Escape mithun mukherjee

The crisp winter air whips up forgotten pieces of propaganda pamphlets off the pavement and
carries them down the road, straight through the grills into black recesses of the gutter. Teresa
blinks away a snowflake and looks around. That feeling, the one she knows only too well, is
back.
They have found her. Again.
She breaks into a run, weaving through the rush of bodies, ticking off the number of days inside
her head. Forty-five, if you dont count the eve of transformation. They have become fast, much
faster. The time they take to find her has almost been halved. She would have to be more careful
in the future, if she makes it out of this one. She reprimands herself for having turned slack.
Death comes easy to the lazy.
Across the road, the keen eyes of a Watcher have already picked up the sudden movement.
Without a sound, it takes off after her, catlike, its eyes not leaving her.
Teresa is scrambling now, trying her best to find a place to disappear. The footpath and the doors
around her are all closed, uninviting. The subway beckons from the distance. It is still a good
three to four hundred meters away. The only way out-is in.
She pushes past a cart selling ice-cream, making the seller swear loudly. A sideways glance
reveals two other Watchers that have joined the hunt, their black coats billowing behind them
like dark ominous wings. The people around them dont react. They are used to such cat-and-
mouse chases almost every day of the week. They end with the mouse either getting hauled
away, or worse, dead.
A huge billboard proclaiming The World Belongs To Purebloods is the last thing Teresa sees
before ducking into the subway. Descending two steps at a time, her peripheral vision steals a
quick look behind her for a split second. The ruse hasnt worked; the three of them are coming
down the stairs now, hot in pursuit. It is only a matter of time before the authorities are alerted
and the whole station goes into a lockdown. The need to blend in rings loudly in the back of her
head like a gong. It is easier thought than done.
The ticket gate rears up at an alarming speed. She is prepared for this. Slowing down her pace to
avoid detection, she joins the shortest queue entering the station. She swipes the wristband on her
left hand at the gate. The counter blips once, twice. It is taking too long to open up. Maybe
something went wrong. The SYSTEM has a new safeguard against hacked entries. The
wristband is out of juice. The Watchers have already flagged off the terminals. All of this crosses
through her mind in the space of a half moment. The light turns green and with a soft hiss, the
gates relent. She is through, moseying into a fresh sea of purebloods, an anomaly waiting to be
discovered.
She makes her way to the platform where a shuttle is slated to arrive in the next three minutes.
Her eyes dart around furiously, trying to find a way out but come up with nothing. She scans
surfaces around her quickly. Railway tracks would help but her reflection is too small, too far.
She could reach out for the shiny silver bag that the lady is holding a couple of feet away, but it
would attract too much attentionsomething that she is desperately trying to avoid.
The Watchers are on the platform, splitting up to ensure that the quarry doesnt escape them. She
can see the growing glow of the shuttle entering the platform. Numerous images of shape shifter
suicides rear up in her mindshe can totally imagine herself doing it.
And if she does, the Watchers wont even blink.
They spot her. Slowly, deliberately, they make their way towards Teresa. There is no escape,
they know it. The shuttle enters the platform and the pneumatic doors open, the surge of bodies
behind her pushing themselves into the carriage. Her reflection on the body of the shuttle is light,
porous. It doesnt work. Even if she boards the train, they would know. Her profile is now
imprinted on their psyche, something that will not go away in a hurry.
Suddenly, her eyes find what shes been looking for.
A woman tries to edge past her, trying to enter the coach. In her hand, she holds a fashionable
folding mirror, something she was probably using to touch up her make-up moments ago. Before
the woman can realize, Teresa has snatched the mirror from her hand and moved away from the
door to avoid the wave of crushing bodies. The woman looks around, puzzled, but its already
too late. The doors close and she just manages to ensure her fingers dont get stuck on the
pneumatic doors. The shuttle pulls away. Stray travelers scatter across the platform. Some leave
to head to their destinations while others wait for the next shuttle to arrive.
Teresa flips open the mirror to catch her reflection in it for the last time.
The first watcher to reach her grabs at her shoulder roughly and turns her around. He looks into
the face of a woman he has never seen before. She is frightened out of her wits and is visibly
shaking.
Wurkurrrhur? the woman burbles.
The watcher pushes her away and lets out a grunt of disappointment. The other two manage to
reach him by this time. All three stomp off together towards the exit, cursing loudly in their
metallic voices. A few turn to look at them but soon return to their own devices.
The personality continues to seep into her brain, a wet new consciousness replacing the previous
one.
The woman digs into the purse that hangs by her shoulder. Some stray cosmetics, a small wad of
cash and other knick knacks. Her fingers close around an identity card and she reads the name.
Martha M. Blackwell she says it out loud. The name rolls around nicely inside her mouth. She
smiles to herself. Martha would work.
Till they find her again.