S1W10: “Please Identify Yourself”

© 2012 Phylicia Joannis

The small, metallic frame of the drone hummed softly as it made its way down the tunnel. Armed with infrared instruments, a high definition camera, and all-terrain wheels, it glided effortlessly on top of the grimy debris.

“Do you see anything yet?” One of the engineers asked as he walked into the room. Chuck was controlling the drone’s camera from a technical workroom at the dispatch office. They’d sent the first drone through the abandoned tunnel’s entrance. The second drone would be sent through the intersection at the B line.

“Nothing yet,” Chuck replied as he sipped his coffee. Another engineer sat beside him, controlling the drone’s movement.

“If we don’t find something soon, my supervisor will have my head,” Chuck slid his hand over the back of his neck. “I have to report in fifteen minutes.”

“Mm,” the engineer murmured. “Check out the relay system.”

Chuck flipped a few switches and spoke into a small microphone. “Is anyone out there? Hello? Hello?”

A few rats squeaked in reply. The engineers exchanged a glance.

“At least we know it’s working,” one of them smirked.

Chuck groaned. “We need to make contact. Fast. How soon will the second drone be ready?

“Entering through the B line as we speak,” the engineer flipped a switch on the other side of Chuck. “Coming online now.”

Chuck watched as the camera for Drone 2 came alive. A flicker from Drone 1’s camera monitor caught his eye, and he turned in time to see the video feed go white with fuzz.

“What just happened?” Chuck flipped the switch back and forth.

“We lost the feed!” the engineer beside him took over the controls and began furiously tapping codes into the computer.

He swore. “It’s not responding. Something must have happened.”

Chuck’s supervisor entered the room. “How’s everything going so far?”

Chuck groaned.

***

Billy sat upright, careful not to move too quickly or too far from where he’d fallen. The flashlight was gone. He couldn’t see anything except the still faint light of the traffic signal ahead. His stomach churned with anxiety.

“I am so fired,” he thought aloud. A faint hum in the distant tunnel caught his ear. He sat quietly, frozen, and listened to the sound. The humming got louder, and Billy felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“Wh-who’s there?” he stammered. A flicker of light danced across his eyes, and he flinched. A short robotic figure approached him, its body squealing softly against its rugged wheels. Billy’s eyes grew wide with fear as stories of alien probes flashed through his mind. The machine spoke.

“Please identify yourself,” it crackled in a male human voice.

Billy screamed.

***

 “Please identify yourself,” Chuck repeated the question into the microphone, annoyed by the conductor’s response. “This is dispatch. We’ve sent in a drone to assess your situation.”

Chuck’s supervisor leaned in closer to view the camera as the conductor composed himself.

“This is Billy Mason,” Billy blubbered. “We got off track and we’re stuck. I went out alone to get help, and I lost my flashlight.”

Chuck probed him for information. “How many passengers are currently on the train?”

Billy paused. “I… I don’t know.”

Chuck sighed. “Is anyone injured, sick, or in need of immediate medical attention?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Billy answered.

Chuck furrowed his brow. “How much damage has the train suffered? Do you have power?”

Billy replied, “Well, uh, the AC stopped working.”

Chuck groaned in frustration. “Have you been following any of the emergency procedures at all?”

Billy looked confused. “Emergency procedures?”

Chuck threw his hands up. “Unbelievable!”

“This guy is useless!” Chuck’s supervisor scowled. “Someone get me his personnel file. I have a feeling this is going to be a PR nightmare.”

***

My eyes searched frantically for some sign of the Congressman. I walked blindly, stumbling in the dark tunnel as I searched for his hand, his head, anything.

A muffled cry pierced the darkness.

“Where are you?” I screamed, rushing towards the sound. I heard it again, louder.

“Help!” the Congressman cried out from somewhere in the tunnel.  I ran into a dirt wall. He was trapped somewhere beneath it.

“I’m going to get you out!” I cried as I pulled handfuls of dirt away. A rat scurried across my foot. I ignored it and kept digging. The Congressman called out again, and I increased my speed. I didn’t know how much air he had or how far deep he’d been buried, but I knew I had to move quickly.

“Somebody help me!” I called out as I clamored at rotted wood and debris. Moments later, the Nurse was beside me, flashlight in hand. Together we pulled away at the dirt until my fingers scraped his skin. His fingers.

“He’s here!” I laughed as I pulled the dirt away from his hand. I felt his hand clutch mine, and my heart leapt. The Nurse continued to dig while I pulled him forward. His hand gave way to his arm, then his shoulder, and soon we had his head free.

The Congressman gasped as his head made its way up from the pile.

“Something’s got my leg,” he coughed.

“We’ll get you out,” I spoke softly. “Don’t worry.”

“Something’s stuck down there,” the Nurse grunted as she tried to pry a large wooden plank from the rubble.

“Can we pull it out?” I asked anxiously.

“Not with our hands,” the Nurse shook her head and handed me the flashlight. “Stay with him, I’ll go see if I can get something to pry it loose.”

I nodded and continued to pull away dirt and debris from the Congressman.

“Thank you,” the Congressman had a fit of coughs before continuing. “You didn’t have to come back for me.”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t leave you here.”

The Congressman looked at me. “See? Now you know two people.”

I stopped and glanced curiously at him. “Two people?”

“You told me you didn’t know anyone who would risk their life for a stranger,” the Congressman smiled.” Now you know two.”

I began to cry. I couldn’t help myself, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. The Congressman watched, helplessly trapped in a pile of rubble while I lost it.

“It’s alright,” The Congressman tried to assure me. His gaze shifted from my face to my neck and his eyes grew wide. I knew he’d seen the bruise.

“I ran away,” I blubbered. “I got into an argument with my foster father and he grabbed my neck.” I turned away, ashamed of the ugly mark. “He’s hit me before, but this time I thought he was going to kill me.” The Congressman was quiet, listening.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I sniffed, wiping away the tears in my eyes. “But I thought you’d turn me in, and I can’t go back there.”

“They’d send you back?” the Congressman asked.

I nodded. “That’s what happened the last time. I told my social worker he hit me, and they sent the guy to some anger program. He was back after a few weeks. ”

“Things didn’t change?” he asked.

I shook my head. “He was more careful about where he hit me. That’s about it.”

“Why would they allow you to stay in a home like that?” the Congressman frowned.

I shrugged. “Nobody wants a messed up kid my age, and the family was willing to keep me.”

The Congressman grimaced and I glanced at his side.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He pulled at his jacket until he reached the pocket. He placed his hand inside and slowly pulled out a syringe. A few drops of blood fell from the tip.

I frowned.

“I forgot to throw it away,” he shook his head. “Old age, I guess.” He threw it behind him and I glanced at the small blood stain on his jacket.

The Congressman looked up at me. “Don’t worry, okay?”

“What about your insulin?” I asked. “Wasn’t that in your pocket, too?”

The Congressman smiled, but I caught the panic in his eyes. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out the two cylindrical capsules that held his insulin.

They were broken.