Read Online Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) by William D. Carl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William D. Carl
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service. Thought the damn city was supposed to have Wi-Fi up and running by now.” He snapped his briefcase shut.
The elderly woman shook her head, saying, “Feh, if you listen to the promises of the meshuggener politicians, you deserve the disappointment you get.”
“It works in some places,” the tall Latino woman said in a clipped accent. “I’ve used mine down here before. They just aren’t done with all the installations.”
“Rats probably chewed through the signal wires,” the young African American man said.
Sandy pulled out her Blackberry and looked for available bars. For a second, she saw the ghost of one appear, then she put the device away, shaking her head.
“I’ve got nothing,” she said.
The young woman who was sitting with the Amazonian Latino moved closer to her older companion.
“I’m scared, Coach,” the girl said. “Those rats … there was something seriously wrong with them. Did you see how big they were?”
“Rats get big in the sewers, Alice,” the older woman replied.
“But did you see their eyes? They were all yellow and nasty looking.”
The businessman unbuttoned his suit jacket and said, “Yeah. There was something really fucked about their eyes. And the way they moved. My name is Craig Chew, by the way. Of Levy, Thieback, and Chew.”
The black man snapped his fingers, “Yeah, man, I’ve seen you on TV. Late night commercials, but you were dressed like Paul Revere. ‘The litigation is coming.’”
“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit,” said Craig Chew. “But lucrative, nonetheless.”
The subway car went dark for a second, but then the lights flickered back on as the train shuddered, vibrating its way along the track.
“Whoa,” the young man said, pulling himself to his feet using one of the shiny metal vertical poles. “What was that?”
“Just the shaking of old bones. These trains are all ancient, you know. Like me,” the old lady in the purple flower dress said. “The transit’s been around almost as long as I have. There are bound to be a few arthritic spots on the tracks.”
The lights flickered again, and the young girl squeezed in closer to the tall older woman. This time, the train suffered a tremor so severe it shook the black guy off his feet and onto the floor.
“Shit! What the hell was that?”
The lights came back on. Sandy saw the concern in the eyes of the New Yorkers. These were people familiar with the regular machinations of the New York Transit System, and whatever had happened was obviously out of the ordinary.
She asked, “Do these trains ever get stuck down here? Like in a blackout?”
Craig Chew answered, “Sometimes. But it’s really rare.”
“I never felt nothing like that, though,” the African American man said. “That was … I don’t know what that was, but it felt wrong. Like the car was gonna jump the tracks or something.”
“No need to worry,” the old Jewish lady said. She gave Sandy a toothless grin and continued, “If the train stalls, it’ll start again in a couple of minutes. Trust an old native, sweetie. You must be a tourist.”
Sandy nodded, said, “Yeah. From Ohio. My brother died at 9-11, and I … I wanted to see the site before it was all built over.”
“Sorry to hear that, dear. My name is Sylvia Levy. I’ve been a resident for my whole life. Been riding these trains since the forties.”
“It’s nice to meet you Sylvia.”
“So don’t you worry about a thing. You’re safe in here from whatever might be out there.”
“Like those big assed rats,” the young man said.
“Right,” Sylvia continued. “They can’t get in here. And if the train stops, the Transit Authorities will have it started again in a flash and you’ll be zooming back to Brooklyn with the rest of us.”
“Thanks,” Sandy said, checking her Blackberry again. Still no signal. She sighed and looked back at the elderly woman in the purple dress. “I feel a lot better.”
Then, the lights
The elderly woman shook her head, saying, “Feh, if you listen to the promises of the meshuggener politicians, you deserve the disappointment you get.”
“It works in some places,” the tall Latino woman said in a clipped accent. “I’ve used mine down here before. They just aren’t done with all the installations.”
“Rats probably chewed through the signal wires,” the young African American man said.
Sandy pulled out her Blackberry and looked for available bars. For a second, she saw the ghost of one appear, then she put the device away, shaking her head.
“I’ve got nothing,” she said.
The young woman who was sitting with the Amazonian Latino moved closer to her older companion.
“I’m scared, Coach,” the girl said. “Those rats … there was something seriously wrong with them. Did you see how big they were?”
“Rats get big in the sewers, Alice,” the older woman replied.
“But did you see their eyes? They were all yellow and nasty looking.”
The businessman unbuttoned his suit jacket and said, “Yeah. There was something really fucked about their eyes. And the way they moved. My name is Craig Chew, by the way. Of Levy, Thieback, and Chew.”
The black man snapped his fingers, “Yeah, man, I’ve seen you on TV. Late night commercials, but you were dressed like Paul Revere. ‘The litigation is coming.’”
“Not my finest moment, I’ll admit,” said Craig Chew. “But lucrative, nonetheless.”
The subway car went dark for a second, but then the lights flickered back on as the train shuddered, vibrating its way along the track.
“Whoa,” the young man said, pulling himself to his feet using one of the shiny metal vertical poles. “What was that?”
“Just the shaking of old bones. These trains are all ancient, you know. Like me,” the old lady in the purple flower dress said. “The transit’s been around almost as long as I have. There are bound to be a few arthritic spots on the tracks.”
The lights flickered again, and the young girl squeezed in closer to the tall older woman. This time, the train suffered a tremor so severe it shook the black guy off his feet and onto the floor.
“Shit! What the hell was that?”
The lights came back on. Sandy saw the concern in the eyes of the New Yorkers. These were people familiar with the regular machinations of the New York Transit System, and whatever had happened was obviously out of the ordinary.
She asked, “Do these trains ever get stuck down here? Like in a blackout?”
Craig Chew answered, “Sometimes. But it’s really rare.”
“I never felt nothing like that, though,” the African American man said. “That was … I don’t know what that was, but it felt wrong. Like the car was gonna jump the tracks or something.”
“No need to worry,” the old Jewish lady said. She gave Sandy a toothless grin and continued, “If the train stalls, it’ll start again in a couple of minutes. Trust an old native, sweetie. You must be a tourist.”
Sandy nodded, said, “Yeah. From Ohio. My brother died at 9-11, and I … I wanted to see the site before it was all built over.”
“Sorry to hear that, dear. My name is Sylvia Levy. I’ve been a resident for my whole life. Been riding these trains since the forties.”
“It’s nice to meet you Sylvia.”
“So don’t you worry about a thing. You’re safe in here from whatever might be out there.”
“Like those big assed rats,” the young man said.
“Right,” Sylvia continued. “They can’t get in here. And if the train stops, the Transit Authorities will have it started again in a flash and you’ll be zooming back to Brooklyn with the rest of us.”
“Thanks,” Sandy said, checking her Blackberry again. Still no signal. She sighed and looked back at the elderly woman in the purple dress. “I feel a lot better.”
Then, the lights
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