The Number 9 Train
The train arrived with a hydraulic whisper. Women shuffled first into its wide airlock doorway, several men behind them, Ethan last. As the airlock hissed shut, he turned and touched the cold chrome door as if looking for a doorknob, an exit button. Through its round porthole, the brightness of the station blurred and disappeared, giving way to the black of the tunnel, then to the gray ellipse of morning.