Then, the tunnel opened up into a wider space.

It was an old, abandoned subway platform from the turn of the century.

The wooden edge of the platform had rotted away, leaving jagged teeth of dark oak.

Near the back wall, under a crumbling tiled sign that once read *State*, a blue plastic tarp was stretched across two pillars.

A faint, warm light glowed from behind the plastic.

I stopped.

I switched off my flashlight.

The darkness rushed in, thick and absolute, save for the weak amber glow behind the blue tarp.

I heard a soft sound.

It was the rustle of paper, followed by a quiet, ragged cough.

I stepped onto the platform, my boots crunching softly on a bed of dry sand.

I reached out and pulled the edge of the blue tarp aside.

A woman was sitting on a wooden crate.

She wore a dirty, oversized wool coat that looked like it had belonged to a track worker.

Her dark hair was cut short and uneven, as if she had sheared it off herself with dull scissors.

At the sound of the tarp moving, she gasped.