Sunday – Taylor Part Two
The busker blinked his tears away and stared at the mouthpiece of his saxophone, as if only just realising he’d stopped playing. He bent slowly at the knees, picked up the rose, tucked it behind his ear and resumed his meandering, tunefully-challenged stylings.
Taylor listened for a moment before turning away and limping toward the tube. She heard the rush of wind and picked up her pace. She arrived on the platform just as the doors hissed shut and she thumped it with her hand. The train jerked forward and then stopped. The doors half-opened and she stepped forward only for them to close again.
With a glare at the mirrors at the end of the platform, she sat on the bench and watched the tube hustle into the tunnel. The screeching of the wheels on the track made her head ache all over again and she moaned. What the hell was she doing? She should be at home by now, lying in bed, or maybe watching crap daytime T—
BOOOOOMMM!
It sounded like an effect from a disaster movie, like the Transformers had just blown something up. She was half out of her seat when a wave of heat and smoke exploded from the tunnel and swept over her. With it came screaming, high-pitched and desperate.
She flew back onto the seat, bounced off it and hit the floor. The roses flew from her hand, the plastic splitting open so they scattered across the platform. Her hips were complaining with a dull ache she hadn’t felt in a long time. There were screams from the platform, people shouting ‘bomb’ and ‘help’ and other useful things.
She pushed herself to her hands and knees, trying to see through the smoke. A train came in on the other platform and the wind whisked the wind about, pulling at her clothes as her vision grew suddenly better. She crawled to the edge of the platform and stared down into the tunnel.
There were flames and more smoke, but the only light came from the fire and it painted a scene of utter destruction. It had to be a bomb. It didn’t matter. She turned herself around and slid off the platform until her feet touched the floor. She had to be careful not to touch one of the rails. Which one was it? She would avoid all three, that was the best option.
The smoke was thick in here and she pulled her t-shirt up over her mouth. Her eyes watered and she blinked it away. There were voices ahead, people crying and screaming. She put her hand on something hot and yanked it back, howling as her skin was seared.
She scrubbed her eyes, trying to see through the gloom. The bomb had been at this end of the train; it was destroyed, ripped apart. She saw something white peeking through the smoke and her gorge rose up. She slewed to the side and threw up as she recognised bone poking free from the charred flesh.
She had to help someone, but what the hell was she supposed to do? She pulled her jacket sleeves down over her hands and tried to pull wreckage out of the way. The second piece of metal she hauled on was still attached and accompanied by a creaking sound that made her jump back.
Too late she looked up and saw the ton of tube train roof as it came down. It caught her on the head and drove her to her knees, then slammed into her back. Her last thought, as her face was driven into the sharp edges of the tube, was of the busker and the rose she’d stopped to give to him.
Next Installment Monday 4th August
