checked his cell. It was 11:37. There was no time to waste. He flew up the aisle, jumped off the bus, and headed down the steps into the station.
During the day, Victoria Park Station was a hive of activity. Although far from empty, Jake could hear the thud of his footsteps echoing through the hollow hall as he made his way toward the ticket booth. He tossed his transfer to the attendant, pushed through the turnstile, and broke into a sprint as the familiar thunder of an approaching subway shook the ceiling and walls. Jake made it to the platform just as the westbound train exploded into the station.
The subway car was pretty full. Jake slumped into a seat and cranked up the volume on his iPod. He leaned back and was about to close his eyes again but reconsidered. This time he’d keep them wide open.
He scanned the car. There were two kinds of people in the subway this time of night. Either they had that listless quality about them — as if they were heading home from late-hour jobs — or they were buzzing with electricity — as if they were heading out for a big night on the town.
A group of teenagers were goofing around at the opposite end. Jake wondered if they were going to the same party. One girl was looking directly at him. He didn’t want to be caught staring, so he shifted his gaze to the advertisements lining the tops of the windows. His eyes settled on one sign in particular. It read: KILL THE LIGHTS. SAVE THE BIRDS. It had a picture of a black-headed bird with a white breast flying over brightly lit office buildings at night.
The advertisement made Jake think of pigeons — flying the coop.
CHAPTER FIVE
Station after station, people entered and exited the subway, each oblivious to the other’s existence. Jake decided he could spend his entire life riding aimlessly, never seeing the same person twice.
He checked his phone: 11:55. One more stop — plenty of time.
The group of teenagers had left the train. Too bad, thought Jake, that girl was pretty hot. As the subway began to roll, Jake settled back and relaxed. He was confident he’d make it to the party on time. He had more than four minutes and this was a short stop. Then, just after the train entered the tunnel, it ground to a sudden halt.
Figures, thought Jake, ripping off his iPod and shoving it into his pocket. Can’t anything ever go right?
Seconds passed like hours. He kept checking his phone. Three minutes left. Two minutes …
The subway finally lurched forward and started picking up speed. It slithered through the dark tunnel like a snake into its hole. When it burst through the darkness and into the station, Jake had one minute left. He was already standing at the doors waiting for them to open.
Luckily, there were few people to get in his way. He sprinted the length of the platform until he reached the escalator. The ceiling above him began to quake. He took the steps two at a time, but halfway up stood a man in an old trench coat muttering to himself. The man took up the entire space, blocking Jake’s path. He smelled like egg salad left too long in the sun.
“’Scuse me,” Jake said, but the guy didn’t budge.
The thundering had stopped. Jake needed to get around this guy and quick. With a twinge of disgust, he used his shoulder to muscle past the man, nearly knocking him over. The subway was straight ahead — its doors open wide. Jake raced toward them, then heard the familiar chimes announcing their closure. In a last-ditch effort he lunged to try to stick his hand between the doors. He missed by an inch and nearly got his foot stuck in the gap between the subway and the platform. The rubber panels sealed themselves tight. He was too late.
All Jake could do was stand there and watch helplessly as the subway rolled into motion. Car after car glided past him, leaving nothing but stale air blowing through his hair. When the train had disappeared into the tunnel, Jake’s eyes settled on the red triangular warning sign posted on a black pillar between the tracks. It had a stick man crossing from the platform onto a train. It said: MIND THE GAP. Beside that was a large poster in the centre of the tracks. It was an ad for the latest teeth whitener. Five people of various ages and ethnicity stared at him with ridiculous grins. It was as if they were all mocking him. You’re a loser, Jake, just like Cole said.
“The bowels of hell await you!”
Jake swung around to see the guy who had blocked his way on the escalator staggering toward him, pointing a dirty, accusing finger. The ends of his coat were frayed. His shoes were mismatched. His beard was long and dishevelled. He looked — and more importantly smelled — as if he hadn’t bathed in years. Unmistakably homeless. There was no telling how old he was. Could be thirty. Could be fifty. Street life wasn’t easy on the complexion.
“Judgment is upon you!”
Perfect, thought Jake, rolling his eyes. Exactly what I need.
“Lay your hands in mine!”
Grease and dirt were caked on the guy’s face, but Jake noticed a strange spark in his eyes. He held both hands outstretched as though he were coming to hug Jake.
“Rise up from the darkness! Take my hands and rise!”
Rise. Riiiight. Nutjob. Jake rolled his eyes. He was about to head back toward the escalator when he heard a low rumble. Instinctively, he glanced up. The clock on the flat-screen monitor still read twelve o’clock. He walked to the edge of the platform and peered into the tunnel. There was a dim yellow light getting brighter by the second.
“They’re coming … take my hand …” the man muttered.
A train was approaching at top speed, its headlights unusually bright — so bright Jake had to shade his eyes. It blasted into the station, rushing past him, its roar drowning out the lunatic raving behind him. But as Jake’s eyes adjusted to what he saw, he frowned. Instead of the modern steel-grey subway, what blew past him was an old maroon train with two thin gold stripes. He recognized it from a news story he’d once seen about the transit system. It appeared to be one of the original subway trains — the Gloucester.
I thought they’d retired those dinosaurs decades ago, thought Jake as it screeched to a halt and the doors opened. But as quickly as they opened, they began closing again. Without a second to think, Jake stepped inside. The last thing he heard before the doors sealed themselves was the homeless man’s voice echoing through the hollow station: “You have entered the belly of the beast …”
The lights dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. The car rattled and shook as it lurched forward. As he scanned the interior of the car, Jake grabbed for the nearest pole to steady himself.
If this was a party, it was the weirdest one he’d ever seen.
CHAPTER SIX
The inside of the train was dim. It smelled like a pile of dirty laundry. Passengers were crammed like cattle. Some were laughing. Others were talking. Music — the kind you might hear in the bathroom of a fancy hotel — wafted above the crowd.
One guy was wearing a grey sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves and matching sweatpants. Over his sweats he wore red shorts — short-shorts, like the kind basketball players wore in the 1980s. He had sweatbands on his wrists. Another guy had greased-up hair and a retro leather jacket like some James Dean wannabe. A neon-green mohawk sprouted from one girl’s head. She posed in skin-tight leopard-print pants and the pointiest boots Jake had ever seen. Another girl wore a dress and shoes that must have belonged to her great-grandmother.
