Anthem's Fall

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ryan

Ryan held on to a steel handrail in the lightly bucking and squealing subway car. The train barreled through the dark tunnel as strangers invaded his personal space, but he took no notice of them as he stared vacantly out the grimy window and into the flashing darkness. He was lost in thought. The night's sleep in Kristen's bed had been the most restful he had known in as long as he could remember. To think that such a warm experience had happened only one night after his nightmare returned was hard to grasp.

For the past year he had been naive enough to think he had at last escaped the torments of his past. But the nightmare—the memory—of that snowy forest had returned to him once more. In his mind, he could still smell the fires of the village burning, could still hear the shrill screams of children and parents parted.

Ryan could still see the look of fear and hatred in the eyes of those people, sentenced to die.

Yet it was only his familiar sharp gaze that stared back at him from the dirty Plexiglas. Ryan shook away the wintry chill of his memories as the subway brakes released a high-pitched scream, and an automated voice announced his stop. With hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, he pushed the past from his mind and paced through a station of fluorescent lights and grungy tile. He ascended a narrow stairway to the street, taking the steps two at a time, and emerged from the station into sunlight and chilly fresh air.

Manhattan's architectural exhibitionism bloomed overhead, and Ryan oriented himself by the towering buildings. Beyond the mirrored facades of skyscrapers, the day could not have been more clear, only a few sparse clouds nestled between the reflective high-rises. Ryan willfully focused on minutiae as he trod through Midtown in the direction of Times Square and the Marriot Marquis. The workload in his classes had reached a lull, and his weekend schedule at the library along with few assignments due early the following week hardly seemed daunting. Aside from Professor Hilton's class, his semester was humming along at nearly a 4.0 pace, more than high enough to allow some self-satisfaction.

He was worried for Kristen. There was an odd hope within him that gravitated around her. She was nothing like the brilliant minds from his home—so utterly convinced of their own brilliance and their grim practices. Young, beautiful and endearingly awkward Kristen was the hero that he could never be, and her words were more powerful than anything he could ever shoulder himself. She was a glimmer of what once was, so long ago and far away, and what its future may have been had it not been ripped away.

But in his heart, his feelings for Kristen were far simpler than that.

It was difficult to imagine how she must be feeling as she prepared to stake her future on the vicissitudes of the media's whim. Her selflessness filled him with a hopeful feeling, as it was a characteristic he was not entirely unfamiliar with. Sacrificial altruism was a path chosen by few. Ryan only hoped it would work out better for Kristen than it had for himself.

A street corner vendor had set up shop in the shadow cast by a tall financial building, and Ryan stepped in line to buy a drink. The few waiting customers rummaged hastily in their pockets for bills and coins as they procured their hot dogs. A tiny television blared beside the disheveled cashier, and as he ordered a bottle of water Ryan noticed the news was still airing live from the plane crash in Albany.

"Some shit, huh?" the cashier grunted with an accent Ryan could not place.

Ryan opened his water bottle and passed over a dollar bill. "Do they know what happened yet?"

"Not a clue. Heads up their asses."

Ryan looked at the man. "Maybe."

The cashier grunted and turned back to the television, lighting a cigarette with dirty fingers. Ryan continued down the avenue looking sidelong into the storefronts and lobbies. It struck him as remarkable; the ordinary fears people were forced to cope with in everyday life. With full knowledge of that morning's fiery crash, still travelers were boarding planes around the world.