White Chocolate and Vanilla
Zoe sat glumly on the subway seat, carefully not looking at her fellow passengers. She could help seeing them, but seeing and looking were different things. She saw that the talkative man had black skin and was wearing a track-suit-like thing. She saw that the blonde's hair was perfectly permed and set, and that her heels were about three inches high. She saw that the man sitting in the corner wore a black business suit and looked exhausted. She saw that the third woman was the oldest of them all, and did not seem perturbed by their situation. Seeing was unavoidable. But Zoe did not look. She had her pride, after all.
She considered taking her laptop out again, but she did not move. Partly, she did not want to look at the unresponsive IM conversation with her boyfriend, but mostly she simply wanted to prove that she could exist without the laptop for even a few minutes. She had been accused of geekyness her entire life and, while it did not bother her too much, she did like to prove to herself that she was not quite as geeky as everyone else thought.
Finally, business suit voiced what Zoe suspected they had all been thinking. "So, what happens now?"
Zoe did not reply. Replying would imply taking responsibility for the group and the situation, and she had no desire to do that. At last, the blonde sighed. "Either we stay here and sit still and don't talk or we find a way out."
Business suit frowned. "Why don't talk?" he wanted to know.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "We are in a sealed environment," she said shortly. "And we're all breathing. No oxygen is coming in, and a lot of carbon dioxide is coming out. If we don't talk we won't use as much of our breath. Same goes for moving. So, unless you have any brilliant ideas for getting out, I would suggest you stop talking. Now."
Business suit frowned, but said nothing. Zoe grimaced, wishing she hadn't forgotten her tools. What kind of dumb idea had that been, to leave everything at the office? She should have known better; Murphy's law had always worked well for her.
Minutes ticked by. Zoe gave up the fight and fished her laptop out of the bag. A quick glance at all the news sites told her that the anchors were all still frozen, and none of her friends were answering their messages. It certainly gave credence to the theory that this... thing was wide spread. Though, of course, that did lead one to wonder why they had been spared when the rest of the world had not been.
Finally, the track suit man jumped to his feet. "I can't cope with this," he announced, striding over to the door. He started thumping it crazily, beating both fists against the plastic as though they alone would break it.
"What are you doing?" the blonde demanded harshly.
"Getting out of here!" track suit snapped.
"It's not going to work," Zoe observed.
"I don't care!" he shot back. "I can't just sit there and do nothing while we all die!"
Zoe sighed, shaking her head. The blonde did not seem so resigned. "Sit down," she ordered. "You're going to make us die all that much faster, you idiot!"
"I don't care!" track suit repeated. He did not stop beating the window.
Zoe sighed again, then rose. She reached up and yanked a hairpin out of her hair. Then, just to be balanced, she pulled the others out too, stashing the extras in her pocket as her black hair tumbled down her back. Ignoring the others, she walked to the door currently not being pounded on and examined the button again. She closed her left eye, looking carefully at the area around it. There must be a way to get to the circuitry that controlled the button. Probably under the plastic. She looked around for something to break it with. She considered asking track suit, but he would probably kill the circuitry as well as the plastic, if he could break it at all.
"Do any of you have any kind of strong lever? Preferably a thin one."
The blonde shook her head crisply. The other two did the same. Zoe grimaced. Did she have to everything herself?
Of course she did. She always had to do everything for herself. She knew that. She went back to her seat and rummaged around in her satchel, hoping that she had not left her ruler at work too. Thankfully, she had not, and she withdrew it with relief, looking at it carefully. If she stuck the corner between the button and the plastic, she might be able to chip off enough to get a decent hold. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she maneuvered the corner of the ruler into the small space and pushed, using as much of her weight as she dared to force the plastic to give way. She did not worry about her ruler; Zoe did not compromise with her math tools, and she bought only the best. That ruler would go through a volcanic eruption and not break.
Slowly, very slowly, cracks appeared in the plastic. Encouraged, Zoe kept pushing, forcing the cracks to grow and spawn a multitude of smaller ones. A piece of the plastic broke off, and Zoe stuck the rest of her ruler in, still pushing. More and more of the plastic came off until Zoe could reach her hand in. Carefully, she worked the ruler to a different side of the button, repeating the process.
The going was slow, but had the benefit of stopping track suit's desperate bashing of the door. After far too long, Zoe had broken off or bent enough of the plastic to allow herself to work properly, if not efficiently. She examined the mess of wires that formed the command central of the button, trying to see which ones she could use to short circuit the button and allow her to manually open the stupid doors. She frowned in concentration.
Unfortunately, track suit chose that very moment to interrupt.
"What are you doing?"
Zoe glared at him. "I'm working," she said shortly. "And it takes concentration, so I would appreciate it if you would be quiet." She realized that she sounded almost exactly like the blonde, but she did not care. If that was what it took, then that was what it took.
She went back to her work, ignoring him. If he said anything else, she did not hear it. Instead, she reached out and deftly ripped a couple wires out, twining them together. She moved some other around, and flat out dismantled one. Moments later, she reached up and pushed the button. Thankfully, the door slowly slid open. Zoe sat back on her heels, examining her work critically. It wasn't as neat as it could have been, and her artistic sensibilities screamed at her do find a more elegant solution than simply ripping the wires out, but she forcibly suppressed it. This did not call for neatness, only for effectiveness. And it had worked.
Track suit was gawking at her. "I can't believe you know how to do that," he said at last.
She shrugged, standing. "It's what I do," she informed him. "I can't exactly help being better than the others." She put the ruler -- no worse for wear, of course -- back into her satchel, then did the same with the laptop. Slinging it over her shoulder, she stepped out of the train car.
"Where are you going?" track suit demanded.
"Back to the station," Zoe told him. "Where else?"
Moments later, she heard the sound of footsteps and knew that he was following her. She ignored him; Zoe had other things to worry about. Such as how she would manage to squeeze herself and her satchel through the very small space that separated the train from the wall of the tunnel.
She considered taking her laptop out again, but she did not move. Partly, she did not want to look at the unresponsive IM conversation with her boyfriend, but mostly she simply wanted to prove that she could exist without the laptop for even a few minutes. She had been accused of geekyness her entire life and, while it did not bother her too much, she did like to prove to herself that she was not quite as geeky as everyone else thought.
Finally, business suit voiced what Zoe suspected they had all been thinking. "So, what happens now?"
Zoe did not reply. Replying would imply taking responsibility for the group and the situation, and she had no desire to do that. At last, the blonde sighed. "Either we stay here and sit still and don't talk or we find a way out."
Business suit frowned. "Why don't talk?" he wanted to know.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "We are in a sealed environment," she said shortly. "And we're all breathing. No oxygen is coming in, and a lot of carbon dioxide is coming out. If we don't talk we won't use as much of our breath. Same goes for moving. So, unless you have any brilliant ideas for getting out, I would suggest you stop talking. Now."
Business suit frowned, but said nothing. Zoe grimaced, wishing she hadn't forgotten her tools. What kind of dumb idea had that been, to leave everything at the office? She should have known better; Murphy's law had always worked well for her.
Minutes ticked by. Zoe gave up the fight and fished her laptop out of the bag. A quick glance at all the news sites told her that the anchors were all still frozen, and none of her friends were answering their messages. It certainly gave credence to the theory that this... thing was wide spread. Though, of course, that did lead one to wonder why they had been spared when the rest of the world had not been.
Finally, the track suit man jumped to his feet. "I can't cope with this," he announced, striding over to the door. He started thumping it crazily, beating both fists against the plastic as though they alone would break it.
"What are you doing?" the blonde demanded harshly.
"Getting out of here!" track suit snapped.
"It's not going to work," Zoe observed.
"I don't care!" he shot back. "I can't just sit there and do nothing while we all die!"
Zoe sighed, shaking her head. The blonde did not seem so resigned. "Sit down," she ordered. "You're going to make us die all that much faster, you idiot!"
"I don't care!" track suit repeated. He did not stop beating the window.
Zoe sighed again, then rose. She reached up and yanked a hairpin out of her hair. Then, just to be balanced, she pulled the others out too, stashing the extras in her pocket as her black hair tumbled down her back. Ignoring the others, she walked to the door currently not being pounded on and examined the button again. She closed her left eye, looking carefully at the area around it. There must be a way to get to the circuitry that controlled the button. Probably under the plastic. She looked around for something to break it with. She considered asking track suit, but he would probably kill the circuitry as well as the plastic, if he could break it at all.
"Do any of you have any kind of strong lever? Preferably a thin one."
The blonde shook her head crisply. The other two did the same. Zoe grimaced. Did she have to everything herself?
Of course she did. She always had to do everything for herself. She knew that. She went back to her seat and rummaged around in her satchel, hoping that she had not left her ruler at work too. Thankfully, she had not, and she withdrew it with relief, looking at it carefully. If she stuck the corner between the button and the plastic, she might be able to chip off enough to get a decent hold. Catching her tongue between her teeth, she maneuvered the corner of the ruler into the small space and pushed, using as much of her weight as she dared to force the plastic to give way. She did not worry about her ruler; Zoe did not compromise with her math tools, and she bought only the best. That ruler would go through a volcanic eruption and not break.
Slowly, very slowly, cracks appeared in the plastic. Encouraged, Zoe kept pushing, forcing the cracks to grow and spawn a multitude of smaller ones. A piece of the plastic broke off, and Zoe stuck the rest of her ruler in, still pushing. More and more of the plastic came off until Zoe could reach her hand in. Carefully, she worked the ruler to a different side of the button, repeating the process.
The going was slow, but had the benefit of stopping track suit's desperate bashing of the door. After far too long, Zoe had broken off or bent enough of the plastic to allow herself to work properly, if not efficiently. She examined the mess of wires that formed the command central of the button, trying to see which ones she could use to short circuit the button and allow her to manually open the stupid doors. She frowned in concentration.
Unfortunately, track suit chose that very moment to interrupt.
"What are you doing?"
Zoe glared at him. "I'm working," she said shortly. "And it takes concentration, so I would appreciate it if you would be quiet." She realized that she sounded almost exactly like the blonde, but she did not care. If that was what it took, then that was what it took.
She went back to her work, ignoring him. If he said anything else, she did not hear it. Instead, she reached out and deftly ripped a couple wires out, twining them together. She moved some other around, and flat out dismantled one. Moments later, she reached up and pushed the button. Thankfully, the door slowly slid open. Zoe sat back on her heels, examining her work critically. It wasn't as neat as it could have been, and her artistic sensibilities screamed at her do find a more elegant solution than simply ripping the wires out, but she forcibly suppressed it. This did not call for neatness, only for effectiveness. And it had worked.
Track suit was gawking at her. "I can't believe you know how to do that," he said at last.
She shrugged, standing. "It's what I do," she informed him. "I can't exactly help being better than the others." She put the ruler -- no worse for wear, of course -- back into her satchel, then did the same with the laptop. Slinging it over her shoulder, she stepped out of the train car.
"Where are you going?" track suit demanded.
"Back to the station," Zoe told him. "Where else?"
Moments later, she heard the sound of footsteps and knew that he was following her. She ignored him; Zoe had other things to worry about. Such as how she would manage to squeeze herself and her satchel through the very small space that separated the train from the wall of the tunnel.