Page 72 of Every Last Breath

Bad idea.

His sleeves dragged against the rubber handrails, the friction turning his quicksilver slide into a jerky ride. He feared flipping over the side onto the steel teeth of an escalator.

Weightless, helpless, he drew his arms in close to his body.

Not every Metro in DC had bumpers. The puck-sized discs didn’t stop a fall, only turned a person into tenderized meat by the time they reached the bottom. He was grateful not to face any here.

The ground below was a desperate hope rushing toward him, coming at him fast. But it was the longest eight seconds of his life. Wild exhilaration wrestled with fear.

Fear was better.

It’d keep him sharp and hungry. Keep him alive.

Novak reached the bottom and glanced up at Cole before disappearing in the direction of the Red line.

Swooshing off the metal panel, Cole’s feet stumbled finding the floor. The electric surge rising in him was akin to being born again. He fell to one knee and sprang forward, following the trail of twisting heads and necks craned over shoulders.

The corridor spilled onto the westbound platform. People stood shoulder to shoulder. Jam-packed with kids, from teens to middle-schoolers, in a patchwork of yellow, green, light-blue, and red T-shirts.

Damn it. Summer camp field trips.

Across the tracks, the eastbound side was worse. He glanced at the inbound train sign overhead—three minutes ETA.

Three minutes before the Ghost could be lost in the wind.

Dim lighting in the concave tunnel turned needle-in-a-haystack into finding a needle in a pine forest, at night. Red LED lights lined the bumpy tiles along the edge of the platform but did nothing to brighten the landscape. Chest heaving, he slowed his breathing while scanning for a dark ball cap, black backpack. Anyone in long sleeves.

He shouldered past people, weaving around a huddle of kids and chaperones in light blue T-shirts that read Ride the Summer Wave. Every ten steps, he checked his rear, ensuring he hadn’t missed the Ghost, somehow overlooked him in the sea of passengers.

Maddox made it down, rushing onto the eastbound side across the tracks. She scoured the platform.

Cole pressed forward. Most bodies stayed stationary or paced one to two feet within a localized space. He caught glimpses of one person with a blue ball cap and backpack. Drifting slowly. Snaking around shifting figures. Cole bulldozed his way to the thin male.

Metallic bitterness coated his tongue. He clasped a hand on the man’s shoulder and wrenched him around.

A wide-eyed young man with olive-toned skin stared back. “Hey, buddy, what’s your problem?”

“Sorry.” Cole raised his palms and backed off.

Red LED lights across the tracks on Maddox’s side flashed. A train was coming.

Two minutes until his westbound train arrived. He stepped up his pace through the milling flock of people, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. His sixth sense, the electric worm, carved a wriggling path from his skull down his spine, fizzing and spitting sparks across his nerve endings.

The rumble of the eastbound train resounded. Cole glanced back to see lights and Maddox peering down the tunnel at the inbound train. Dread churned his gut.

He faced forward and caught the Ghost’s steely gaze at the other end of the same platform. No baseball cap. The maniacal grin on full display. A moment. Less. A millisecond. Cole pushed toward him, storming through the gaggle of day campers.

Novak made his move. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air as the Ghost leapt off the platform, arm locked around a woman, hauling her over the side along with him. He let go of her and dashed across the westbound tracks, avoiding the electrified third rail.

Bounding over a strip of lighting in the middle, Novak rushed across the eastbound tracks. He jumped, pressing his hands onto the platform, and lifted his body with the fluidity of a gymnast. The flat-faced train whizzed into the station on the opposite side, concealing Maddox and the Ghost from sight.

Red lights flashed on Cole’s platform. He ran to help the fallen woman. Elbowing anyone in his way, he rushed to the far end.

The eastbound train on the other side stopped and the doors opened.

Cole swept paralyzed gawkers to the side and reached down to the plump woman in the light yellow T-shirt, Pirates and Princesses Summer Camp written across the front. Out of his peripheral vision, cowering children shrieked and whimpered.

“Come on.” He beckoned to the stunned woman clambering to her feet. “Take my hand.”