Loss Of Reason (State Of Reason series Book 1) by Miles A. Maxwell

Author:Miles A. Maxwell [Maxwell, Miles A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B B Broadington LLC
Published: 2015-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Boom!

Up ahead, a huge chunk of sandstone rolled into Lexington. “Better stay away from overhangs,” Franklin said as they ran the increasingly difficult obstacle course back toward 59th Street. “This part of the city is still falling down.”

Everon’s eyes followed a trail of smoke drifting toward them from the east. Fifteen minutes ago it had been moving straight up.

“The wind is changing too,” he muttered.

They rounded the corner of Bloomingdale’s into the narrow entry of 59th again, where the fly-pestered corpse of a gray-haired man lay face up across the sidewalk, his head hanging down over the edge of the subway ditch.

“Ouch!” Chuck said as he stepped around the body, his ankle knocking an eight-inch block of gray concrete to tumble down the side of the pit. It landed with a metallic bang on the partially exposed metal corner of a subway car.

Franklin turned his head and stopped. “Do you hear something?”

The three men listened. The sound of people yelling, and a dull banging from beneath the earth.

“Voices!” Everon said.

“Down there!” Chuck pointed into the ditch.

“Hold on!” Franklin yelled, looking for a place to climb down.

“What about Cyn!” Everon said.

“What if she’s down there?”

“She’s not!” Everon said, puzzled, a little irritated at his step-brother’s sudden change of direction.

“We just leave them down there?” Chuck shot back, nodding toward the train. “There could be hundreds of people trapped down there.”

Franklin looked back toward Cynthia’s apartment. “How do we know?” He pointed to a subway sign up the street by a staircase that went down into the ground. “The subway stop is a block from here. Right by her house. We take a few minutes, open a way out for them if we can. They can find their own way off the island.”

Everon’s lips tightened doubtfully. He looked over the edge. The asphalt was painted with big white block letters: FIRE LANE. “Yeah, no kidding,” he muttered.

Franklin turned to the ditch and pulled a large coil of blue and red climber’s rope from one of his two blue canvas bags.

Chuck watched Franklin walk quickly along, carefully examining the ditch’s edge. “What are you looking for?”

“An entry point.”

Everon pointed out a small intersecting collapse in the roadway. “What about that?”

“It’s got potential,” Franklin agreed.

“How deep would you guess?” Everon asked.

“Fifty-five, sixty feet. Looks pretty unstable.”

Everon picked up a dusty yellow brick, hauled back and flung it into the unbroken plate glass in one of Bloomingdale’s four brass-framed doors behind them. The window exploded. The door glass to its right was already missing. Now the center bands of polished brass between were clear. “First guy to ever smash a department store window without stealing anything. Can you tie off to that?”

Franklin ran a loop around the door frames, tossing the other end into the pit. The rope uncoiled smoothly, its bulk slamming onto the partially exposed corner of the subway car.

The muffled voices grew louder.

Franklin unzipped one of the duffels. It contained another climbing rope. He uncoiled it too, dropping it into the pit. Then pulled out a shorter ten-foot length.

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