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He tried to time his run so he would easily hop over the first turnstile.

He jumped, clearing most of it, but then his ankle caught the stainless steel arm—and the momentum slammed him down to the concrete.

He sat up, stunned, his shoulder burning from the impact, but nothing seemed broken. A couple of people looked at him but said nothing.

He pushed himself to his feet and ran for the train.

When he got to the platform level, he saw that the doors of the railcars were closing.

No!

He headed for the closest door—but it shut just before he reached it.

His stomach sank.

Watching the train leave the station, he stood feeling helpless, thinking he was going to cry at any moment.

Then he noticed that the train was headed eastbound, and saw the signage stating that it was going north, toward Frankford Allegheny.

That would’ve been a mistake, going deeper into this hellhole . . .

He then saw other signage for the train that ran south then west through Center City out to Sixty-ninth Street. And then he heard the deep rumble of a southbound train approaching.

As it entered the station, there came the ear-piercing metallic squeal of brakes. The train stopped, and he stood in front of a door. It seemed to take forever to open—but then all the doors swooshed open, and Dan, squeezing past two people who were exiting, quickly stepped inside. He found a corner seat, then looked back to the platform.

Two of the males he had just passed down at the entrance were rushing to board.

His stomach dropped.

Are they chasing me?

He tried to figure out what he would do—Maybe wait till the last second and then jump off right before the doors close?—but then the pair darted aboard the adjacent railcar.

Dan put his head in his hands, looked at the floor, and let out a long sigh.

The railcar was almost half-full. He scanned the other passengers. With the exception of an older man who was deep asleep in the back—The guy looks passed-out drunk—Dan was the only pale-skinned passenger. Still, no one seemed to be paying him any attention.

He realized that he was again holding his arms over his stomach, and that his stomach was in an enormous knot, and that he was gently rocking himself.

What am I gonna do? He killed Billy . . .

Fuck him! I can just say we got jacked.

Cops find the car, they find that fucker, he goes to jail.

Then he can’t get me.

But what do I say when they ask why we were in that part of town?

“Just buying some dope” won’t fly.

Dan felt a chill go up and down his entire body.

Hell, I don’t know.

Oh man . . . I told Billy we should’ve just got a damn bottle of Jack.

IV