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."
posted by John at 7:34 PM | link |
September 4, 2005
Part Thirty Nine
The Pirate Ship Revenge
Eve got to her feet as the ACDENS helicopters stopped projecting.
She felt dizzy and short of breath, but not as bad as she would have
thought. She looked at Kenny, the guy she came with. His wild brown
hair and beard gave him a Charles Manson look, and Eve wasn't so
sure that was far from the truth.
"HAH!" He said jumping to his feet, now it's time for PAYBACK!" He
ran north through the crowd of protestors all still getting back to
their feet. Eve didn't say a word, she had regretted hooking up with
him almost from the start, and was glad to see him go.
There were no familiar faces around her, but that didn't mean much.
Eve was quick to make friends wherever she went. She brushed her
long blonde hair out of her face and got her bearings. The
combination of pulsing rotors and the ACDENS assault had given her a
splitting headache. The air around her was humid and thick with the
warmth of the other protestors. A little space to breathe would be
nice she thought, heading south and away from the main police lines.
Many others seemed to have the same idea, an older woman with
graying hair and a backpack wearing a tie dyed t-shirt offered Eve
some water.
"Thanks." Eve said, taking a deep drink. "Where are you heading?"
"The Ferry. I'm hoping that it's running," she said, "I live on
Staten Island."
"I didn't think of the Ferry," Eve said. "but we might be walking
right into the cops."
"That's true for just about everywhere. I'm Ally by the way."
"I'm Eve."
"It's great to see young people getting involved again." Ally said,
"I was protesting Vietnam when I was 16, and against nukes and for
woman's rights after that, but I could never get my own kids
interested. I was just their embarrassing hippie mom."
"Maybe it skips a generation." Eve said lightly. Eve had been an
army brat, both of her parents were soldiers, until her father had
died of lung cancer, and her mother retired several years back.
"Oh, I think the draft had a lot to do with it." Ally said. "Once
that was back in effect, people started waking up. Kids started to
realize that they were mortal, way earlier than they should have
to."
Eve smiled at that, as she looked around she realized a steady
stream of protestors was moving with them. There were police
bullhorns and sounds of chaos behind them, but as they found their
way onto Water and Whitehall street, everything seemed almost
tranquil.
They entered the ferry terminal, just as one of the big boats had
finished unloading. Eve chuckled as a handful of smartly dressed
people rushed through to get to their jobs. Good luck, she thought,
wondering if they just hadn't turned on the news that afternoon.
"Looks like we got here just on time." Ally said, glancing
backwards.
Eve looked behind her and realized that now a wave of protestors was
making for the Ferry terminal in a all out run. "We better hurry."
She said.
They got on board, and Eve even bought a cup of coffee from the
little kiosk inside the Ferry, just as droves of people started
arriving. Covering her coffee, she guided Ally to the front end of
the Ferry, grabbing them seats where they weren't as likely to get
trampled.
Seats started filling up fast, a tall, thin, nervous looking fellow
sat next to Ally. He sounded asthmatic, wheezing to catch his
breath.
"You poor dear, would you like some water." Ally said.
He took it egearly and gulped some down.
"What's going on?" Eve asked him, "why is everyone running?"
"There were gunshots." He said, "someone said a protestor started
shooting at the cops, other people said it was the cops firing
rubber bullets. Either way, I didn't want to stay and find out.
Everyone started running this way, so I just went along."
"Oh dear." Ally said, "I was in Seattle went things went bad many
years ago. At least we're away from it." She took the water bottle
back and pulled out a box of crackers for everyone. "So what's your
name?"
"Walter, Walter Barnes."
"The radio is saying that someone's taken hostages at 180 Broad St,"
Another protestor said, "I arrived late, so I never got that close
to things."
"I was right near there when the ACDENS hit." Eve said. "I thought
they would last longer, but once they turned them off, I figured it
was time to go. I saw some people rushing into the buildings."
The Ferry was now packed with people, and Eve wondered if they would
even allow it to launch.
"We may have walked right into a trap." She said to Ally.
"Maybe so, but at least we're comfortable." Ally said.
The Ferry's motor hummed to life however, and despite the crowds,
the crew managed to close the boarding gates. For a moment it looked
as if everything was normal. Then the first PA announcement came
over:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Ferry Operator. I have been
advised at this time by the NYPD and the Department of Homeland
Security to hold my position. I apologize for the delay and we hope
to be under way as soon as possible."
The simultaneous groans of several hundred people were almost
comical to hear. The Ferry's engines were cut, and a sense of
hopeless gloom settled over the passengers.
Tyrone Parker made his way to the upper cabin of the Ferry. Four
years ago he had been a Ferry operator on the graveyard shift four
nights a week. That was before his past came back to haunt him, and
the Hosers labeled him a 'security risk' causing him to lose his
job, his pension, and any hope of getting a decent job again. He
spent his days now as a dishwasher in Delveccio's the uber chic
restaurant at the edge of the new Freedom Center, sometimes for
extra money, he went through Battery Park on the way home collecting
recyclables.
When Tyrone was stationed in the Free Republic of Iran, he had
become friendly with a local girl there. U.S. forces had just
liberated the country, and many of the moral restrictions had been
lifted, at least until the population could supposedly decide for
itself what sort of laws it wanted.
Her name was Irina, and she wanted to go to college and study. She
spoke a little english, and had been very friendly towards the
American soldiers. They called her a camp follower, but Tyrone knew
that she would be so much more if she got the chance.
He taught her how to read and write english, and they spent all
their free time together. Many of the locals shunned her, because
Tyrone was both American and black. Tyrone wanted to bring her back
to the U.S. but he found himself getting transferred instead.
"Are you nuts?" His C.O. had sad: "She's a tramp, you don't bring
these girls home to mama! Just buy her some candy and say goodbye,
I'm transferring you stateside."
And Tyrone found himself going home, only for the first time since
he had gotten there, he didn't want to leave. He continued to write
Irina letters, her responses took some time, but she wrote back in
English. She told him that she was pregnant with the first letter
she sent.
Tyrone tried to arrange for her to come to the U.S., to have the
baby here, but all of his requests for visas were denied. One smart
mouthed Officer had said: "We're doing you a favor, odds are that
it's not your kid anyway."
Time passed and the baby was born. He was a boy, and Irina named him
Tyrone after his father, flouting the Muslem names that would have
been more socially acceptable. The country was holding it's first
round of elections though, and it looked as if the people were
really embracing Western culture. She sent him photos, and the baby
was the spitting image of Tyrone. He sent her as much money as he
could every month, but gave up trying to get her a visa. He figured
that he would have to return to Iran once he was discharged and
marry her then. As a civilian he would have a better chance of
bringing her into the country.
It wasn't the military that interrupted his plans though, it was the
Fundamentalist movement in Iran. They swept the second round of
elections and restored many of the oppressive theocratic policies
that had ruled the culture for so many years. Among some of the more
personally troubling laws put in place were that women could not
marry foreigners and that having children out of wedlock was now a
crime punishable by death. Irina was now a criminal, as would Tyrone
be if he were to set foot there again.
Despite the return of draconian rule, Neil Bush smiled on the
televison and said that the new president was a 'good and fair' man
who simply represented his people's traditional values. Tyrone began
to explore other means of getting his woman and child the hell out
of there. He was out of the army now, and in the training program to
be a Ferry operator. His pay was better, but he was far from being a
rich man.
He contacted Amnesty International, where he was met with sympathy,
but little help. They advised him to stop sending Irina money, or
make any direct contact, lest she become a target of the new regime.
One person there did get him in touch with a group who promised to
smuggle Irina and Tyrone Jr. out, the only problem was the
astronomical cost.
It took over a year for Tyrone to save up and borrow enough money to
meet this group's cost. In that time, he had not heard a word from
Irina, and stories coming out of the renamed: Islamic Nation of Iran
were not promising. He hoped against hope that she was alright, that
his boy was alive and safe somewhere. He prayed to God for help
nightly, pleading for some sign that they were alive, but all he
ever got was silence.
The man who took his money was friendly enough.He was working as a
translator for one of the big corporations, but had actually been a
languages Professor in the short lived Free Republic of Iran. Tyrone
paid him in cash, and the man said that it would take weeks or even
months for them to find Irina and get her out. That was assuming
that she was alive and not imprisoned.
More than a month passed, and the man was in touch with him again.
He said that Irina and Tyrone were alive and living in an outlying
province. However, they had exhausted the money Tyrone had gave them
and he would need more.
Tyrone raged, and demanded to at least get a letter or some other
proof that they really had found Irina. The man apologized,
explaining that his group had to be extrememly covert in it's
actions, and that they couldn't even contact Irina directly. In the
end, Tyrone gave him more money, unwilling to let go of the even the
slightest hope. He began giving monthly payments to the man, who
swore that the money was being used to help secure a means of
getting Irina and Tyrone Jr. out.
Meanwhle, the news in Iran was not good. Insurgents from rival
religious factions had taken up arms when they lost the elections.
Only the U.S. presence was keeping the country in any sort of order
and that order was fading fast. Tyrone was losing all hope of seeing
Irina again, when two Homeland Security Agents had knocked on his
door.
Over the next 6 hours he had learned that the group he was supplying
money to was in fact a terrorist organization, and had nothing to do
with helping people. His contact had been arrested and put in jail,
and while Tyrone wasn't formally charged, he was now considered a
'person of risk' and could not be allowed to hold any positions
where he might be a threat.
And that was when, as far as he was concerned, his life ended.
Nothing mattered anymore. He declared bankruptcy, but the new laws
made him liable for over 80% of his debts, payable over the next 50
years if necessary. The more he earned, the more they would take,
not that he could earn much as a security risk anyway.
And now he would be going to jail, not because he was a protestor,
which he wasn't, but because he was here and that's all it took
these days. He had only boarded the Ferry in order to scout for
cans, he had never bothered himself with the anti-war movement.
He was only heading up to the control room in order to convince the
Operator to open the gates and let everyone back off the ferry. He
was hoping it would be someone he knew from the old days, but
doubted it. Nobody seemed to know him when things had gone bad.
When he got made his way up there, a group of brightly dressed
protestors were already banging on the door and pleading with him to
let everyone off.
"Excuse me folks" Tyrone said in a loud voice, "but I believe I can
get us into the Control Cabin." On his keyring was a thin, flat
screwdriver, the kind of thing you could buy for a couple of
dollars. It was also known as "the emergency key" by his fellow
Ferry operators.
The group was mostly a yonng bunch, late teens to early twenties.
They all looked fresh faced and innocent, Tyrone wondered if he ever
really had looked that way himself. They eyed him with suspicion as
they made way for him. He jammed the screwdriver into the slot, it
went in about 3/4ths of the way. "Damn. Has somebody got a shoe or
something I can hammer with?"
A girl handed him a slim high heeled shoe, and he chuckled for the
first time in ages. "That's a beautful shoe, but I'm afraid I'll
break the heel off." He handed it back to her.
A young man wrestled his foot out of a heavy hiking boot and handed
it over. "Now that's more like it." Tyrone said and gave the
screwdriver two solid whacks. Returning the boot to it's owner, he
twisted the screwdriver hard and the lock clicked open.
"MAYDAY MAYDAY! I AM UNDER ATTACK!" the Ferry Operator yelled as
Tyrone and several protestors came through the door.
"Shut up!" Tyrone said, pushing him out of the way. "People just
want to leave!"
"Too late." Said the young man with the hiking boots." He was on his
cell phone. "Cops are pulling up to the terminal."
"Then we're leaving." Tyrone said, activating the PA system. "Ladies
and Gentlemen, this is your Ferry Operator, and we have been given
the all clear, thank you for your paitence." He started the engines
and unlocked the docking clamps.
"Dude. Do you know what your doing?" An 18 looking kid with ratty
hair and a long nose asked.
"Yup. I used to do this for a living." Tyrone said, and picking up
the microphone: "Next stop will be Canada folks!"
Cheers erupted all over the Ferry, Eve and Ally looked at each other
in alarm: "They can't sail this thing all the way to Canada, can
they?"
"Not a chance." said Walter. "On a full tank this boat can only make
it about 300 miles or so. Maybe we can defect to Conneticutt."
As the Ferry left the dock, a police bullhorn was blaring for them
to return. The Ferry's proper operator abandoned the control room
and had locked himself in one of the public bathrooms. From his cell
phone he was telling the police that he had been taken hostage.
Back in the Control Cabin, people were crowded so close, Tyrone was
having trouble working. "Folks, I need some elbow room here or we'll
end up hitting something."
"Sorry Matey, it's just that I've never been a real Pirate before."
The ratty haired kid joked.
"Yeah, I guess we are pirates." Tyrone said. "So what should we name
this fine vessel?"
"The Pirate Ship Revenge!" Shouted the girl with the high heels.
"Beautiful!" Tyrone picked up the microphone again. "Ladies and
Gentlemen, this is... Captain Bligh, master of the newly christened
Pirate Ship Revenge! We are sailing out into open waters and woe be
to any enemy ships that cross our path!"
Around the Ferry, people were singing bits and pieces of Sea
Shanties, not to mention the Gilligan's Island theme. A handful of
people had brought booze aboard with them, and bottles were being
passed liberally.
Tyrone felt giddy as the Ferry headed out into open waters, he knew
they didn't stand a chance. Either the police or Coast Guard woud
board them or they would just force them to dock somewhere. For the
moment though, he was free and that was enough.
posted by John at 7:27 PM | link |
August 22, 2005
Part Thirty Eight
"You have one minute remaining." The voice of the police officer came over the bullhorn. In the distance, the deep thrumming of helicopters could be heard approaching.
Terry Hope stepped up to the microphone again. "The cops just ordered the News copters cleared. We believe they're bringing in copters with Acdens on them. There is no way to leave the area, I recommend that everyone just lay down and not resist."
This brought a series of laughs and jeers from the crowd. The helicopters were visible now, and descending between the tall buildings. The beat of their rotors in such a confined space was disturbing enough.
Dawn consulted quickly with her bandmates and leapt down from the stage and made her way over to Sam and Mark.
"Let's try to work our way back to the car." She said.
"Are you nuts?" Mark shouted, "we're completely surrounded." The helicopters were almost deafening now, there were at least 6 of them that Sam could see. The crowd began to get panicky, milling about in every direction, people were looking for ways to take shelter.
There was a crashing sound, but Sam couldn't make out what was going on. He could tell the police were using the megaphones again, but the sound of the helicopters was drowning them out.
There was some movement further south down Broad St., and Sam, Dawn and Mark found themselves moving with flow.
Suddenly, a force like an explosion knocked everyone to the ground. There was no audible sound, but a feeling like you were being torn apart from within. Sam held tightly onto Dawn. Despite the discomfort, he realized, this felt slightly familiar. These weapons were forcing him slightly out of his body!
Sam let go, and moved out completely, his physical form went limp and Dawn yelled his name, holding him tightly. Sam rose quickly up to the great machines. On this level, the ultra low frequency waves simply passed through him. It was an odd sensation, but not an nucomfortable one.
He reached into the projector mounted on the underside of the helicopter. With a little work, it was quickly shorted out. There were two projectors on each copter, and Sam began zipping from one to the other knocking them out.
The cops were just out of range, waiting to sweep in and start making mass arrests. They held something akin to strait jackets rather then handcuffs, but as Sam knocked out the Acdens projectors (he had to remember to ask Dawn what that stood for) people began recovering and scrambling to their feet.
Sam flew back, seeing that Dawn had moved him. "Oh great, I've lost my body." He smirked. People were back on their feet now, most of them were moving southward. Floating above the crowd, Sam could see that the south end of Broad Street was open, but the cops had all exits beyond that cut off, so there was no escape in that direction.
He felt a tug, and realized his body was calling him back. The world became a blur and he realized that he was being sucked into a building whose glass doors had been smashed.
A rent-a-cop was trying to intimidate Dawn, ordering her out of the building, despite the fact that a steady stream of protestors was pouring into the lobby and milling about. Sam opened his eyes and looked around, he saw that Mark was still with them. "Are we in 100 Broad?" Sam asked.
"Yeah." Mark said.
"Are you ok?" Dawn asked.
"Perfect, sorry for the scare. Follow me." He pulled himself to his feet and the guard pointed them towards the broken glass doors through which people were still pushing in.
"This way." Sam indicated an almost hidden door near the main desk. "It's the messenger enterance, it will take us out through the basement of the building."
"You can't go that way." The guard, a thin man of about 30, stamped his foot. "Get out of my building."
"ICE Messenger service." Sam yelled and escorted Mark and Dawn to the basement stairs. The hallway below was deserted and it felt nice to have some elbow room.
"You're not the only one with secret exits." Sam told Dawn lightly.
"They've got Wall Street cut off from every end, but this will get us out to Pearl. From there we can make a dash to Water St. and the car."
"Excellent." Dawn said.
"Do you really think we can get away?" Mark asked. "Maybe we should lay low here for a while."
"With Captain Hotfoot upstairs? Not a chance." Sam said.
They exited onto Pearl St., other protestors had found their way there as well. This worried Sam at first, but he realized that with more people around, the cops would be less likely to single them out. One of the Acden helicopters flew over, gaining altitude as it flew. The pilots must have figured out that they're weapons were no longer working, and were heading back to their base.
Looking back towards Broad St., it sounded like things were getting ugly with the cops. Sam saw a handful of people emerging from McGinty's Tavern.
"Wow, I'm amazed McGinty's is still in business." Sam said.
"Does anyone know if the Pearl Street station is open?" The man was in his twenties with a shaved head. He was traveling with five other people. Sam briefly thought that the man looked more suited to Dawn than he did.
"I doubt it." Dawn said, "they've had lots of time to shut down all the exits."
"What about the people in all these office buildings? They have to be let out somehow?"
"I'm guessing they're going to sit tight, until the excitement's over." Sam said.
They reached the corner of Water St. and Pearl. There were walls of cops in each direction about a block away, but there were none between Sam, Dawn, and Mark and the car.
"Amazing." Mark said.
"We're not out of here yet, they still might stop the car." Sam said.
They crossed the street and Dawn popped her wig out of the trunk for good measure.
"You drive Sam, you still have that old timer look going." Dawn said.
"Actually, my license is expired, so you should probably drive."
"Good thought."
"Don't get on Water St., go under the FDR and we'll pray that the entrance ramps aren't blocked." Sam said.
Dawn pulled out, and drove north under the highway. There were no police to be seen, Dawn got on the FDR which had a moderate amount of traffic moving. "I guess the Battery Tunnel is still open." She said.
They got onto the Brooklyn Bridge and made their way back to Brooklyn. "Let's stop at the Red Eye and see what's going on." Dawn said.
"Hey Mark, where do you live anyway?" Sam asked.
"Queens." He said softly.
"Don't worry, we'll get you home." Dawn said.
Sam's cell phone began ringing. He picked it up, knowing immediately that it was his Mom.
"Sam, are you alright?"
"Fine Mom, why?" He winked at Dawn.
"You're not in Manhattan are you? There's a riot downtown."
"No Mom, I'm in Brooklyn. I'm with Dawn, we're going to drive our friend Mark home and then go out for some dinner."
"Ok." He could hear the relief in her voice. "I just worried that you might have gotten caught. You know you're still weak Sam."
"I know Mom. I'll see you later."
"At least you didn't have to lie to her." Dawn said. They were cruising through downtown Brooklyn now.
"Mark, would you rather go home now, or you can come hang out with us at the Red Eye for a while." Dawn said.
"Yeah, that sounds alright. I've never been to the Red Eye." Mark said.
Dawn parked the car and they walked into the Red Eye, it was only about 6:00, so there were no crowds yet. As they went through the doorway, the RFID sensor went off.
"Busted!" Stubs yelled.
"Oh Crap, I think it's my cell phone." Sam said. "Your Dad told me to get a new one."
"Oh yeah, you'll definitely want to get rid of that thing." Dawn said.
"I'm surprised you guys aren't downtown." Stubs said.
"We just came from there. By the way, this is Mark, we met him at the rally. Mark this is Stubs, the bartender is Dave and the guy watching the TV there is Shotzie."
"Hey." Mark said rather meekly.
"Whatcha drinking Mark?" Dawn said.
"Uh, just a selzter right now. I'm a little dehydrated."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Dave, let me get a seltzer, a coke and a two cranberry juices."
"Drinking for two Dawnie?" Stubs asked.
"Nah, it's for you, bonehead. So what's the story downtown?"
Shotzie turned around: "Well according to Fox News, an armed terrorist group used the rally as a cover to seize several office buildings and take hostages."
"Any real accounts?" Dawn asked.
"Nope. You guys are the first escapees to arrive." Shotzie said, "why don't you tell us what's happening."
Dawn and Sam relayed their story, although Sam left out why the Acden copters failed.
"Oh yeah, what the heck does Acden mean anyway?" Sam asked.
"That's ACDENS actually." Stubs said, "it stands for Active Denial System. The army started using it about 10 years ago, and the cops picked it up a little while after that. They even have portable ones, but they're the size of a bazooka."
"It's horrible." Sam said, "I'm glad Dawn got me into a building."
"Yeah, I've felt'em too." Shotzie said, "they used'm on us at a Veteran's Day protest a few years back. Once again they cut our retirement fund. Dumbass W made the mistake of saying that there were too many surviving veterans to pay for."
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, he made some brilliant remarks even before my coma."
"Coma?" Mark asked.
Sam briefly explained his past to Mark.
"Dawn. Would you write it up for the Infranet?" Dave asked. "I can get it on the wall for everyone later."
"Of course." Dawn said with a familiar air. She took out her PDA and a foldout keyboard and began typing.
"Wow, dude you're like a Walk In." Mark said.
"What's a Walk In?" Sam asked.
"They're souls that take over willing bodies when the owner of the body is too ill to carry on by themselves."
"Hmm, well I think that I'm still me." Sam said.
"Some people don't realize they've changed until years later." Mark said.
"Hm, well I doubt it." Sam said.
A phone rang behind the bar, Dave picked it up saying: "Red Eye! Yeah, what's up George where are you? The Ferry? Oh SHIT!"
"They hijacked the Staten Island Ferry!" Dave shouted. Everyone just stared, they didn't know whether this was a cause for celebration or not."
"Yeah, uh huh, yeah she's here. Hold on." Dave looked up at Dawn. "Dawn is your dad available? The whole lot of them are likely to be charged as terrorists when they reach harbor."
"I'm not sure." Dawn said, "last I knew he was in Ohio."
"Hey! Somethnings going on in San Francisco as well." Shotzie said. A quick camera shot showed the Golden Gate Bridge being blocked by people chained together across the lanes. "They're saying that it wasn't as big or violent as the 'terrorism' in New York City though."
Dave hung up the phone shaking his head. "I don't believe it. Apparently, the whole crowd started moving south as the cops moved in on them. George said that the Acdens were only on for a few seconds, so people weren't weakened enough to arrest. I'll bet someone loses their job over that little mistake."
"What about the Ferry?" Stubs asked.
"Yeah, well like I said everyone started heading south, and at that moment the Ferry was coming in. Apparently nobody thought to stop the ferry runs when the protestors rurned up. So several hundred people swarmed onto the ferry way ahead of the cops. And then it took off. George doesn't know who's controlling it or even where it's going, but the protestors have rechristened it: "The Pirate Ship Revenge!
"Inconceivable!" Stubs shouted with glee.
Sam looked a bit confused.
"It's from the 'The Princess Bride'" Mark explained, "it's a movie from the 80's."
"Oh yeah. I think I saw it once." Sam said.
"Here's the news!" Shotzie said, turning up the volume.
"The same terrorists who used the cover of an anti-war rally to seize several Manhattan office buildings and hold their occupants hostage, have now seized one of the Staten Island Ferries in a desparate attempt to escape." A helicopter showed a Ferry packed wall to wall with people, many of them waving up at the helicopter.
"As you can see, the Ferry passengers are crying out for help. It's believed that the terrorists have taken the Ferry operator hostage and will shoot him if the police come too close. It should be noted here that docking a ferry is a very complicated manuever, and these terrorists are likely to injure dozens, if not hundreds of the passengers wherever they attempt to dock."
"Notice they're not zooming in." Dave said, "George told me it's one huge party going on there."
Dawn got off the phone. "My dad's still in Ohio, but his secretary is calling some ACLU lawyers to make sure they know about it."
"He was also really glad to know that you and I got out safely." Dawn said to Sam.
The TV screen changed scenes and they showed cops trying to control thousands of protestors. Police barricades had been flattened everywhere. The sheer numbers of people had overwhelmed the cops forcing them into taking more defensive postures. The cameras focused on one area where the protest had turned violent. The cops were firing tear gas cannisters into the crowd. As the protestors scattered, the uniformed figures of two fallen policemen could be seen.
"Damn! It's never good for us when things get that bad." Dawn said.
"What can they possibly do with that many?" Sam asked.
"Most of them will just be let go." Dawn said. "But anyone with a record or if their a 'person of interest' for any reason, they'll be held for at least a day, and possibly charged if they can pin something on them."
Dawn went back to typing up her account.
"So, where is Fix tonight?" Sam asked Stubs.
"He's probably at the protest." Stubs said, "he's usually working some tech angle behind the scenes."
"I hope he's alright." Sam said.
"He'll be fine. I swear he knows how to turn invisible."
"Hey, their updating the ferry." Shotzie said.
"We're high above the hijacked Staten Island Ferry, we can't get any closer due to the danger of being fired upon by the hijackers." The ferry was a small slow moving yellow blurb, being flanked by several ships on either side.
"There seems to be some debate between the police and the Coast Guard as to who is in charge of this unique situation. The police are currently surrounding the ferry, guiding it towards it's proper Staten Island harbor. The Coast Guard on the other hand has mobilized their anti-terrorist fleet, possibly with the intent to board the ferry and rescue the hostages." The screen shifted to another helicopter image of a what looked like a Destroyer, being flanked by several other Coast Guard vessels.
"Geez, has the Coast Guard always been so well armed?" Sam asked.
"It's the new National Guard for rich kids." Mark said. "Since National Guardsmen can get sent into war now, the elite have their kids do their years in the Coast Guard, protecting our shores from giant squid and man eating dolphins."
"Ah, so capturing a terrorist controlled Ferry would make some good PR." Sam said.
"Yup. When a cruise ship was actually hijacked a few years back, the Navy somehow turned up before the Coast Guard could get themselves activated." Mark added.
"What a world." Sam said, finishing his Coke. "Anyone else want another drink?" Sam went up to the bar and watched as Dave was adjusting a radio. A faint voice was coming through the fuzzy static.
"Damn!" Dave said, they're just a little too far away.
"What is that?" Sam asked.
"Pirate radio." Dave said. "They move around all the time to keep from getting caught. We could get some real reports from downtown from these guys." He sighed and gave up, "what can I get ya?"
Author's note: I'm currently taking some strong antibiotics which are making it hard for me to focus. This will probably cause a delay in the next installment, and for that I apologize. Even though the installments have been fewer and far between lately, it's not because I have lost interest in the story, but instead I've had lots of other projects going on and I've had trouble managing my time.
posted by John at 1:01 PM | link |
Sponsor
|
|
MAF Main Page
Serial Story Main Page
Story Archives
Monday, March 21, 2005
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Sunday, March 27, 2005
Monday, March 28, 2005
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Friday, April 01, 2005
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Monday, April 04, 2005
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
Friday, April 08, 2005
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Saturday, April 16, 2005
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Friday, April 22, 2005
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Saturday, April 30, 2005
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Powered by Blogger
Sponsors
|
|
