A Day in the Life: Tunnel Rats

Dear Readers,

I've decided to begin a new feature here, called "A Day in the Life," where I give you a taste of life in one of the many time streams our department studies. Essentially, each of these posts will be a short story, a creative piece of microhistorical fiction, where I focus on one fictional individual who I think is a good example of his or her contemporaries.

While the stories will be what you would call "fiction," it's hard for me to say that the people I write do not exist. The places, of course, are based on my research, and so to me are very real.

For the first piece, I've chosen to continue my themes on the New York Subway, and write about one of the many time streams where a unique culture develops there. Enjoy!

Always,

Dr. John Skylar
Chairman
Department of Anachronism
University of Constantinople

The shimmery threads of Eno's makeshift confetti net dipped into the water, glitter lost in the dark brown muck. Like usual, he and Tom thought they might catch something interesting.

"Can we move down the platform a little, Eno? There's that drafty spot, and it's so hot in here." Tom's voice neared its too-frequent whine.

"Tom, you're ten years old now," Eno sighed, "You can't take it easy like that no more." He looked at his sandy-haired, younger friend. At thirteen, Eno knew that if anyone else in the subway saw Tom's weakness, they would take advantage.

"It's just some air, Eno," Tom squealed.

"I said no. Now pipe down 'fore somebody hears you."

"But Eeeeno-"

"Wait! I think I got something!" He yanked the net up from the water as soon as he felt the tug. The flooded six train tunnel carried a lot of things down from what remained of the Bronx. This time, he hauled in a live fish, a dead rat, and something else.

Once they took care of the fish, Tom asked, "Eno! What's inside that?"

"I don't believe it...it's...there's a note in this jar!" He rushed to open it. This could be big. If someone with access to paper needed their help, it could mean a big payoff.

Eno's dirty hands broke the tape that kept the note rolled up, and spread out the paper on the subway platform. They looked at the paper together.

SURVIVORS IN NEW YORK:

His Benificience, LORD JAMES STRONGMAN, Calls you to arms!

For a place in his Army, come to HARLEM-125th ST & LEXINGTON

There you will be tested! If worthy, you will get:

• Food
• Water
• Antibiotics
• Weapons

COME ONE COME ALL

"Benfi...beni...huh?" Tom struggled with the words.

"Beneficence," Eno corrected him, "It means he's a nice guy."

"He's got medicine and food."

Eno grinned, "He sure does! Sounds a lot better than most of these other 'lords' running around. If he's for real."

Tom shook his head, "Why would he lie, Eno?"

The older, darker-haired boy laughed. "Why, to catch," he paused to put Tom in a playful headlock, "Poor suckas like you!"

"Hey! Stoppit!" Tom laughed anyway. Eno let him go.

Now serious, he instructed, "Get the boat."

"Why?"

"We'll check it out. If it smells bad, we'll bug out. It's too good to ignore."

"Sure is."

The two boys scrambled down a rope ladder on the grimy platform and clambered into a waiting motor-raft. The faded words "Boston Whaler" peeked out from the waterline. Eno started the engine and they sped away, down the tunnel, into darkness.