Chris Ward - The Cold Pools

Please continue reading for the first chapter of the author’s debut novel, The Tube Riders.

The roar in the tunnel grew louder.

The noise came from far back in the dark, building from a low, distant rumble into a rolling, thundering crescendo like a thousand hurricanes colliding, tearing each other apart. Marta, squatting in a sprinter’s crouch, closed her eyes as she always did, concentrating, seeing in her mind something monstrous, untamed. She let out a slow breath, looped her wrists through the leather safety straps and closed her fingers over the cold metal handles of the wooden clawboard.

Bring it on .

She smelt engine oil, heard the hum of the vibrating rails on the track below. She grimaced and shifted her wrists as the straps rubbed against the old marks on her skin.

Seconds, just seconds…

Come on. I’m waiting .

The roar was almost deafening now. Marta’s eyes flicked open, her concentration sharp. Muscles tensed in her legs and arms. Her fingers clenched so tight she thought they might break. She glanced up at Paul standing further down the platform, one arm raised into the air.

Marta waited. Three… two… one—

‘ Go !’ Paul screamed, as the wind rose to wrap itself around her. His arm dropped, and the fear, the exhilaration, the sheer adrenalin rush struck her like a hammer.

She dashed for the platform edge. Behind her, she heard Simon, Switch and Dan — the new boy — fanning out as they followed. She hoped Dan made it, of course, but in the moment of the ride it was only herself that mattered.

Racing across the cracked, dusty tiles, Marta pressed her wrists against the leather straps and squeezed the metal handles until her fingers ached. The wood creaked, and she prayed today wasn’t the day the clawboard failed her.

She held the board up, the metal hooks on the outward surface angled down.

The train exploded out of the tunnel, its glaring headlights blasting through the dust curtain that hung over the station’s pallid emergency lighting. The engine roar filled the air. Marta looked up as it came level with her and then rushed ahead, one, two, three carriages clattering past. She saw the thin metal drainage rail that ran along the top edge of the nearest carriage and she steeled herself for the mount.

‘ Now !’ she screamed, a war cry partly for herself, partly for the others behind her. Then she was leaping at the train, the clawboard arcing in towards the rail. Her heart slammed against the back of her ribs, the rush of adrenaline so great she thought it might burst out of her chest. Eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, she stared down what in these moments was the Reaper, was Death. Don’t fuck up , her mind screamed. You fuck up, you die .

The metal hooks, two of them, four centimeters wide, dropped towards the outer lip of the drainage rail. Marta’s feet brushed the side of the carriage, and for a second she was flying. Then the hooks caught, a massive jolt shuddered through her shoulders and upper arms, and Marta had won, this time.

Her scream rose over the rushing wind: ‘ Yeeeeeeesssss !’

With her feet apart, she braced herself against the side of the carriage. Her battered, often-repaired trainers left tread smears in the oily dirt coating the metal. In front of her, from the carriage window, a reflection of her own face stared back, thick dreads of hair fanning out around her like columns of smoke.

Behind her Marta heard two metallic crunches as first Simon and then Switch caught. In a group ride you rode in order of seniority. That was the rule. And I’ve survived the longest so that makes me leader . She listened for Dan, but there was only the roaring of the train and the rapid clattering of the wheels over the rails.

Something had gone wrong.

She glanced back, terrified of what she might see. Dan should have been exactly one second behind Switch, but he was still running towards the train like a commuter who had overslept, his movement jerky, out of time. He hesitated! Shit, he lost his nerve and now his timing’s all screwed up .

‘Pull out!’ she tried to scream, but her lungs, still empty, failed her, and the words trickled out like the last rains of a flood. She stared helplessly as Dan lifted the clawboard, jaw set, eyes hard. His pride was driving him on. When pride was all you had it was difficult to give it up, but down here where the trains roared it could get you killed.

Dan tried to leap. Going far too slow, he was way out of position. His clawboard fell short of the drainage rail, and his body slammed against the side of the train. The motion of the carriage spun him around in the air like a demented ballerina, eyes wide in terror, arms and legs flailing. He ricocheted off, a staccato, barked scream escaping his throat just a second before he landed hard on the platform. Momentum rolled him; the gap between the platform’s edge and the rushing train loomed close. Don’t end up like Clive. Please don’t. I can’t handle that again .

Dan got lucky. The straps of the blocky clawboard still circled one wrist, and the board arrested his roll, inches away from the edge. He rolled back as the train thundered past, and the clawboard finally spun loose.

‘He’s hurt!’ Simon shouted as the train sped on, carrying the others away.

‘Wait!’ Marta shouted back as the braided dreads of her hair buffeted her face. ‘Wait for the mats! Okay… three, two, one—’

She kicked off from the side of the train, pushing forward and up as she’d done a thousand times before. The clawboard released its hold on the rail, reluctantly, as always. Marta leaned backwards as she fell, pulling her arms in and ducking her head forward. She grimaced as the pile of old mattresses and blankets at the end of the platform came up to meet her.

The fall knocked the wind out of her. Coughing, she glanced up to see Simon dismount after her, followed by Switch. They landed on the breakfall mats beside her and came to an untidy stop.

As the train roared away into the tunnel and the noise receded, all three climbed to their feet and dusted themselves down. Marta rubbed at her hip where she’d landed on a mattress seam.

‘Fuck yeah,’ Switch muttered. He shook the straps off his wrists and turned the board over, checking for abrasions. ‘Paul, you fat chump, what’s my score? Paul? ’

‘Forget your score!’ Marta shouted at him. ‘Dan failed the mount. He could have died, you idiot. Didn’t you see it?’

‘Ah, whatever. Live and die by the trains, ain’t it just?’

Marta gave him a scowl that said just sod off then looked back up the platform to where Paul was crouching next to Dan. Dan was curled up on the ground, hugging his chest. He tried to stretch his legs out, then grimaced in pain. His voice floated back down the platform towards them, echoing off the high rafters. ‘Ah fuck, I think I busted my hip. Shit , that hurts.’

Switch cocked his head and gave Marta the kind of smirk a cheeky kid would give a scolding teacher to say he didn’t really give a shit. ‘Fuck that clown,’ he said. Looking back towards the platform edge where chalk lines marked the distance in feet back from the end of the platform, he grinned. His bad eye flickered. ‘That must have been sub-twenty feet for sure. Eighteen? What do you reckon, Si?’

‘Don’t be a cock, Switch,’ Simon answered. ‘Let’s go check he’s okay.’

‘You pussy. Just cos you can’t get no distance now you’re getting ass, but whatever.’ Switch rolled his good eye at Simon and went over to the platform edge.