10:15 a.m.
They left the station without ceremony. No one said it aloud, but everyone felt the same truth: staying was pointless. Waiting for help was a fantasy they couldn't afford anymore.
The dark tunnels stretched ahead hungrily. Like the earth itself had opened its mouth and decided to swallow them whole.
Jake took the lead as they moved, his conductor's uniform giving him an authority that Mike was grateful to relinquish. For the first time since the attack, Mike could step back from the crushing weight of making life-or-death decisions.
Dana walked close to Jake's left side, her sharp eyes watching his every move. Mike could see her evaluating their new guide with the same skeptical intensity she'd once directed at him. She wasn't one to trust easily, and her body language remained guarded, ready to challenge Jake's decisions if they proved wrong.
Mike walked in the middle of the group, his oversized coat hung heavy with tunnel dust and dried sweat. Every step sent a dull ache through his ribs where he'd slammed into the seat during the emergency brake.
The air down here wasn't just stale. It was wrong. Thick as soup, metallic on the tongue, carrying the ghost-scent of things that had rotted in the dark for years. He pulled his collar higher, but it didn't help. The smell crawled into his nose, his throat, and settled in his chest like a weight. Behind him, someone coughed. A wet and rattling sound echoed off the walls like a dying engine.
He turned his head to see Anna, a petite blond woman from Jake's group, wiping her nose. A thin ribbon of blood trailed from her nostril, dark in the flashlight glow.
"You okay?" her friend Tess asked, moving closer.
Anna nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just... the air down here is thick."
Mike caught the exchange but said nothing. Nosebleeds weren't good in general. It could be due to stress or dehydration. Or it could be something worse.
The group moved like a slow river through the tunnel and Mike found himself studying the new faces quietly through the shadows. Fifty-seven people, looking as shell-shocked and exhausted as his own group.
Eve, a woman in her late twenties, was walking with one hand on Jake's shoulder, and the other holding the harness of a sleek black German Shepherd. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and her head tilted with every sound.Her dog, Dexter, moved with alert precision, his ears constantly swiveling as he monitored their surroundings. He guided his master with fluid confidence, ears pricked, alert to every shift in the group's rhythm.
A few places back, Reese swung a piece of broken metal pipe like a baton, nervous energy radiating from his broad shoulders. Mid-thirties, cocky despite everything, the kind of guy who probably thought he could punch his way out of any problem. Mike noted him as potential trouble. Restless energy was contagious down here.
Nathan, barely twenty, moved quietly in an army jacket three sizes too big for his frame. His soft eyes were the kind that still believed the world was fundamentally fair. He helped others without being asked, sharing his water bottle and checking on the wounded every few minutes.
Mike cataloged them all, trying to understand the group dynamics before they faced whatever was waiting ahead.
Sam stepped beside him, his graying hair catching the dim light. "Why aren't you up front, kid?"
Mike looked at him sideways. He was thirty-nine this year, so it had been a while since anyone called him "kid." "I could ask you the same question. As a veteran, shouldn't you be more apt to guide us through this hell?"
Sam chuckled, pointing to the small hearing aids barely visible in his ears. "You see these? I'm basically deaf. Even with the aids, it's not suitable for me to be upfront. I won't hear people behind me if something goes wrong."
"You seem to hear me just fine. Aren't you just looking for excuses?"
"That's because I'm good at reading lips," Sam said with another laugh. "But you're right, my hearing isn't the main issue." His expression grew more serious. "My body is. These knees are shot, my ankles are killing me, and my heart's not what it used to be. Should I continue? I'm getting old, kid. I'm not fit enough to be leading anyone."
"You don't look that weak to me, old man," Mike said, managing a grin.
"What about you then? What's your excuse for not being upfront?"
Mike looked at him for a moment, deciding whether to deflect or tell the truth. There was something about Sam, his genuine warmth, his easy smile despite their dire situation. He radiated an atmosphere of calm competence. The kind of person you could trust with anything.
"I'm what you could call a black cat," Mike said, meeting Sam's eyes. "I bring bad luck everywhere I go. Better to stay back and let someone else make the important decisions."
Sam burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls so loudly that everyone turned to look at them. Dana shot them both an angry glare, her expression clearly saying this wasn't the time for jokes. Mike's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Sam was completely unbothered, his laughter reverberating through the concrete passage before slowly fading away.
When he finally caught his breath, he looked at Mike's annoyed expression and wiped tears from his eyes.
"Do you know what they called me back in my unit?" he said, still grinning. "Lucky Sam."
Mike gave a faint huff. "Looking at you now, 'Laughing Sam' would make more sense."
"No, seriously," Sam said, his tone becoming more earnest. "Seven years in the field. Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, even a stretch in the Balkans. All front-line deployments, and in all that time... I never lost a man on my team. Not once."
"Thank God," Mike's expression shifted, becoming more attentive.
"We took fire, got ambushed, ran dry on supplies more times than I can count," Sam continued. "But something always turned in our favor. Equipment would malfunction at just the right moment to save us, enemy patrols would miss us by minutes, supply drops would come through when we were down to our last rounds."
"My team used to joke that I had angels stapled to my boots. Eventually, I even started believing it..." His smile faded away as he lost himself in his thoughts.
"I'm glad you're with us then," Mike said quietly. "I could use some of that luck rubbing off."
Sam turned his head slightly toward him, "You're doing good, kid. At least I'm alive thanks to you."
Mike gave a half-smile. "I'm just making it up as I go."
"That's the spirit," Sam said. Then his grin returned, "by the way, did you get her number?"
"No, I missed the—" Mike turned his face toward Sam in horror, realizing what he'd just admitted.
"No need to be embarrassed," Sam said with a knowing smile. "You two were pretty cute together. It really made my day, you know." He paused. "Well, before all this shit happened."
Mike's cheeks reddened. Everything had happened so fast that he hadn't realized everyone in his car had probably been watching the exchange.
"Did you at least catch her name?" Sam asked mischievously.
Mike studied Sam's face, analyzing their conversation. From the start, he'd been working up to this moment.
"Sneaky old man," Mike said, looking him in the eye. "You saw everything, and you can read lips."
Sam just laughed instead of replying, neither confirming nor denying the accusation.
"So? Are you gonna tell me her name or not?" Mike said, excitement and impatience creeping into his voice despite himself.
"I don't know, kid," Sam said with an exaggerated shrug. "I told you I'm getting old. My memory is pretty foggy these days." His grin widened. "I guess you'll have to make sure this old man stays alive till the end if you really want to know."
"Greedy bastard," Mike said, shaking his head but smiling. "Want me to carry you on my back too, since your knees are so bad?"
"Now that's not a bad idea," Sam chuckled. "My whole body's falling apart."
Their laughter died as the reality of their situation reasserted itself. Around them, the tunnel stretched endlessly into darkness, and the weight of their circumstances settled back over the group like a heavy blanket.
But for a few minutes, Sam had managed to make Mike feel like everything might actually be okay. There was something about the older man's easy warmth, his ability to find humor even in their nightmare situation, that cut through his usual armor of cynicism and self-doubt. It was a rare gift, Mike realized, this ability to ease the weight that others carried without even trying.
10:35 a.m.
When the next platform finally emerged from the gloom ahead, a tense mixture of hope and dread rippled through the group. After the devastating discovery at the previous station, they'd spent the entire walk trying to convince themselves that this one would be different, but nobody dared voice their hopes too loudly.
"Maybe this time," someone whispered behind Mike, the words barely audible. "It would be open... it has to be."
They climbed onto the platform with cautious steps, flashlights sweeping across the familiar architecture. Gray columns rose from cracked concrete, advertisement posters hung in tatters like dead skin, and in the distance, the same exit signs they'd seen before.
"Come on," Dana said quietly, her voice tight with forced determination. "We're almost there."
The group moved slowly toward the exit signs, each step heavy with anticipation. Nobody spoke now. The silence was thick with unspoken prayers and barely contained fear.
As they approached the far wall, that familiar dread settled in Mike's stomach like ice water.
The same steel door. The same impenetrable barrier rising from floor to ceiling like a vault entrance. Sealed tight with no hinges, no mechanism, no way through.
The devastation that followed was worse than at the first station. These people had endured the claustrophobic tunnels, the thick air, the constant fear, all while trying to prepare for disappointment.
The crushing weight of reality struck them with renewed force.
A woman sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. A man punched the steel door with his bare fist, leaving bloody knuckles on unyielding metal.
Mike analyzed the platform methodically, cataloging details that others missed. It was eerily similar to the last one, dried blood painted the concrete in chaotic patterns. Red footprints tracked across the platform. But again, not a single corpse. Someone must have cleaned up after the carnage, removing the bodies for reasons Mike didn't want to contemplate.
"This isn't emergency protocol," Jake said, staring at the massive steel gate. His voice cracked slightly. "This... this isn't anything I've ever seen." His voice trailed off as the implications sank in.
"Why is this happening?" a voice cried out in pure despair. "Why are they doing this to us?"
"It's not possible," Peter said, shaking his head frantically. "Every station can't be sealed. It's not possible."
Dana furiously kicked a dented trash can across the tiles. It clattered and spun until it crashed against a pillar, the sound sharp enough to make everyone flinch.
"Subtle," Sam muttered.
A woman near the back looked up at Jake from where she sat. "I heard," she said slowly, "there were other stations... ones not on any maps."
Jake frowned. "You mean the ghost lines?" His face went pale, like someone had just suggested walking into a graveyard at midnight. As a conductor, he knew about those places. That was exactly the problem.
She nodded eagerly. "Yes! They called it abandoned tunnels or something like that."
"Wait, the ghost lines are real?" Reese barked, pipe still swinging in his grip.
Jake's shoulders sagged. "Yeah, they're real. But not like the stories make it sound. They're just old inoperative stations. Some were too unstable, some too expensive to repair. They were wiped from the maps years ago." He gestured vaguely at the walls around them. "I guess they didn't want curious idiots wandering where they shouldn't."
"So where are they?" Dana asked sharply.
Jake shook his head. "I don't know. I've never seen one. I'm barely paid enough to ride the ones that still work. I sure as hell wasn't gonna go sneaking into the broken ones."
Reese stepped forward, aggressive. "What about your damn map then? Look it up!"
Jake gave him a hard glance. "Like I said, they're not on any official map anymore." He lifted his map slightly so everyone could see it. "This only shows every active line, maintenance routes and construction detour and that's it."
Mike stayed quiet, watching the group fracture in real time with worry. Every twitch, every word, every glance shared the same conclusion: they were near the breaking point now.
The argument between Reese and Jake was escalating, voices rising despite the danger. Others were joining in, frustration and fear spilling over into accusations and blame.
Mike's chest tightened as he calculated the reality of their situation. Even if the circumstances were hard to accept, they still needed to keep silent. Right now, everyone was making too much noise. He knew that large groups die first. They're slower, louder, and easier to track. They leave more evidence, create more chaos, and collapse under their own weight when real danger appears.
He glanced toward the nearest tunnel entrance. It would be so easy to just step backward into the shadows, let the argument continue, and vanish while no one was watching. Alone, he'd be completely invisible. A ghost in the tunnels.
He took a step backward. Then another.
A firm hand settled on his shoulder, stopping him mid-retreat. Sam's weathered face appeared beside him in the dim light.
"HEY!" Sam's voice boomed through the platform, cutting through the chaos like a commanding officer addressing unruly troops. "EVERYONE SHUT UP AND LISTEN!"
The effect was immediate and startling. Voices died mid-sentence. People turned toward Sam instinctively, drawn by something in his tone that bypassed conscious thought and spoke directly to their survival instincts.
Sam's voice dropped to a more conversational level, but it carried perfectly through the sudden quiet. There was something almost hypnotic about it: warm, confident, completely unshakeable.
"I know you're scared. Hell, I'm scared too. But tearing each other apart isn't going to get us home to our families." His words seemed to physically calm people, shoulders relaxing, breathing slowing. "We've made it this far because we stuck together. That's not changing now."
He gestured toward the sealed exit. "We're going to take a few minutes to rest, gather our strength, and then we're going to the next station."
Sam's smile was visible even in the dim light, radiating confidence that seemed to spread through the group like warmth. "I've got a feeling we're going to find more survivors soon. And together, we'll find our way out of this mess."
Hope stirred in tired faces. People nodded, some actually smiling for the first time since the attack. The panic that had been building evaporated like steam, replaced by something steadier.
"Alright," Sam continued, clapping his hands once. "Let's get comfortable for a few minutes. Rest those feet, share some water if you've got it."
The group began to settle, finding spots to sit, talking in quieter tones. The transformation was remarkable: the same people who'd been screaming at each other minutes ago were now helping each other find places to rest.
Sam turned back to Mike, his hand still on his shoulder, that knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Nice speech, old man," Mike said quietly.
"Yeah, I'm glad you didn't miss it, kid," Sam replied, his grin widening.
They studied each other for a moment, eyes meeting in the dim light. No words passed between them, but something was understood.
Sam gave Mike's shoulder a brief squeeze, then turned away to help Dana, who was already organizing a small team to raid the vending machines. The platform buzzed with purposeful activity instead of panicked chaos.
For the moment, at least, they were still together.
11:10 a.m.
They rested for thirty minutes, sharing what little food and water remained from the vending machines in this station. The portions were meager, a few sips of warm Coke, energy bars split between people, but it was better than nothing.
People sat in small clusters, talking in hushed voices or staring into the middle distance. The initial panic had faded, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond physical fatigue. They were running out of hope, and everyone could feel it.
Jake consulted his map obsessively, tracing routes with a trembling finger. His confidence was visibly shaking now, hands trembling as he tried to make sense of passages that didn't match what they were seeing underground.
"The next station has to be open," he muttered to himself, "It is a main junction station, they wouldn't be able to seal this."
Mike watched him with growing concern. Jake was a good man doing his best in an impossible situation, but he was cracking under the pressure. The conductor's knowledge of the tunnels was their biggest advantage, but if Jake had a breakdown, that advantage would disappear.
When they finally gathered to move again, the group's energy was noticeably lower. People moved more slowly, spoke less, looked at the ground instead of ahead. They were losing the will to fight.
When they reached a three-way fork in the tunnel, Jake hesitated for several long minutes, studying his map under the weak beam of his flashlight. The paper was getting more tattered with each consultation, and Mike could see water damage blurring some of the lines.
"This way," Jake finally decided, pointing to the left passage. "According to the map, this should take us to the main junction."
Mike's gut immediately rebelled. All three paths felt wrong to him, but the one Jake had chosen felt like walking into a trap. The sensation was so strong it made him nauseous. Mike followed as Jake led them toward the next tunnel, his unease growing with each step. His war-honed instincts were screaming warnings he couldn't ignore. Every shadow seemed wrong, every echo carried undertones of menace. The feeling was so strong it made his skin crawl, but what could he say? His instincts weren't evidence, and Jake was the expert with the official map. He had no concrete reason to object.
They'd been walking for twenty minutes when Dana spotted something that made her stop abruptly.
"Wait," she said, pointing to their right. "What's that?"
The opening was easy to miss in the darkness: just a black rectangle cut into the tunnel wall about shoulder-height. This passage was different from anything they'd seen: smaller, with no rails, roughly half the width of the main tunnel. It disappeared into absolute darkness that seemed to swallow their flashlight beams.
"What's that lead to?" someone asked.
Jake approached the opening and squinted into the darkness. "It's not on my map. It is probably maintenance access. There are lots of service tunnels down here I don't know about."
"Could it lead to an abandoned station?" Peter asked hopefully.
Jake shook his head. "It can't lead to a station without tracks."
Mike stared into the small tunnel as they passed, and something strange happened. His instincts had been screaming warnings about Jake's chosen path with each step they took. But this dark passage gave him a completely different sensation. Not a feeling of danger, but... a welcome. Like the darkness was calling to him, inviting him in.
The thought sent chills down his spine. Why would he feel drawn to a place that looked like the entrance to hell?
Another realization followed quickly: If the shooters were out there hunting, sixty-nine people moving together would be impossible to miss. He could slip away right here. This maintenance tunnel was perfect. Small enough that only he could disappear into it, dark enough to hide him completely.No more responsibility for people who might get him killed with their noise and panic. No more impossible decisions to make.
Mike looked back at the group for a second. Sam was helping an elderly woman navigate around some debris, his steady presence calming her fears. Dana was quietly organizing people into a more efficient line. Jake and Eve moved together with that careful trust he'd watched develop. Even Eli, terrified as he was, kept putting one foot in front of the other.
The urge to vanish into the tunnel faded. These people needed each other. And maybe, despite everything, he needed them too.
He pushed the thought away and kept walking with the group, but the sensation lingered like an itch he couldn't scratch.
"Jesus Christ," Sam's voice cut through the darkness ahead. "Look at that."
Mike snapped back his focus to whatever was happening ahead.
An abandoned train materialized from the shadows like a metal graveyard, its silver and blue cars sitting motionless on the tracks. Even in the dim light, they could see that the windows were spider-webbed with cracks, dark stains painting the metal sides in abstract patterns of violence.
But what caught Mike's attention immediately were the doors. Unlike their own train, where most doors had remained closed, this train had five cars with doors hanging wide open, twisted on their hinges as if people had forced them in their desperation to escape.
"Survivors," Jake said, reading the scene quietly. "They got out."
The news rippled through the group like electricity. People began to murmur with excitement, their voices carrying hope for the first time in hours.
"How many do you think?" someone asked.
"There could be a hundred people," another voice added. "Maybe more."
"The more of us there are, the better our chances." Peter said, clutching his briefcase tighter.
Mike didn't share his optimism. More people meant bigger targets, more noise, and more chaos. Adding a hundred people to their own group would sound like a marching band to anyone hunting them.
He kept these thoughts to himself.
As they approached the third car, Mike noticed something that made his blood run cold. Burned into the metal frame of the train were symbols he'd seen before: an eye, a spiral, a bent cross.
But these markings were different from the ones they'd encountered earlier. These were fresh. The edges were still smoking faintly, as if someone had pressed a branding iron against the steel only minutes ago.
"We need to keep moving," Mike said, backing away from the train. Something about those symbols made his skin crawl in ways he couldn't explain.
Before anyone could respond, a sound reached them that turned everyone's blood to ice.
Pop. Pop. Pop. Gunfire.
The tunnel exploded into chaos. Thunder-like sound bounced off the walls, distorted by the distance, making it impossible to tell exactly how far, but close enough to taste terror in the back of your throat.
People scattered like startled birds, scrambling for cover, pressing themselves against the walls or anywhere that offered the illusion of protection. Phones' flashlights swung wildly, casting strobing shadows that made the darkness dance like it was alive.
More gunshots echoed through the tunnels. "They're ahead of us," Eve said urgently, her head tilted as she focused on the sounds.
Mike's mind was already working through the implications. The abandoned train, the open doors, the fresh symbols. The shooters had met the train's survivors ahead, and the meeting hadn't gone well.
"They're getting closer," someone shouted, voice high with panic. "They are gonna kill us."
"Quiet!" Dana hissed. "Everyone be quiet!"
But quiet was impossible. Sixty-nine people trying to move silently in the dark was like trying to herd cats through a minefield.
Pure terror rippled through the group like a contagion. Jake fumbled with his map, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold it steady under his flashlight beam.
"We have to go back," Peter stammered, his corporate composure finally cracking completely. "Back to the platform. We can wait there..."
"And get trapped when they come looking for us?" Dana snapped. "No. We have to move now. Jake?" She turned her head to find a shaking Jake beside her.
"The map..." Jake mumbled, his voice cracking. "I don't know where..."
Mike could see Jake falling apart. The weight of impossible choices, the sound of people screaming ahead... it was too much. In a few minutes, they'd lose their guide entirely.
He saw everyone running like a herd of wounded animals - fast, clumsy, desperate. People were hyperventilating, crying, pushing against each other in their desperation to get away from the sound. Some were already running back toward the three-way fork, not waiting for anyone, abandoning the group in their panic.
People stumbled over each other in the dark. Someone stepped on someone else's foot, earning a muffled curse. The shuffle of bodies pressed too close together, panic spreading like wildfire through the group.
"Wait!" Dana shouted, trying to grab someone's arm. "Don't run alone!"
Dana tried to keep them organized, but fear was contagious. It turned rational people into frightened animals. More people broke away from the group, fleeing into the darkness in different directions.
Mike's mind raced through the possible escape routes.
"EVERYONE LISTEN!" Mike roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "STOP RUNNING!"
Some people froze. Others kept fleeing into the tunnels. As more people scattered into the darkness, Mike's eyes fell on the small entrance they'd passed earlier.
"This way!" Mike shouted over the sound of approaching gunfire, pointing to the maintenance passage. "Follow me!"
"Where are we going?" someone hissed.
"Away from the fucking bullets," Reese snarled back.
Behind them, Eve struggled to keep pace. The sudden movement had disoriented her, and Dexter was growling low in his throat. Not at the group, but at the darkness behind them. The dog could sense something they couldn't.
A woman pushing past knocked into Eve hard, sending her stumbling. She went down, one hand losing grip of Dexter's harness.
"Hey!" Jake called out, but his voice was lost in the shuffle of bodies.
He appeared beside Eve like he'd materialized from the shadows. "Easy. I've got you."
Eve's fingers found his arm, gripping tight. Her face was pale but composed. "Thank you."
Dexter positioned himself between Eve and the moving crowd, growling at anyone heading their way. His message was clear: Get too close and I'll make you regret it.
Jake helped Eve to her feet, his own hands trembling. "Can you walk?"
"I can walk," she said simply. "I just need... could you hold my hand?"
"Of course." Jake's voice was steadier now. Having found someone to help seemed to calm him down.
They moved together, Jake holding Eve, with Dexter guarding them, alert to every shadow.
Mike reached the entrance to the maintenance tunnel. It was about the size of a large doorway. Inside, the passage was narrow, wide enough for maybe three people side by side, but no more.
He pointed into the dark mouth on the wall, "This is the way!"
People clustered around the entrance, staring into what looked like the throat of hell itself, too terrified to move.
"I'm not going in there!" someone screamed.
The group was breaking away. Seven people had already fled back toward the main junction, too terrified to enter the organic-looking passage. More were wavering, panic overriding logic.
"Please!" Nathan called out, trying to organize the remaining crowd. "We have to stay together!"
Sam positioned himself near the entrance, his bulk figure trying to help calm people. But the sound of more gunfire made others bolt into the darkness, scattering in different directions.
Mike realized words weren't going to work. "Jake!" he called out. "Give me your flashlight!"
Jake fumbled for his conductor's flashlight - a heavy, battery-powered unit with a hand-crank to recharge it. He tossed it to Mike with trembling hands.
Without hesitation, Mike stepped into the maintenance tunnel. The darkness swallowed him immediately, but the powerful beam of Jake's flashlight cut through it like a sword.
"Follow me!" his voice echoed from inside. "It's our only way!"
Dexter was the first to respond, the German Shepherd's instincts telling him to trust the human who'd been leading them to safety. The dog pushed gently forward on his leash, his calm determination pulling Eve toward the tunnel entrance. His movement was insistent but controlled - he couldn't abandon his handler, but he could guide her forward.
"Dex wants to go," Eve said quietly, feeling the steady pressure of his guidance.
Jake, still holding her other hand, felt her movement and followed without question. "If Dex trusts him..." he murmured.
The dog's calm acceptance of the passage, combined with Eve's trust in her guide, seemed to reassure others watching. If a trained guide dog wasn't afraid, maybe the tunnel really was their best option.
Dana took a deep breath and stepped forward. "He's right," she called to the others. "It's our only way out!"
The maintenance tunnel was like walking through the digestive tract of some massive, dying beast. The walls seemed to pulse with moisture, slick and organic in Mike's flashlight beam. Rust had turned the metal supports into scabs of oxidized blood, and strange growths, algae or mold, created patches of sick green that glistened wetly in the darkness.
Mike led the way, his powerful flashlight cutting through the organic nightmare ahead. But the tunnel wasn't a straight path. Every hundred meters or so, it branched off in different directions: some passages leading up, others down, some curving left or right into impenetrable darkness.
At the first fork, Mike barely hesitated. His instincts pulled him to the right, away from a passage that reeked of something dead. Behind him, Dexter followed without question, the dog's trust absolute.
"Which way?" Jake whispered, his voice tight with fear.
"This way," Mike said simply, following his gut into the right-hand passage.
They couldn't afford to stop and debate. He couldn't explain the pull he felt, the way certain passages felt right while others radiated wrongness that made his skin crawl. He just followed his instincts, turning at each junction with the confidence of someone reading a map only he could see.
The gunfire was still echoing somewhere behind them, and every second of delay put them in more danger. Pipes and cables hung from the ceiling like exposed veins and intestines, dripping unknown fluids that splashed onto people's heads and shoulders. The air itself felt thick and alive, carrying the stench of decay and something else that made your stomach turn with its wrongness.
At another junction, three passages spread before them like the branching of arteries. Mike's flashlight swept across each opening, but his decision was instant. The middle passage felt right, felt safe, even though it looked identical to the others.
In places, ankle-deep water had pooled, dark and oily, reflecting their phone flashlights like black mirrors. The liquid was warm, almost body temperature, and when he stepped through it, he could feel things moving beneath the surface. Whether debris or something alive, Mike didn't want to know.
The tunnel walls wept constantly, moisture running down in rivulets that looked disturbingly like tears or worse. Every surface was covered in a film of slime that made touching anything feel like caressing rotting flesh.
Behind him, the line of survivors followed like a human chain, phone lights creating a constellation of weak illumination in the organic darkness.
Eve struggled more than the others, her enhanced senses overwhelmed by the tunnel's assault. She walked with one hand resting on Dexter's harness for guidance, her other hand clasped in Jake's reassuring grip. But as they moved deeper, the stench grew unbearable. It made her gag violently, her face going pale as nausea washed over her.
"I can't... the smell..." she whispered, reluctantly pulling her hand free from Jake's to press it over her nose and mouth, her voice now muffled behind her palm.
Without hesitation, Jake shifted closer, his arm coming around her shoulders while his other hand gently took hold of her elbow. "I know it's terrible," he said softly, his voice right beside her ear as he guided her forward step by step. "Just breathe through your mouth. Focus on my voice. We're almost through."
Jake's protective embrace supporting her trembling frame as they navigated the nightmare around them, her body leaning into his warmth and strength as the tunnel tested every limit of her senses.
People gagged on the thick air. Someone vomited, the sound echoing wetly off the intestinal walls.
"Keep moving," Dana's voice came from somewhere in the middle of the line. "Don't stop. Don't think about it. Just move."
The tunnel seemed to go on forever, a throat leading them deeper into the belly of some urban nightmare.
Mike focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the heavy flashlight cutting through the darkness ahead. Behind them, they could hear gunfire growing fainter with each step.
Finally, mercifully, Mike saw light ahead. He squeezed through the last section of the maintenance maze and emerged onto the main tunnel, where a new metro station opened before them. Without thinking, he positioned himself beside the entrance, his eyes automatically tracking and counting each person as they stumbled out of the narrow passage into the relative safety of the platform.
Most people managed to walk out normally through the passage, but Jake had to duck his head as he guided Eve through the nightmare. Reese, being the tallest, had to bend his back awkwardly, his movement becoming clumsy and painful as he navigated the low sections. Sam also kept his head lowered, his iron-gray hair brushing against hanging cables.
It was only then, as the last survivor emerged from the organic nightmare, that the terrible truth became clear. Mike's count reached fifty-five and stopped.
Fifty-five people. They'd lost fourteen to panic and fear.
The fourteen who'd run into the darkness were gone, scattered through the tunnels, alone and probably already dead.
11:45 a.m.
When they reached the platform, the familiar sight greeted them: flickering exit signs, steel doors sealed from floor to ceiling, bloodstains across concrete. This time, the discovery barely registered emotional impact. They'd escaped immediate death, but the result was unchanged. There was no exit.
Jake helped Eve climb onto the platform, her face still pale from the tunnel's overwhelming stench. She swayed slightly, dizzy from the assault on her heightened senses.
"Step up here. Good. Now there's a gap to your right," Jake said softly, steadying her with gentle hands. "The air's better here. You should be able to breathe now."
Eve took slow, deep breaths, letting herself recover. After a moment, she turned toward his voice with a genuine smile. "You're getting better at this."
Jake's cheeks warmed in the darkness. "I, uh... thanks."
People collapsed against the walls, exhausted and broken. Some were still hyperventilating from the claustrophobic journey through the maintenance tunnel. Others sat in stunned silence, staring at the sealed door that represented their latest failure.
Jake sat heavily on the platform edge, his map forgotten beside him. His uniform was soaked with sweat and tunnel water.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm supposed to know these tunnels. It's my job. But nothing matches my map. Nothing makes sense."
Eve sat beside him, her hand finding his shoulder again. Dexter positioned himself between them and the rest of the group, alert to Jake's distress.
"Your job was to drive a train," Eve said gently. "Not to navigate a war zone."
Dana approached Mike, staying close to his side now. Her entire demeanor had shifted. Where before she'd watched him with skepticism, now she looked at him with complete trust. The way he'd navigated them through the maintenance tunnel had convinced her entirely.
"What do you think about those ghost stations?" she asked quietly.
"If someone's sealing the system this thoroughly, they'd seal everything," he said. "Ghost stations included. Maybe especially ghost stations since they [changed from "it"] can be an obvious place for people to hide."
Dana nodded slowly. The logic was unassailable, but it left them with an impossible situation.
"So what are our options?" she asked. "Keep running until we collapse from hunger? Wait here until the shooters find us?"
Before Mike could answer, the world began to shake.
An earthquake hit without warning, as if the earth itself had decided to join the assault on their sanity. The platform bucked beneath their feet like a living thing trying to throw them off. Concrete dust rained from the ceiling as support beams groaned under impossible stress.
People screamed, grabbing onto anything solid as the earth convulsed around them. The sound was deafening: metal shrieking against metal, concrete cracking like gunshots, the very bones of the city tearing themselves apart.
Mike pressed himself against a support column, feeling the vibrations travel through the steel and concrete like the heartbeat of some massive beast. This was different from normal earthquakes he'd experienced. There was something artificial about the rhythm of the tremors.
The shaking lasted thirty seconds that felt like thirty minutes. When it finally stopped, dust hung in the air like fog, and the emergency lighting flickered more erratically than before.
Everyone was talking at once, voices overlapping in panic and confusion.
"What was that?"
"Earthquake?"
Sam shook his head sharply. "No. We shouldn't feel an earthquake this deep underground."
The rumble came again. Longer this time. Closer. Like the entire city was being torn apart one block at a time.
Sam looked up at the ceiling, his weathered face grim. "Those are explosions. And big ones if we can still feel them here."
"Explosions?" Peter's voice cracked. "They're bombing us?"
"I don't know," Sam said quietly. "Could be gas lines or maybe they hit the power grid and everything's going up in chain reactions."
The implications hit them hard. If explosions were tearing through the city above, then rescue wasn't coming. Help wasn't coming. The surface world, their world, was being systematically destroyed.
"Are we trapped now?"
"Is the tunnel going to collapse?"
"The whole city must be..."
Everyone was panicking but Mike stood silent, his mind working through a chilling realization.
He remembered the tremor from earlier this morning, before the train attack. It hadn't felt like this. That tremor had been subtle, barely perceptible, and it had come from below, from deep underground, he was sure of it.
This time, the tremor had definitely come from the surface. The vibrations had traveled down through the city's foundation, through layers of concrete and steel, to reach them in their underground prison.
The implications made his stomach clench with dread.
As Dana's question echoed in his mind, "what were their options?", a terrible understanding began to form.
The surface was sealed to them. Every exit was blocked, every escape route cut off. And based on what they were feeling now, the surface might be even more dangerous than the tunnels.
What if everything that was happening since the morning, the earthquake, the explosions, the systematic sealing of the subway system and the organized groups of shooters, was all connected?
The rumble came again, and this time it didn't stop. It rolled on and on, like a storm that had forgotten how to end. Mike stared up at the ceiling, listening to the distant thunder of his city burning. "Maybe the world above isn't much better off than the world down here."
They were truly alone now. Buried alive beneath the wreckage of everything they'd ever known.
And the only way out might be to head deeper into the dark.