The Station was crowded. It was always crowded though. Even in times where the MBTA was practically a ghost train, Downtown Crossing always held the heart and soul of the T commuters. It wasn’t the greatest station, mind you, but it was in a very centralized location in Boston. Today though, at this point in time, it was perhaps one of the most crowded stations out there. Peak rush hour had hit only half an hour ago, and everyone was trying to commute their way in and out of Boston to change shifts.
The familiar sound of the electric gates and the acceptance of Charlie cards was nothing new to the Lynx, Calico, and Pitbull that made their way into the station, seeing the large crowds and groaning from need to squeeze through. “We heading to your house or mine?” The lynx said, his eyes turning to the Calico as he carefully treaded the bumpy yellow line. One was never supposed to cross it for risk of injury should a train come, but it didn’t stop people from wandering along it if they wanted to get to a specific point.
“Whatever. Let’s just get on the next train if it’s not too crowded.” The calico responded, her green eyes looking up to the LED displays of time and date, hoping one would change and that station announcers voice would come over to say that the next train was coming. She, along with her two friends, however, knew that no matter what train came next, it would be crowded. Braintree might get lucky and have Big Red, but with this many people, even the standing only middle cars would just be horrendously over crowded. Neither cared that much about the crowding, but all three would prefer it weren’t so crazy sometimes. Still better than Boston nights though.
“Attention passengers, the Next Red Line train to Ashmont, is now approaching.” What luck. While not a Braintree train, The Ashmont train would at least displace quickly, and the Mattapan High-Speed Line might actually be quite empty. The look of distaste on the Lynx’s face was evident, through his glasses, but he made no comment, electing to comply with the original plan and just hop on the train if it weren’t too crowded.
“Looking scared there Rob. Don’t worry. You got Me and Rach to keep your tiny kitten butt safe,” the Pitbull joked, elbowing the lynx in the side of his am. Rob only scoffed in response, electing to keep his gaze down the tunnel to see the approaching train. He couldn’t see the lights, but he never really could at the Approaching line. He’d see them as the announcement of it arriving came in two seconds, and then the train would roll into the station. A squeal of the train running down the tracks echoed through the station just as the next announcement went.
“Attention passengers. The next Red Line Train to Ashmont, is now arriving.” The lynx turned to the tunnel looking for the bright lights of the train. He’d been on the Red line long enough to be able to usually count from the moment he saw the lights to the moment the first bit of the car would be in sight. Two seconds, sometimes five. Depended on the day, but at Rush hour, they went as quickly as they could.
“What do you mean the train didn’t stop in Park Street but was empty?” a Lioness in a business suit growled into her cell phone, checking her watch and looking down the tunnel. “Was the train out of order or something? They just announced it arriving here,” The lioness’ words got drowned out by the exceptionally loud squeal of the wheels running along the tracks, followed by the sparks of the train hitting the third rail. As the first car pulled into view, only a few in the station heard the scream of someone from further down the station. The train wasn’t slowing, and the windows of the Red line car were painted the signature color of this rail line. A few of the windows were cracked and spider webbed, but only a few with quick eyes caught this detail. The lynx, reacting to the situation first, pushed out his arms and pushed everyone he could reach back from the yellow line. Many protested, but as the sight came into view, the protests of the shoving grew quiet as people quickly funneled backwards into the concourse and pathways.
What happened next was in the blink of an eye. Faster than many could think, the train, coming from around the corner of Park Street station, was tilting on it’s side, with some of the car scraping against the platform. The corner of the steel car caught the wall of the station at the end, halting it’s beyond safe speeds journey and creating a ripple effect in many of the cars. One car was pushed downwards, while another slammed up into the ceiling of the underground station. Many near the midsection of the platform had become unlucky, as one of the cars bucked up and drove itself into the back wall of the platform, pinning many amongst itself and the wall. With the virus already in the air, these would be the first to turn after having died from impact.
The broken windows and buckled cars created openings in the previously sealed train, and once the horror of the impact had settled, it was then that the first to try and examine the situation, an MBTA Transit Police officer, saw the first of what was to be many. Alerts and warnings had persisted about an infected patient somewhere around Charles/MGH causing some panic on the train, but this was more than what had ever been expected. What the Rat in uniform saw as he poked a flashlight and head into the car, was the mangled and torn body of many of the subway’s users, growling and making guttural, unnatural sounds. Many were missing limbs and chunks of skin, but still moved and turned to face the Rat.
“What The Fu-!” The words were cut short as the rat was soon tackled by what may have once been some sort of dog, but the mangled body and clothing suggested only that it had been an MBTA worker. It flew through the broken window with such force that the rat was flung back against the wall of the platform, the brown mange of fur clawing and biting it’s way through the gray fur of the rat with deadly speed. Women in the subway screamed as people began to rush out of the platform. Those on the Alewife side of the station would be lucky, getting anywhere from ten minutes to an hour before finally succumbing to the infected creatures that spawned from the Central heart of Boston. Those on the Braintree/Ashmont side would not be so lucky, with only a few able to slink away to safety and refugee.
A young Doberman male was cut down as he exited the subway outside of Macys, a mangle patch of white fur dirtied from blood and grime tearing into his back and eating away at his insides. The panic had been set and the Alarms sounded. In the span of five minutes, Boston became Ground Zero of an epidemic that would span the nation. A new creature, spawned from a strange virus, had risen, bringing more with it. This new creature would later be named the infected, for that was what they were. Some would call them Zombies. Others, reworks.
In one day, Boston, once a major metropolis of North America, would completely shut down.
In one week, the entire eastern seaboard would become quarantined.
In one month, the entire US was infected and deemed unsafe.
In a year, All of North America had become a death zone.
