The Screaming (Book 1): Dead City (5 page)

“You ok mate?” Zac said with half an attempt of empathy.

              No answer. The guard lowered his head and rested it on his hands as he started to weep.

“What’s their problem? I thought there were no more trains tonight. Is it the riot?”

              Nothing.

“Cheers then.”

              Zac shuffled off and through a large brick archway into the huge expansive hall. Ceilings reaching up like a cathedral, periodically supported by massive brick pillars. An orchestra of noise engulfed the impressive room. People darting from every direction, each sharing the same expressions of desperation and confusion. A small female shop assistant at a News agents, hung from a shutter, as she tried in vain to draw it down and shut up shop. The Burger King was already closed.

“That’s dinner buggered.” Zac murmured.

              He found himself standing in the middle of the large stone floor, glancing up at the information board that hung on the wall above his head. A list of train destinations and times covered the giant digital screen. Each line of information concluded with a single word in bright red.

“CANCELLED.”

              A family huddled underneath the sign, desperately staring up at the screen, willing the information to change. Suddenly Zac felt a hard thud in his back which spun him around. He staggered to regain his balance and was faced by a young woman. A pink mobile phone was spinning on the floor at her feet. Mascara tears stained her face as they were momentarily locked in eye contact.

“Come on!” A man screamed from behind her.

              He was edging towards the platforms, clutching a big red hiking rucksack. The woman snapped her head around, looked at the man and ran to him. The couple disappeared through the archway.

“Wait. Your phone!”

              The woman looked over her shoulder, eyeing the phone on the floor, but her feet kept moving and she disappeared into the flood of people filling the platforms. Suddenly the phone vibrated and belted out a poor rendition of an ABBA classic as it spun on the floor. Zac shook his head in disbelief as he reached down and picked up the phone. He looked at the screen.

“MUM” flashed on the screen.

              Zac pressed the green button with his thumb and held the phone to his ear.

“Stephanie? Stephanie?”

“Erm, no, she….” He was interrupted by the hysterical wail from the other end of the line.

“Oh my god.”

              The phone went dead. Zac glanced up in the direction of the platform, where Stephanie had run, before shrugging his shoulders and placing the phone on top of a nearby bin. Zac found himself near a large arched doorway, which lead out onto the street. Darkness from outside invaded the comfort of the stations bright interior. A deafening yelp of sirens drowned out all other noise and blue light cut through the darkness as a Police car flew past the doorway, quickly followed by another, then a riot van and a big dark blue truck. The convoy belted past and quickly faded back into the darkness.

“Emma.”

              His face dropped into his hands as he battled to make sense of the situation long enough to come up with a plan of action. He desperately searched his infuriated and chaotic thoughts for a solution. His concentration was broken by an imploring, desperate voice.

“Come on geezer, let me through. I need to get back to my wife.”

              The man was stooped, his hands raised as if preying to the Station guard, who was manning the gate that lead down to the underground. Zac raised his head and looked at the frantic man pleading with the guard. The entrance to the underground lay in the corner of the station. A row of chrome coloured turn stiles lined the entrance, with a little glass fronted ticket office over to the left. Large metal shutters had been closed and locked, leaving only one turn stile open. The guard was stood with his back to it, with the pleading man bursting into tears and dropping to his knees before him.

              Zac edged closer to the unfolding quarrel as he weighed up his options in his head. He didn’t fancy heading out into the dark, anarchic streets, and couldn’t very well stay in the station. The underground was a good option for trying to get to Emma. If the trains were still running. The pleading man grabbed at the guards legs, sobbing onto his shoes. The guard shuffled and wriggled to try and free himself from the desperate grasp.

“Get off me.” Yelled the guard.

“Please, please. My wife.”

              The guard twisted and wriggled to get his legs free, but lost his balance, toppled over the pleading man and landed flat on his face. Zac saw his chance.

“Sod it.”

              He darted for the turn stile as the writhing men on the floor turned nasty and punches started flying. Zac skipped over the turnstile and merged into the darkness, turning to take one last look into the station at the unfolding chaos, before shunting his bag back onto his shoulder and pulling up his hanging jeans. He turned to face the row of escalators disappearing before him, took a deep breath and jogged forward with a defined sense of purpose. Getting to Emma.

Chapter Three

              The art deco escalators descended into a vaulted cavern of Victorian architecture. Posters for the latest musical and popular tourist attractions lined the walls down into the walkway below. Strip lights flickered overhead as Zac stepped onto the first step. The last metal shutter clanked shut and he skipped to the next step down, stunned by the echoing metallic sound. The escalator slowly edged down with a greasy creak. He steadied himself on the arm rail with his left hand. The air cooled rapidly until he could see his breath with every exhale. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up his messages. There were no new messages flashing on the screen, and his signal was fading fast. 

“Emma, I’m on the underground. I’m coming to you.” He swiftly typed and pressed send.

              The vast hallway opened up below him as he neared the bottom of the escalator. There were several tunnels off to either side, each leading to platforms. The sound of panicked shouting and crying radiated from each doorway. Zac braced himself for the last step as the escalator slowly vanished into the floor. Always a dodgy moment. He floated about on the spot before skipping on to solid ground with a relieved huff. Over his head were two signs, with coloured arrows pointing off down the tunnels.

              Zac cautiously edged into the hallway straining his neck left and right to see into the tunnels. He peered through a tunnel with a sign above which read, “Northern Line.” The platform was full of people all trying to force their way onto a train sitting patiently alongside. A short man at the back of the mass of commuters was jumping up and down to see over the tops of the heads of those in front.

“Come on, move it.” Came a shout from somewhere amongst the cluster of heads.

“I’ve got children, please.” Came another.

              There were three tunnels down the left side of the hallway, all leading onto the same platform and all equally bloated with bodies. Zac turned to the tunnels on the opposite side of the hallway. The signs above each, read “Circle” and “Hammersmith and City.” He walked through and onto the platform, which was progress already compared to the brimming tunnels of the Northern Line.

              He looked the platform up and down. The long concrete platform floor stretched some 200 yards along the left of the large cylindrical cavity. A dark, dirty rail track edging the platform, only separated by a large yellow line that ran the very periphery of the platform. The track stretched off beyond the extent of the station, absorbed into a black tunnel. No train rested alongside. Two women were sat on a bench to Zac’s left, anxiously clinging to two small girls wedged between them. An old man was stood running his finger across an underground map on the wall.

              Further down the platform Zac could see a familiar face. It was earphones, leaning up against a vending machine, still obliviously tapping away to the maddening jungle beat, booming from the cyborg implants welded to his cranium. Zac muffled a snigger in his general direction and turned his attention to the digital boards that hung overhead along the length of the platform. The orange pixilated writing scrolled from right to left on each board, in unison.

“LIVERPOOL STREET – DELAYED.”

“BARKING – DELAYED.”

“BAKER STREET – DELAYED.”

              Zac found a gap along the wall that wasn’t occupied by a perfume advert and leant his back against it, before capitulating and sliding to the floor, his head in his hands. He pulled out his phone and desperately eyed the screen hoping for a solution to present itself.

“I could go back up the escalator and try my luck up top.” He pondered the prospect of navigating through a full blown riot.

“Fuck that.”

              A grinding screech of train wheels instantly electrified the atmosphere. Zac jumped to his feet and squinted down the dark tunnel to his right. The old man was unmoved, running his finger along the map and shaking his head. The two young girls on the bench sprung up expectantly and the women wiped their faces before slowly standing up.  Earphones was as blasé as ever, taking half a step towards the platform edge. The noise of the approaching train had obviously carried through to the Northern Line tunnel as several people shot on to the platform, just as the train broke its gloomy prison into the light of the station and slowed with an abrasive grind of the brakes. As the front of the train came into focus the destination written on the front in large yellow letters became clear.

“BARKING”

              Zac raised a smile, finally something was going his way. Literally. However the mood around the platform had taken a nose dive for everyone else. The recent additions from the Northern Line tunnel cursed, scuttled back across the hallway and faded into the bulge of bodies on the other platform. The two women on the bench grabbed the young girls and pulled them back onto the bench, gripping them tightly like they had been leaning over a cliff.

              As the train pulled alongside the platform, Zac could see into the carriages as they drifted past him. There were people on the train. It was nowhere near full, but still it gave Zac a small boost that maybe things weren’t so bad eastwards, if others were going that way too. He walked along the platform looking into the train at the passengers, hoping to increase his confidence further. He found himself at the front carriage and eagerly positioned himself in front of the bright red double doors.

              A brash beeping emanated from the train as the doors parted with a hiss, like the breaking of a seal on a spaceship airlock. Zac stepped onto the train, and immediately found a seat to the left of the doors. Earphones had also sauntered on board and was stood with an arm wrapped around a hand rail, despite there being plenty of seats.

“Weirdo.” Zac mocked.

              There were about twenty or so people in the carriage. Zac gazed at the passengers, seeking confidence in his decision to board the train, but only found now familiar expressions of apprehension and fear staring blankly into nothing. The carriage doors released another volley of beeps before sliding closed. Zac looked out onto the platform. The women and young girls were still sat on the bench, tears now trailing down their faces. The old man was no longer staring at the map. He was looking right back at Zac, barely blinking, but still shaking his head. The image stencilled itself onto Zac’s brain as the train slowly pulled away into the opaque tunnel.

              The other passengers all seemed normal enough, except maybe earphones. None of them appeared to be potential rioters, travelling east on a disillusioned pilgrimage, aimed at delivering a big “fuck you” to the civilised state. Or even a looting excursion for a new TV. They were just normal people, business men and women who had spent a long day in the city. Shop assistants, students, normal folk, heading home, but their faces betrayed their unease. Zac had one question spiralling around in his head.

“If the riot was that bad, why were they also heading that way?”

              Then it dawned on him. Why was he travelling that way? Emma! He wanted to get to Emma, a girl he cared for, but had never met. If he was willing to get on a train, into a riot filled city, for a girl he hadn’t met in person, what would these people do to get back to their loved ones? Family, husbands, wives, children.

“Shit! I’m such a dickhead. I’ve been following my penis instead of my head, and it’s dropped me right in it.”

              The obscurity of the black tunnel, zipped past as the train cut               its way through the subway of dirty arched brick walls, occasionally broken by the brief glimmer of civilisation, as the train sailed through empty stations that held little signs of activity. The lights in the carriage flickered as the train surged along the track. Zac felt the indecisive tension return to his gut. He had made a bad decision, of this he was sure.

“I should have stayed at Kings Cross, Idiot.” He              murmured into his cupped hands.

              A radio crackled through the perspex door that lead to the drivers cab at the front of the train just near to where Zac was timidly starting to fidget in his seat. He raised his head and crooked his neck forward looking into the cab. The driver was a chubby blonde lady in her 40’s, wearing a long sleeved blue shirt. As she reached for the radio mike, her orange talon like painted finger nails clashed with the dingy blue shirt and her industrial surroundings. Zac stifled a look of surprise at seeing the driver, before internally cursing himself for his irrepressible preconceptions of what a train driver should look like. With the sullen atmosphere suspended over the rest of the carriage and Zac’s need for distraction from his gnawing guts, watching the driver offered a marginal distraction. The radio incoherently barked into life as she held the mike to her mouth. Her plump yet graceful exterior quickly turned to agitation as she began to yell back into the mike.

              Zac’s bubble burst as his only source of serenity, rapidly evaporated and the gnawing soon filled his stomach once again. The train started to slow until it was crawling along the track at walking pace. Zac looked through the perspex door and out on to the darkness ahead, as the train lightly banked to the left and a stream of light parted the gloom. Another station. Posters for Les Miserables lined the wall above the track. This time the brakes engaged, sending shivers down Zac’s back like finger nails down a blackboard. The train eased along the platform and he turned to look out over his shoulder. 

“WHITECHAPEL” The sign read.

              Disbelief filled Zac’s face as he saw the platform scattered with people.

“More people, desperate to get to loved ones?” He pondered.

              But something was dissimilar to before. No huddles of families, or frantic running about. In fact there was an uneasy calm. Tens of people spread along the platform, with no obvious association with one another, their heads following the train as it eased to a halt. Disbelief turned to shock, their faces, grey and weathered, blood streaming from their mouths onto torn and dirty clothing. Red eyes blazed in the artificial station lights, as the crimson fluid wept from tear ducts.

              The passengers on the train started to shuffle uncomfortably, some moved closer for a better view of the carnival unfolding outside the carriage, several laughing nervously.

“Is this some kind of fucking prank? I haven’t got time for this shit.” Shouted a clearly pissed off yuppie in a fitted pin stripe suit.

              A small blonde woman wearing a skirt and white blouse, slowly stood up and eased backwards into a corner of the carriage, her face fixed on the assembly outside. An edgy silence filled the carriage, which was quickly broken by a claxon of loud beeps as the sliding doors hissed into life and glided apart the length of the train. The warm breeze carried a rancid stench into the train. A young man who stood directly outside the door, stepped forward, his shirt caked in an apron of dark red. A large gash down his temple dribbled yet more blood, as his head jolted from side to side probing the carriage interior. Drops of blood whipped to the floor with every sudden flick of his head.

“Are you ok?” A voice tentatively asked from the huddle of increasingly uncomfortable passengers.

              The voice focused the youth’s attention on a middle aged woman in a green coat, who sat passively to the left of the open doors. His head snapped to the right locking his glossy gaze on her. She flinched and shuffled back in her seat, holding her handbag up in front of her like some sort of offering. The man didn’t so much as blink as his mouth slowly slumped open and his chest rapidly inflated.

              The deafening shriek ricocheted around the carriage as the man fired the almighty shrill from deep inside. The unbearable racket swiftly increased as others on the platform joined in, each one in a stare out with the train passengers. The grotesque choir united in a child-like harmonic cry that bellowed on insufferably, before abruptly and sharply ceasing. Zac slowly raised himself from his seat, unable to turn his glare from the assembly of oddities poised outside. He slowly edged backwards until his back shunted against the perspex cab door. He could feel his heart exploding out of his chest as tension turned to fear. He cut a quick glimpse into the cab to see the driver lady opening the external door and bounding out onto the platform.

              All of a sudden the youth at the door, lunged forward at the green coated woman now cowering in her seat. He grabbed her head with both hands, and drilled his finger nails into her scalp, she screamed and writhed like an animal in a trap, before being ripped from her seat. The youth plunged his mouth at her face and impaled his teeth into her nose, slicing through the flesh in one quick primal motion. Terror filled the train, passengers screamed and clambered back, the yuppie started swinging his leather effect briefcase at the youth, repeatedly hammering it down on his undeterred head.