Frankie the Snitch, told me the third line is charged. I haven’t a clue what that means an I don’t want to find out.”
“It’s called the third rail. That one. Don’t touch it.” I pointed as we descended three narrow, concrete stairs to the rail line. “Most likely the source of power for the mole people who live down here.”
Moe glanced at me. “Ya remember the mole people and this belt.” He tapped his waist. “You’re memry coming back?”
“Some. Like the face of the man who gave me the belt. I have no idea who he is. I also think I was down here once before. With, someone, ah, called, Eagle. I don’t know where we went, but I’m almost certain he wanted to talk to the leader of the moles down here.” I didn’t add that I was sure we’d come down armed, heavily. Why?
“Eagle? Talon? I’m sensing a theme here. Maybe I should call ya bird man.”
I laughed. The sound bounced off the dust encrusted, graffiti-tagged walls. “A definite, no. Although, the word Aerie feels right.” It would all make sense soon. It just had to.
Time seemed to slow as we treaded cautiously through the garbage strewn, rank, and musty tunnels. Occasionally a rat would scamper by and curl my toes.
Perhaps twenty minutes later, the feeble flicker of amber lights at the next station beckoned us.
“What is that awful sound?” Moe whispered.
“Rats I presume and the rank smell must be dinner.” The stench of decay was oppressive. The corpse, whatever or whoever it was, was days old and putrefying. “I’ll recon. Follow when I give you the all-clear.” I approached the platform cautiously, breathing through my mouth. It wasn’t helping, as the smell was almost worse than the sight. Enormous rats gorged on the remains of an unusually large, decapitated dog. Gore and blood slicked the bilious floor tiles. Nausea washed over me.
“Oh, gross. Disgusting.” Moe whispered startling me.
“I told you to wait,” I said as we hurried away.
“Did I mention I have claustrophobia?” Moe asked.
“Not that I remember.”
“Gits tricky up ahead,” Moe said some ten or so minutes later after we’d moved on.
“Why?” I stopped and turned to face him.
He slowed and turned to face me. “Well, some of the boys in JC knew I could stitch em up after a fight. An I’d helped dozens through a fever, a cold, even the flu with herbs, teas, and such. Naturally, people sought me out when they was sick or busted up. One day, two of Flaherty’s men, he’s the self-crowned king of the cutthroats here, showed up, and hauled me down to his palace in Jets to check on his royal highness himself.
“Flaherty was sick alright. Pale, weak, tired, listless and his neck, chest, and arms were covered with tiny red lesions I couldn’t identify. I tol him to go to a clinic, get some sunshine, eat fresh vegetables, take a bath and delouse.”
“You told the king of cutthroats to eat veggies and get rid of his lice?”
“Of course not. I ain’t crazy ya know. The ‘see a doctor’ part is true. Flaherty grabbed me by the throat and told me to think of somethin else. I made a show of checking his pulse, the whites of his eyes and palpated his abdomen again before telling him he was likely anemic and vitamin deficient. Then, I wrote up a long list of supplements he should take. Told him to eat two steaks, medium rare, per week and wash everythin down with a good stout ale to build up his iron.”
“Great story, tasty advice. Still, none of it explains why it’s tricky up ahead.”
“Good points. The tricky part is Flaherty told me to never come down here again or he would kill me.”
“Seems an extreme reaction to your advice. Although steaks are expensive and hard to come by even if you are the king of cutthroats. Maybe he thought you were being a smart ass.”
“No, Flaherty loved my advice. Was all friendly and jovial until his Missus walked in.”
“You hit on his Missus?”
“Hellafire no. Admittedly women usually go fer my rugged good looks, but hitting on someone’s Missus is plain wrong. Definitely out of the question. Besides she never got nowhere near enough to me to be affected by my outrageous charm.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“I see that look. Like you don’t believe me. Okay. I admit I stared at the woman. In my defense, it was impossible not to stare at her hair. It was like heavy coils of dark purple flowing and shifting on her shoulders. Gave me the willies. Yet I was curious. I can’t say I even saw her face. All I could focus on was those coiling, oily braids. And her odor. Reminded me of a wet dog. It was none too pleasant and confusing. I suppose, Flaherty mistook my confusion and curiosity fer romantic interest.”
I nodded. “Got it. Flaherty’s a jealous man with a purple haired wife that smells like a wet dog. Both are to be avoided at all costs. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Yer makin fun a me, but I’m telling ya, Flaherty ain’t right in the head and his wife is wrong. Plain ol spooky. The second tricky part is, ya told the Blonde you were parked below Saint Clements Station in the service bay, and I have no idea how to get there.”
“Wait, you mean I’m not parked above ground? When did I tell the Blonde where my car was? When the fists were flying?”
“Not exactly.”
“Fill me in.”
“I followed ya cause of, Talon but the Blonde is…was an escort and I caught up jus in time to overhear ya mention yer car and assumed…well ya know.”
Oh boy!
“I gotta admit, now that I’ve had a chance to look ya over an we’ve talked I know that weren’t yer intentions. So maybe she was a lead to Talon?”
“Perhaps. We’ll never know now.”
“No. One last thing about being down here. I’ve heard rumors some people never make it out. Interred in the Jets wasn’t on my list of the ten best places to be laid to rest. So we better find yer vehicle an skedaddle cause this place gives me the creeps.”
“You might have considered all those things before jumping into the hole.”
“Didn’t see much choice under the circumstances. Plus yer the one who said ‘We move ahead, back means dead.’ Catchy but dire.”
“Good point. Okay, anything else you want to tell me before we keep going?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sure. Flaherty doesn’t have Cerberus on a leash does he?”
“Ridiculous, Cerberus ain’t real. Although, if he did, it might explain the Missus’ unusual scent. Maybe she was playing fetch with the pooch?”
I turned away quickly, and snorted as I attempted to avoid laughing. “We need to move. The service bay should be easy to find.”
“You sure? Ya ain’t angry?” He asked catching up to me.
“If that’s two questions, the first answer is yes. We should find an entrance to the service bay before the station. And no I’m not angry.”
Some minutes later, we located a sign indicating the junction to the service bay.
“Well that ain’t gonna work.” Moe said as we approached the avalanche of debris obstructing the entrance to the service tunnel. “Now what?”
I sat down on a large chunk of concrete and removed a shoe emptying the grit, gravel, and mystery bits I was unwilling to identify. Moe shuffled. I glanced at him. His bravado had worn thin. He was exhausted. “Let’s just take a breather.”
He opened his mouth then closed it on what was surely going to be a zinger of a remark about young folk nowadays. Or so I imagined.
He dusted off a section of the block and sat down next to me. “How’s yer head?”
“The hammering is fading.”
“Shoulder?”
“Aches, it’s stiff but I’ve felt worse. I was thinking there must be an entrance from the concourse at St. Clements leading into the service bay.”
“Makes sense.” Moe placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes.
We sat in silence for a few minutes as my brain tried to reconcile everything I knew so far. Nothing, and I mean nothing made sense. Including a search for Moe’s daughter. How was finding her going to save the world? “Moe, we may not find Sam.”
He took a deep breath. “I know, but I have faith in you Mystery Man.”
“Could be misplaced if this evening is a harbinger.”
“Fancy word there Mystery Man. An we made it here safely. So if this evening is a portend it just means things might get a little tricky now and then but we’ll get there.”
I cradled my arm as I thought about this evening and Moe’s faith. “There must be a lot of silver linings in your clouds.”
“Yep, now let’s go, unless ya need another nap.”
I snorted. Moe grunted. I swear I heard his joints creak as he rose.
Minutes later, we were at Saint Clements station. It was in far better condition than the two we’d left behind. We climbed the stairs to the platform and searched for the door leading to the maintenance bay. There was nothing here except a utility closet. It had to be on the main floor off the concourse. We climbed the escalator stairs resuming the search. The door was at the far end of the station in an obscure hall. A rusted sign saying Do Not Enter, Employees only lay on the floor. The door opened without a sound. The hinges oiled recently. The back of my neck prickled a warning.

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