11:41 a.m.
Half an hour had passed since they'd collapsed onto the abandoned platform, fifty-five souls scattered across the concrete like debris after a storm. After what felt like hours of distant thunder rolling through the earth, the surface explosions had finally stopped, leaving behind an eerie quiet station that somehow felt worse than the chaos.
The silence was frequently broken now by a chorus of coughing. More and more people were succumbing to harsh, hacking fits as the air around them seemed to grow thicker with each passing minute. Dust and the metallic tang of old iron, coating their throats and lungs with each labored breath. Several people had torn strips from their clothing to fashion makeshift filters, pressing the fabric over their noses and mouths in a futile attempt to strain whatever they were breathing in this underground tomb.
Some people huddled in small groups, whispering anxiously about their next move. In one corner, Peter held his phone high above his head like an offering to invisible gods, rotating slowly in a desperate dance for signal bars that would never come. Near the platform benches, a middle-aged woman repeatedly dialed 911, her face growing more frustrated and desperate with each "call failed" message that appeared on her cracked screen. But most people had abandoned hope entirely, their phones dark and forgotten in their laps like discarded talismans from a world that no longer existed.
Mike stood near the platform edge, acutely aware of the weight of expectant eyes upon him. Everything had changed since the maintenance tunnel. Where before people had looked to him with uncertainty and desperate hope, now their gazes carried a different burden entirely. Expectation. Trust. The kind of unwavering faith that could crush a man if he failed to live up to it.
He had led them through that nightmare passage, and somehow they had all emerged alive on the other side. But that success had come with a terrible price. Now they believed he had answers to impossible questions. They believed he could keep making the right decisions when there were no right decisions to be made.
The group shared what little they had managed to salvage. Crumbled crackers split into careful portions and passed around like communion wafers. Granola bars distributed with the precision of a military ration. Water bottles moved from hand to hand with each sip measured like precious medicine.
Mike reached deep into the inner recesses of his oversized coat, his fingers finding one of the hidden inner pockets. He pulled out a protein bar, broke off a portion, and offered it to Sam, who sat slumped against a support beam. The older man's breathing came in labored but steady rhythms, and Mike could see exhaustion etched into every line of his weathered face.
"Appreciated," Sam said, shifting closer to him. "That your dad's?" His gaze directed to Mike's oversized coat.
Mike nodded slowly. "Sort of."
Sam didn't push for details, simply nodding back in understanding. He reached out and tapped the coat gently with the back of his knuckles. "You sure you don't have a secret tunnel map hidden under that big coat of yours?" he teased, flashing a quick grin that transformed his tired features. "Seeing how you like to write on yourself, you should've just tattooed the whole New York Metro map across your back."
Mike half-smiled but remained silent. If only Sam knew the truth. Mike wasn't carrying a map. He was creating one, building it piece by piece in the depths of his mind with every step they took through this underground maze.
Mike had never been blessed with an exceptional memory for the mundane details of life. Far from it, actually. He forgot names within minutes of hearing them, missed birthdays of people he cared about, lost track of conversations from the day before like they were smoke dissipating in the wind. Sometimes he thought it was a blessing, this selective amnesia. He had seen enough horrors in war zones around the world to know that if he remembered everything clearly, he would've lost his mind years ago.
But in exchange, he had been granted something else entirely. Spatial memory. The part of the human brain that recorded the shape and structure of the world around him with mechanical precision. Directions, distances, landmarks, the subtle relationships between spaces that most people never consciously noticed. He couldn't remember what he had eaten for breakfast yesterday, but he could walk through a complex maze blindfolded and still find his way to the exit.
At every step he took, every turn they made through these tunnels, he was constructing a map with unconscious efficiency. The process was as automatic as breathing, as natural as his heartbeat. A cognitive map was taking shape in his mind, as real and sharp and detailed as if it had been printed on paper and handed to him.
And it wasn't limited to just the paths they had chosen to follow. He could feel, to a certain extent, the layout of the tunnels they hadn't explored. The curves and bends that lay hidden in darkness. The connections between passages or the dead ends that would trap unwary travelers.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't magic. But it was intuitive. Deep in his mind, he was assimilating the underground world piece by careful piece, building his mental map step by methodical step. Every echo that bounced off distant walls, every subtle shift in air pressure that suggested vast or cramped spaces, every subtle tilt of the ground underfoot.
Because down here, in the dark and the dust and the growing desperation, instinct might be the only thing that could guide them to safety.
Mike was still lost in these thoughts when a harsh, wet cough shattered his concentration like glass hitting concrete. The sound was wrong in a way that made his skin crawl.
He snapped toward the source of the sound to see Anna, the petite blonde woman, collapsing against the tiled wall like a broken doll. Her face had gone slack, her eyes only half-focused on the world around her.
Her friend Tess rushed to her side with panic written across every line of her body. She knelt beside Anna and immediately pressed the back of her hand against her friend's forehead, then jerked it back as if she had touched a hot stove.
"She's burning up," Tess said, her voice sharp with growing alarm. "Her skin's on fire. This isn't normal."
Mike moved closer instinctively, his heart beginning to hammer against his ribs. "How long's she been like this?"
"I don't know," Tess replied frantically, her hands hovering over Anna's body as if she wanted to help but didn't know where to begin. "She said she was dizzy earlier, and she was sweating even though it's cold down here, but I thought it was just stress..."
Anna coughed again, the sound harsher and more violent than before, as if something sharp was tearing at her throat from the inside. Tess quickly moved to support her, and Mike caught sight of what made his stomach turn to ice water.
Blood. Dark crimson streaked Anna's lips and chin. Her eyes, which had been a clear blue that morning, were now shot through with angry red veins that made them look like cracked marbles. The whites had taken on a sickly yellow tinge that spoke of systemic organ failure.
Peter stumbled backward from the scene, his corporate composure cracking like ice in the spring thaw. His eyes went wide with primal terror, and he nearly tripped over himself in his haste to put distance between himself and whatever was consuming Anna from within.
"She's fucking sick!" Peter's voice cracked like a whip against the concrete walls, sharp and ugly with naked fear. "Look at her! She's bleeding from everywhere!"
His voice rose to a near-shriek, and for a moment his businessman bravado fell away entirely, revealing something raw and terrified and utterly selfish underneath. This was a face man who would step over bodies to save his own skin, who would sacrifice anyone and everyone if it meant he might survive another day.
Tess immediately rose to her full height, placing herself between Anna and the rest of the group like a human shield. Her face was fierce with protective fury, her entire body radiating the kind of dangerous energy that came from a mother defending her young.
"She's not sick!" Tess shouted, her voice raw with desperation and growing anger. "She's just exhausted like the rest of us!"
Mike opened his mouth to try to calm the situation, to find some middle ground that might prevent the group from tearing itself apart, but when his eyes locked onto Anna's deteriorating form, the words died in his throat.
But it was more than just the blood. Anna's skin had taken on a grayish pallor beneath the fever flush, and when she breathed, the sound was wet and labored, as if her lungs were filling with fluid. Dark stains were beginning to spread under her eyes like bruises, and when she tried to speak, only a rasping whisper emerged.
Mike's expression changed, not to fear exactly, but to something colder and more terrible. Recognition. The kind of recognition that only came from seeing too many people die in too many different ways, from learning to read the signs of death approaching like storm clouds on the horizon.
For a long moment, he didn't move or speak. His mind scrambled desperately for alternative explanations. Dehydration could cause nosebleeds. Stress could manifest in physical symptoms. The dusty air they were breathing could irritate sensitive tissues.
But the truth was louder than all his rationalizations combined. Anna wasn't just exhausted or dehydrated or stressed. Anna was dying, and there was nothing any of them could do to fix it with water or rest or wishful thinking.
Before Mike could find words to express this terrible understanding, he felt Reese step up close behind him. His hands shook slightly as he gripped his metal pipe tighter. His posture rigid with the kind of tension that came before violence. He looked at Anna's pale figure for a few seconds before looking at Tess.
"We need to isolate her," Reese said quietly, each word carrying the weight of a death sentence.
His tone when he spoke was controlled and measured, but Mike could hear the pain in Reese's voice. He could see the way the man's jaw was clenched so tight the muscles stood out like cables. This wasn't a decision made from cruelty or callousness. This was a man forcing himself to make an impossible choice because he believed it was necessary for survival.
"Look at her," Reese continued, his voice growing firmer even as his hands continued to shake. "Look at her eyes. Something is eating her from the inside out. She can't stay with us anymore. What if this shit is contagious?"
Jake had been watching the confrontation unfold. As the conductor, the closest thing they had to an authority figure, he was now stepping forward with obvious reluctance. Mike could see that Jake had reached the same terrible conclusion. He had seen what Mike had seen and understood what Reese was trying to articulate.
"I hate this," Jake said quietly, his voice heavy with the kind of exhaustion that went beyond the physical. "God help me, I hate every word I'm about to say. But Reese isn't wrong. We can't risk the entire group for one person, no matter how much we want to."
Tess whirled on Jake with the fury of a cornered animal, her eyes wild with desperation and betrayal. Her body was coiled like a spring under tremendous pressure, ready to lash out at anyone who threatened her friend.
"No!" she screamed, her voice cracking with the strain. "You can't do this! She's not dangerous, she's sick and she needs help!"
She crouched lower beside Anna, pulling her jacket tighter around her friend's frail shoulders as if that simple gesture could somehow hold her together, could keep death from claiming her through sheer force of will.
"You don't understand," Tess continued, her voice fierce with protective determination. "She just needs time. She needs rest and clean air and maybe some medicine. We can help her!"
"It doesn't matter!" Peter barked, his voice cutting through the tense air like a blade. "We need to put distance between her and the group before whatever she's got spreads to the rest of us. I'm not getting infected by whatever the hell that is!" His face was flushed with terror, his corporate mask finally slipping completely to reveal the self-centered core underneath.
Reese's eyes swept across the group, wild and desperate, seeking support for his cruel pragmatism. "Look around, guys. You still want to pretend this is some shitty terrorist attack? They're hunting us through these tunnels like animals, and if we get slowed down by sick people, then we're all fucked. Every last one of us."
"Then fucking leave, all of you," Dana said with a tone sharp enough to cut concrete, her words carrying a cold authority that brooked no argument. "No one's chaining you here. No one's forcing you to stay with us. If you think abandoning sick people is the key to survival, then go ahead and test that theory on your own."
"And go where?" Reese asked, looking Dana straight in the eyes, "do you still don't understand what is happening here? We all heard the explosions at the surface, but we're still pretending that someone's coming to save us." Reese turned his head, talking to everyone this time. "We need to face reality. What ever is happening up there, we are not their priority. We're not worth saving, so we need to save ourselves now. And that means making the decision that lets us live!"
"That's not..." Nathan started to protest, his young voice trembling with the effort to maintain his faith in basic human decency.
"Isn't it?" Reese turned on him, and Mike could see the pain in his eyes even as his voice remained steady and controlled. "Face it, kiddo. Look around you. We're just expendable. The only question now is to know if you are ready to do whatever it takes to survive."
Nathan's young face went pale, but he stood his ground with the kind of stubborn courage that only came from still believing the world was fundamentally good. "You're wrong," he said, his voice steady despite the fear Mike could see in his eyes. "The government is fighting the terrorists right now. They're engaged in combat up there, but they'll win. They have to win. And when they do, they'll come for us."
"They know we're down here," Nathan continued, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. "They're not going to abandon us. This is America. We don't leave people behind. We don't sacrifice the innocent to save ourselves."
The conviction in Nathan's voice was so fierce, so desperately sincere, that for a tiny moment even Reese seemed to hesitate. Here was someone who still believed in the idea that people in authority actually cared about the lives of ordinary citizens, that rescue was not just possible but inevitable.
The silence that followed Nathan's words was heavy with unspoken doubt, but also with a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, the young man was right. Maybe there were still people up there fighting to save them. Maybe they weren't as alone as they feared.
Mike's eyes swept across the faces around them, reading the fractures that were splitting their group apart. Some people nodded in agreement with Dana's defiant stance, their expressions showing solidarity with her refusal to abandon the sick. Others couldn't bring themselves to look directly at Anna, their gazes sliding away from her bloodied form as if the sight might somehow infect them through vision alone.
Near the wall, Lien stood with her arms crossed, her face impassive but her eyes calculating. Mike caught the subtle nod she gave, barely perceptible but unmistakable. It was the gesture of someone who understood the mathematics of survival, who would cut off a hand to save the body without hesitation. She wasn't disagreeing with Reese and Peter. If anything, she looked like she had been waiting for someone to finally voice what they were all thinking.
Tess had positioned herself like a human shield around her dying friend, her body coiled with fierce protective energy that radiated outward like heat from a fire. Every line of her posture screamed defiance and readiness for violence. Her eyes darted constantly between Anna's face and the people surrounding them, ready to lash out at anyone who dared to come too close.
But beneath the fierce exterior, Mike could see something else that made his chest constrict with familiar pain. Tess's eyes weren't just watchful and angry. They were pleading. Desperate.
Searching the faces around her for someone, anyone, who might offer help instead of abandonment.
His chest constricted with familiar pain. He hated this moment, hated the impossible choice that was being forced upon them. He hated how helpless he felt, how it always seemed to end the same way, with someone begging for mercy that the world had already decided to withhold.
It was then that soft piano notes began to fill the tunnel, a gentle melody that seemed impossibly out of place in their underground nightmare. The song was hopeful and warm, the kind of music that belonged to summer afternoons and open windows and a world where people didn't have to make impossible choices about who deserved to live and who could be sacrificed for the greater good.
From somewhere near the back of the group, a quiet voice spoke up, cutting through the tension like a cool breeze.
"Maybe this will help."
Everyone turned to see Lila, a small woman in her early twenties with dark, shoulder-length hair that caught the flashlight beams like silk. She had the kind of face that people often overlooked in crowds, delicate features that seemed almost fragile under the harsh tunnel lighting, but there was something in her dark eyes that suggested depths of understanding that went beyond her years.
Mike realized that he had barely noticed her before this moment. She had been there since they had formed the group, moving quietly at the edges of every situation, never drawing attention to herself but always present. She was the kind of person who disappeared into backgrounds, who observed more than she spoke, who saw everything and revealed nothing.
The music worked its subtle magic on the group with surprising effectiveness. The tension began to ease like air leaking from an overfilled balloon. Dana closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, allowing herself a moment of peace. Jake's shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours. Even Reese lowered his pipe slightly, his breathing becoming less ragged as the melody washed over him.
Some people began to cry, but not from despair this time. These were tears of relief, of remembrance, of connection to something beautiful that existed beyond their current nightmare. The music reminded them of the world above, of beauty and normalcy and all the simple pleasures they had taken for granted in their former lives.
Lila watched their faces as the music played, her dark eyes moving from person to person with an intensity that suggested she understood exactly what the melody was doing to them, how it was reaching past their fear and exhaustion to touch something deeper and more enduring in their souls.
Mike felt Anna lean more heavily against the wall beside him as the music filled the space around them. Her breathing was still labored and painful to hear, but her face held a trace of peace that it hadn't carried in hours. For a few precious minutes, she wasn't a dying woman in a tunnel. She was just someone listening to beautiful music.
"Thank you," Anna whispered to Lila, her voice barely audible but carrying genuine gratitude.
They stood there for several minutes, letting the music wash over them like a baptism. Some people reached out tentatively, hands finding hands, arms wrapping around shoulders in gestures of comfort and connection. Eve moved closer to Jake, offering quiet support. Nathan stepped beside Eli, a gesture of protection and friendship. Everyone began to draw nearer, forming a loose circle around Lila's phone.
For a brief, shining moment, they weren't just survivors clinging to life in a hostile environment. They were human beings, connected by something deeper and more meaningful than fear or desperation. It was a note of hope in a symphony of despair.
When the song finally ended, the silence that followed felt different. Softer. More hopeful. The sharp edges of their conflict had been dulled, if not completely smoothed away.
Nathan's words had given them something concrete to hold onto, a reason to believe that their suffering had meaning and purpose. Lila's music had reminded them that they were still capable of feeling something other than terror and desperation. And maybe, Mike thought, that was enough to keep them moving forward for a while longer.
Jake edged forward, his movements careful and deliberate, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command when he finally spoke.
"We're not abandoning anyone," he said firmly, each word chosen with precision. "But we have to be smart about how we handle this situation. If Anna is infected with something that could spread, then we need to take precautions to protect the rest of the group."
He paused, looking around at the faces surrounding him, making sure his next words would be understood by everyone present.
"She walks at the back of the group for now, until we can find a way out of here or until she recovers. We'll maintain some distance, but we won't leave her behind."
Tess shook her head violently, her protective instincts flaring back to life as the music's calming influence began to fade. She pressed herself closer to Anna, shielding her with her body as if the very words were a physical attack.
"You don't get to decide that!" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. "You don't get to treat her like a leper, like she's already dead! She's a person, not some piece of luggage you can just shove to the back!"
Mike stepped forward slowly, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We're not pushing her away," he said gently, each word chosen to convey sincerity and compassion. "Sam and I will stay with her. We'll help her walk and carry her if we have to. She won't be alone."
He glanced briefly at Sam, who gave the barest of nods without hesitation. "I don't believe it's contagious," Mike continued, his voice growing stronger as he found his footing in this impossible situation. "I don't believe it's contagious either," Mike continued. "But we have to protect the others, even if it's just... paranoia."
Tess stared up at him, and Mike could see the exact moment when his words registered with her. But instead of gratitude or acceptance, her voice came out low and ragged, shaking with the kind of disappointment that cut deeper than any accusation.
"Stop pretending you're helping." she said, her voice cracking with cold fury and heartbreak. "I can see it in your fucking eyes! You think she's dying! Just like every goddamn one of you!" She jabbed her finger violently at the group behind Mike, her gesture encompassing everyone who had been part of the terrible conversation they had just endured. "You don't give a shit about Anna! You're just trying to feel better about throwing her away like shit!"
The words hit harder than a slap, sharp and accurate, lodging themselves under Mike's skin like splinters he couldn't dig out. Mike didn't try to defend himself. He couldn't. The truth was that Tess was right. He did think Anna was dying.
Around them, the other survivors looked away in shame. Dana turned her head toward the tunnel wall. Sam stood silent, his expression unreadable. They were all trying to convince themselves that they were being practical, that they were making hard but necessary choices, when the truth was simpler and more terrible. They were afraid, and they were willing to sacrifice one person's life to ease their own fear.
The decision was made without a formal vote, without official discussion, without anyone actually saying the words out loud. Mike Sam stayed at the back of the group with Anna and Tess. The rest of the group moved ahead, quietly creating space. A distance wide enough to make them feel safer. Wide enough to feel like betrayal. It was a compromise that satisfied no one but that everyone could live with, at least for now.
"This is how it starts," Sam murmured, his voice so low that only Mike could hear him speak. "When people start choosing who lives and who doesn't." He paused, watching as the others moved away from them with carefully casual steps. "And once you cross that line, there's no going back.."
12:05 p.m.
They walked in a new formation, the "healthy" survivors walked ahead, maintaining their careful distance from "contamination." Mike and Sam were half-carrying Anna between them while Tess hovered protectively at her side, never more than an arm's reach away from her friend.
The tunnel stretched ahead of them, darker and more oppressive than anything they had felt before. The air felt even thicker here, and everyone was struggling with the increasingly despairing atmosphere.
Nathan walked near the middle of the group, but Mike could see him glancing back toward Anna every few minutes. His young face was tight with worry and guilt, the expression of someone who was watching another person die and knew there was nothing he could do to help. The idealism that had sustained him through their earlier conversations was being slowly eroded by the harsh realities of their situation.
He gradually slowed his pace until he was walking beside Eli. The kid was doing his best to muffle the sounds, pressing his sleeve against his mouth and trying to time his coughs with the noise of their footsteps on the concrete. He was scared of drawing attention to himself, and he wasn't the only one, the chorus of coughing that had plagued them earlier had fallen completely silent. Not because people had recovered, but because they were terrified to show any signs that might mark them as the next Anna.
"You okay?" Nathan asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the scrape of boots on concrete.
Eli nodded quickly, too quickly, his eyes wide with barely concealed panic. "Yeah. Just the air down here. It's getting worse."
"If you need to rest..." Nathan started, his voice gentle with understanding.
"I'm fine!" Eli said sharply, then immediately softened his tone, afraid that his defensiveness might draw unwanted attention. "Really. I just need to keep moving. Keep up with everyone else."
Mike had been watching Eli carefully, and he had seen the dark smudge that Eli had wiped from his nose earlier when he thought no one was looking. He had noticed how pale the kid had become, how carefully he was breathing, like each inhalation might be his last.
Nathan didn't push the issue, but he stayed close, ready to catch Eli if he stumbled. It was a small kindness in a place where kindness was becoming increasingly scarce.
As they walked deeper into the system's core, they passed another fork in the tunnel system. This one was marked by a rusted maintenance gate, its heavy metal bars twisted slightly on their hinges. A corroded, unreadable sign hung above the entrance, its lettering long since worn away by time and neglect.
Dexter stopped dead in his tracks the moment they approached the gate. The German Shepherd's entire body went rigid, his ears flattening against his head, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest. Eve felt the tension through the harness immediately, her enhanced senses picking up on the dog's distress with perfect clarity. "What is it, Dex? What do you see?"
Dexter backed away from the gate, pulling Eve with him, his hackles raised and his breathing rapid and shallow.
Eve moved back a few meters following Dexter's lead. But her attention stayed focused on the gate with growing unease. "You hear that?" She asked quietly, her face pale with concentration.
The others stopped and listened, Dana frowning as she tilted her head toward the sound. "Hear what?"
"A humming," Mike replied, his voice tight with growing concern. "It's faint, but it's definitely there." He could hear a sound beyond those rusted bars, barely audible but unmistakably present, drifting up from the depths. A low rhythmic hum, like a hundred voices humming in unison somewhere far below their current position.
The sound was just at the edge of perception, deep and resonant, with an almost hypnotic quality that made the hair on the back of Mike's neck stand up. It didn't sound mechanical like an electrical transformer or ventilation system. It sounded organic and alive.
Eve suddenly gagged, pressing her hand to her mouth as her face went from pale to green. She took several steps back from the gate, her enhanced senses apparently picking up something the rest of them couldn't detect yet.
"The smell," Eve whispered, her voice muffled by her hand. "God, the smell is horrible."
Mike couldn't detect any unusual odors, but he knew that Eve's senses were sharper than his. She was picking up something that their normal perception was missing.
"It smells like food that has been rotting for months," Eve said, her eyes watering as she continued to back away. "We need to get away from here. Please."
Jake moved closer to the gate, his curiosity overriding his natural caution. He shined his flashlight through the gaps in the rusted metal, but the beam seemed to be absorbed by the darkness beyond, revealing nothing of what might be waiting in the depths.
"This isn't on any blueprint I've ever seen," Jake muttered, after checking his map one more time.
Dana crossed her arms, her voice cutting through the tension with typical sharpness. "Add it to the list of things that don't match your precious maps today."
Jake examined the gate more closely and made a discovery that seemed to both relieve and disturb him. "The mechanism is designed to open from the other side only," he said, pointing to the push mechanical locks. The relief in his voice was barely concealed. Whatever was producing that organic humming sound, whatever was generating the smell of decay that was making Eve sick, Jake was clearly grateful to have a good excuse not to investigate further, and Mike couldn't blame him.
But he also noticed details that Jake had missed, things that his eye picked up automatically. The concrete around the gate was stained darker than the surrounding walls, as if something had been trying to force its way through the barriers, leaving dark deposits and traces all around the metallic fence. There was also a faint current of air stirring the dust at his feet, suggesting vast spaces beyond the visible darkness. His spatial memory catalogued it all automatically.
Eve retched again, the smell apparently getting stronger despite Mike not noticing it yet. "We have to move," she gasped, her face pale and sweaty with nausea. "Please. I can't breathe properly here."
They continued walking, but Mike's mind kept circling back to that gate. This wasn't just a maintenance area or abandoned storage room. This was an entrance to something much larger and more complex, that had been deliberately sealed off from the rest of the tunnel system for reasons that were probably better left unexplored.
12:29 p.m.
When they finally reached the next station, the familiar sight of sealed steel doors greeted them like a recurring nightmare. But this time, the discovery barely registered emotional impact with most of the group. They had escaped immediate death in the tunnels, but the fundamental reality of their situation remained unchanged. There was no exit. There was no rescue.
Mike and Sam carefully helped Anna settle against the wall, supporting her weight as gently as they could manage. Her condition had deteriorated dramatically over the past hour, and it was clear that she was fighting a losing battle against whatever was consuming her from within.
What disturbed Mike most wasn't just the color of her skin, that terrible gray pallor beneath the fever-red patches. It wasn't just her cracked, bleeding lips or the way her breath came in shallow, desperate gasps. It was the blood, and the way it seemed to be seeping from every opening in her face. Dark rivulets ran from her nose and ears in steady streams. Her eyes were weeping tears of crimson that left tracks down her cheeks like war paint. She was barely conscious now, existing in a twilight state between life and death.
Tess knelt close beside her, whispering words of comfort that only Anna could hear, brushing sweaty golden hair from her friend's fever-hot forehead with infinite tenderness. She had wrapped her in every scarf and jacket she could find, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort around her friend. She continued to whisper promises of rescue and recovery, but her voice broke on every other word, and Mike could see the truth reflected in her eyes. She knew Anna was dying, had probably known from the start, but she kept talking anyway because what else could she do? What else was left except the futile gesture of staying present while someone you loved slipped away from the world?
"Stay with me," Tess whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of Anna's labored breathing. "Just stay with me a little longer. We're going to get out of here, I promise."
But even as she spoke the words, Tess's voice was thick with tears she was trying not to shed, and her hands shook as she smoothed Anna's hair away from her face.
Jake, who had been holding himself together through sheer force of will, finally snapped under the accumulated pressure. "This can't be happening," Jake said, his voice cracking with frustration and despair. "All stations are sealed tight, and not one of them shows any signs of recent construction. This isn't emergency protocol. This isn't anything I've ever seen in these tunnels!"
His hands shook as he stared at the steel door, his confidence finally crumbling under the weight of evidence that contradicted everything he thought he knew about the system he had spent his career navigating.
Dana was pacing now, her boots hitting the concrete with sharp, rhythmic impacts that spoke of barely contained energy looking for an outlet. The forced calm she had maintained throughout their journey was beginning to crack, revealing the anger and fear that had been building pressure beneath the surface.
"So what's the plan now?" she asked, her voice tight with frustration. "They just blocked off the entire subway system? Sealed every exit in the city? How is that even possible?"
Jake's face tightened as he considered the implications of what they were seeing. "It would take months of preparation, if not years," he said grimly. "This isn't something you could do overnight. The terrorists must have planned this in advance."
"God, why?" Dana pressed, her frustration snapping at the edges of her words. "What's the point of trapping of people underground? What could anyone possibly gain from this?"
Before Jake could attempt an answer, Eli, who had been growing progressively sicker throughout their journey, lifted his head from where he sat slumped against the wall. His voice was soft and hollow, carrying the weight of terrible understanding.
"What if we're not supposed to come back up?" he whispered, the words hitting the air like poison, sharp and unwanted but impossible to ignore.
The suggestion hung in the silence like a death sentence, and Mike could see its impact rippling through the group.
"No," Dana snapped, turning on him with fierce denial. "Don't you dare start thinking like that."
But Eli looked at her with hollow eyes, his face exhausted and his voice carrying the terrible clarity that came to people when they were close to giving up.
"Why not?" he asked quietly. "We've been walking for hours through a system that's been systematically sealed. Every exit blocked, every escape route cut off. We're breathing toxic air, some of us are getting sick, and the people who did this are hunting us through the tunnels like animals."
He swallowed hard, his voice cracking with the effort of speaking. "Maybe they sealed the system for a reason."
His eyes drifted toward Anna, who was now barely conscious, blood flowing freely from her eyes and nose, her breathing so labored that each breath sounded like it might be her last. The dark stains under her eyes had spread across her cheeks like bruises, and when she tried to cough, only a wet gurgling sound emerged from her throat.
"But whatever the reason, everyone left us here to die," Eli finished, his hand moving unconsciously to his own chest, feeling the burning sensation that had been growing stronger with each passing minute.
The silence that followed was heavier than anything they had experienced so far. Even the tunnel seemed to hold its breath, as if the very air was waiting to see how they would respond to this terrible possibility.
Nobody knew what to do next. The reality was settling in like sediment in still water. They were trapped, cut off from everything they had ever known, with no clear path forward and no rescue coming from the burning world above. The initial shock of the attack was wearing off, replaced by a creeping awareness that this wasn't a temporary inconvenience that would be resolved by evening. This was survival in its rawest form.
Mike stepped forward, his voice low but carrying clearly through the oppressive silence of the abandoned station.
"You might not be wrong," Mike said, each word carefully chosen. "But that doesn't mean we can stop fighting. It doesn't mean we have to lie down and wait to die."
Every head turned toward him, and he could feel the weight of their attention. "We all need some rest," Mike continued, his voice growing stronger as he found his footing. "We need to conserve our strength and our resources. And then we keep moving, I am confident we can find a way out of this maze."
Rest, walk and repeat. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was better than surrendering to despair. Everyone realised they weren't just trapped anymore. They were lost. They were actively looking for a path to survive, and as long as they kept fighting, there was still a chance to find their way home.
Sam found an old electrical junction box and sat heavily upon it, stretching his legs with a grimace of pain and rubbing at his sore knees with weathered hands.
Mike leaned against a cracked pillar, letting his head rest against the cool concrete for just a moment. The weight of his coat seemed heavier now, the fabric soaked with tunnel dust and sweat and the accumulated grime of their underground journey.
Mike glanced over again, voice quieter now, "You good?"
Sam gave a crooked smile, worn and tired. "Nope. But I'm too tired to care."
Mike chuffed quietly.
"That coat's gotta weigh nine kilos by now with all the crap it's collected down here."
"Feels like twenty," Mike muttered, managing a tired smile.
"You know, that thing looks warm as hell. Bet it keeps you pretty comfortable down here."
"It does," Mike said simply, not elaborating on the complicated emotions the coat carried for him.
Sam jerked his thumb back toward where Tess was keeping her vigil beside Anna's failing form. "You really don't think she's going to infect the rest of us?"
"She was in a different car when everything started," Mike said eventually, his voice steady and thoughtful. "We had no direct contact with her or anyone from her group until we met. And even before that, we already had people in our own group coughing and nosebleeding."
Mike's eyes carefully watched Eli sitting close to Dana and Nathan. Desperately trying to muffle his coughing, keeping his head down and his shoulders hunched as if he could make himself invisible through sheer force of will. Mike could easily identify the affected individuals now that he knew what to look for. At least seven others were showing early signs of whatever was killing Anna.
Mike turned his head back toward Sam, locking his gaze onto him with a quiet, heavy certainty. "You're sick too, aren't you?" He asked quietly, making it a statement rather than a question. "Don't think I didn't catch you coughing blood before we met Jake's group."
Sam didn't flinch from the accusation. Instead, he let out a small huff of breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, and gave Mike a sidelong glance that carried rueful humor.
"Oh," Sam said, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "I didn't realize you were watching me so closely. I'm flattered, kid."
"The point is," Mike said, "if this was contagious, we could all split up and walk solo to avoid getting sick. But I think this is worse than that. I think this shit is airborne. And if it really is, then there's nowhere to hide."
Sam rubbed his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, as if trying to wipe away the taste of truth that he didn't want to acknowledge. "You're not coughing though," Sam observed, his voice carrying a note of hope that he was trying to suppress.
"Not yet," Mike replied grimly. "But that doesn't mean I'm immune. It might just mean I'm a few hours behind the rest of you in the progression."
Sam turned his head toward Mike, almost as an afterthought: "Still, you picked me to stay back in the "contamination zone" with you. When you could've stayed alone. Jerk move if you ask me."
"I didn't pick you to stay back here with me," Mike said grinning. "You picked yourself the moment you didn't hesitate to help."
Sam let out a dry chuckle, "That supposed to make me feel better?"
Mike's expression softened slightly, "yeah, actually. You're an idiot, Sam," he said, meeting the older man's eyes directly, "but you're my kind of idiot."
Sam barked a short, tired laugh that bounced briefly off the cracked tiles overhead, and for a moment the oppressive weight of their situation seemed a little bit lighter.
Mike reached into the inner pocket of his heavy coat and pulled out a small granola bar he had been hoarding for emergencies. The bar was clearly past its prime, the wrapper crinkled and partially crushed from being carried around for who knows how long. The writing on the plastic packaging had faded to the point where the brand name was barely legible, and the whole thing looked distinctly unappetizing. But in their current circumstances, aesthetics mattered far less than calories
"Here's your reward," Mike said with a slight smile. "My last piece. Make it count."
"Thanks," Sam said, grabbing the bar one-handed, "though if I start glowing in the dark, I'm blaming you."
"You'd still look good glowing," Mike replied, managing to coax the corner of his mouth into something resembling a smile despite everything.
"What about giving me that coat instead? It would fit me better anyway. You're too skinny to fill it out properly."
"You're just jealous because it's not yours," Mike replied, his smile becoming more genuine.
Sam coughed a tired laugh. "Oh, I'm definitely stealing it when you sleep."
In the distance, Anna's breathing was becoming even more labored and irregular. Tess's whispers were growing more desperate, more frantic. The tunnel stretched endlessly in both directions, disappearing into darkness that seemed to swallow hope itself.
But for this moment, in this small pocket of time carved out from the horror surrounding them, two men shared a granola bar and made jokes about a coat that might not matter tomorrow. They had found something small but solid between them, a thin line of trust. An invisible tether shield against everything that tried to destroy them.
It wasn't much, but down here in the dark and the dust and the slowly encroaching death, trust might be the only thing stronger than fear.