Sarah Fowler glanced at her watch for what was probably the tenth time in as many minutes. Like the proverbial watched pot that never boiled, she found that time did seem to remain stagnant whenever she wanted it to fly--irrespective of the fact she could see the seconds' hand indefatigably ticking over. It was the minute hand that appeared to remain motionless to her.

She resigned herself to the fact the last one and three-quarter hours of her shift was destined to pass in the same time-frame as that of a day, or a week or, perhaps, even a year. Compounding her rising frustration was the knowledge she would be contending with the throngs of people that would invariably swamp the subway station once the first of the scheduled pyrotechnic displays had ended.

This wasn't an unexpected phenomenon, she'd experienced the same theme whenever she was rostered to work on New Year's Eve. Although it was generally the elderly and families with young children that called it a night after the nine o'clock display, they could be just as tiresome and trying on the nerves as the drunks that virtually poured onto the subway concourse after midnight; the elderly complaining about their aches and pains; parents grizzling and grumbling about this and that while their children whinged and whined about anything and everything: Mummy, I'm hungry. Daddy, I'm tired. Mummy, Johnny keeps pulling my hair. Blah-blah-blah. Sarah often wondered to herself, why, if the whole thing was such a hassle, didn't they just stay home and watch it on TV?

In the hopes of tempering the negativity that was flowing through her, Sarah tried to console herself with the fact that at least, this year, she wouldn't have to deal with the drunken hordes, the foul language, the alcohol-induced brawls and the flood of puking teens. That would all be someone else's problem.

She enjoyed her role as a passenger attendant, but there were occasions--tonight being one of those--when certain aspects of her job had her questioning why she didn't look for alternative employment, preferably a position that didn't require direct face-to-face involvement with the general public.

Beggars couldn't be choosers. At least she had a job, unlike the tens of thousands out there that didn't and were forced to sleep in shop-fronts and on park benches night after night, some of whom would no doubt see out the year in hospital after being assaulted by laughing, drunken hooligans. She realised just how fortunate she was and berated herself for her earlier self-centred whims and wishes.

She surveyed the area around her and saw there were about a dozen people on the concourse level of the subway; some busily purchasing tickets from either Vince in the ticket booth or from the electronic ticket machine that stood a few feet to one side, while others gazed through the windows of the few stores dotting the arcade that ringed the concourse.

Why couldn't it always be this quiet? She released a barely audible sigh.

The tranquil atmosphere of the concourse was dramatically shattered by the rumbling sound of thunder echoing from the two stairways that lead to the city streets above. Had the predicted storm she'd heard some passengers talking about earlier in her shift finally arrived? She certainly hoped so. Any reprieve from the sweltering heatwave conditions experienced of late would be a welcomed one.

As quickly as her spirits bourgeoned, they rapidly began to deflate. If the predicted rain did fall, a new chorus of complaints was sure to greet her with the coming influx of homeward-bound passengers.

She unconsciously shook her head at the thought. What would the crowds prefer to endure? Days of sweltering, forty-plus degree heat, or a cool refreshing drenching? Sarah knew what she'd prefer.

You could please everyone some of the time, some of them all of the time, but you couldn't please everyone all of the time. Sarah thought that this was an extremely apt appraisal of the human condition.

Another, deeper growl of thunder resonated from the stairwells.

"Bloody terrific," she mumbled. She tried to mentally prepare herself for the barrage of complaints she was sure would soon come. Just remain cool, calm and collected, she told herself.

But then an even worse scenario formed in her mind. If the breaking storm was deemed severe enough, might not the organisers of the night's events feel compelled to cancel the pyrotechnics altogether? Christ, if that happened it wouldn't just be grumbling old folk and com-plaining families she'd have to contend with, it would also be hundreds, if not thousands, of extremely pissed-off people. She suddenly wished she'd call in sick like she knew a few of her colleagues at some of the other subways had done.

From one of the stairways, Sarah heard the faint sound of someone screaming. Then, seconds later, what sounded like hundreds of shrieks began emanating from both stairwells.

Suddenly the calamitous sound of countless feet pounding down both sets of stairs rang throughout the concourse. The few people lolling about the arcade threw nervous glances at the stairwells and at each other.

What the hell was going on?

Sarah turned towards the nearest flight of stairs just as a stampeding mass of screaming, screeching people reached its base and began to pour onto the concourse. What she saw caused her eyes to widen to the point they looked ready to pop from their sockets.

Her initial thought was that her assumption the fireworks could be cancelled if the storm proved to be too severe had been a correct one, the decision inciting the crowds to riot. But as more and more people flooded onto the concourse, most of whom were tearing at their faces and heads, their fingernails shredding flesh as their hands pulled bloodied chunks of hair from their ruined scalps, an even more horrifying thought flashed through her mind: Terrorist attack!

As Sarah stared in horrified fascination, she saw an elderly gent, the flesh on his face running like tallow, slip at the base of the stairwell and fall to his knees. Forced forward by the surging, shrieking crowd, those behind the stricken man toppled forward and collapsed onto him, the sharp snap of the man's bones breaking clearly audible over the noise made by the quivering, struggling mound of humanity.

Her mind still grasping at the notion terrorists had struck the city, Sarah stood helplessly behind the electronic ticket barriers and watch in stunned silence the scenes of pandemonium that raged around her, her mouth agape with shock.

Had some sort of chemical or biological weapon been used on the city? Sarah's mind screamed at her that something along those lines must have. What else could cause the night-marish scenes she was witnessing?

The tide of humanity continued to spill from the stairwells and spread across the concourse like ants from a disturbed nest. Sarah watched as the last of those caught up in the human avalanche at the base of the nearest stairway extracted themselves, regained their feet and went running to all points of the concourse, their agonised screams unrelenting. The crumpled, twisted form of the unfortunate elderly gent remained. Inert on the hard concourse floor, his neck sharply angled and his sightless eyes seeming to stare directly at Sarah, the blood seeping from his nose and mouth mixed with the flesh that continued to drip from his face.

A flash of pink caught Sarah's attention. She looked and saw a little girl of about five of six go staggering along the arcade. The girl's pink dress was peppered with black, smouldering holes, the skin on her bare arms and face awash with blisters that, as Sarah watched, burst, reformed and then burst again. Sarah saw the girl's mouth stretch wide open as if she were about to give voice to a cry of agony. But the sound that escaped her throat was unintelligible and liquid-like. Sarah realised that whatever had attacked the girl's skin and clothes must have also damaged her vocal cords.

Sarah squeezed her eyes tightly closed and moaned loudly. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some sort of delusion, a nasty nightmare brought on by fatigue or stress.
But when she reopened her eyes, the devastating scenes again assaulted her senses.
It was real, so terribly real.

She saw an overly obese woman with an oozing, steaming face stumble from the stairwell and go charging blindly along the concourse and enter the arcade. Before Sarah could give a shout of warning, the woman collided with the little girl, the impact sending the child's fragile and decimated frame flying through the air and into the plate-glass window of a shop-front. The window shattered explosively, a myriad of razor-sharp shards slicing through the little girl's body. A fountain of red suddenly sprayed into the air.

Oh, God, no!

Sarah rushed to the ticket barrier's wheelchair access port and flung it open.

She had to help that poor child.

But when she reached the little girl, she saw the spear-like sliver of glass jutting from the child's throat and knew she was now beyond suffering pain.

Sarah shook her head and looked around her. She saw that her desperate dash to help the little girl had not gone unnoticed. A multitude of heads containing bulging, pain-filled eyes were now staring at her. And then the moaning crowd began to stumble, stagger and shuffle towards her like extras from a George A. Romero zombie flick. But it wasn't the wild imaginings of a make-up artists' brush that had disfigured the faces of the people moving towards her; something horrendous had befallen them. And it was the not knowing what that had Sarah backing fearfully away from them, glass crunching under her feet, as they drew ever closer to her.

"Help me," croaked a man whose facial features had all but disappeared. Both his cheekbones were exposed, as was the cartilage of his nose. Sarah's stomach revolted at the sight, threatening to expel its contents.

"It burns," gurgled another man. Sarah saw that one of the guy's eye-sockets was weeping something she thought looked like bloodied pus, the eye itself gone, as was most of his nose and a large portion of his hair and scalp.

More cries and entreaties were thrust at Sarah from the ever-encroaching crowd.

What has happened to these people? her mind screamed. Why did they all look as if they were ... melting?

"You must help us. Please," pleaded a teenaged girl, her eyes bright with pain. Sarah saw that all the exposed skin on the left side of the girl's face was covered in huge blisters that oozed watery pus tinged red with blood. Her right side appeared to have escaped whatever it was that had caused her injuries.

Sarah wasn't sure what she could do, but she knew she had too at least try and help these people in any capacity she could.

With a monumental force of will, she managed to cease her back-pedalling, and then, unable to hide the tremor in her voice said, "What happened to you all?"

"The rain," cried the teenaged girl. "There's something in the rain. It burned me." She rubbed her damaged left arm, the action prompting a number of pustules to burst, and she screamed in agony.

Sarah wanted to scream herself. How could she help all these people? There were too many of them? What could she do? She guessed there had to be close to two-hundred people cramming the area between her and the ticket barriers. And what did the girl mean when she'd said it was the rain that had caused her injuries, and Sarah guessed, the injuries of all the others?

Although the girl's explanation as to the cause of her injuries made no sense to her, Sarah no longer suspected that a terrorist's strike was to blame for what had happened to these people. Instead, she wondered if perhaps something had exploded somewhere and these people had been in the vicinity and exposed to whatever it was that had been released by the explosion, the shock produced by their painful injuries leading them to the belief that the rain had somehow caught fire.

Oh, shit! Had the fireworks exploded? That would explain the burnt clothing, and it would definitely cause the types of wounds she saw most of the crowd suffering from.

She cast a glance at the nearest stairwell, and saw that the flow of injured people seemed to have ceased. But this did not fill her with the sense that everything was going to be all right. She had the unshakable feeling that these people were somehow the lucky ones--not that they looked the least bit fortunate.

Still, she remained at a loss as to how she was going to help them. She supposed the only thing she could do for them at the moment was to somehow try and find a way to alleviate their suffering, and maybe find something to dress their wounds.

"Please, everyone, I know you all must be in considerable pain, but I need you all to try and remain calm. If you can, spread out and find a place to sit down. I'll see if I can find something to help with your injuries."

To Sarah's surprise, the moaning, crying crowd complied with her directions. She saw a number of people shuffle through the wheelchair port and sit on the other side of the ticket barriers. Others chose to recline with their backs pressed against store windows or some of the cement support columns that dotted the concourse. Quite a few people required the assistance of those around them to sit down. Sarah noticed that the sliced body of the little girl was given a wide berth. She saw no sign of the woman who had caused the child's grisly death.

Listening, Sarah tried to discern the sound of approaching emergency vehicle sirens, but all she heard echoing down the stairwells was the constant drumming of heavy rainfall.

She found the lack of sirens disturbing. Maybe they were still en route, caught in the snarl of New Year's Eve traffic.

Positive the emergency services would be on the scene at any time now, Sarah headed for the ticket office where she knew a first-aid kit was located.

Through the office's glass window, the shocked face of Vince Williams stared out at the ravaged crowd. Seeing him, a powerful swell of anger surged through Sarah. The bastard had sat in there and observed everything, yet he hadn't bothered to lift a finger to help her.

As she approached the ticked office, her hands clenched into fists and her lips compressed in a thin, bloodless line, she felt the concourse floor vibrate as a train pulled up alongside one of the subway platforms below.

"Get me the first-aid kit," she hissed through clenched teeth. Vince stared at her like she'd just arrived from another planet. "Now, Goddamn it!" She slapped the office window hard enough to rattle it in its frame, and Vince jerked backwards and fell from his chair.

As Sarah watched Vince struggle to his feet the lights went out, plunging the office, concourse and arcade into near-impenetrable darkness that produced a fresh wave of screams and shouts from the injured crowd. After a few seconds, the emergency lighting activated. Although paler in quality, it produced enough illumination for Sarah to see by.

The office door opened, and a shame-faced but clearly frightened Vince emerged. Sarah unceremoniously snatched the first-aid kit from his outstretched hand.

"The phone's not working," he said.

"What?"

"I tried to call for an ambulance, but the phone isn't working. The line's completely dead." Vince looked over her shoulder. "My God, Sarah, what happened to them?"

"I'm not completely sure, but I think the fireworks might have exploded," She said not looking in the direction of his gaze. "Now we have to help these people, do you understand me?" Without waiting for him to reply, she spun around and headed for the suffering, sobbing mass of injured people.

But as she approached the nearest group, most of whom were eyeing the first-aid kit she held with the expectation it might contain something that could help ease their pain, she heard the sounds of rushing feet behind her and turned in time to see Vince disappear up the stairwell. She was about to let fly a string of obscenities when a blood-curdling scream ripped from the stairway he had fled into. Sarah dashed to the stairs and looked up.

She saw, slowly descending the stairwell, a swirling wall of pale-yellow mist. She thought she could see a shape quivering on the steps near the top of the stairway, but the thick fog made it impossible for her to be sure.

Through the curtain of mist could be heard the sound of serious rainfall.

The teenaged girl's words suddenly reared up in Sarah's mind: The rain. There's something in the rain. It burned me.

Ignoring the constant, pitiful pleas for help and the shouts of what was happening, Sarah rushed across the concourse to the other stairwell and looked up. She was confronted with a similar wall of vapour that was slowly advancing downwards towards her.

The pungent stench of rotten egg gas wafted over her. Unexpectedly, her eyes and nasal passages began to sting. Wiping her smarting eyes, she fearfully backed away from the stairs.
Jesus, what was that stuff? Her eyes and the delicate membranes of her nasal cavities felt as if they'd been splashed with something like ... acid!

The realisation she'd totally misinterpreted what the girl had meant caused her eyes to widen, further exacerbating the pain radiating from her stinging orbs.

It wasn't exploding pyrotechnics that had caused the horrific injuries to all those people, but acid rain.

But Sarah had never heard of acid rain that was so potent or corrosive before. And didn't it only fall in certain regions of the world where pollution was rampant, like China, India, and a few areas of North America and Central Europe?

Watching the creeping wall of fog edge ever closer, Sarah realised that this was neither the time nor the place to mentally debate the characteristics of acid rain and where it should or shouldn't be falling. What mattered was getting everyone to safety.

But where the hell could she take them?

Looking around, she saw that there was only one place where they could go.

"Please, everyone, I need you all to listen to me for a moment. We have to leave here, immediately." She was met with a chorus of tortured groans and cries. "Please, you must trust me when I say we can't stay here. We must get down stairs, to the platforms, and we must go now." More moans issued from the ravaged crowd, but nobody made any attempt to move.

Time was critical, Sarah knew this. If she was to get them all moving she knew she'd have to dispense with the niceties, and she could think of only one way to get them to their feet.

"If we don't get down to the platforms, we're all going to die." Her blunt statement induced a number of startled cries.

"Please, what's the meaning of all this? Why are you trying to frighten us?" sobbed a middled-aged woman whose right arm and the side of her face was a suppurating mass of raw blisters. "My God, don't you think we've suffered enough? Look around you. Most of us are in so much pain, we can barely move. And if some of us don't receive medical treatment soon, well ..." The woman emitted a pained sigh, her unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air.

The woman was right; a lot of them were so badly injured it was all Sarah could do not to cringe when she looked at some of them. And their pain had to be excruciating. While she was overcome with pity for them, she knew she had to press on, remorselessly.

"I know you are all suffering, but you have to understand that it's not just rain falling up there," Sarah pointed at the nearest stairwell, "It's acid rain. And a highly corrosive one, judging by the injuries you've all sustained. And right at this moment, creeping down the stairs, is some sort of mist that I think might be just as dangerous as the rain. That's why we need to make our way down to the platforms ... Before it's too late," she added grimly.

"But won't this ... this mist be able to reach us down there?" said a boy of about ten, most of his head covered by blisters that wept clear fluid in a constant drizzle, the liquid running down his face like obscene tears.

Even though she winced at the acute pain she could see radiating from his eyes, Sarah couldn't help but admire the boy's courage. If the situation was reversed and it was her with the decimated scalp, she felt sure she wouldn't be able to sit passively like he was, more likely she'd be writhing on the ground screaming in agony.

"There are trains arriving at regular intervals. Don't worry, we'll be out of here long before the mist can reach us." She gave the boy what she hoped was a confident-looking smile. To her surprise, he returned it. What a brave boy, she thought to herself.

But lurking in the recesses of her mind, a question was beginning to haunt her: Where the hell were the passengers from the train that had arrived at the platforms below not too long ago? Why hadn't they come up yet? Was it possible no-one had alighted from the train? Yes, it was, but Sarah thought it highly unlikely. This was the rail network's busiest night of the year, and although this particular subway was a small one and not a central point for accessing the harbour foreshore, it still saw a large volume of disembarking revellers all eager and primed to sample the city's New Year's festivities.

So where were the passengers?

A sense of foreboding settled heavily over her.

Had something happened below?

She hoped to God it hadn't because that was where they had to go--whether they wanted to or not."Please, everyone, we have to get moving."

Groans, cries and stifled screams of pain filled the air as the ragged crowd struggled to their feet. Those suffering from severe acid burns were assisted by the few fortunate enough to have made it to the subway before being totally saturated by the corrosive precipitation. And although their own injuries appeared agonising in their extremes, they paled into insignificance when compared to the burns suffered by those whom had been caught unaware and out in the open.
Sarah made her way through the wheelchair access door and stood at the top of one of the two stairwells that led to the platforms below. Looking down, she saw that the illumination produced by the sparse and wisely spaced emergency lighting fixtures was barely strong enough to keep the thick gloom at bay.

Sarah swallowed nervously. It was eerily quiet down there. Not even the far off rumbling of an approaching train travelling along the subterranean tunnels could be heard.

Tempering her growing anxiety, she turned and surveyed the waiting, suffering crowd before beckoning them forward with a wave of her hand. As they drew near, she stepped to the side to monitor their descent to the platform below.

She saw a young man with horribly corroded arms that dripped a constant drizzle of bloodied pus, assisting an elderly woman with wiry grey hair, her eyes glazed with shock. Sarah couldn't see any obvious injuries on the woman and could only imagine the horrors she must have witnessed on the streets above that could have induced such a state of vacuousness.

But as the pair passed her, she recoiled, her gorge rising in her throat. The rear of the woman's dress had been all but burned away as had most of the skin on her back. Sarah squeezed her eyes closed, but the afterimage of the elderly lady's exposed and glistening spinal column blazed brightly behind her tightly sealed lids.

All too slowly, the crowd shuffled their pain-filled way down the stairs. Sarah cast a glance at one of the stairways and cursed silently. The fog had reached the base of the stairwell and was now entering the concourse. She watched as it began to spread across the floor in an undulating fan shape. Moments later it reached the ruined body of the little girl and flowed over her. Sarah saw sparks and tiny tongues of yellow flame shoot from the mist as it consumed the child and the store's contents.

Then tendrils of lace-like fog began to creep in her direction. Sarah quickly descended with the last of the crowd.

"Can somebody tell me what the fuck is going on around here?"

Sarah cleared the last few stairs and gently eased her way through the throng of people in front of her. She saw, standing stationary alongside the opposite platform, the train she had heard arrive earlier. Although its interior was in darkness, Sarah could see the faces of the passengers inside the carriages pressed against the windows as they looked out at the crowd that had suddenly materialised from the stairs and was now milling about on the platform opposite them.

A rolly-polly man wearing an engineer's uniform stood in the open doorway of the driver's cabin. He noticed Sarah's uniform, and singling her out repeated his earlier question:
"Can you tell me what the fuck is going on around here? What the hell has happened to the power?"

Sarah walked to the platform's edge and jumped down onto the tracks.

"Jesus, lady, are you frigging nuts? Christ, a train could come along at any second."

Sarah somehow doubted that. She crossed the rails and stood looking up at him. "Is your radio working?"

"Shit, are you blind? Nothing's working, including the radio," he said brusquely. "I was thinking about manually releasing the doors so the passengers could get out, but thought I should wait until I'd found out just what the hell was going on around here. I've tried contacting operations, but it appears that all modes of communications are down." He looked beyond Sarah at the crowded platform. "Jesus Christ, what the hell's happened to them?" He looked down at Sarah. "Has there been some sort of accident? Is that why the power's out? My God, look at those poor bastards," he whispered.

Seeing the injured and disfigured crowd seemed to have had a sobering effect on him, subduing his arrogant demeanour which was something that pleased Sarah immensely. Time was of the essence; she needed this man's cooperation if she was going to get everyone to safety.

"Look, Sarah said, "I'm not entirely sure about what has happened, all I know for certain is that it appears it's raining some sort of acid, and those people over there were caught out in it. As you can see by their injuries, the acid rain must be highly corrosive. I guess the acid must have eaten into the network's electrical system as well, cutting the power. But that isn't all," Sarah said, lowering her voice. "Some sort of mist has entered the concourse above us, and I think it's just as dangerous as the acid rain. We have to get everyone off the train and try and find a way out of here before the fog makes its way down here."

Rolly-polly regarded Sarah for a few seconds, the flame of belligerence again burning in his eyes. And then he laughed.

"Lady you must be out of your fucking tree. Rain doesn't burn people. When the power returns and we get out of here, I'm going to report you and demand that you get tested. I'll see that you get fucking fired for drinking on the job."

Anger surged through Sarah. This prick of a man was putting all their lives at risk by his refusal to see what was in front of him. The people behind her were relying on her to get them all to safety. And that was what she was going to do, one way or the other.

"Listen, shit-head, if you think I'm drunk and joking about what's happening above us, then I invite you to go upstairs and stick you fucking head outside. That's if you can make it past the fog. I guarantee you'll look a hell of a lot different the next time I see you." The fury radiating from Sarah caused rolly-polly to take an involuntary step backwards. "Right now I have a lot of injured and scared people over there, and God only knows what types of infection they're likely to contract down here because of their wounds. They need urgent medical attention, and I'm going to make damned sure they get it--with or without your fucking help."

She suddenly realised that she no longer possessed the first-aid kit. Shit, she must have left it upstairs while organising and getting everyone to come down here. Not that she would have been able to do too much with it, she thought. Its contents weren't designed to treat the types of injuries sustained by those standing on the platform behind her. Besides, she reasoned, their numbers were just too vast for one small kit.

They had to--needed to--get moving.

"Release the passengers from the train," Sarah commanded rolly-polly. "We have to find some way out of here before it's too late. I suggest you bring everyone over to my side. I think it would be best if we all stay together. And don't use the stairway. Take everyone to the end of the platform and have them climb down the maintenance ladder. Come across that way." Sarah spun around and made her way back to the platform before roly-poly could argue further.

Filled with indecision, disbelief and a little fear, rolly-polly watched as Sarah climbed back onto the platform, the he left the cabin through the other door and made his way along the first carriage. He stopped when he came to a metal hatch, and raising the flap, twisted a small valve. The hiss of escaping air sounded extremely loud in the heavy silence. He squeezed his plump fingers between the rubber seals of the carriage's double doors and pulled. The doors silently parted and the few passengers standing within stepped out onto the platform. Rolly-polly travelled the train's length, repeating the process until all of the passengers had been freed.

Over the moans and cries of the injured, Sarah heard the driver issuing instructions, then, through the train's windows, she saw the darkened outlines of the passengers walking along the platform to its far end.

She watched as the procession, headed by the driver, crossed the tracks and clambered up the maintenance ladder and onto her platform. Moments later they were striding towards her and her mass of walking wounded. Sarah was glad that rolly-polly's group of passengers was a relatively small one, numbering about twenty or so.

As they drew nearer, she heard their nervous, whispered utterances:
"My God, what's happened to them?"

"It looks like they've been in some sort of accident."

"What's wrong with their skin?"

"Maybe they've got some sort of disease."

And then:
"Oh, shit, I know what that is! They've got that new super-bug!" shouted a guy sporting a face full of acne as he pointed at an elderly lady leaning against a soft-drink vending machine. The woman's scalp was denuded of hair and glistened with oozing, watery pus. "You know, the one that's been all over the news?" the guy continued, his voice rising in pitch. "It's resilient to most antibiotics and is supposed to be highly contagious. They say it eats the skin away. No fucking way I'm staying down here with them. I don't want to catch it."

Before Sarah could allay the guy's fear, he pushed his way past her and ran towards the stairs. Panicked by his outburst, a couple of other new arrivals also took flight, following him. They charged towards the stairs, knocking over a severely burned old man as they went.

Oh, shit!

"No! Wait! Stop! Don't go up there!" Ignoring Sarah's shouts, the trio bounded up the stairs.

No sooner had their legs disappeared beyond Sarah's view when high-pitched screams, screams that transformed into terrifying, grotesque liquid gurgling sounds, resounded from the stairwell.
Filled with dread at what she might see, Sarah hurried to the stairs and looked up.

The stairwell's landing was obscured by a thick, swirling cloud of yellow-tinged fog. Sarah could hear hissing and sizzling sounds coming from within the fog's folds as it reacted with the elements it came into contact with. As she watched, the mist began to seep slowly downward.

They were trapped!

Sarah spun around and looked at the large group of people crowded on the platform, most of whom returned her stare with wide and frightened eyes. Apart from rolly-polly--whose bulging eyes told Sarah he finally believed--none of the new-comers had any knowledge of the deadly acid rain and its corrosive off-spring. If she was going to get full cooperation from the recent arrivals she knew she was going to have to divulge to them the source behind those frightful screams.

"I'll make this quick for those of you that are not aware of what has--what is happening." Sarah saw that all eyes were upon her, most looking frightened, some dazed as those shocking shrieks haunted the corridors of their minds. "It seems that some form of acid rain is falling on the city. You can see by the injuries suffered by those around you that this is not a joke." Sarah looked at rolly-polly. He stared silently back at her, and for this, she was grateful. "Unfortunately there exists an even greater problem at this time. It appears that a type of fog or mist has formed from the rain and it's spilled into the concourse above us. I think the mist is just as dangerous as the acid rain." Horrified murmurs rippled through the new group, but no-one questioned the validity of her explanations. "Now we don't have much time. The mist is now at the top of the stairs. We have to try and find a way out of here before it can make its way down the stairs. To do this, we're all going to have to work together."

From somewhere overhead came the muted sound of an explosion, and startled screams filled the subway. Those physically capable of doing so, raised their heads and stared at the station's gloom-shrouded ceiling. A few people rubbed their eyes as dislodged dust and grime drifted into them.

Sarah couldn't imagine the cause of the explosion and what it represented, but she was sure it couldn't be something good.

She gazed along the platform, and at its end saw the dark, yawning tunnel beyond it. Although she loathed the idea that formed in her mind, she couldn't see a more viable option for their escape. She also knew she wouldn't be able to conduct what had to be done alone.

She walked over to rolly-polly, guided him aside, and in a whispered tone outlined her idea. The train driver listened intently as Sarah spoke, throwing occasional wary glances at the dark passage beyond the platform's end while he did.

As she spoke she studied the drive and was gratified to see that his disbelieving, condescending manner had all but vanished, his illusion that nothing more than a simple power outage had occurred having been violently shattered by the agonised, gurgling shrieks emitted by the trio that had fled up the stairs. Sarah thought that this could only prove to be a positive thing. Her chances of getting everyone out of the subway safely would be greatly enhanced if it was done through cooperation, not resistance.

Fear could be a powerful, motivational weapon sometimes. Especially if it forced everyone to work together as a cohesive unit, she thought.

"Do you have a torch?" Sarah asked him.

"There's one in the cabin. I'll go get it."

"While you're doing that, I'll explain to everyone what needs to be done."

As the driver slid off the platform and crossed the tracks to his cabin, Sarah turned to the milling crowd. She saw that some of the passengers from the train were now assisting a few of the injured. They, too, no longer believed that the injuries sustained by those around them were the results of some flesh-eating, highly contagious disease. Sarah though this was another positive step in getting them out of the subway safely.

"Could I have your attention, please?" Most head turned and looked at Sarah. She waited until she was sure that everyone was listening before saying: "We have to get moving now."

"Where too?" someone said from the back of the crowd.

"Into the tunnels." A chorus of shouts, groans and moans greeted this. "I'm sorry, but there's no other way out of her but through them."

A girl of about eleven, her face and bare shoulders a suppurating rash of burst blisters, began to cry harshly. A woman put her badly burned arms around the girl and hugged her close. Sarah could only wonder if she was the girl's mother, their horrific injuries negating any chance of establishing a family resemblance.

Laboured breathing behind her signalled the driver's return. He carried a large, heavy-duty torch in his hand.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked Sarah between breathes.

Whether by unspoken agreement or because she had been making most, if not all, of the decisions, Sarah understood the responsibility of ensuring everyone got out of the subway had been assigned to her. She imagined she could feel the weight of this responsibility settling on her shoulders, and she suddenly wished she could pass the baton to someone else. But the countless pairs of expectant eyes staring at her told her that, whether she liked it or not, she was in charge.

So be it, then.

Looking around her, she estimated there were possibly a little over two-hundred people assembled on the platform.

"I think it would be best if we split up into two groups, one for each side of the tunnel. I'll lead one of the groups, but I'm going to need someone to lead the other."

"I'll do it," said the train driver with obvious reluctance. Sarah got the distinct impression that male pride had forced him to step forward and raise his hand, and she felt like laughing at the absurdity of it. She didn't laugh, she thanked him instead.

"Would you like to carry the torch?"

"No, you keep a hold of it," Sarah said. "Is it powerful enough? It's going to be pretty dark in there." The driver pressed a switch, producing a brilliant beam of light that forced the gloom into retreat. "That's good," said Sarah. "If you can keep it aimed up the centre of the tunnel we should be able to see what's ahead of us without trouble. Okay, is everybody ready?"

With a fair degree of difficulty and a lot of moans, Sarah and rolly-polly at last managed to get the crowd of injured and uninjured people to form into two roughly equal columns which they then led to the platform's far end. Before leading his group down the maintenance ladder and to one side of the tunnel, the train drive approached Sarah.

"Look, I want to apologise for the way I acted earlier. With everything that's happened lately, well... Anyway, the name's Eddy." He stuck his hand out. Sarah saw that it shook slightly.

"That's okay, Eddy," Sarah said, smiling. "If the situation had been reversed I'm sure I would have acted the same way." She shook his offered hand, which felt clammy with sweat. Sarah thought her own probably felt the same to him. "I'm Sarah." Eddy returned her smile and nodded. He released her hand, then returned to his waiting group.

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually Sarah and Eddy had the two groups lined up on both sides of the tunnel. Before climbing down the maintenance ladder, Sarah took a look back along the platform. To her horror she saw that the mist had cleared the stairwell and was now flowing gently along the platform towards them like an incoming tide over a sandy beach. A few others saw it as well, and panicked screams echoed through the tunnel.

"Please, everyone, just stay calm. The fog is a long way from us. Now I want you all to hold hands. Try and stay as close together as possible. It's going to be dark inside the tunnel, and I don't want anyone falling over or getting left behind." Sarah gave Eddy a nod. "Let's go."

The two columns had just entered the tunnel when an extremely loud rumble sounded overhead. Sarah felt the tunnel floor begin to tremble beneath her feet, and dust from the ceiling settled onto her hair.

Something huge must have collapsed, the impact producing a wash of foul-smelling air that was met with sporadic coughing as it drifted along the tunnel and rolled over the two groups.

A flood of doubt began to parade through Sarah's mind, and she desperately tried to rein in her rising panic.

Was she doing the right thing in leading all these people into the tunnel? What if it was still raining acid when they reached the subway's end? What would they do then? Where could they go? She wouldn't be able turn them around and head back, that was for certain, the mist would be waiting for them.

She knew it was pointless to dwell on the many unanswerable questions racing through her head. She had to remain focused on the task at hand which was to try and get everyone to safety. Anything else beyond that she would just have to deal with, when and if the time came.
Looking over her shoulder, she could barely discern the long line of people trailing behind her through the near-impenetrable gloom. She imagined she could feel the darkness pressing against her like a living thing. She silently thanked God she wasn't claustrophobic.

On the opposite side, Eddy kept his torch aimed along the middle of the tunnel's floor, its projected funnel of bright light announcing in advance any potential tripping hazards.

Nobody had spoken a word since commencing the exodus through the subway tunnel, the only sounds Eddy could hear filling the cavern was the shuffling of countless, tired feet and the occasional pain-filled moan.

Acid Rain.

The words reverberated through Eddy's head like the insane ravings of a lunatic.

Acid rain.

His initial response to Sarah's explanation of the situation had been one of total disbelief. Christ, he had even insinuated that Sarah had been drinking on the job after she'd finished explaining what had happened to the poor bastards he'd seen stumbling down the stairs and onto the platform. But could she blame him for thinking that? If she had told him the fireworks had exploded and their injuries were the results of that, then he would have believed without hesitation. His conviction of their plight had finally hit home with the blood-freezing screams emitted by those who had decided to hightail it up the stairs.

Acid rain.

He had heard of its existence somewhere before, whether he had read about it in a magazine or seen it in a documentary on TV, he couldn't recall. Either way, didn't the experts say that it was relatively weak? And that its damaging effects took years to manifest themselves?

It appeared that the scientists' claims mankind was doing irreparable damage to the earth were correct. It was now also obvious to Eddy that nobody fully comprehended just how bad things had become high up in the earth's atmosphere, that mankind was now paying the price for dumping millions of tonnes of pollution into the air, day after day, year after year.

Acid rain.

He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain the people behind him must have felt as their skin dissolved from off of their bodies. Could there be a more horrific and agonising way to die? Eddie didn't believe so.

Acid ra--

A hoarse cry of pain shattered Eddy's thoughts. Spinning around, he shone his torch back along the two lines of evacuees. "Is everyone all right back there?"

"I think we'd better take a look," said Sarah anxiously. "Everyone remain where you are and in line until we return."

The light from Eddy's bobbing torch cast eerie, jumping shadows along the tunnel walls as he and Sarah hurried towards the rear of the two columns. At the back of Sarah's line they saw an old man, his right arm almost totally bereft of flesh, the muscle beneath glistening with watery discharge, lying crumpled alongside one of the rails.

Sarah supposed the man must have tripped on one of the rail's concrete sleepers before landing heavily on the metal track. Just below his right knee she saw a large rent in the leg of his trousers. When she knelt and parted the torn material, the beam of Eddy's flashlight revealed a long, gaping gash from which copious blood flowed.

Oh, Christ, Eddy thought, as if the guy hadn't suffered enough already.

"Help me to sit him up. Has anyone got something I can use as a bandage?" Sarah asked as she and Eddy helped the groaning man into a sitting position.

"Here, you can use this." One of the uninjured passengers handed Sarah a folded, over-sized handkerchief.

"Thanks." Sarah gingerly raised the man's trouser leg and gently dabbed at the blood flowing from the cut. It looked deep and nasty. Sarah tied the kerchief around the wound. "Can you stand?" The old man gave a feeble nod of his head, and with Sarah's and eddy's help, he struggled to his feet.

"I've got him," said the guy who had supplied the make-shift bandage. He slipped an arm around the old man's waist to hold him steady. "Ready when you are," he said to Sarah.

Something black darted across one of Eddy's shoes.

"Jesus! What was that?" He shone his torch back along the tunnel and froze.

The subway floor was covered with a black undulating carpet that swept towards them.

"They're fucking rats!" someone shouted. And pandemonium erupted.

Near deafening screams resounded throughout the tunnel as the black bristly horde reached the two columns. People began pushing and shoving one another in their attempts to escape the squeaking river that flowed around their legs while others, their muscles petrified with fear, leaned against the walls and screamed themselves hoarse.

"Please, everyone, listen to me. You've got to remain calm. They're not going to hurt you. Look!" Sarah tried to yell above the din. "Eddy! Quick! Shine your torch up the middle of the tunnel."

Eddy did as he was directed, and saw what Sarah had been trying to convey to the others.

Even though the rats numbered in what appeared to be thousands, Eddy saw that they weren't attacking or attempting to bite anyone. He watched as they poured along the tunnel floor, heading for a bend a little further ahead. Eddy kept the torch centred on the scurrying tide of hairy bodies so that those around him could see what was happening. A few people continued to emit frightened screams that mingled with the creatures' squeals, but most saw that Sarah was right, that the rats seemed more intent on fleeing along the subway than on attacking the humans they were passing.

Sobs of relief and bursts of laughter infused with fear and embarrassment replaced the last strident shrieks.

"Where do you think they're going?" someone asked.

"I don't know," said Sarah." But I reckon they're trying to get away from the same thing we are."

"Good God, what's that stench?" said the guy supporting the injured old man.

A stink akin to rotten egg gas and chlorine assailed Sarah's nostrils. As they began to sting she gasped at the realisation she had smelled that reek before, had experienced the same sort of irritation up on the concourse.

She looked behind her, in the direction the fleeing rats had appeared from, and peered into the tunnel's dark depths, the dread she felt sapping the strength from her legs to the point she thought she'd collapse.

Eddy swung the torch in the direction of her gaze, and his eyes widened.

The subway tunnel was filled with a thick swirling wall of pale-yellow fog.

"Oh fuck!" he said.

Heads turned at his outburst, and the din of panicked screams again filled the subway.

"Come on," Sarah shouted. "We have to keep moving forward." The irritating tingle in her nasal passages was now beginning to affect her eyes and they began to smart, blurring her vision. As she wiped them with the sleeve of her uniform, both she and Eddy hurriedly returned to the heads of their columns, and then both groups began a lumbering and ungainly shuffling march along the tunnel.

Sarah and Eddy negotiated the bend in the tunnel, and then came to an abrupt halt, those behind them bumping into each other in the sudden cessation of forward motion.

Between them and another curtain of swirling mist, the floor was a heaving mass of squealing, scrabbling rodents. Their escape blocked by the fog the rats retreated along the tunnel, back towards the two groups.

Deafening screams filled the subway, and the two columns disintegrated as the rats reacted to their being cornered. Their primordial instinct for survival ignited, the rodents ran amok amongst the humans. Scampering up legs, they scratched, they clawed, and then they began to bite.

Those in the crowd not totally reliant on others for assistance, turned and tried to flee the black rampaging horde that was tearing at their already battered flesh. People ran blindly into each other and were sent flying. There were solid thuds as bodies connected with and bounced off the tunnels walls. Those that fell were unceremoniously stomped by panicked feet and were covered by a bristling carpet of black rodents with razor-sharp, gnashing teeth.

As Sarah swiped at a rat that clung to her left calf, she copped a savage blow to the chest from a man who ran past her with a rat attached to the back of his neck like a weird, furry growth. She sagged, breathless, against the wall before slumping to the ground. Around her people continued to shriek and run madly into each other, but there was nowhere they could escape to. They were trapped, corralled with thousands of screeching and biting rats between two steadily advancing walls of corrosive mist.

Someone slammed into Eddy's back and he staggered forward, losing his grip on the torch. It fell to the ground, the impact shattering the bulb. As absolute darkness descended, panic hit new heights.

Sarah could no longer see what was happening around her, but she could still smell. Worse, she could still feel.

Unseen, the mist drifted over her, its contact initiating agonising exothermic reactions that made the rats' bites feel like nothing more that irritating pinpricks by comparison. Her exposed flesh began to bubble like fat on a hot plate before starting to brake down and run like melting wax. Then pain, the likes of which she had never experienced, radiated through her exposed nerves. She screamed shrilly, and when her empty lungs demanded air she inhaled deeply, sucking the mist into her mouth and down her throat where it filled her chest and lungs. Liquid fire suddenly erupted inside her, her emitted outcry of agony changing pitch, becoming a liquid gurgling sound as the corrosive fog dissolved the delicate lining of her throat and destroyed her lungs.
She found it impossible to draw a breath. Her lungs felt heavy and brimming with lava. Her chest gave an abrupt hitch and she heaved, the grisly porridge of blood and lung tissue that spewed from her now lipless mouth in a ghastly shower, landing on the concrete floor with a nasty splat.

Sarah, honey? Come on, sweetie, or we'll be late.

Sarah raised her head and saw her mother and father emerge from the veils of mist that filled the tunnel. They beckoned to her. But that couldn't be right, her parents were dead, had been for a long time now, killed in that terrible car crash all those years ago. Yet there they were, standing and smiling lovingly at her. She looked down and saw she was no longer wearing a uniform but her favourite dress, the white one with the brightly-coloured hearts. She laughed happily. How silly of her, she didn't go to work like mummy and daddy, she was only seven. Then she remembered why she was wearing her dress; she was going to her best friend's birthday party. She loved parties.

In the dwindling light of her mind's eye, Sarah saw herself running into the open arms of her smiling parents.

As Eddy felt his eyes dissolve and run down his skinless cheeks, he howled for his mother. But the miserable bitch refused to come to his aide, instead turned her back on him. That was so typical of the whore. She had never cared about him, it was always her and that damned fucking cat. But he'd shown her, hadn't he?

Hey, Ma, guess what? Fluffy never ran away from home. Didn't you ever wonder why the pine tree in the backyard seemed to thrive suddenly? Fluffy must have made great fertiliser. How do you like those apples, Ma? It was me. I killed Fluffy, caved her head in with a fucking hammer. It seemed Fluffy didn't have nine lives after all, only one. Ha-ha-fucking-ha!

The mist settled deeper into the cavities of his ruined eye-sockets. It ate through the optic nerves and entered his cranium, consuming his brain--along with another half-formed curse.

The shrill, agonised shrieks and the rats' baby-like squeals reverberating through the sub-way tunnel began to slowly fade, replaced by sickening sizzles and liquid pops as the acidic mist continued to degenerate the misshapen lumps of human and rodent bodies scattered along the tunnel floor.