Running simple errands had really become a pain since the pandemic had begun. It'd been, what, about a year? And she still hadn't totally adjusted to things. Just leaving the apartment was a chore, and easy things were stress-filled when they shouldn't have been. Like subway rides. Annika was the kind of "careful" in public that bordered on paranoid. It wasn't just the extra gloves, or the mask, or the added layers of clothing, or her aversion to sitting next to other people, or even all of that combined. She was basically a hermit when she didn't have to work.

Except today.

One of her friends in the government--federal, not local--had asked a favor. And, of course, being the people-pleaser she was, she responded. It'd meant a last-minute trip across town and then anxiety about making curfew because of the nature of that errand. But she'd made it, and for once the train car she was on was pretty empty. It was quiet, save for a few mumbled conversations here and there.

But the sound of screeching filled the car in one monstrous shriek as the breaks slammed down. Annika lurched forward in her seat, attention jarred up from her book. Was there something on the tracks? Why had they stopped?

More importantly, how long were they going to stay stopped?