48: Down Below

Trans-Andean Tunnel, Ciudad Real, Chile-

Firefly headed into the lowest stretch of the tunnel through its terminal station. The low, tank-like rescue machine smashed metal turnstiles and stair rails like paper cutouts, clearing the way for Hackenbacker's elevator car.

There were other ways in. A small service tunnel provided escape and basic maintenance access, but it had already been discounted as too narrow for Firefly, so through the terminal lay their route.

So much steam and smoke filled the air that Virgil was forced to use infrared imaging and don a gas mask, himself. The darkened station lowered onto the tunnel's first rail stop, a tiled platform about a hundred feet across, with numbered, buffer-stopped maglev tracks at either side. Other than that, a city map, a few rows of benches and a drink machine made up the platform's furnishing.

The accident had occurred on track 1, so Virgil directed Firefly off the passenger platform and down the left rail tube, which soon narrowed. The rescue vehicle was built to handle rugged, broken terrain. Her treads were independently mounted, well able to tackle stairs and short drops such as that from platform to track bed… though not without some creaks and bouncing.

Virgil hit the comm.

"I'm heading in, Brains," he announced. "See what you can do about clearing the air, and checking the service tunnel's integrity."

He didn't want the local rescue crews rushing into a potentially fatal trap. Lacking IR's advanced technology, all they were armed with was courage.

"Will do, V- Virgil. Watch, ah… watch yourself, in there."

"FAB. On my way."

And then Firefly was gone, rattling off into smoggy darkness.

Hackenbacker now busied himself checking operation of the tunnel's ventilators. Variable in pitch, they could both pump and extract… but weren't responding to LOIS. He was going to have to debug the new system in a damn quick hurry, or get down there and start the things manually. After that, his next order of business would be stress testing the tunnels, running a diagnostic program in every available wavelength and frequency to search out areas of possible collapse. Until then, Virgil Tracy was on his own…

…And quite busy. The younger man drove as fast as he dared, pausing from time to time to allow groups of coughing, frightened people to clamber past Firefly. Blundering around in the dark, they needed flashlights, first aid and encouragement (and one gasping young boy received Virgil's air mask). He would have liked to hurry on, but couldn't ignore the terrible need all around him. Between one thing and another, it took Virgil most of an hour to traverse those four miles, but his efforts that night saved many lives.

Finally, Firefly reached the accident site. Floodlights on high beam, blast shield in place, Virgil surveyed the damage. Acrid smoke streamed away down the main tunnel, which was awash in flame retardant chemicals and dirty water. Exposed wiring twitched and sparked through what looked like a modernist statue of tormented aluminum and shredded plastic. Fluids dripped and hissed, spattering into the waist-deep flood below. The first three cars lay upon their sides, the sleek 'locomotive' smashed like a soda can against the tunnel wall.

Back from that point rose a jagged tangle of silvery train cars, several with injured people still clinging, afraid to risk a jump into dark, noisome water. Spotting Firefly, the survivors waved and called out, moving as close to the edges of their tiny islands as possible.

Ten… fourteen, he counted, plus an unknown number still trapped within the passenger cars, which would have to be emptied and dragged offbefore the blocked tunnel could be cleared.

Overhead… there was a gap in the concrete ceiling; a big, disintegrating hole, blackened with smoke and spilled fuel. Worse, half of a crashed freight truck dangled through, its cab creaking slowly back and forth, crumbling the upper deck still further. A shadowy figure was just visible within, slumped over the dashboard. Dead or alive, Virgil couldn't yet tell, but he meant to find out.

He nudged Firefly gently forward, raising her snowplow-like blast shield to create a horizontal platform; something a person could stand on. Wishing like hell that John or Gordon was around to translate, Virgil called over the loudspeaker,

"Folks, I'm going to approach the first few cars. Those inside who can make their way out,or already on top, are asked to step forward and find a place on Firefly's blade. Anyone who speaks English, please translate for the rest. Okay… I'm coming over, now."

There were nods of assent, whispered reassurances and hand clasps, as Firefly crept forward, her treads rumbling over buckled concrete and cracked magnet housings. To the first smashed car she came, sending oily, rainbow-shimmered water sloshing away in slow waves.

The blast shield was too high for the stunned older couple (a man and his wife, it looked like) who clung to one another atop the car's crumpled door. She was crying; he appeared to be in shock, bleeding from many cuts and sluggishly patting his wife's shoulder.

Virgil lowered the shield a little, bringing it nearly flush with the car.

"Ma'am, Sir… if you'll just step onto the blast shield, I can pick up some more people and take you to safety. I promise it'll hold your weight. Hurry, please, thatupper deck is unstable."

He wasn't at all sure they'd understood him, but the woman (well dressed, slender, with bobbed grey hair and large eyes) finally nodded. She shook like a dried leaf, but took her husband's hand and stepped from train car to blast shield.

Two down…with a blocked tunnel and God knows how many to go.