This story previously appeared in Issue 2, of The Hot Corner fanzine, and is posted
here without the authorization of the author.
It is posted with due acknowledgement, in the hope to attract your
attention. If you wish it to be removed, please contact the
webmaster without any delay. – C.B.
By Kimberly Murphy-Smith
The horde of
commuters escaping from their daily grind pushed into the already-crowded
Underground car as another workday came to an end in
London. People struggled to keep their
balance and others attempted to find seats as the subway lumbered out of the
station and onto its next destination. A dark-haired young man, the kind that stands out in a crowd even
when attempting to be inconspicuous, stood and offered his seat to a young
lady, only to have a leather-clad punk plop himself into it. The man shrugged, then gathered his shopping
bag and found a handhold as the train picked up speed.
Things had changed
little in 2068 from the early days of the London Underground: It was faster and the trains more modern, but
still a cross-section of society filled the cars. During the heavy holiday shopping season,
this was even more true as suburban shoppers mingled
with daily commuters and local residents in the packed cars.
Which made the sudden lurching stop of the train in a darkened tunnel all
the more frustrating.
As the brakes
seemed to lock in place, standing passengers held on for dear life to handgrips
or toppled to the floor, packages and briefcases went flying, and people fell
out of seats. Screaming and swearing
combined to create a rush of sound to replace the screeching of the metal
wheels.
"Please remain calm," the conductor's voice over the intercom
attempted to instruct. "The
emergency brake has been activated in one of the cars. We are attempting to ascertain which car
now. Stay in your seats and remain
calm."
Immediately people
began looking around for the offending brake lever. "There it is," the dark-haired man
said as he pointed toward the back of the car, where the brake lever was pulled
down into a locked position. He began to
walk over to it.
A red-haired man
badly in need of a shave and a bath pushed his way into the aisle as he pulled
out a semi-automatic weapon from his overcoat and released the safety. "Stay where you are," he ordered.
The man stopped in
his tracks as two others also drew guns.
"Happy
Holidays," the redhead wisecracked.
"Now let's all give to the needy today. Throw down your valuables."
A general murmur
arose.
"Without conversation!" Redhead snapped.
"Come on, all
of it," one of his cohorts' Cockney-accented voice encouraged. "Now."
Slowly, people
began to drop purses, wallets, and briefcases to the floor of the car.
"You, too, bright-eyes," the other cohort announced, gesturing
with his gun at the dark-haired man still holding his shopping bag. "Give us a present."
The dark-haired
man's icy blue eyes never blinked as he hurled his shopping bag at the trio.
Redhead barely
managed to dodge the bag. "That was
stupid," he pronounced. "Try
that again and I'll ventilate you."
The dark-haired
man looked around for a moment, as if gauging the risks, then took a step
closer to Redhead.
"I'm warning
you...," Redhead began.
He never finished
the sentence as a right cross sent him for a loop, crashing into his cohorts.
The dark-haired
man dove for the emergency call button.
Redhead regained
his composure and fired off several shots.
The dark-haired
man toppled to the floor of the car.
Redhead dusted
himself off as his cohorts began gesturing wildly at the screaming passengers
with their guns. "Now—anyone else
want to be a hero?" he shouted.
There was no
motion to indicate any other passenger had such notions.
"Good." Redhead began moving through the train
collecting the valuables that had been tossed to the floor as his partners held
the passengers at bay with their weapons.
At the far end of
the car, the conductor opened the door between the compartments. "What the..." he began.
"Stop right
there," Redhead ordered.
The other two
pointed their guns at him.
Suddenly both of
them toppled to the floor.
Redhead turned
around and got kicked in the jaw by the dark-haired man. He crashed into several passengers, who in
turn grabbed him and his cohorts and their guns and held them tightly.
"Get us to
the next station and call the police!" the dark-haired man ordered.
"Yes,
sir," the conductor called, hurrying back toward the front of the car.
Applause and wild
cheers filled the air as the dark-haired man slumped against the wall and
hugged his arms around himself as if chilled.
One of the
passengers retrieved his shopping bag and handed it to him. "We thought you were dead for
certain," the young woman remarked.
"Are you all right?"
"Fell a bit
hard back there," he said, forcing a smile. "I'm fine."
As the would-be robbers were taken from the car and passengers interviewed
for corroborating statements, the story of the dark-haired man's bravery spread
through the station and out into the city at large. The papers and television stations
all told about the young man who saved an entire train car full of commuters
from three violent criminals, a young man who didn't even stick around long
enough to seek medical treatment whose need only became apparent after he
stepped off the train, leaving a dark bloodstain behind.
No one, it would
seem, had noticed Paul Metcalfe tossing his bullet-holed bloody sweater into a
garbage can and pulling his overcoat around him to quietly fade into the crush
of departing commuters on the next Underground train to Heathrow.
THE END
"CHRISTMAS FAN
FIC CHALLENGE" PAGE
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