THE CITY STREETS were crowded at this time of day. Now that his vision had cleared, Lamont realized how conspicuous he looked in his dinner jacket. Just about every person they passed was wearing worn-out clothes, stained and sooty from smoke. He was getting a lot of stares. Here in midtown, the congestion and filth were even thicker than by the docks. More misery per square block. A lot of people wore goofy masks, the kind Lamont remembered from Halloween parties. But this didn’t look like a party.
“What happened to these people?” asked Lamont. “Why is everybody so poor and dirty?”
“That’s the way it is,” said Maddy. “The people at the top get everything. The rest of us just get by.”
On light poles across the street, Lamont saw glass panels hanging at eye level. Like movie screens. But so much smaller. Amazing! On every screen, a man was talking. Lamont wasn’t close enough to see his face, and his words were lost in the rumble and rush of midday truck traffic.
“Who’s that?” Lamont asked, pointing at one of the screens.
“Are you kidding?” Maddy asked. “That’s him. Gismonde. The world president. The guy whose home you just tried to break in to.”
“What’s he saying?” asked Lamont. He saw small groups of people gathered at the base of the poles, faces tilted up, listening intently.
“It’s his daily message. New rules. New warnings. Words of inspiration,” said Maddy. “Depends on his mood. I never pay much attention.”
At Forty-Third Street, they saw a transport stopped at the corner. It was a converted city bus filled with families, mostly mothers and kids. An armed guard stood on a wide platform near the front door. Most of the children inside were crying, some scratching or banging on the thick plastic windows. The mothers, stone-faced, were trying to calm them.
“Who are those people?” Lamont asked. “What’s happening?”
“Suspects. Strays. Violators,” Maddy replied. “Just part of the daily roundup.”
“Where are they going?” asked Lamont. “Where are they taking them?”
“Quiet,” said Maddy, tucking her head down. “Stop asking questions.”
Lamont felt his insides stirring. An old feeling. Anger rising up. He pulled Maddy to a halt.
“We have to do something!” he said. “We can’t just let this happen.”
Lamont was determined. Some primal instinct was kicking in, and he was aching for action. Maddy nudged him forward.
“Are you insane?” she said.
“You distract the guard,” said Lamont, “and I’ll get everybody off the bus. I can do it, I promise!”
“You do that,” said Maddy, “and ten minutes later, the TinGrins will round them up on another corner and beat the crap out of them for escaping. Keep moving. We can’t be hanging around like this.”
Already, Lamont’s furious gesturing had caught the bus guard’s attention. The guard’s prime responsibility was to keep the prisoners in line. It was boring duty and it didn’t require much effort, so he was always watching for random deviations in his vicinity. Those two across the street definitely stood out.
Maddy glanced up in time to see the guard looking their way. A passing truck blocked him for a few seconds. In the interval, Maddy spun Lamont around and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket.
“Follow me,” she said. “Now!”
Maddy tucked her scooter under one arm and tugged Lamont hard. They broke into a run. The entrance to the abandoned subway station was a half-block away. When they reached the crumbling station entrance, Maddy took the steps down two at a time. Lamont did his best to keep up, but his coordination was still not quite back to normal. A couple of times, he almost fell headfirst onto the cement.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Maddy led the way across the deserted platform and down to the far end, where a rusted metal ladder reached down to track level. She looked back at the entrance and saw the guard profiled by the light from outside. Maddy scrambled down the ladder. Lamont followed. She pulled him down into a crouch at the base of the ladder and put a finger to her lips. They heard the sound of footsteps and the cold jangle of metal equipment. Lamont leaned back into the darkness, trying to find his footing in the uneven gravel. The footsteps on the platform stopped. A green laser dot danced across the wall at the end of the platform.
“Let’s go!” Maddy mouthed. She tugged Lamont’s sleeve and led him past the edge of the platform into the dark tunnel beyond. When she looked back, she spotted the silhouette of the guard moving down the platform slowly, rifle in firing position.
“Move!” she whispered to Lamont. He stumbled over a rotted railroad tie. When he recovered his balance, his foot sank into something mushy.
“Good God!” he whispered. “It smells like a crapper down here!”
“Welcome to the underground,” whispered Maddy. She led the way by feel, a few yards at a time, keeping one hand against the damp cement wall.
The guard reached the end of the platform and spotted the ladder. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and started down. As his right boot landed heavy on the bottom rung, the ladder pulled free of its rusted mounts, opening a jagged hole in the cement wall. Suddenly the gravel bed and tracks were alive with scurrying shapes. The guard heaved himself back up onto the platform, flat on his belly, eyes wide. He looked down into a solid sea of wriggling, greasy rats.
Suddenly, bus duty didn’t look so bad.