Since the area was unfamiliar to Susan, it took her a few minutes to find the entrance to the MBTA underground. Just before she descended she hesitated, then she looked around. To her amazement and consternation, the man in the dark coat was about a block away, coming toward her. Susan felt a sinking feeling in her abdomen and a quickening pulse. She also felt undecided about what to do.
A slight breeze moving up the stairs and a low threatening rumble helped her make up her mind. A train was coming into the station. A train filled-with people.
In a partially controlled panic she descended the stairs and entered the shadowy subterranean world. She fumbled for a quarter at the turnstile. She knew she had several in her pocket, but her mitten made it impossible. She tore off her mitten and pulled out her change. A few coins fell to the concrete and rolled spiraling away. No one got off the train. A few people blankly watched Susan’s uncoordinated efforts at the turnstile. The quarter dropped into the slot and Susan tried to push through. With a gasp she realized she had pushed too soon; the arm of the turnstile dug into her stomach rather than giving way. She let up, and the quarter dropped into the release mechanism. On her second attempt the turnstile turned so freely that she stumbled forward, just managing to keep herself from falling. The doors to the train closed as she ran up to them.
“Please!” she shouted but the train began to pull away from the station. Susan ran alongside for a few steps. Then as the end of the train slid by her, Susan caught the image of the conductor looking at her through the glass with a blank face. The train receded rapidly into the inbound tunnel as Susan panted and looked after it.
The station was totally deserted. Even the outbound platform on the other side was empty. The sound of the departing train fell off astoundingly rapidly, to be replaced by the regular sound of dripping water. Kendall Station was not a busy station and had not been renovated. The mosaic walls which had once been fashionable were a study in decay; the place recalled some ancient archeological site. Soot covered everything, and the platform was strewn with paper debris. Stalactite forms hung from the ceiling with droplets of moisture falling from their tips, as if it were a limestone cave of the Yucatan.
Susan leaned out over the tracks as far as she could and peered into the tunnel toward Cambridge, hoping to see another train materialize. Straining her ears, she heard only the dripping water. Then there was the unmistakable sound of unhurried footsteps on the subway stairs. Susan rushed over to the heavily grated change booth. It was empty. A sign said that it was occupied only at rush hour, from 3 to 5 P.M. The footsteps on the stairs grew closer and Susan backed away from the entrance. She turned and ran down the platform toward the Cambridge end of the station. At the extreme end of the platform, she once again looked into the darkness of the tunnel. There was only the steady sound of dripping water. And footsteps.
Looking back toward the entrance, Susan watched the man in the dark coat enter through the turnstile. He stopped, cupping his hands over a match to light a cigarette, casually tossing the used match onto the tracks. Obviously in no hurry, he took several puffs from his cigarette before starting toward Susan. He seemed to savor the fear he was causing. His shoes echoed metallically as he came closer and closer.
Susan wanted to scream or run but she could do neither. It occurred to her that she might be dreaming up the terrifying situation. Perhaps it was just a series of coincidences. But the appearance and the expression of the man approaching her convinced her that this was no dream.
Susan began to panic. She was cornered unless she wanted to enter the tunnel. She discarded that idea despite her panic. The other platform? She looked across the inbound and outbound tracks to the other side. Between the tracks were steel I-beam uprights with room to squeeze through between them. But next to the uprights, running along on either side of them, were the third rails, the power source for the trains with enough voltage and amperage to fry a person instantly.
About ten to twenty feet within the tunnel, the I-beam uprights terminated and the power rails switched to the outsides of the respective tracks. Susan estimated that it would be relatively easy to sprint into the tunnel just far enough to round the end of the row of uprights. That way she could avoid stepping over the third rails.
The man was within fifty feet of Susan, and he flipped his unfinished cigarette onto the tracks. He appeared to take something from his pocket A gun? No, it wasn’t a gun. A knife? Perhaps.
Susan needed no more encouragement. She switched the nurse’s uniform parcel to her right hand and squatted down at the edge of the platform, placing her left palm on the edge. Then she vaulted the four feet down onto the tracks, landing on her feet but allowing herself to absorb the shock by bending her legs. In an instant she was up, running into the tunnel.
Panic flooded over her and she stumbled on the wooden ties. She fell sideways toward the third rail. Instinctively she let go of her parcel and grabbed for one of the I-beams, managing to deflect herself enough so that she missed the third rail by inches. As she landed, her left hand hit a small piece of wood, which flipped up and landed against the third rail and the ground. With a blinding flash of electricity and a popping noise the piece of wood was incinerated. The acrid smell of an electrical fire filled the air.
Scrambling to her feet despite a sharp pain in her left ankle, mindlessly clutching at her package, Susan tried to run again on the ties. Just within the mouth of the tunnel, there was a series of switches, creating a maze of tracks and a bewildering pattern of rail and ties underfoot. With no time to figure out the intricacies of the track, Susan stumbled ahead. But her dragging left boot snagged between two rails. She fell again.
Expecting her pursuer to be on her at any second, Susan struggled to one knee. Her left foot was jammed fast between the two rails. She pulled to try to extricate herself, straining forward with effect. All she managed to do was to aggravate the pain in her ankle. Bending down, she clutched at her leg with her hands and pulled in desperation. She didn’t allow herself to look back.
Suddenly an agonizing screech filled the air, forcing Susan to let go of her leg and gasp for breath. She thought that something had happened to her but she was still alive. Then it happened again; a noise so loud in the underground cavern that she instinctively covered her ears with her palms. Even so, the noise caused a sharp pain deep within her middle ears. Then she knew what it was. It was the train! It was the shriek of the train whistle.
Susan looked up into the blackness of the tunnel and saw the single penetrating light. She began to feel the thundering vibration of the tons of steel bearing down at her at great speed. Then there was another sound, deeper yet even more penetrating than the whistle. It was the rasp of steel against steel as the wheels of the oncoming train locked in a vain and desperate attempt to stop. But it was useless. The momentum was too great.
Susan had no idea which track her foot was caught in, nor could she tell which track bore the train. The light seemed to be coming directly at her. With a desperate, manic jerk she pulled her foot from her boot and wrenched herself in the direction of the outbound track.
Her outstretched arms and hands cushioned the fall as she sprawled across a rail. By reflex she pulled herself into a ball and covered her head with her arms. The vibration and the rasp came to a crescendo and with a whoosh the train passed some five feet away.