Page 93 of Doomsdate

“What’s that?” I kick King Rat with my boot, and he rolls down rat mountain. Three more take his place, vying for first bite. “What’s that sound, Everett?!”

“It sounds like a—like a—”

The horn blares, screamingly loud through the subway tunnels, and a collective hiss rises in the rats’ throats. They scramble away, the mountains dissolving into skittering feet as headlights appear in the tunnel.

“—train!” Everett yells, then laughs as the subway train roars toward us. We wave our hands wildly.

The brakes wheeze as the train comes grinding to a halt in front of us. A man’s friendly voice sounds through the intercom.

“All aboard the Survivor Express!”

Chapter Twenty

Maisie

“I am Conductor Julio Acevedo, the last living MTA employee in Manhattan. Should you choose to board my train, I will take you to the end of my line, where a survivors’ community has formed. Our only rule is don’t be a stupid dickhead that gets everybody killed. If you agree to these terms, you may board and shelter for the night in our community.”

“More survivors?” Everett’s eyes are wide and unblinking as they meet mine, his chest heaving. He tightens his bear hug on the booth. “What should we do?”

“If you choose to stay here, you have approximately fifteen seconds after my train departs to exit the station before the rats descend upon you once again.” Julio’s friendly voice crackles out over the train’s intercom, as matter-of-fact as if he were announcing upcoming train maintenance. “Please mind the pigeons on your way out, however. Central Park belongs to them now.”

I jump to the ground. “Let’s do it.”

“We don’t even know where the train goes!” Everett’s eyes dart around the station, as though unable to stop searching for ruby-red eyes and the skittering of tiny claws. “What if it’s another gym franchise?”

“Even cults are better than dying by rodent swarm.” I jump over the turnstile. An elated relief fizzes through my veins, because for the first time in my life, my birthday wish came true.

We have more time.

I hold out a hand to him and, feeling more daring than I have all day, smile. “Come on, Mr. Shenandoah.”

Everett’s brow furrows, but he loosens his grip on the booth, his eyes never leaving mine. Tentatively, he jumps down and hops over the turnstile to take my hand and stand beside me.

To the disembodied voice of Conductor Julio, I lift my chin and announce, “We are Maisie and Everett Shenandoah, and we accept your terms with the sincere hope that you’re not taking us to a sketchy murderous sex cult.”

Julio’s voice laughs, this time direct to our ears and not filtered over the staticky intercom. “Nah, just Queens.” A man with a lined bronze face and black hair gelled into little spikes leans out the driver’s cab window and grins at us.

Maybe it’s just the well-timed rat rescue, but I instantly like him.

“Welcome aboard, Shenandoahs!”

The doors thud open, and together, we step inside. The train is spotless, each orange seat shining. There are fewer cars than normal, Everett informs me as Julio whisks us through the dark underground, perhaps to go faster along the route. It’s surreal sitting in this disinfected car hurtling through the apocalypse for my first-ever subway ride, Everett’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, the bumps and turns jostling us together in the scooped shells of our seats. Chicken is back on Everett’s front now, so both our faces get swatted at. As we approach each station, Julio blares his horn, slowing down to survey the scene for any survivors. But instead of people waiting on the platforms, it’s zombies, both the human and rat varietals, scurrying back from the train’s deafening roar.

“They don’t like loud noises,” Everett muses as we watch them shrink away from the platform.

It’s a long ride, and at some point, my head rests on Everett’s chest. The next thing I know is the feeling of Everett shaking me gently awake.

“We’re here, Ms. Shenandoah.”

“I fell asleep?” I blink at him, then bolt upright. I, Maisie Bennett, fell asleep on a subway train snaking through a zombie-infested underground network of tunnels to god knows where cuddled on a man I’ve known for a week?

Is this trust? Or just incredibly sloppy behavior?

Everett’s mouth softens into a gentle smile as though he can read my thoughts. “A highly strategic micro-nap, if you ask me. We don’t know what we’re about to encounter, and now you’ll be refreshed. Very wise.”

I narrow my eyes. “Uh-huh.”

The interior door to our train car slides opens with a decompressed sigh, and Julio appears. This time, he’s wearing black galoshes, a football helmet, and a long yellow rubber coat, like the kind crossing guards wear in the rain. He’s also holding three brooms gathered in one arm and a gun in the other, pointed at the ceiling. He smiles through the helmet’s grille. “Ready, Shenandoahs?”