Julian Vance vaulted onto the ribbed vinyl casing of the front wheel-well housing.
Above him, the yellow vinyl stop-request cord groaned like a wet mooring cable.
In the sixteen-inch convex acrylic mirror, all four ghost commuters in Row 12 were hauling downward with their full dead weight.
Their water-bloated shoulders strained against their moldy wool overcoats. Their blackened fingers clamped into the vinyl coating, stretching the steel aircraft cable inside by half an inch.
“Cord deflection is at two point four inches!” Lin Mei shouted, her pocket slide-rule clicking against her palm. “Julian, the spring tension in Row 12 is at sixty pounds! The microswitch trips at sixty-five!”
“Julian, hurry!” Elena yelled from the front platform. She held Clara’s mobile ICU cart steady with one hand while keeping her flashlight focused on the bulkhead. “The front ceiling eyelet is bending! Look at the metal warping!”
“I have the bell box,” Julian said.
Mounted directly above Mac Cole’s sun visor was the heavy cast-iron bell housing. The front cover plate was polished municipal brass, held in place by two slotted brass machine screws.
