Escape From New York Read Free Page A

that still bore the stitch marks on the sleeve to show where the sergeant’s stripes used to be. His hands were lost up to the wrists in the wiring of a terminal box that was set into the wall.
    “How are you, Sarge?” Plissken asked when he got up close.
    Taylor didn’t even flinch. “Surviving,” he replied, then his eyes drifted up to Plissken’s. They shared a look, then the eyes drifted down to the satchel in Plissken’s hand. Taylor had the bag’s twin beside him on the floor.
    “You’re early,” the little man said,
    “They’re on my ass.”
    Taylor nodded once and turned back to the panel, cursing softly to himself. He worked quickly, expertly. All at once, he sat back with a grunt. “That’s it,” he said.
    His words were followed by the clank of a subway train moving down the platform. It got right next to them, then wheezed to a stop.
    “Let’s go,” Plissken said, and started for the train. Taylor got to his feet and followed, his bad leg making him limp slightly.
    They got inside just as the door was closing. The car was old. The garish neon lit the torn seats and dirty, battered walls to an odd sort of antisepticness.
    The train started away, creaking loudly. Plissken and Taylor grabbed seat frames to bolster them against the acceleration. Snake smiled as the speed built. They were off.
    “We wired in to Seattle?” he asked.
    Taylor twisted up his mouth. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe Seattle, maybe San Francisco, maybe Barstow.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t tell, you know? Those goddamn circuits are so small.”
    Plissken tossed his satchel to Taylor and slumped down in a seat, his eyes drifting to the window, exhaustion spreading over his body like a shroud over a corpse. When he looked back around, Taylor was zipping open the bag.
    “Congratulations,” Plissken said. “You’re a billionaire.”
    Taylor was pulling plastic white credit cards out of the sack. “Jesus, Snake.” He began reading out loud, “Master, US National Bank. Master, US Port Authority. Master, US Tobacco Reserve.” He shoved the open satchel toward Plissken. “Will you look at this?”
    Plissken folded his hands and leaned way back in the seat “You look at it I’m tired.”
    “Come on, man. We gotta split it up.”
    “I trust you.”
    He watched as Taylor unzipped the other bag and started shoveling the credit discs into it. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep. He dreamed about his head being on fire. Orange fire. Just like every night.
    He awoke to Taylor shaking him gently on the arm. “Wake up, Snake. We’re there.”
    Plissken came awake at once, alert, like an animal. He sat up straight, eye searching, brain clear—except for the pain.
    His first word was, “What?”
    Taylor had backed away from him. He had been around Plissken long enough to know that sometimes the Snake came awake defensively, violently. It had to do with his eye.
    “The train’s slowing down, Lieutenant. We’re there.”
    “Where?”
    “Wherever.”
    Plissken stretched quickly and watched them slowing to the terminal platform. All terminals looked the same. There was no way of telling where they were just from looking.
    He stood when the train came to a complete stop. Taylor was already standing by the door. It slid open.
    “Welcome to San Francisco,” the computer voice said. “Please step to your right”
    Good citizens, Plissken and Taylor stepped out of the car and walked casually toward the escalators on their right
    “Well, it ain’t Seattle,” Taylor frowned. “But it’s close.”
    “Close enough for government work,” Plissken said.
    Taylor thought about that for a moment, then a big toothy grin consumed his drawn face. “San Francisco ain’t bad,” he said. “I can spend a billion here.”
    They got on the escalator and took the ride.
    “San Francisco,” Taylor said again, shaking his head. “Sure couldn’t spend it in Barstow.”
    “Yeah,” Plissken responded, but he wasn’t