Darkbound 2014.06.12 Read online

  More than anything, though, something about the way the doors had slid shut behind Freddy unnerved Jim. The way they closed as soon as he was fully inside. Like they had been waiting to snap shut behind him. Like the train was a beast waiting to feed.

  Like the people inside weren't passengers.

  Like they were a meal.

  THREE

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  The train pulled into the subway tunnel. Sound changed, the way it always did when the subway went into the darkness of the underground tube. As though the world outside had ceased to exist, or at the very least had lessened in reality, in force. They were traveling out of the world above and into a shadow-plane, a place that only joined the "real" at specified anchor points.

  It was something Jim did all the time. But though it was something he should have been well-used to, he felt uneasy. Like today's trip was different.

  The skull….

  No. Not a skull. Just lights. Just a skinny man under some seriously bad lighting.

  Jim looked around the car. Lawyer-lady was still texting. Olik the Russian scary guy was still somehow managing to look both asleep and simultaneously ready to pounce on the first person to bother him. The gangbanger was staring intently at nothing, his gaze as hard and featureless as a piece of dark slate.

  And Freddy the Perv had ambled to the very back of the car, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his trench coat and a new lollipop in his mouth.

  "Who was in the picture?" said Adolfa.

  It took a moment for Jim to realize that the old lady was talking to him. "Huh?" Then the words filtered through the fog that had seemed to lay over everything since the argument earlier that morning. "Oh, my girls." He looked to make sure that Freddy was out of earshot, then sat next to Adolfa. The hard plastic of the subway chair was cold. It felt like he was sitting on a piece of ice that instantly carved right through the layers of his coat, his pants. He shivered.

  Jim checked once more to make sure that Freddy was far away, then pulled his journal out of his pants pocket. He flipped it open to the center, where he had tucked the picture, and held it out for Adolfa to see. "Carolyn," he said, pointing at the blonde beauty. His finger moved a bit, pointing now at the dark little girl in the blonde's arms. "And Maddison. Maddie."

  Adolfa nodded as though she approved. "Lovely," she said.

  Jim looked at the picture a moment longer before closing the journal around the photo and replacing both in his pocket. Part of him was aware how old-fashioned it was to actually carry around a wallet-portrait in the first place: in a world where everyone had their family pictures – family pix – on a phone or a tablet, he must look a bit like a dinosaur. But those electronic photos didn't have the same feel, the same reality that a wallet picture had. "Yeah," he said as he patted the rectangle bulge that carried the treasure. "Lovely." He smiled, but knew the smile was more regretful than he wanted it to be.

  "What is it?" asked Adolfa.

  Jim shook his head. "Nothing much. Just a bit of a fight."

  Adolfa leaned back and smiled. She rubbed her legs, clearly still troubled by the aches she had complained of earlier. "I know about fights. Don't let it get old. New fights are okay, but if you let this fight get old…." She wiped imaginary sweat off her forehead, as though she had just done a job of tremendous difficulty. "Phew!"

  "Noted."

  They sat in silence for a moment. Jim hated this part. He didn't mind friendly people, and tried to be friendly himself. But he always felt awkward in the moments after the initial burst of camaraderie. Was he supposed to keep talking? Leave Adolfa alone? Did he start prattling, or just stay silent? Sometimes he felt like everyone else had been given a social instruction book but he'd somehow lost his. Like he was an alien in a world of humans, or vice-versa.

  He had just decided to go ahead and leave the lady to her own devices – not the friendliest choice in the world, perhaps, but often the safest – when the lights went out.

  This was not in itself unusual. Every New Yorker worth his or her salt had passed a moment or two in darkness on the subway. Lights sometimes flickered and flitted on and off like lightning bugs in a windstorm, as though someone had his hand on a huge On/Off switch and was constantly playing with the subway passengers; seeing what they would do if plunged into stroboscopic fits of light and dark. You got used to it. You ignored it.

  What made this moment unusual was its duration and its momentum. Generally if the lights glitched on a subway, it only lasted for a second, a blink of the eyes when pitch darkness ruled. And if it was any longer than that the subway almost always slowed.

  Neither rule held true in this situation. The lights stayed off far longer than a second or two. Jim couldn't be sure how long, but long enough that his heart started to beat hammer-blows against his ribcage, long enough that his breath started to come quick and shallow.

  "What's going on?" said Freddy with his distinctive voice, that whine even higher now that panic was setting in. "What's happening?"

  The train lurched, then the ever-present whine of the train's electric engine increased in volume. It sounded – felt – like the train was speeding up.

  "What's going on?" Freddy again. The perv's voice, coming from the very back of the train, sounded like the voice of a person about to crack, about to plunge headfirst into a dark chasm of madness. Jim had a moment to wonder how close to that chasm Freddy had been before stepping onto the subway, if mere darkness could push him over that edge –

  (unless he knows something we don't)

  – before light speared through the car.

  The light should have been comforting, should have been pleasing. It should have reminded Jim that he was okay, that he still had his girls to return to – fight or no fight – and that all was essentially right with the world.

  But it did none of those things.

  The light was cold and blue, providing no warmth or comfort but only a strange sense of otherness, as though the train had somehow been transported to an alternate dimension in its entirety. It came from the cell phone of the surly Olik. The big man was holding it above his head like a torch in a monster movie, moving it about as though the cell phone's sterile blue light might banish not only the darkness but the pervasive sense of strangeness that Jim could tell had gripped all the subway car's occupants.

  "What is this?" said Olik. "What's going on?"

  Beside Jim, Adolfa crossed herself.

  Jim looked at the back of the car. Freddy was hunched against the rear bulkhead, quivering. He was slumped low, almost disappearing into his trench coat like some weird species of turtle that had evolved exclusively in cheap outlet malls. He looked terrified beyond reason.

  Jim swiveled his head. Toward the front of the car, the gangbanger was looking back at the rest of the occupants, glaring as though one of them must be at fault for what was happening.

  Only the beautiful lawyer-looking woman appeared unperturbed. Or at least, Jim thought she did at first; then he realized that the dark glint in her eyes wasn't just the cold reflection of Olik's cell-light. It wasn't fierceness or determination. It was terror, bound and caged like a feral beast held captive behind thick acrylic at a zoo. But the beast was pounding at the walls of its cage, beating at the boundaries of her eyes, struggling to be free. He abruptly felt like the lawyer might be the most dangerous person in the car. Which was ridiculous, he knew – he'd bet his life that Olik or the gangbanger held that dubious honor – but he couldn't deny the sudden sensation that the woman was someone not to be crossed under any circumstances.

  Jim looked away from her. As much to pull his gaze from the too-riveting sight of her eyes and whatever mystery they held as to do an actual review of the subway car and the near-darkness in which they found themselves.

  He looked beyond her. Beyond the lawyer. At the doors that led to the other cars. At the occupants in the car beyond this one.

  And he screamed.


  FOUR

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  Jim did not expect Olik's reaction to his scream. The gangbanger drew a knife, which wasn't surprising. The lawyer didn't move at all, which was surprising – he would have thought that she would have jumped at the very least, but the lawyer remained perfectly, completely still.

  Adolfa drew a bit closer to him. Freddy yelped in tandem with Jim's scream. But Olik….

  Olik pulled out a gun equipped with a silencer and squeezed off a pair of shots before Jim's scream had a chance to finish bouncing off the metal and plastic interior of the subway car. Nor were they panic-shots, randomly fired into the air or the floor: Jim saw two very closely grouped bullet holes in the glass window of the door dividing their car from the next.

  "What the hell?" That was the gangbanger, though Jim heard the sentiment echoed in his own mind.

  They were all cast into darkness again as Olik's cell phone – which he had held aloft even while shooting – suddenly switched off. The older man flipped it back on less than a second later. The blue-white light returned to the car, an illumination that did little to drive away shadows. Rather, it seemed only to point them out and highlight their existence. Jim was reminded of something his mother had said to him once. "Shadows only exist near to light," she had said.

  And she had known more than a little about darkness. She had been murdered.

  He turned his mind away from that. There was enough to think about right now without going there.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, man?" demanded the gangbanger. He approached Olik, seemingly unaware of the gun that the huge man still held. "You coulda killed me, man."

  Olik ignored him. He turned to Jim. "You saw it, yes?"

  "I…." Jim swallowed. His throat felt beyond dry. "I don't know what I saw."

  "What did you see?" asked Adolfa. "What was it?" She was staring at him earnestly. He felt a hand on his wrist, a hand that curled around until it was holding onto his, and he drew strength from it. From her.

  He shook his head, but found his voice. "I couldn't see much. Not in the dark. But it looked for a second like… like they were all dead."

  "What?" The gangbanger's face became a caricature of incredulity. "What the hell you talkin', man?"

  Freddy yelped again as Olik's cell-light flicked off. Black. Pitch black. Jim had heard those words before, but had never understood them. Pitch black wasn't a dark room, it wasn't a movie theater before the show started, it wasn't even the darkest places in a person's mind. Pitch black was a speeding subway deep under the city, all the lights out, and only strangers for company.

  The blue-white light came on again. Then it was joined by another light, this one even brighter. Everyone looked over. It was the lawyer-type. She was holding a keychain light, one of those LED lamps that seemed to have around seven hundred bulbs on them and the same candle power as the Bat-signal. Olik nodded in thanks and put his cell phone back in his pocket.

  Everyone turned back to Jim. The gangbanger jabbed his knife at him. Even in the light of a single keychain lamp, Jim could see that the knife was wickedly sharp, a six-inch blade with a razor edge that looked well-used and a handle that appeared supremely comfortable in the man's grip. No show knife, this was an instrument designed for – and accustomed to – the drawing of blood.

  "What's this you talkin' about?" said the guy. "What's this everyone's dead shit?"

  Jim shook his head. Suddenly the knife had become a much larger problem. The lawyer-type came to his defense. She pointed the LED lamp at the gangbanger so he had to raise a hand to shield his eyes. "Easy, buddy," she said. "You're scaring him."

  "Put away that light, bitch, or I'll do more than scare you."

  She ignored him, but swung the light back to a neutral position and asked, in calm and measured tones, "What did you see?"

  Jim felt everyone's eyes on him. And suddenly didn't want to say what he had seen. Not again. He looked at Olik, as though to share the responsibility of what had happened, to dilute the reality of what was happening.

  "You saw it, too, didn't you?" he said.

  Olik pursed his thick lips. "I don't know what I see."

  "But you shot them, man," said the gangbanger. He jabbed at Olik with his knife, the same gesture he had made at Jim. Apparently it was one of the primary ways he expressed himself, as though whenever he ran into an emotion too big for his mind to contain he stored part of it in that blade.

  Olik, however, was not Jim. The blade didn't frighten him at all. It didn't even anger him. The older man's lip curled in irritation. "What is your name, little boy?" he asked.

  "Little…?" The thug's eyes widened in disbelief at being addressed so patronizingly. He took a step toward Olik, and his knife was already thrusting forward. Then his movement – and that of his knife – utterly ceased as Olik's gun came up. Pointed squarely at the gangbanger's face. And Jim could see from the big man's expression that Olik would have no problem blowing the other man's brains out of the back of his head.

  "Name, little boy." Olik cocked the gun.

  The gangbanger's eyes got darker. Jim could see the thug calculating his chances of getting around the gun and gutting Olik. Apparently he decided discretion was the better part of valor. "Name's Xavier Gabriel."

  Olik's eyes flickered. He chuckled. "I've heard of you, Mr. Gabriel."

  "Then you know not to get in my way."

  "Perhaps not in your hood." Olik smiled, then grew serious again. "But we're not in your hood, are we?"

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, Olik's gun was gone. Jim didn't even see the man put it away, the older man moved so fast. He was dimly aware that holstering a silenced pistol must be even harder than putting away one without a sound suppressor, and he wondered what exactly Olik did for a living. Whatever it was, it seemed clear that Olik was a dangerous man. Still, with his weapon put away Jim wondered if Xavier was going to go ahead and eviscerate the older man now.

  Apparently the rest of the car was wondering the same thing. The lawyer-type took a discrete step back, and Jim could see Freddy the Perv start shaking even harder. Only Adolfa seemed unworried, massaging her legs as she sat as though the main concern she had in all this was varicose veins and swollen ankles.

  Xavier passed his knife from hand to hand. He was staring at Olik. The older man spread his arms wide, as though inviting the thug to attack.

  "Come on," said Olik. "I let you take your best shot. But then you don't ever find out what Olik saw."

  Xavier paused in his one-knife juggling act, curiosity clearly struggling with a desire to kill the man who had made him lose face. Curiosity finally won.

  "What?" he said. "What you see?"

  Olik laid a finger on the side of his nose. It was a quaint gesture, one that would have brought to mind Santa Claus or a kindly older uncle about to share a special secret, if it weren't for the expression on his face. Olik still looked like a slab of granite, but there were now veins of fear running through the rock of his expression.

  "I saw the dead. The dead have come for us."

  FIVE

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  Xavier's expression curled in on itself like a snake eating its own tail. His chin moved contemptuously in Jim's direction. "That's the same crack-smoking junk he said."

  Olik smiled and shook his head. "No," he said. "The little man said he saw all the other passengers dead. I say I see the dead come for us. Is different."

  The lights flickered on for a moment. Just a moment, enough for everyone to breathe a deep sigh of relief. Then they went out again, and all that was left was the glaring light of the lawyer's keychain. Jim glanced at Adolfa. The old woman was no longer kneading her legs. She had leaned back on her plastic subway seat, pressed so far back that she looked like she was trying to escape through the metal of the car siding. Her face, even in the white glare of the lawyer's key-light, was pale.

  "Yo
u okay?" asked Jim.

  She nodded, but he could tell she was nodding for herself as much as for him: sometimes we lie to others in the hope that what we say will become true to ourselves. Jim saw that kind of thing all the time. Sometimes it worked.

  Xavier stepped forward. "I don't know what you fools are talking about," he said. "Ain't no dead people on this train."

  He pointed his knife at Jim, who would have fallen back a step if he could have done so without landing either in Adolfa's lap or Olik's arms. "What did you see, 'zactly?"

  Jim shook his head. "I don't know." Xavier's ever-excitable knife jumped forward. Jim's hands raised. "Easy, man. I really don't know! It looked – just for a second – like the people in the car were all dead."

  "Dead how?" said the lawyer. Again, her voice was calm. Like she had found herself in this situation before and would undoubtedly do so again.

  "Just dead. Slumped over."

  "Asleep?" she said. Her voice was throaty. The kind of voice that a lot of men thought of as sexy.

  Admit it, Jim, you think it's a sexy voice, too. It's not like you're cheating on Carolyn.

  He forced his thoughts away from that.

  Would you rather think about the fight? About the words that should never have been said?

  That was worse, of course. So he answered, as much to keep from thinking about the fight as anything. "No, not like they were asleep. Their eyes were open. Staring." He shuddered.

  Adolfa reached out and curled her hands around the crook of his elbow. He patted her bony knuckles and tossed an appreciative grin at her.

  Xavier snorted. "So you saw a bunch of stiffs, and the Russki says he saw a bunch of zombies?"

  "I never say zombies," said Olik. "I'm no peasant. And I'm Georgian. Not Russki."

  "Whatever, Gramps." Xavier held out a hand to the lawyer.

  She looked at his hand like she expected it to slither away from his arm and bite her. "What?" she said.

  "The light, bitch. I'm gonna look at the next car."