either that or we head to Penn Station, but I don’t know if it’s a P.O.D.”
We all agreed to try to locate the entrance into the subway tunnel, since it was in the direction of Pennsylvania Station.
IX. Bad Day for the Living
David had made it sound simple: walk a few blocks and access the tie-in tunnel. However, it was neither simple nor time efficient. What David had left out was that we would walk ten blocks north, descending another forty feet under the city. Then reaching the end of the tunnel we had to take an elevator up thirty feet, exit the elevator at the tie-in access point, and walk south several blocks before getting to get to the Amtrak tunnel.
When I asked why they didn’t build a set of stairs descending from the Amtrak tunnel into theirs, he began a monologue on the civil engineer difficulties. By the time he had finished his in depth explanation my head was throbbing. However, I would discover that the severity of my headache had nothing to do with David’s clarification, but was the beginning of something I hadn’t considered. It was an oversight that would have far greater ramifications than I could have ever thought possible.
The door we exited was unlocked, but the one at the other end of the tunnel was secured. As David unlocked it and pulled the chrome-plated door toward him, he triggered a red revolving light mounted on the opposite tunnel ceiling. As it began to flash, David spoke in German.
I had to translate for Julie. David had delivered the Gene Wilder line about the most secret room in the factory from the film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory .
I asked David why there was no blaring siren or warning noise. He assured me there was a silent alarm wired into the central alarm system at police headquarters in Brooklyn, the East River Station, and Penn Station. But I didn’t expect an immediate police reaction, or any response for that matter. We were one hundred and twenty-five feet below the city.
Diffused fluorescent lighting, pinkish in color, reminiscent of wide spectrum plant lights and not ideal for vision, illuminated the Amtrak/LIRR tunnel. The lights were flickering, which further hindered visibility. It was also an indication that power was failing. Though I was not concerned about stepping onto an electrified third rail, since the tunnels utilized a catenary system, I was concerned about the darkened tunnel section ahead.
David, Julie, and Marisol each carried a dual action spotlight/fluorescent lantern—dual action because there was also a lamp on its belly, so it could be used as a lantern—useful for lighting up a work area and to broadcast our presence. I, on the other hand, pulled out my lightweight, five-inch aluminum flashlight with its super bright, one Watt LED from my pack. If the batteries ran out of juice, I was prepared. I always carried a backup—a self-powered crank light.
Max and I lead the way, with Marisol holding onto Max’s leash, not for Max’s sake, but for her own comfort. There was no knowing who or what was in the tunnels. When we were in the conEdison passageways, we were relatively safe in the sealed environment. As we walked west along the tracks there was the potential of encountering infected people, not only from Amtrak and Long Island Rail Road commuters, but from anything else that made its way into the tunnel system from Queens.
In theory, we only had to walk five blocks before coming to an old construction entrance/exit to access the IRT East Side Line (Interborough Rapid Transit Company), which was called the Lexington Avenue Subway Line by most New Yorkers. From there we would walk north up the tracks to Grand Central, out of the tunnels, and into awaiting salvation, though I knew that the 33 rd Street was the proverbial end of the line for me.
If I emerged with the others, they would assume that everyone was infected and we would be placed in quarantine, or worse, shot on sight.
As I said, in theory, we
We all agreed to try to locate the entrance into the subway tunnel, since it was in the direction of Pennsylvania Station.
IX. Bad Day for the Living
David had made it sound simple: walk a few blocks and access the tie-in tunnel. However, it was neither simple nor time efficient. What David had left out was that we would walk ten blocks north, descending another forty feet under the city. Then reaching the end of the tunnel we had to take an elevator up thirty feet, exit the elevator at the tie-in access point, and walk south several blocks before getting to get to the Amtrak tunnel.
When I asked why they didn’t build a set of stairs descending from the Amtrak tunnel into theirs, he began a monologue on the civil engineer difficulties. By the time he had finished his in depth explanation my head was throbbing. However, I would discover that the severity of my headache had nothing to do with David’s clarification, but was the beginning of something I hadn’t considered. It was an oversight that would have far greater ramifications than I could have ever thought possible.
The door we exited was unlocked, but the one at the other end of the tunnel was secured. As David unlocked it and pulled the chrome-plated door toward him, he triggered a red revolving light mounted on the opposite tunnel ceiling. As it began to flash, David spoke in German.
I had to translate for Julie. David had delivered the Gene Wilder line about the most secret room in the factory from the film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory .
I asked David why there was no blaring siren or warning noise. He assured me there was a silent alarm wired into the central alarm system at police headquarters in Brooklyn, the East River Station, and Penn Station. But I didn’t expect an immediate police reaction, or any response for that matter. We were one hundred and twenty-five feet below the city.
Diffused fluorescent lighting, pinkish in color, reminiscent of wide spectrum plant lights and not ideal for vision, illuminated the Amtrak/LIRR tunnel. The lights were flickering, which further hindered visibility. It was also an indication that power was failing. Though I was not concerned about stepping onto an electrified third rail, since the tunnels utilized a catenary system, I was concerned about the darkened tunnel section ahead.
David, Julie, and Marisol each carried a dual action spotlight/fluorescent lantern—dual action because there was also a lamp on its belly, so it could be used as a lantern—useful for lighting up a work area and to broadcast our presence. I, on the other hand, pulled out my lightweight, five-inch aluminum flashlight with its super bright, one Watt LED from my pack. If the batteries ran out of juice, I was prepared. I always carried a backup—a self-powered crank light.
Max and I lead the way, with Marisol holding onto Max’s leash, not for Max’s sake, but for her own comfort. There was no knowing who or what was in the tunnels. When we were in the conEdison passageways, we were relatively safe in the sealed environment. As we walked west along the tracks there was the potential of encountering infected people, not only from Amtrak and Long Island Rail Road commuters, but from anything else that made its way into the tunnel system from Queens.
In theory, we only had to walk five blocks before coming to an old construction entrance/exit to access the IRT East Side Line (Interborough Rapid Transit Company), which was called the Lexington Avenue Subway Line by most New Yorkers. From there we would walk north up the tracks to Grand Central, out of the tunnels, and into awaiting salvation, though I knew that the 33 rd Street was the proverbial end of the line for me.
If I emerged with the others, they would assume that everyone was infected and we would be placed in quarantine, or worse, shot on sight.
As I said, in theory, we
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