Subway Sam gripped the subway door with both hands and felt it slide open on its own. The train was moving. He braced his boot against the frame and shoved the door shut. It bounced back. An old woman near the rail gasped and clutched her bag. Sam had sworn to keep every rider in this town safe, and right now one wrong lurch could throw her onto the tracks. The car rocked as it took a curve. The door rolled open again, wide. Cold air rushed in. Sam saw the rails blur below, twin steel lines stitched with ties. He pushed the woman back from the gap. "Stay against the seat," he said. "Hold the pole." She nodded and gripped it hard. Sam studied the door. The latch was broken. It would not catch. He tugged off his hooded jacket and looked at the long sleeves. He had an idea, but it had to work on the first try. The train would reach the next stop in minutes, and until then the open door was a trap. He knotted one sleeve around the door's inner handle. He pulled the door shut by hand, then stretched the jacket across to a grab bar on the far wall. He tied the second sleeve tight around the bar. The jacket pulled taut, a cloth rope holding the door closed. The car hit another curve. The door strained against the jacket. The fabric stretched but held. The gap stayed shut. Sam leaned his weight against the door anyway, just in case the knot slipped. "Is it safe now?" the woman asked. "For now," Sam said. He kept his hands on the door. The jacket held, but it was only cloth. One hard jolt could tear it. The train slowed. Lights from the platform slid across the windows. The car stopped and the working doors on the other side hissed open. Riders stepped off. The woman squeezed Sam's arm and walked out on steady feet. Sam untied his jacket from the bar. The broken door hung loose again the moment the cloth came free. He stared at it. He had stopped one fall, but the latch was still dead. The next load of riders would crowd in with no warning. He could not tie a jacket across the door at every stop, on every car, all day. He pressed his palm to the cold metal and felt the broken latch rattle. The problem was not one door. It was the whole line. Somewhere there were more cars like this one, running the same track, carrying people who trusted the doors to hold. Sam pulled his jacket back on and stepped onto the platform. He had to find who ran these trains, and he had to do it before the next car left the station.