Chapter
13
A Serialized Story of the
Not So Distant Future
September 22, 2005
Part Forty
Fix in a Fix:
Things had been going so damned smoothly. Shortly before the protest, Fix had stationed himself near one of the service corridors behind the Broad St station. Arrow, his contact had given him schematics of the station's electrical system. All he had to do was trip a few circuit breakers when the protest started, knocking out the electricity to the security doors. It would take several minutes for the Transit Authority to get those doors down manually, and that would make a crucial difference for the protesters.
The electrical system was old, dating back to the 1940's, it had been designed before paranoia became the rule of the day. Fix had expected titanium steel locks and electronic keys, he had even brought a spray can of liquid nitrogen in order to shatter them, but the breaker cabinet only had a small padlock, which he could break easily with his bolt cutters.
Broad Street was a hub station, with corridors connecting it as far north as Fulton Street. Some of these corridors were for public use, but there were maintenance corridors as well, and they connected to the Wall and Water Street stations as well. All the power systems were channeled through here, so when Fix tripped the breakers, it should effect all of the downtown stations at once.
The easiest access to the service corridors was through a door at the far south end of the Broad Street platform. It was kept locked of course, but Arrow had supplied Fix with a key, these sorts of keys weren't hard to come by, since the TA didn't change their locks very often (if ever).
The plan had been flawless, which in itself should have been a sign that something was wrong. He leaned against the station wall, his black knapsack hanging over one shoulder, as southbound M train had pulled in loaded with protesters. Fix slipped into the service corridor and tripped the breakers, the only sounds he could hear was the dull roar of the crowds, so he couldn't tell if he had been successful or not.
He couldn't go back out to the platform because the Motorman on the train would very likely get a look at him as he emerged. Instead, Fix went down a maintenance corridor that led right out to the tracks. He didn't have to worry about the train pulling out, the protesters would have pulled the emergency cords when it pulled into the station, and it took at least ten minutes for the conductor to reset them.
He stepped out on to the tracks, and began crossing over to the northbound side where he would be able to sneak back up on the platform unseen. The northbound train had arrived while he was flipping the breakers, and chaos had now ensued on both sides of the station.
As Fix crossed the seldom used express tracks, that telltale warm gust of putrid subway air hit him, a sure sign that another train was coming. He looked down the tracks and sure enough, there was a train coming up the express track. It had only one light set in the center, which meant it wasn't a passenger train, but an old work train, probably performing track maintenance.
It was odd to see such a train during rush hour, Fix's father had been a transit dispatcher for many years, so Fix knew a bit about how the system worked. Work trains were almost always run at night, so that they didn't interfere with the rush hour flow. It was possible that there was some area of track that required immediate attention, but that didn't seem right. Fix wondered if this might be some weird Hoser trick, like filling the train with agents or riot cops to take the protesters by surprise, the timing was just too damned perfect.
He shrank against the wall, about ten feet south of the platform. He was glad that no homeless people (or mole people as the subway denizens were called) were staying here, they were known to guard their territories zealously.
The train moved excruciatingly slow, as work trains always do, it carried only one car behind it, most work trains had at least four. The cars were old passenger cars which had been gutted, so that there was room to pile in garbage, replacement tracks, tools and whatever else TA workers might require. It was too dark to see what might be in the car, the lights weren't on and the windows might be either painted or boarded over. Fix didn't want to risk being spotted, so he just sat tight. The train smelled though, it might be a garbage collector, although truth be told it smelled more like urine than anything else and that made even less sense. The subway weren't perfect, but they did have modern toilets.
The train continued past the the Broad Street platform and came to a stop further up on the tracks. Fix knew he should just let it go, but something kept nagging at him. Cursing under his breath, he stepped out onto the north express track again and cautiously walked up the tracks after it..
Fix glanced at the shiny steel passenger trains as he went, the motorman from the southbound train wasn't looking in his direction, and neither of the trains' conductors had come out to inspect the tracks before resetting the brakes. They were probably waiting for orders from the Transit police. He crossed over to the southbound express track, so that he wouldn't be as easily spotted by the northbound motorman, and continued past the perimeter of the station into stuffy darkness.
The sounds of the protesters had died down as most of them made their way to the street, and Fix knew that he had blown his chance for an easy escape route. Then he froze, as the sounds of workers up ahead of him reached his ears.
Words were being exchanged, briefly and in clipped terms. The language wasn't English or Spanish, that much Fix was sure of, but the echoes of the tracks distorted the sounds, and they were speaking in very brief, clipped tones.
Even as Fix's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he couldn't see anything ahead except the faint outline of the work train, and the occasional shaft of a flashlight beam moving around. There was a weird rumbling sound coming from all around, which he realized must be the rally above. All those people (and cops) moving about were creating a slight seismic disturbance in the ground around him, a notion that he found pretty cool to experience.
He crept up a little closer, moving over to the local tracks so that he would get a better side view of the work train. The workers were in the second car now, and the outside passenger doors had been opened. He could make out the men, all dressed in navy blue transit worker uniforms, speaking to each other in tense tones. There were four of them, two of whom were arguing. The language wasn't one that Fix was familiar with, although the men might have been Greek or Turkish from the looks of them. He thought that he caught a word or two of Russian, and wondered if they were from Uzbekistan or one of the dozen countries that used to be Turkmenistan.
The shorter of the two arguing seemed to be the boss. He was insisting that the other man do something, even grabbing him and pulling him towards the middle of the car, where everything was blackened out. It seemed that the second man relented, as everything got very quiet. About thirty seconds later, all four men filed out of the car and down to the tracks. Then they sprinted north (fortunately away from Fix) and disappeared into the darkness.
Fix's heart began pounding, Transit workers didn't normally just abandon a train. He had a horrible suspicion of what was going on. Common sense was telling him to get the hell out of there, but he fought down his fear and crossed the tracks, walking slowly around the front of the train. He looked up, making sure that he didn't miss anyone left behind, but if his hunch was right, there would be no one.
The urine/ammonia smell was overpowering now and his eyes were starting to water. He reached the second car where the passenger doors had been left open. He slid on his gloves, so that he wouldn't leave any fingerprints behind, and gingerly, he lifted himself up onto the floor of the car and slid his legs in. He then stood up very carefully, and turned on his flashlight.
He inhaled sharply, as his suspicions were confirmed. Most of the car was packed tightly with black plastic garbage bags, and each bag was undoubtedly filled with an ammonia nitrate fertilizer, that's what was causing the awful smell. Positioned against them, was an old fashioned suitcase laying flat, with a small electronic box mounted on top that contained a control pad, and probably a pipe bomb on a timer within.
The control pad was a simple LCD screen with a ten digit keypad underneath. Fix recognized it as a cheap do it yourself home security unit. Usually they were mounted to doors, and you activated and deactivated them with a numeric code. In this case, once activated, the bomb couldn't be moved, unless the correct deactivation code was entered first. There was no handy countdown clock like in the movies, so the whole damned thing could blow in 10 seconds or 10 days. Fix broke out in a sweat, what if the damned thing was radio controlled? Then again, that wasn't likely down here, there was way too much interference.
He knew enough though, to know that he wasn't going to do any good here. He would get topside and try to warn everyone. He guessed that he was directly under Wall and Broad street now, and when this thing went off, it was likely to collapse the entire street above, killing hundreds, if not thousands of protesters. He stepped to the edge of the car, and was about to jump down when he realized that there was no way he could leave this.
Whoever these guys were, they wanted to hit the protest, which meant that this bomb was set to go off soon. He could go back to the train station, but by the time he convinced the cops he was serious, it would be over and he would be the prime suspect. He could try to warn everyone upstairs, but by now it would be pandemonium with the cops everywhere, just getting through the crowds would probably take too long.
What the hell could he do? If he could just get the suitcase away from the packed fertilizer, it would be a lot less dangerous, although a pipe bomb alone was still a potent device.
He paused, his heart was pounding in his ears and sweat was pouring down his body, could he just move the train? No, that was no different than moving the suitcase. The motion detector actually maintained a completed circuit, if something shifted the little weight inside, it would momentarily interrupt the circuit, and if these guys knew what they were doing, instantly set off the bomb.
Fix had no doubt there was a timer in there as well, although there was no handy clock face to tell him how much time was left. Not much, he figured, but enough for those fake TA workers to get their asses safely away. If they ever found Fix's body, the media would paint him as a suicide bomber.
Was he really willing to die for this? The last time he had asked himself that question, he was an 18 year old being drafted into the army. Naive and full of patriotic idealism, he thought he was, imagining how noble it would be to die bringing people freedom.
Eleven years later, he knew a lot more about the reality of the world, and going down in history as the Mad Bomber of Wall Street, was far from the noble death he had imagined - but if he could save lives, it would be worth it.
He opened his knapsack, taking stock of the tools he had brought with him. A plan began to form in his mind, a plan that would either work, or blow him instantly to kingdom come.
He took out some wire and tied it to a vice grip. Then he tightened the vice grips, guessing the width of the suitcase handle. Next, he took out the liquid nitrogen spray. One shot, right on the motion sensor would either freeze it in place, or kaboom. Fix found it almost impossible to will his fingers to press the spray nozzle.
It worked! At least the blast of frigid gas didn't cause the bomb to explode in his face. The terrifying lack of explosion momentarily paralyzed him, but he recovered and gently clamped his vice grips to the suitcase. Letting out the line, he stepped quickly down from the train car and began to gently slide the bomb forward. He only had about fifteen feet of wire, which wouldn't be enough if the bomb blew, but so far the fates were being very kind.
The suitcase reached the end of the car and Fix paused, he fully expected it to blow when it fell out, but he hoped that would be far enough away to keep the fertilizer from igniting. He positioned himself behind a steel support pillar and tugged.
There was a sound like breaking glass as the suitcase hit the ground and he realized that the frozen motion detector had just been smashed. There was no instant explosion, so he tugged the line again, the bomb was still in tow. His breath was ragged, he never expected to get this far, he decided to be suicidally brave and get this thing as far away from the train car as possible.
He stepped out from behind the pillar, t and started dragging the bomb forward along the side of the tracks. It only got a few more feet when it snagged and the wire snapped.
"SHIT!" He froze, unsure what to do, he barely had time to step behind a pillar when the bomb finally exploded. Despite his slight shelter, the force threw Fix backward and he saw twisted metal in the flash. Not far enough, he thought as he lost consciousness, certain he was dead.
He found himself standing in his grandmother's kitchen. She was at the stove, stirring what smelled like pea soup. He had spent every weekend here when he was a kid, and his grandmother's house was always the most warm and comfortable place he had ever known.
"You must be hungry dear." She said.
"Uh, yeah Grandma, I guess I am." He sat down at the kitchen table, a table he hadn't seen in over fifteen years, and one he hadn't eaten on in almost twenty.
His grandmother ladled out a bowl of soup, and sliced him some homemade pumpernickel bread.
"Thanks, Grandma. This looks great." He said.
"Take your time dear, you've had a busy day."
"Yeah, I have, there was this bomb and... am I dead?" He paused after taking his first mouthful of soup. His grandmother had always made amazing pea soup. Despite his concern for his state of being, he found that he was ravenous.
"No dear, you're just resting, but you'll need to wake up soon."
"How exactly?"
"Finish your soup." She said, making a little hand gesture that said not to worry.
He continued eating, as he scraped the bottom of the bowl, he became aware of a strange sound in his ears.
His grandmother came over and tousled his hair. "You get back now, and just know that I'm very proud of you."
Fix woke up coughing, there was something hot and salty in his mouth, and he realized that his lip was bleeding. Both of his arms hurt like hell, and might be full of shrapnel from the blast. He opened his eyes, there was smoke everywhere, and a scattering of small fires, but the deadly train car remained intact, the bomb had been moved to about halfway up the Motorman's car, and the side of that car was in a shambles.
He tried to smile as he got to his feet, but his left ankle gave out, when he tried to stand. His hands were numb, but they looked intact, so he tried to feel his ankle with them. It was swollen, he could tell that much, but he wasn't sure if it was broken. He had to get out of there though, or he might die from smoke inhalation.
He realized that he was on the southbound express track, and he realized how extremely lucky he was that the blast had thrown him clear of the third rail. Sitting up, he pushed himself backwards with his hands, trying to slide along the bumpy tracks. it was slow going, but he was making progress. He knew that he would probably get busted for this and spend the better part of his life in jail, but he didn't care either, at least everyone was safe, at least Dawn was safe.
Dawn, he had been trying not to think about her lately, he cared for her more than he had for any other person in his life except one, and that one was gone. He had met Dawn after he had been discharged from the army, and began working for peace. Like him, Dawn had been recently disillusioned as well, and the two of them teamed up to have some fun with the Board of Education's computer system.
It was a stupid thing really, the sort of prank that should have gotten Fix fined or maybe some community service. The Hosers came down on him though, whether it was because of his being ex-army (and refusing an Intelligence post) or because they wanted Dawn, he was never sure, it didn't matter though, he would die before giving Dawn up.
He was glad that Dawn had someone in her life now, and Fix had to admit that Sam seemed like a decent enough guy. He tried not to feel jealous over it, and on one level he wasn't, since he had never been sexually attracted to a woman in his life, but he missed her constant friendship and the amount of time they used to spend with each other.
Fix spit out some blood and reassesed his physical condition. His hands were vibrating now, so some sort of feeling was returning to them. The air was a little better here, although it was too dark to actually see anything. He felt a little dizzy and wondered if he had a concussion, there were voices in the distance, voices that seemed vaguely familiar.
"Hey buddy, you've got to get up and get out of here." The voice was Donny's, the only man Fix had ever really loved.
"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Fix griped.
"You will be too buddy, unless you get your ass up. The Hoser's will be down here any minute." Donny said.
"Let'm arrest me, at least I'll get a doctor." Fix tried to turn and see Donny, but his neck or back was too stiff.
"Arrest? Dead men tell no tales buddy, we've got to get you out of here." Donny grabbed Fix from under his arms and pulled him to his feet. He positioned himself so that Fix could lean on him as he walked.
Fix looked over at Donny for the first time in years. He looked as innocent as ever with his freckled face and red hair. It was to Fix's delight and their superiors chagrin that the two of them enjoyed practical jokes so much. Their unit had nicknamed them Hawkeye and Trapper (and occasionally BJ when most of the unit caught on to how close they really were). Being with Donny had made the insanity of war bearable, until a sniper put a bullet in his head.
"Where have you been anyway?" Fix said, trying to make sense of things.
"Stalking you mostly." Donny answered, "and visiting my Mom, both of you really need to move on you know."
"I thought you and your mom weren't..." Donny's mom had shut him out when she learned of his being gay.
"Yeah, but you know what they say, death heals all wounds. Now she misses me, and I try to comfort her when I can. Careful now, big steps, we're going down a staircase."
"Why don't you go into the light or something?" Fix asked.
"Who says I didn't? I just came back to hang around here and mess up your TV reception." Donny said. He led Fix through a door and down a very dank, dark, corridor.
"Where are we anyway?" Fix asked.
"Under downtown Manhattan, west of Nassau St., probably near Broadway by now."
"But, what is this place?"
"It's an old sanitation conduit, it used to provide access to the sewer system, until 9/11 blew half of it up, now it's just a forgotten connection to Sanctuary."
"You're taking me to a church?"
"Something like that."
As they moved, Fix was slowly becoming aware of his aches and pains. His ankle was by far the worst, throbbing every time he put any pressure on it. His arms and the backs of his legs hurt in a dozen different places. He suspected that his arms had first degree burns as well. "I think I need to rest." He said.
"Hang on, we're just about there." They stopped before a door that was outlined brightly by the light behind it. Donny opened it and Fix was stunned to see what looked like a black tie gala.
There were tables laden with food and drink stretching back as far as he could see. The ceiling had at least a dozen ornate chandelier hanging down, and a breathtaking ice sculpture of a hawk or an eagle in the middle of the room. The men were all dressed in tuxedos, complete with top hat and tails, while the women were all in elaborate Victorian gowns. Several of them waltzed to the sounds of a live orchestra which Fix could barely see in the distance.
The brightness caused him to shield his eyes, and he was about to tell Donny that he couldn't possibly take him in there, when a different set of sounds came to his head.
"He's coming around." It was a woman's voice.
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry. He opened his eyes long enough to see fluorescent lights overhead and a strange woman's face, but the brightness stung so he closed them again.
"Easy there, you have a concussion, you've been unconscious for several hours." The woman's voice was smooth and professional.
"Is this a hospital?" His throat was still raw, which was weird because it felt fine when he was talking to Donny. "Where's Donny?"
"Who? I'm afraid we only found you on the tracks."
"Donny helped me come here, he let me lean on him because of my ankle."
"You're in shock." The woman said, "and probably delirious. You were carried here by a man named Henry, you've been unconscious since the bomb went off."
"Are you cops?"
"No, you're far from the police. Henry took a big chance bringing you here, but he watched you try to remove the bomb and he didn't want the Hosers to get you."
"Why can't I keep my eyes open?"
"Your pupils are dialated, that happens sometimes. They should start to adjust in a minute or two. How are you feeling otherwise?"
Fix considered the question. He knew he must be laying down, but he really couldn't tell, he mostly felt numb all over. "I'm not sure, numb I guess, dizzy or something, like I don't know which way is up."
He felt his hand being lifted, and then squeezed.
"Can you feel this?"
"Yeah."
"Can you squeeze it back?"
It took some effort, but he was able to feel his hand grip hers.
"Good, now let's try it with your feet."
"What about my ankle?"
"Does your ankle hurt?" She asked, "I don't see any signs of injury from here."
"It was swollen before. I couldn't walk on it."
"I'm going to put some pressure on your ankle, tell me if it hurts."
Fix could feel it, but it was like she was squeezing someone else's body and he was watching. "Doesn't hurt." He answered.
"Can you try moving your foot?"
It was getting easier now to do this, he tentatively moved his foot, and realized that there was no pain in his ankle. He tried opening his eyes again, the lights were still pretty bright, but he was managing.
"The woman working on him was in her forties, with curly dark hair and a friendly face that reminded Fix a little of Mickey Mouse. Her eyes were deep-set, with noticeable crow's feet and puffiness underneath. She looked like she hadn't slept well in a long time.
She was wearing a checkered flannel shirt, and a gold chain with a cross on it. Remembering what she said about this being a sanctuary, he wondered if he was in a church.
"Are you a doctor?"
"Yes. My name is Monique. You could say I do volunteer work here."
"And where is here exactly?" Fix turned his head, although it hurt like hell to do so. He was on a hospital gurney, and there were a few more empty ones around him. Beyond that were stacks of boxes, creating a makeshift room around him. Looking out the room's entrance he could see rows of sleeping bags lying on the floor.
"It's called Sanctuary, after the place in the movie 'Logan's Run.' This was originally a corporate bomb shelter, which ironically was forgotten about and buried after 9/11. Some of the homeless found their way here and built a community, they've kept it a secret from the authorities for over eleven years now."
"How did I get here again?"
"You were brought in by Henry, he's one of Santcuary's oldest members. Would you like to meet him?"
"Uh, sure." Fix said.
She stepped out of the makeshift room and came back in a moment later with a thin, wiry black man with gray hair and beard. The man wore a white button down shirt and a blue denim jacket, he didn't look wealthy but he looked far from homeless.
Henry offered his hand, which Fix took weakly. "It's not every day I get to shake the hand of a genuine hero. I'm Henry Mack"
"Stanley Skolnick, but everyone calls me Fix. I think I owe you my life." Fix said.
"And vice versa. If you hadn't tried to move that bomb, I would have - and I'm sure I wouldn't have been as successful as you."
"How did you know about it?"
"Same as you, I was watching. I went down to the tracks when the protest started, I couldn't take all that noise. While I was there I saw the work train pull up, and those four Arab bastards jump out and run away."
"They weren't Arabs." Fix said, "they weren't speaking Arabic anyway, I know enough of it to tell."
"Who the hell were they then?" Henry asked.
"I'm not sure, but they must have had high connections to get that work train on the tracks. The TA monitors everything pretty closely."
Henry just chuckled. "Yeah, they're supposed to, but I know some guys who live in a lost D train up in Midtown. They take it out for joy rides once in a while and never get caught."
Fix managed a weak smile, his father had told him tales of ghost trains riding the tracks at night, but nobody had ever caught one. How and where can you hide an entire train, even in a place as big as New York City?
"How long was I out anyway?" Fix asked.
"It's been about four hours." Henry said.
"Damn. How did the protest go?"
Henry sighed. "I guess that depends on your perspective. The Mayor has declared martial law in the city. The protest turned into a full scale riot, and downtown is pretty beat up. The cops tried to knock the crowd out with their those ultra low frequency weapons, but they all malfunctioned."
"All of them?" Fix found that hard to believe.
"Every single one, they just stopped working after a few seconds, so nobody was knocked out by them. It's a good thing too, because some of the windows in the office buildings were shattered by the force of the sound waves, and they may have ended up showering glass on thousands of helpless people. Anyway, the cops tried to make arrests, but people started resisting, and things got ugly real fast - then the bombs started going off and everyone got scared."
"There was more than one?"
"Yup. Somebody tried to blow up one of the office buildings, it was strictly an amateur job, but it injured a bunch of people and only added to the panic. A bunch of people made it to the Staten Island Ferry, and last I heard they were trying to reach Canada."
"Come on, now you're just messing with me."
"No, I'm serious. I haven't been topside in a while, and we don't allow radios or TV in here, so I don't know what's happening at the moment."
"How soon can I leave here?" Fix asked.
"That's more for the Doctor to say, but not until the martial law is lifted at least." Henry said. "The last thing we need is the stormtroopers showing up here, declaring us the lost branch of Al Qaida."
"Hey, Doc, our patient here has some medical questions."
Monique walked back into the room. "Jodi and Pepe are still not back." She said to Henry, "do you want people to go look for them or just to sit tight."
"Nobody's going out." Henry said, "thanks to that bomb we've got Hosers crawling all over the underground. We'll be damned lucky if they don't find this place on their own, the last thing we need is to lead them right to it. Excuse me, Mr. Fix, I've got some matters to attend to."
"Just Fix, please."
"Well Fix," Monique said, "how are you feeling now?"
"A little better, but my throat is still really raw, and my arms and legs hurt a little."
"You're sore throat is from the smoke inhalation, and your arms and legs got some minor burns in the blast. Fortunately, you were able to shield your face and torso, and I didn't see any signs that you took any shrapnel. You need to be here overnight, because of the concussion, but once Henry says it's ok, we'll arrange for you to leave. Is there anyone who can pick you up?"
"Yeah, I have some friends who will come and get me, they're probably worried about me right now."
Monique made a little face, "there's no way to communicate from in here, but the next time I go to the surface, I could make some calls for you."
"That would be great." He gave her Stubs and Dawn's numbers.
"Was that really true about the Ferry?"
Monique smiled again, "strangely enough it is. Before I came down here, I heard that they had called out the Coast Guard to intercept and board it."
Fix sighed, "oh well, that's it for them then."
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