I stand at a subway station, the grey tile and fluorescent lighting providing a pale backdrop for a small handful of commuters stranded at Hantell Street Station. A news report echoes around the entrance hall, streamed to a huddle of sorry faces crouched around an iPad. The reporter has no idea what’s going on. But then again, no one does.
The ground shakes, dislodging streams of grit and dust from the ceiling. I decide to press on; ignoring the half-hearted pleas from one of NYPD’s finest, heading down the steps to the Seventh Avenue Line. There’s no service today, not any more. The loudest noise on the platform is coming from two German tourists arguing with each other. Something about Dusseldorf.
One of the subway trains has made a mess of the Downtown end of the platform, bursting through the roof and into the daylight above. Sensing an exit, I dash through the middle of the mangled train car. Emerging above ground, I’m just in time to see Air Force jets scream above. Sounds of the military are all around, with tanks rolling through the city streets and helicopter gunships circling nearby. Whatever’s going on, it’s big. It’s going to take a big team to take it down.