William Weber - System Failure

“Not quite yet,” the woman said. The nametag on her chest read ‘Denise.’ “Below the mezzanine is the main platform. That’s where the accommodations are set up. With a little help and a lot of luck, we were able to maneuver the north and southbound trains into the station, opening the doors to provide additional space.”

“How many are here so far?” Johnny asked.

“Over a thousand,” the man replied. His own name tag read ‘Chad.’

“Must have been quite a feat,” Holly said. “Maneuvering those subway cars.”

Chad smiled. “One of the hardest things we’ve ever done, but well worth the effort. So I’m going to go out on a limb and assume you three need a place to stay.”

“Correctamundo, kid,” Johnny said, glancing over the guy’s shoulder at the people making dinner. The smell of cooking food was wafting over, making their bellies tighten with hunger.

“No problem,” Denise said, taking over. “I’ll simply need each of you to sign your names on the list and indicate your address.” She handed Holly a clipboard that housed a thick stack of paper. A cursory examination revealed that the pages were divided up alphabetically, with lined spaces dedicated to family names.

“Mind if I go first?” Johnny said, reaching for the clipboard.

“I don’t see why not.” She handed it over while he flipped to the pages under T for Tang and did as he was instructed.

When it was Holly and Dillon’s turn, she went to A for Andrews, paying only vague attention to the questions they were asking Johnny.

“Sir, are you carrying any weapons or alcohol?” Chad asked.

“I wish,” Johnny said wryly.

The two proceeded to pat him down. Johnny grinned, enjoying the process.

“What about you, ma’am?” Denise asked Holly.

Twenty feet away, a man wearing a ballistic vest and carrying an assault rifle strolled through the mezzanine. She should have known in a city like this they would need more protection than a couple of kids wearing pinnies.

“Ma’am?” Denise repeated.

Johnny nudged her. “Sorry, she hasn’t slept for three days.”

“She has so,” Dillon contradicted him, the boy’s eyes fixed on some distant and unknown focal point. “I saw her go to bed myself.”

Johnny’s jaw clenched.

“Lying down doesn’t always mean sleeping,” Holly said, smiling at the two Red Cross workers. “As for your other questions, the answer is no. I’m not carrying any alcohol or weapons.” She stared at them, amazed how easily the lie had rolled off her tongue. Holly returned to the clipboard, flipping to the end of the letter A to find an empty spot. When she did, she signed for both her and Dillon, filled in their address and then handed it back.

Denise patted both her and Dillon down. “Great. Now that that’s done, the only thing left is the matter of payment.”

Holly’s tired eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

The look of discomfort on Denise’s face was obvious. “I know you probably weren’t expecting―”

“Losing power for so long,” Holly said, her temperature rising, “that was unexpected. At a time like this, after everything we’ve been through, asking us for money… Frankly, I’m at a loss for words. You understand we can’t very well run down to an ATM. I mean, what kind of fee are we talking about?”

“There’s no set fee,” Chad tried to explain. “It’s really more collateral against any violent or disruptive behavior.”

As much as she didn’t like the idea, there had been no such checks on people at the airport and look how things had turned out there.

“Besides,” Chad was saying, “we accept most kinds of portable wealth. Gold, jewelry, precious stones…”

Johnny opened his wallet, withdrew a hundred-dollar bill, regarded it for a moment and then handed it over.

Chad’s face scrunched up with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t take paper currency.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Johnny said. “It’s a US dollar.”

“I’m sorry,” both of them said at once. Their voices gave the impression they felt bad, but there was nothing they could do. That everything going on was simply beyond their control. That was also how Holly felt about the loss of power—something akin to an act of God. Now it was starting to look like they’d have to leave after all.

Johnny began to seat the money back in his wallet when something caught Chad’s eye. “Is that a real Rolex?” he asked.

A storm of emotions was brewing over the banker’s face. Holly could tell he wanted to tell them it was fake, but that his ego wouldn’t allow it.

“Damn right it’s real,” he blurted out, insulted.

“The Rolex will gain admittance for you, your wife and your son,” Chad said.

Johnny shook his head. “Oh, she isn’―” He got about three quarters of the way through the word before clamping his lips shut. Holly was standing next to him, a hopeful look in her eyes. “What I meant to say was that I can’t believe the Red Cross is charging people for access to a shelter.” Johnny’s protest continued for another minute or two as he removed, held and then finally handed over his watch all with the utmost reluctance.

Chad and Denise smiled and stood aside to let them through the turnstile.

“Thank you,” Holly mouthed silently to Johnny.

“You woulda done the same,” he replied, looking a little lighter.

They were passing through the turnstile when Holly put on the brakes. “Mind if I see that list again?” she asked.

Chad and Denise looked at one another and then handed it over.

There was something her fatigued eyes had happened upon as she’d flipped through the pages looking for the letter A. Something that hadn’t sunk in at first, but was now blooming before her eyes in large red letters. She ran her index finger down the list under B and stopped when she found what she was looking for.

Amy Bauer. Byron, Illinois.

Denise led Holly, Johnny and Dillon down from the mezzanine to the northbound platform. The smell of unwashed bodies was the first thing that struck them. Candles set on the tiled floor near the wall provided a bare minimum of lighting. Cutting through the shadows, they passed dozens, maybe hundreds of refugees just like them. As Chad had mentioned, the subway train was parked in the station with its doors open. Inside, the seats had all been ripped out to provide room for rows of cots.

At last, they arrived at the final train car where only a single cot remained.

“This can’t be all that’s left,” Johnny complained, his loud voice echoing through the cavernous chamber.

“I’m afraid so,” Denise said, that look of embarrassment again. Holly suspected it was an expression she practiced throughout the day.

“That Rolex was worth ten thousand bucks,” he shouted.

A guard with a funny accent came over and asked if everything was all right.

“Not really, but what can we do?” Johnny said, clearly frustrated. “Write a firmly worded letter? Post a scathing review online?”

“Exactly,” the guard said. “So keep your mouth shut and stop disturbing the people around you.” Thankfully for Johnny, the guard turned and sauntered off before the banker could get himself into any more trouble. Denise was gone too, leaving the three of them to work out the sleeping arrangements.

“It was your watch that got us in here,” Holly said. “So it makes sense you should get the bed. Dillon and I will find a place over here on the platform.”

Johnny sighed. “No, that’s silly. The three of us can rotate. Tonight, it’s Dillon’s. Then you tomorrow and I’ll take the day after. Hardly seems fair for only one of us to be sleeping in the lap of luxury.”