Free Skyline by Zach Milan

had read enough to know that the brave police and firemen throughout
the city had saved only a fraction of the submerged subway passengers.
    “Okay,”
Bill said. “You ready?”
    “Terrified,”
Charlotte said. But it wasn’t like they could make anything worse. “Ready.”
    They
swam down again, keeping close, and reached a train car attached to the same
subway. Once there, Charlotte felt her way over the top to the sides where
passengers entered. At a set of doors, the current sucked in through the rubber
seal at the bottom, spraying water inside.
    Charlotte
found the opening and shoved her fingers in, then propped her feet against the small
lip on the doorframe. Below, Bill did the same with the opposite door. Together
they pulled the doors apart. With a ca-clunk , the doors slammed open and
waves gushed inside.
    In
those few seconds, there wasn’t time to coordinate. Charlotte swam through,
grabbed someone, and directed them to the door, pointing up. “There’s a pocket
of air!” she shouted in the diminishing air in the train car.
    Bill
did the same, sometimes next to her, sometimes grabbing people from the
opposite side. When she needed air, Charlotte would go up to the metal roof,
sucking a little oxygen from the bubble floating near the ceiling.
    At
last the car was empty, and Charlotte swam out, up to the feet dangling there.
The air was bright with a burning red flare. Fifty faces looked her way, and
she felt Bill surface beside her.
    “What
happened?” someone called out.
    “There’s
no time,” Bill said, his hand clinging to another stalactite for safety. “There
are other cars. If you can help, do. If you can’t, make room for the next
group!”
    Charlotte
remembered Monroe’s words about those who’d drowned, unable to find their way
out. “The current’s pulling that way.” She pointed. “Follow it as far as you
can; you should find an exit near one of the lower ceilings.”
    “I’ll
take them,” a woman in an MTA uniform called. Her black braids hung bedraggled
behind her head, but her face was earnest. “I know the next station well
enough. I can get us out.” She held up her flare and swung it around. “Those
who can’t help, come with me!” She passed another flare Charlotte’s way. “Good
luck.”
    Bill,
Charlotte, and those who stayed behind swarmed the other subway cars. It took a
bit for the others to understand what Bill and Charlotte had done, but soon
every door in a single car was pried open. Faster still it was emptied, and
they swam to the next. Another saved MTA employee offered a few more flares,
and led the new group of survivors away.
    At
the final car, Charlotte rose once more with the group of rescued people. But
when she surfaced, Bill wasn’t there. Ignoring the questions called out,
Charlotte dived back down and saw the pinprick of the girl’s flashlight, a
white speck amidst all the red light from the flares.
    She
swam down, but he wasn’t in the car they’d just emptied. The idiot must be
double checking the other cars. Wanting to make sure that absolutely everyone
was safe. She pulled herself through the water; there couldn’t be much air left
in any of the cars. Just as she reached him, she saw the flashlight drift from
his hands. He grabbed at the water, but then his head slumped.
    Charlotte
slid her arms under his armpits, her muscles burning under the new weight after
so much work. But she could do this. She was built for a tough workout. So she
dragged him from the car, kicking, kicking, kicking her way to the surface, to
where several others could help.
    She
gasped as she hit the air, called, “Help,” but Bill was gasping too, his hands
floundering, even as others braced him. Helped him stay afloat.
    “Bill!”
She didn’t know whether to hug or slug him.
    “I’m
f-fine!” he choked out.
    “Jesus,
you fucking idiot.”
    “I’m
fine. Just—”
    “Does
anyone know what happened?” a voice called, saving Bill from having to