taller woman wore a cream suit that complemented her blond hair twisted up in a chignon. She stalked over to the edge of the platform and positioned herself in front of the camera while dialing her cell phone. She pressed the phone to her ear, then barked, “Speak up. The connection’s bad.” After a few seconds she said, “You’re cutting in and out. Call me back in fifteen minutes. We should be done here by then.” Frowning, she ended the call, pulled off a lanyard with an ID tag dangling from it, and tossed the lanyard and the phone at a man standing off to the side.
It’s funny how group dynamics play out, even in impromptu groups, like random people waiting for a train. I realized the news camera had the attention of everyone on the platform, including the kids at the far end. Since I’d just had some less than pleasant encounters with the media, I was glad the camera wasn’t focused on me.
The reporter threaded a small microphone under the blond woman’s collar and stepped back. “Okay, we’re ready.” A bright light attached to the camera clicked on and, just as quickly, a smile lit the woman’s face, replacing her frown. The reporter said, “Ms. Archer, tell us why the Women’s Safety Initiative is so crucial.”
“We’re all concerned about safety. Our nation’s security has been our top priority recently, but we can’t overlook individual safety, especially for women. Women must be safe in their homes, at work, and on public transportation, like the Metro. That’s why the Women’s Advancement Center has worked closely with Senators McKay and—”
There was a burst of noise from the top of the escalator and we all turned to look. Another group of teenagers, this time wearing dark blue shirts, flooded down the escalator in a gush of chatter and the flutter of miniskirts.
I noticed the lights in the floor of the platform near the edge of the track flicker on and off, a signal the train was arriving.
Ms. Archer snapped at the man holding her phone, “Tell them to keep it down. We’re recording,” but her voice was overpowered by a high-pitched shout from a girl in a blue T-shirt. “Here comes one. We can make it, if we hurry!”
The train sped into the station and a whoosh of air swept across the platform, stirring my hair as a scream rang out. I thought it was one of the teenagers horsing around, but then little waves of panic rippled across the platform.
People started shouting. Someone yelled, “Call 911.” Suddenly, we were pushed forward. “What happened? What’s wrong?” A few people pushed back, fighting against the surging tide. The noise level on the platform swelled. “An accident.”
I heard someone crying.
“…horrible…”
“Can you believe—”
The reporter disconnected the camera from the tripod, yanked the microphone off the other woman, and pushed into the fray.
A woman behind me said, “Oh God. I hope it’s not terrorism. Is there a bomb?”
The whole platform descended into chaos as the word “terrorism” was repeated. We all turned and ran for the escalators. Hands pushed at my back. I looked around for Abby, but didn’t see her. I was caught in the horde of people in the bottleneck at the foot of the escalator. The tide of people shoved forward and smashed me against the wall of the escalator. Trampled. I’m going to be trampled. The crowd surged again. The sense of fear permeated the air like the heavy stench of sweat. I’m going to be crushed .
“Wait! Calm down!” A man had jumped up on one of the benches. “Someone fell off the platform.” The crowd swirling around him slowed. The pressure against my back eased. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “Slow down. No terrorism. Someone fell. It was just an accident.”
An Everything In Its Place Tip for an Organized Trip
Travel planning
The Internet is a great place to start your research for a trip. Major cities usually have Web sites with extensive information. Some sites like