Free What Happens in the Darkness by Monica J. O'Rourke Page B

stairwell, she peeked through the hole and stared into the sunlight. The hole was large enough to fit her hand through.
    She screamed for help over and over until she finally saw a face looking down at her from the top of the stairs, a face as shocked as she was.
    Janelle stood back and leaned against the rocks in the station and sobbed while the rescuers dug her out.
    Behind her, on the subway tracks, the snarling, raving-mad dog had found her and was trying to make its way onto the platform. 
     
    *** 
     
    The small crowd that had gathered to watch the rescue cheered as Janelle was pulled from the collapsed subway entrance. Dozens of hands had rescued the girl from her tomb. Several rescuers had gone into the tunnel to try to help the dog. She told them about Harry and the injured woman but didn’t know if the rescuers would go in search of them.
    Janelle was coated in dirt and grime and blood, and she trembled uncontrollably after being pulled from the hole. A woman examined her carefully, looking for wounds and broken bones, bandaging the bite on her leg. They asked Janelle what had happened.
    Someone handed Janelle a mug of something warm, and she sipped it. Chicken broth.
    “I got trapped,” she said quietly, still trembling, trying to steady the cup in her hands.
    “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
    Janelle shook her head. The woman was around Janelle’s mom’s age, she guessed, and her eyes were dark like her mother’s.
    “What’s your name, child?”
    “Janelle.”
    “Oh, now that’s a beautiful name.”
    Janelle smiled and took another sip. Then she looked up—way up—at the hulking man standing before her, probably the tallest person she’d ever seen. His hair was as red as maraschino cherries.
    “Close your mouth, kid,” he said, grinning. “You’re catching flies. Besides, I’m not that tall.”
    “Sorry, I—”
    “S’okay.” He squatted beside her, his hand swallowing hers whole.
    “It’s just. You’re really tall.”
    “Nah … about six-five. I guess I look really tall to a shrimp like you.”
    She giggled, spilling her broth over the side of the cup.
    “Name’s Matt. What’s yours? I didn’t hear.”
    She repeated her name and then looked up at the woman who had checked her for wounds and had fed her the soup.
    “Sandra. Dr. Sandra Mason. Call me Sandy.”
    Janelle nodded. “I was living in the subway for a couple of days before getting trapped. I met these guys and one of them spent a night down there with me. But then the bomb came and he got killed.” She started to cry.
    Sandy put her arms around her and caressed the back of her head. “It’s okay, Janelle.” They rocked together, Sandy holding her tight.
    “Hey, kid,” Matt said, trying to lighten the mood. “You hungry?”
    Her reply was muffled against Sandy’s shoulder, but her head bobbed up and down.
    “What was that? You invent some crazy tunnel language?”
    She turned her head and smiled at Matt. “I said I’m starving.”
    “Let’s go then. Burger King? McDonald’s?”
    “What?”
    “Don’t pay him no mind. Matty’s a real joker.”
    Janelle didn’t think there were any McDonald’s or Burger Kings open for business, but a small part of her held out hope that maybe he wasn’t kidding, that maybe in some small part of her world there was a section untouched by bombs, and this magical area included Whoppers and fries.
    She suddenly realized the streets were crowded with people. Maybe hundreds. “Where’d all these people come from?”
    “Survivors,” Sandy said. “From all over. I guess there aren’t too many left, but we all seem to be finding one another.”
    The sight was amazing, and heartwarming. Janelle thought she’d never see people again, at least not in numbers this large. It had felt as if almost everyone was dead. So many bodies . . . so many body parts , but she didn’t want to think about it, filed it away in the dark recesses of her brain, to possibly be dug up again