Count Down

More short fiction for me to bore you with~ *nods gleefully* Actually this is the result of eating too much icecream and watching CSI where they were inspecting sewers. Not my normal setting for short stories, but thats okay I think, yes??

Count Down
“Those last five years of your life suck anyway,” said Gertrude rubbing her bandaged hand through her dark greasy hair, “So I might as well enjoy this crap while I can.” She stood up abruptly, dropping the fried chicken on her new white adidas, grumbling all the while. “The hell!” she cursed as she side-stepped into a crevice, pushing herself as far against the cold asphalt as she could. Not far down the tunnel a low grumble could be heard and a dim light flickered as the noise got closer. Several stones danced while the ground vibrated, running chills up Gertrude’s legs. She held her breath, for thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight… her mind counted down as her body ached with anxiety. Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten… then nothing. The vibrating stopped, the stones now snuggled up against her shoes and her heart at the bottom of her stomach. “Damn, must have been a cross a’ hop back,” she muttered to herself, “I swore that the board said 13:00…”
Not moving from her nook she squeezed her hand up to her face, lifting her sleeve with her teeth. A small, polished pocket watch dangled from her fingers. She struggled to open it, noting the strange metabolic taste filling her mouth as she manipulated the item between her teeth and tongue. Her body froze as the wall creaked and groaned. She could feel the tension flowing through the rock long before her ears caught hold of a horn being blown a half mile away. “Finally, please don’t cross. Please don’t cross,” she chanted. Without further struggle she slipped the watch into a pocket in her shirt and zipped it away. “So much for my count down,” she muttered.
Gertrude shut her eyes and slowly exhaled. Calming thoughts slithered their way into her mind, telling her that she had nothing to fear; although ‘stay off the third track if you miss’ began to overwhelm her senses as the train rushed forward. There was a sudden burst of air and pressure as the train whipped around the corner, mere inches from her blushed nose. Her eyes flung open and her hands desperately held to the rock wall, scratching hopelessly for better grip as the train’s momentum pulled at her. In the chaos of the moment she still managed to count the cars—five, six, seven, eight, NINE. Without thinking she lunged just as the words slipped from her mouth. The gravity of the moment pulled her effortlessly into the train, her hand nearly missing the cold hand rail. Her left hand following immediately after her right, then her right foot and then her left—after what felt like hours, her entire body clung to the railing on the last car of the Westside Express.
A sigh of relief swept through her body after one muscle at a time made the connection that it was still attached to the rest of the body and Gertrude was still alive. Panic finally took its toll as sweat started to form between her fingers, causing the rail to seemingly slip away from her grasp. One last thought danced across her mind, “I’m too young to die!” Both her hands slipped and her time stopped. The lights, the streaming colors of gray, purple and lime flew past her in a storm of vertigo.
A cold, dry hand was grasping hers. Her feet still ironed to the bottom rail, yard after yard passed her by. “The hell?” being her characteristic first thought. Before she could bring her eyes to open another hand grasped her around the waist, forcefully spiriting her to the safety of the platform. When Gertrude finally came to her senses, all was silent around her, only the young man’s voice rang in her being. “Gert, get a’hold of yourself, girl!” he said, “Gert? That was wild!” One minute passed, two minutes passed, then, the eternity was over. The roar of the train returned, and the pain of the train’s abusive turbulence returned. “Come on kid, before the inspector returns. Up the latter, go,” he continued.
“The hell?!” Gertrude screamed as her mind returned to her body. “Get off me, Rag!” she screamed as he heaved her up the latter.
“Man, you weigh like a ton of bricks, wha’cha ben’ eating kid?” the man grumbled back to her.
“Nothin’ Nothin’ just get your fingers off me’ butt, before I waap you silly,” she muttered under her breath as her head popped over the roof of the train. Suddenly jumping the train didn’t seem so dangerous, as the top of the tunnel sped by, only a few feet above her. “Ever wonder what the grim reaper looks like!” she yelled back down to her companion.
“Yah, its going to be the inspector if you don’t move, damn it!” he said, frustration building in his voice. Gertrude huffed, extended her arms below her on the final handle and took one last shaky stride upwards using Rag’s head for a step. She slithered several feet up the train, careful not to let her body rise any further than a couple of inches. Rag shortly joined her, their shoulders comfortably touching.
“Now,” She started, “Where we going? Where we going that nearly cost me my life?”
“Ah, kid. Don’t start with me. You’ve jumped sure the hell more trains than I have. Dun’ talk to me about dieing. You were nowhere near it,” Rag casually commented, “or at least nowhere near it, with me around.” He let a deep chuck escape him, as his biceps tensed and he gripped Gertrude’s bandaged hand. She rewarded his snide comments with a quick grin then turned away to look behind them. The door below them had been opened and the walls betrayed the presence of a flashlight scanning the area. An ‘all clear’ was given into what sounded like a broken transmitter, then a rustling of clothing. A match was struck. The two stow-aways cringed as rancid odors somehow managed their way to escape the velocity of the wind and reach Rag’s and Gertrude’s noses. The transmitter beeped on again and the inspector spoke a clear ‘yes sir.’ The man’s shoes clicked against the steel platform. Metal screeching upon metal resonated in the tunnel, then, died with a muffled click.
Gertrude let out a choked sigh.
“Rag, that was worse than you without a bath!” He only glared at her, but she knew that a chord was struck, and the topic of cleanliness was not to be brought up again; or at least not when tolerance for each other was running so low. After several drowning minutes, Gertrude turned to her companion once again. He was not paying attention to her. His eyes had a menacing glow as the opening to the tunnel rushed at them. Instinctively both their heads hit solid on the train. The train did not stop at the station, nor did it slow—the opening slid by with almost no notice. “They shut down the 46th Station! Why de’ do that?” she questioned. She did not expect an answer. Rag didn’t even look at her. His unconcerned attitude to his social disabilities bothered her. But she never pressed him. Rag was more than family to her, the only one that she had ever known for more than a day. Their relationship was not physically intimate, no, Gertrude would never let any man do more than brush by her without her inflicting serious damage on the offender.
It was comforting to know that Rag would always be there for her and never expect anything in return. He was far older than her anyways and lacked any attractive appeal. She took time to look him over, see if he had acquired any injuries that he had failed to attend to. She had the worst time getting him to understand that personal hygiene was essential to good health and happiness. Stupid man. His skin was dark and worn, his muscles firm and unyielding. She had always admired his strength and not just the physical aspects of ‘being strong.’ He once told her that he had served proudly in the armed forces, but was court marshaled and lost everything. She never inquired further. Something’s are best left forgotten.
To pass the time she pictured herself as God. She looked down upon the two miscreants; they must have been an odd pair to behold. Gertrude had sharp red hair, cut into a stylish bob while Rag’s head was… a rag-head. Long dreadlocks adorned with various beads and ties attached itself to a hardened crisp face. Rag had a burn mark in the shape of an upside-down bird wing stretching from his collar bone to the back of his jaw. He never made an attempt to hide it.
“Are we there yet?” she asked.
“No,” he replied.
“Are we there yet, now?” she asked again.
“Child, why do ya insist on torment’n me so?” he said nonchalantly, not particularly annoyed with the play.
“Come on! Tell me where we are go’ng!” she said frustrated with the fact he wasn’t going to reveal anything.
!~END~!