After climbing onto the platform at Union, most riders just stood there as if waiting to be told what to do next by some transit officer that was never going to show up. Once we were up off the tracks, I looked around at our rag tag bunch of subway survivors. Most of them looked pretty frazzled, many of them with blood-soaked clothes, blood-soaked faces. Most talked quietly amongst themselves, trying to make sense of the house of horrors that was contained in that subway car. A few people took off running out of the subway station immediately, up the different sets of stairs, randomly choosing a way out as if they were picking the box or curtain on Let's Make A Deal. Was that Wink Martindale? No. Monty Hall. Yup, Monty Hall. I was astounding myself with how my mind went to strange places under stress, as well as my impressive recollections of useless knowledge.
Thom and I decided to stick around and let things cool down for a few minutes. Rushing into whatever came next could prove very hazardous, and we weren't in any immediate danger on the platform. That is, unless some of those other subway doors opened. But for now they were closed and we had to figure out what to do. The rest of the riders seemed to be forming into small groups, going with their gut instincts as to who they could make it further with, who they could trust. There was no way to know of course, but at this stage, you have to take what you can get and follow your instincts. Thom and I stayed on our own, and a young woman named Isabel joined us as we discussed a plan of action. Isabel suggested that we leave the station, 'borrow' a truck, and try to find a way out of the city. I didn't know how likely it would be that we could get out by vehicle; we were downtown and it was quite a hike to get out of the city, and masses of people would be doing the same thing right now. Thom suggested getting out via the waterways, and we were fairly close to the harborfront, but it would be harder to get a watercraft than a car. It was a good idea, but seemed an unlikely choice nonetheless. By now, almost all of the other riders had readied themselves and were getting prepared to leave the station. Some had selected the main hallway as their exit; others were going up the stairs to the central train terminal, hoping to run into some sort of authorities or help. I asked around to see if anyone had a cell phone I could borrow, and a few people offered one up, but with great hesitation. There was still no service anyway, so it did me no good. Thom, Isabel and I decided to follow the underground walkway, the P.A.T.H. system, and head away from Union Station before surfacing. We figured it would be madness around the station, and we wanted to keep our departure low key, stay under the radar. Unlike the other riders, we decided that now was not the time to make our escape. We would just keep meeting resistance, traffic jams, and panicked crowds. We all agreed that by hiding out overnight in some cubbyhole we might just fair better tomorrow, and actually have some success getting out of the city. We might be able to commandeer a vehicle of some sort, be it on water or land. We headed out as the other riders took deep breaths and went their own ways.
We started out down the pathway, passing shops in the underground. All of them were abandoned; the doors still open, generic mall music playing over the speakers. We moved steadily but cautiously. Luckily, it was a relatively straight path, so there weren't a lot of corners for anything to surprise us from. We came across a bank of pay phones, and Isabel and I ran to them as fast as our feet would carry us. Our hands searched through our pockets for any change we had, and we both tried to call home, me to Diane, and Isabel to whomever was most important to her. We both ended up with the same result, which was a dead line. We turned together like synchronized swimmers and looked at Thom, who stood in the pathway behind us, watching. We gave him our best deflated looks, and rejoined him to continue our mall walk.
Eventually we came across a gift shop that sold knick-knacks, souvenirs, and that sort of thing. It had a large steel gate that tucked into pockets on either side of the entrance. Most of the other stores seemed to have regular aluminum or even wooden doors that closed like the front door or your house. This one seemed like it would withstand a little more abuse, should we need it to. We would hole up in there, close the doors, stay safe and secure for the time being, get rested, and set out the next morning. We entered the store cautiously, checking out all of the nooks and crannies and the small back storage room. It looked all clear. we faithfully tried the two phones that were inside, but dead air was all we got in return. The store had a small candy rack at the cash register, so at least we would have something to eat for the night. We closed up the steel doors, locked them with a rotated click, and settled into the back room with a couple of chocolate bars each. Isabel was around 20 years old with short brown hair. She was a healthy size, fit, not like all the other waifs you see touring the streets of Toronto. She had a few random piercings: ears, eyebrow, and a ring that encircled her bottom lip. We could also glimpse a few tattoos on her arms. She looked like she meant business, not the type of woman you would want to try to take advantage of. Although she was young, she looked wise in the face, old in the eyes, and street smart.
"So Isabel, what made you decide that going with two frazzled old guys would be your best option?" I said wryly.
Isabel smiled as well, one corner of her mouth much higher than the other, giving her face a skewed but adorable facade.
"Everyone else on the platform had a panic in their eyes. We were all scared, but everyone else looked unrational, like they were about to flip out. You guys had a look of calm under the fear. Call it a hunch."
Thom chirped in. "Time will tell I suppose. Good job so far, you're trapped underground with diabetes-inducing sustenance and two guys who will probably snore."
I almost spit out my gummies and we all had a much needed laugh. Isabel filled us in on what life she was living before this rude interruption.
"I work in a pub down here called Mick's but I live in Scarborough. When I'm not working at Mick's I'm taking a class studying Police Sciences. I would prefer to live in the city but it's so friggin expensive so I just do the commute, gives me time for reading, studying, you know. It's not that bad. I am a little worried about Dougie though."
I raised my eyebrows. "Boyfriend?"
"No, my cat. He's named after John Douglas, the guy who pioneered criminal profiling. I left some food this morning, enough for overnight since I would be working tonight, but if I don't get home by tomorrow the poor thing will be starving."
Thom put his hand on her shoulder.
"We'll do the best we can to get you home to your profiling cat, don't you worry."
Isabel smiled and laid her hand over Thom's, patting it.
We filled her in on abbreviated versions of our illustrious histories, although, as usual in social settings, Thom tended not to get too personal or detailed about his past. He basically just relayed his educational and childhood history, saying nothing about Nicole and Sam.
After the getting to know you session, we had a fine dinner of chocolate and nougat with a lovely side of sour cherry candies. Although it would have been awkward behavior for strangers in everyday life, Isabel laid with her head on Thom's lap, and Thom gently stroked her hair until she was asleep. It was calming to them both, and he eventually settled into a deep sleep himself. At some point, I also drifted off on the dusty floor of the little gift shop that just happened to have good doors.
