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The child sat motionlessly, probably slept, too. His cap was drawn so low that it covered his eyes and his chin hid in a jacket collar. Logan reflected on whether it was necessary to in
terfere. Probably, the boy was lost or had run away from home. On the other hand, Tony did not enjoy the prospect of the additional fuss if it was necessary to call the police or other authorities. Besides, modern children have learned to keep as far as possible from strangers... If such a demure little thing says "this bad man bothered me," try to prove then...

All right. He will simply ask the boy whether help is ne
cessary.

Tony passed along the car, continually catching the hand
rails (and why does this train shake so much? He didn't remember such jolting on this line), and stopped opposite the child.

"Hey, kid!" he called, not too loudly so as not to frighten. "Are you all right?"

The child did not answer and did not react at all. From above Tony could not see his face–only a cap from under which a thin peaky nose, similar to a bird's beak, stuck out. And something in this nose was... wrong. Repulsive.

Logan sat down on hunkers before the silent child, cling
ing by hand to an empty seat to the left. Even in such a position, Tony did not see clearly the face hidden by a cap and a collar. Only a bone white nose-beak bent from top to bottom, and sharply prominent cheekbones with deep shadows under them. The boy was probably very thin, even emaciated.

Tony called him again, but the child still did not move nor in any way showed that he heard. Logan felt real dismay at the si
lence of this strange child in an empty night train. Most of all he would like to stand up and go away–not even to his former seat, but to another car. Nevertheless, he reached out and, having mumbled, "Don't be afraid, I only want to see whether you are okay," pulled the cap from the boy.

And was struck dumb with an open mouth.

The head appeared to be almost absolutely bald, only here and there, like mold stains, weightless white shreds grew. The mushroom-like skull was fitted with a dry skin, all in senile pigment spots and so thin that it seemed likely to tear at any moment; under the skin knotty blue veins boldly bulged. An unnaturally big forehead, standing out like two hillocks, hung over the small wrinkled face which had gathered in folds around the fallen-in mouth and deeply sunken eyes. These eyes, the muddy sick eyes of a decrepit old man, were open and looked directly at Logan, without moving and without blinking.

"S-sorry," Tony stammered, put the cap on the knees of the sitting child, and hastily stood up. He felt too awkward to remain here, so he decided to go to the next car. Ignoring a sign forbid
ding transiting cars on the move, he opened the car door and stepped into the space between cars. The tunnel roar deafened him, and the cold wind angrily jerked his hair and shirt. The clanking metal of two narrow semicircular platforms shook underfoot as if aiming to dump him on the rails, and low-sagged soft handrails on each side hardly could prevent it. Tony hastily seized the door handle ahead and tried to turn it, but the door refused to open. In an instant panic attack, Logan fancied that he could not go back either, and would have to ride between cars until the nearest station... at the best case. He desperately jerked the handle again, and this time the door yielded–previously he had simply pulled in the wrong direction, Tony realized, walking into the new car.

There was nobody here, either. Well, okay, no passengers is better than... And, after all, this small person, apparently, is really a child, not an old dwarf, Logan thought. There is such an illness... genetic, as far as he remembered...

Then he still needed to inform the train operator. The seriously ill child was alone at night and, seemingly, in complete prostration...

Tony approached an intercom and pressed the button. No voice answered him, but from the speaker a small noise was heard, showing that communication had been established.

"Here... that is, not here, but in the next car, an old boy... that is, I wanted to say, a little boy is sick with old age... " Tony confusedly began. And what, by the way, if the train operator had not heard about such an illness and decides it's a prank? "It seems to me, there is a person here who needs help. Do you hear me? Hello?"

Still nobody answered. But from the speaker came... sounds. At first, Tony thought the noise was just interference. But no, it did not resemble the usual static and cracklings. More likely such a sound can be produced only by something wet... sticky... mucous... if it slowly moves, coming unstuck and sticking togeth
er again.

"Hello?" Logan once again shouted, but the only response was the same sounds.

"Nevertheless, it's interference," Tony told to himself. "This piece of crap is faulty."

And what works normally in this train?!

Maps of the subway and of the current route, seemingly, were absent in this car, too. There was only the advertising pasted between windows. What was, by the way, advertised here? Logan had gotten used to ignoring posters in the subway, without giving them a look even in boredom, but now he suddenly felt curious. He looked at the nearest poster.

"CORPSES. THE EXHIBITION"

Tony shuddered when his eyes stopped at the large letters. Then he remembered hearing about this exhibition. Its founder was some German pathologist who built a large-scale exposition of embalmed human bodies, displaying them in various poses and dissections, whole and in parts, showing the structure of muscles, sinews and visceral organs... Probably, really informative, especially for medical students, but Logan absolutely was not a fan of such shows and would not go there even if the entrance fee were paid to visitors, not by them. Giving one more look at the poster–which displayed a color image of a skinless pregnant woman whose laid-open belly contained a lengthways-cut fetus within the stretched ring of her cleaved uterus (why didn't various activists either for or against abortions raise a cry?)–Tony fastidiously frowned and went farther along the car.

His glance indifferently slipped across the next poster, an eyesore probably to each passenger of the New York subway. A schematic red figure struggled against closing car doors. "Hold your urge to hold the doors. Wait for the next train." And some
thing about you making everyone wait and how many trains are regularly late because of such irresponsible passengers... Oh yes, of course. Who would object to waiting ten minutes or even more for the next train? No, better let everyone be several seconds late, than I for a quarter of an hour.

Tony was already going to move on, but something forced him to turn back again. Something was wrong with this poster. And in the following moment he understood what exactly.

The head of the red figure was almost completely cut off by the subway doors. Blood splashes were scattered around. Blood also splashed down the closing edges of doors forming a kind of guillotine.

Haw. It seems that someone understood that plain warn
ings didn't work and decided to strengthen the emotional impact. Though, of course, real doors of subway cars are not capable of such things...

By the way, the exhibition advertising differed from the usual, too, Logan realized. First, there was this ripped up woman instead of cheerful dead sportsmen. Secondly, the title was a bit different. It seems that
that
exhibition was called "Bodies," instead of "Corpses." But, what's a slight difference in wording?

At this moment the train began sharply braking, and Lo
gan, having missed a handrail by his hand, clumsily plopped down on a seat. Outside the windows, dimly lit numbers "14" on breast boards of eagles passed. "Fourteenth Street?" Q trains definitely stop at the 14th Street station, but Logan could not remember these eagles. Some nasty story was connected with this station... Oh yes, a major accident with casualties in the early nineties. Tony was in elementary school in Connecticut at that time, but remembered how his parents had discussed this accident. More precisely, not the smash-up itself, but the fact that the train operator–or were they still called motormen that time?–was sentenced to fifteen years of prison for it. So, by now he should be released...

Doors opened, and Tony heard the incoming knock of heels. More precisely, one heel; then there was a short pause and a slow shuffling, and then new abrupt clatter followed. Logan turned his head and saw a girl entering the car. Yes indeed–the poor creature had broken a heel and now limped, shuffling her foot. For some reason she held the heelless right foot sideways, putting it on edge, as if the foot was sprained and could not return it to its normal position. That, certainly, was not possible–in this case any attempt to put her body weight on it, increasing the strain, would cause terrible pain.

In other respects, however, the girl was quite usual–even more, attractive. Slender, in a light summer blouse with a miniskirt (probably, she also believed the morning sun when she left her house, Tony thought sympathetically), long nut-brown hair, a bit twisted on the ends, a nice profile. She passed by Logan in her limping gait and sat down opposite and obliquely to him. Now he noticed that, while on the right side her hair passed behind an ear, at the left, on the contrary, it hung over her face, almost completely hiding an eye and a cheek.

"Excuse me, Miss," Tony called her, "is this the Q train?"

The girl answered nothing and did not even look in his direction. The doors closed, and the train got under way.

"Probably, she thought that I was trying to pick her up," Logan thought, "so she's ignoring me. Really, my question soun
ded silly: the person already on a train asks someone just getting on what train it is. If it were on the contrary..."

Nevertheless Logan felt more and more uncomfortable on the train and the desire to talk to a normal person became stronger than thoughts about possible negative reactions. "Well, what will she do, eventually–call the police through the intercom? Hm, let her try," Tony mentally grinned. "Though she could have a taser... or even a gun..."

As a result he chose a compromise: he did not sit near the girl but only moved to a seat opposite her.

"I must apologize for troubling you," he said as politely as possible, "but I'm confused. There are no maps and stops are not announced here. When I entered, it seemed to me that this was the Q train, but now I'm not sure. I don't recognize the stations. Was there any change of service? And what happened, by the way, to the electricity, do you know? Why are stations lit so badly? Budget cuts? You know, I seldom ride so late, but it seemed to me..."

The girl still was silent and did not react in any way. Exactly as that senile child. The long hair obscuring the left half of her face rocked slightly with the car movement. "Maybe she's deaf?" Tony thought. "However, deaf people are usually able to read lips..."

All right. If she prefers to ignore him, he has no right to force the issue. And he will get off at the next stop. Will get off and wait for a normal train, however long it takes.

Nevertheless, the girl looked at him with her only open eye. Probably, she was waiting for whatever he would say or do further. Tony, feeling that to stare back at her would be rude, muttered, "Never mind, excuse me" and looked away. But, after looking around for some time ("CORPSES. THE EXHIBITION!"), he felt that she was still looking at him. Not expectantly, not savagely, not even enticingly. Simply looking. And there was something unnatural about her gaze. Something that made Logan feel even more creepy. She doesn't blink, Tony realized. She has never blinked...

Forcing himself (why is it so difficult to look in the eyes of a stranger?), he again focused his eyes on her face. And then understood that his imagination played a trick on him. The right eye of the girl was closed. Possibly, she had decided to sleep until her stop, too...

However, Logan never before saw anybody that slept sitting bolt upright, without throwing the head back or drooping it on the chest.

And he felt an irrational confidence that her left eye was not closed–not at all, but watched him from under hanging-down hair.

Following an unaccountable impulse, he moved to his former place to get away from this supposed gaze. He was almost sure that she would turn her head to follow him. But the silent girl remained sitting as before.

The train began to brake sharply again before a station. Tony was going to rise, as soon as the train stopped. But the girl moved first. Paying no attention to inertia which should have tumbled her down, especially considering the current instability of her gait–she, shuffling the turned foot the same way, moved to
wards Tony. He froze in his seat, looking at her with absolutely irrational fear. The girl, however, passed by him and turned to the doors, obviously going to exit.

Was it his illusion, or had her right eye really remain closed?

Now Tony could not answer this question any more because the girl stood with her left profile to him, which was still concealed by hair.

The train stopped and the doors opened. The girl stepped onto the platform outside, and at the very same time wind from a tunnel rushed into the car and for an instant blew her hair aside.

A spasm seized Logan's throat.

He saw damp meat... wet, shapeless, exuding ichor... a hole with torn edges in place of an eye, from which some tatters hung down... naked gums and teeth where there should be a cheek... a dangling torn-off lip similar to a fat dead worm...