The Good Guy

FICTION

He was not a handsome man by the stretch of anyone's imagination, he was tall, a good asset and he still had a fair amount of hair. No visible deformities and most of the teeth he was born with. He had soft brown eyes and a sharp nose that, if a little beak-like could not be described as ugly. He was if anything, non-descript. An accountant, he had what was universally considered to be, a boring job. He worked in a small firm in the city where he would never rise above the position he currently held, that of associate. He would not make partner. He was good at his work, average, not great, not someone about whom people would say "Oh you need Jack, he's your man for mergers and tax loopholes."

He rarely wavered in his routine, taking the used bike he bought from Craig's list to the train station and a 20 minute ride into the city. He was swallowed up by a million others just like him, he was not noticed, he did not stand out. You would not remember him on your commute. If pressed say, by a vigorous cross examination you couldn't say whether or not he wore glasses or what color his coat was. Was he wearing a suit or a black tie or a brown one? You would not have remembered. He picked up a copy of the Journal at the station where he also bought a small coffee, black, one sugar. He hopped onto the 7:15 to Porter Street and took a window seat if possible. He enjoyed the view, the houses mostly, which he liked to peer into when the train slowed. He made up stories about the  people inside the homes, he imagined them fighting, making love and eating meals together. He wanted them to be as ordinary as he was, he needed their lives to be no more exciting than his.

Tuesday was an unusually light early morning, the sun was up high and shone on everything in its sphere, making things clear and better defined than usual, highlighting the dirt and the rust at the station, yet casting a warmth throughout, which he noticed and which made him mildly happy. He grabbed the paper, the coffee, and then his seat in short order, he was ready for the day. The explosion was unlike any sound he had ever heard, loud does not come close to the telling of its volume, it rumbled long after the initial bang and then there was the roar of flame and the rush of air being sucked out of the windows. They smashed into a million shards, one of which struck his upper thigh and the blood was spurting from him like a geyser, there was no pain. His ears were numb they thudded inside his head but the noises he knew must be occurring didn't register. He didn't hear screams, he saw a hand and then a bloody stump of some kind pass him and then the smell of burning flesh hit his nostrils and made him gag. He was upside down in the rail car, the window was now above his head and suitcases and brief cases were flying down the aisle which was not under but now beside him. Something hit him in the head and later he would say he thought it was a phone or a laptop. Suddenly his hearing came back into sharp focus and the cries and screams and moans were all consuming. He looked about for an explanation, a reason for what was happening. There was none, he registered that a bomb had gone off or a grenade had been lobbed into the train or that a rocket must surely have been launched at them.

The little girl under the seat was seven maybe eight years old, she looked up at him with eyes that could not see because of the blood dribbling down from the gash in her head. She was trapped. He knew without thinking that the fire would consume them all if they didn't get out...now.  He turned away, trying in just an instant to leave her there and save himself but of course he could not. He tried to pry the seat up from on top of her but it was wedged under the remains of the side of the railcar. Using every ounce of strength left to him he pushed and pulled but to no avail. "Help, help us." he yelled panicking now as the heat from the fire began to take hold, "There's a child here she's stuck, I need help for God's sake." Nothing. It was up to him. He looked around unable to see anything that might help, the smoke now thick black, and curling around them. He took off his jacket and stuffed it in and around her so she could avoid breathing in any more of it. He told her to stay calm, he'd help, he'd stay. She cried silently, tears welling up but no sound escaping her tiny red mouth. She seemed to be slipping away, he had no idea how badly she had been hurt, all he could see was her face and torso. Slowly she closed her eyes and fell into a deep sleep. Hoping she was no longer in pain he began again to shove the debris off of her, this time more aggressively thinking she could not feel the pain he knew he was causing her. At last the seat freed and he lifted it up and off her tiny body. Her legs were twisted gruesomely behind her, she still appeared to be unconscious and he hauled her up and over his shoulder.

A tiny speck of the bright foreboding sunshine was visible and he followed it, stumbling and falling to his knees. He never let her go, he clung to her little form as if it were his saving grace and he launched himself out of the first opening he found. Slamming to the ground he looked up to see an apocalypse of twisted steel and concrete, hats and coats and shoes lying about, twisted electrical wires and little fires each with their own agenda burning brightly all around him. The sky, an impossible, reckless blue casting a gaiety to everything he saw. People, zombi-like walking around and crying, no wailing, each one dazed yet searching for something. A young woman came into view she was mostly undressed, her burnt clothes hanging in shreds around her, she was screaming "Katie, Katie, Katie it's mommy, where are you?" The tiny child still hung around his neck like a limpet, began to whimper in recognition. Jack laid her down on the ground as soon as he could get far enough away from the train. "Don't move." he said stupidly, and lumbered back towards the woman who was by now walking in circles near where she thought her child might be. "Over here," he shouted, "Over here, I have a kid, a girl, is this her?"

The newspaper article was concise and described him as a regular guy, the kind of guy you'd want to sit next to on a crowded commuter train because he wouldn't say much. The motive for the attack was not discovered although theories abounded. He was interviewed on the radio, on television and seen on social media by all who had taken their phones out and video recorded him exiting the train with the child slung around his neck. They called him a hero and gave him awards. When asked what he was thinking, staying in the burning train so long to rescue the child he replied simply, that he was a good guy.