Going Underground

Sara had never liked the Underground. The familiar heat, stuffiness, and claustrophobia hit her now as she made her way down the escalator and through the corridors among the swarming hoards of rush hour commuters jostling for space.

The atmosphere was made more tense than usual by the presence of armed policemen and barking Alsatian dogs at the station entrance following the recent spate of bomb threats. Notices were all around about ‘Unattended Packages’ and ‘Terrorist Suspects’. Sara was beginning to feel dizzy and breathless.

The platform was full when she got there. She worked her way to the front of the crowd so she could be first on the train. She was relieved to find a seat on an inward-facing bench in the middle of the carriage.

She studied the grainy CCTV image of a suspected terrorist on a poster stuck on the compartment wall. Average height, slim build, wearing jeans and a hooded jacket which obscured much of the face – it could have been anyone. She quickly glanced around the carriage. As usual, no-one was making eye-contact, everyone engrossed in a book or newspaper, busy with their phones, studying the tube maps on the wall, or staring assiduously at the floor.

The doors closed, and the train began to move. It was time. Sara stood up, shouted in a loud and clear voice ‘Allahu akbar! God is great!’ and detonated the bomb strapped to her abdomen that blew herself and half the carriage to pieces.