He thought about a boy who had been down here for hours in three thin sweaters and a borrowed blanket.
His jaw tightened until the muscle jumped in his cheek.
"Beau."
Cyrus's voice was almost a whisper.
Beau turned.
Cyrus stood at the far end of the concourse.
His flashlight was aimed toward a corner where the tiled wall met an old support pillar.
Beau went to him.
Wedged so deep into the angle that he almost disappeared into it was a small bundle.
A wool blanket.
Inside it was a boy curled into the shape bodies make when they are trying to save whatever heat remains in the core.
Beau dropped to his knees on the cold, wet floor.
He set the flashlight aside so the beam struck the wall rather than the boy's face.
He reached out carefully and pulled back the edge of the blanket.
The boy's face was the color of paper.
His lips were bruised blue.
Tiny crystals of frost clung to his eyelashes and the corners of his nose.
He was not shivering.
He was not moving.
"Eli," Beau said.
His voice was very soft.
He had never spoken Maggie's name with more care in 22 years.
"Eli."
"Son."
"Open your eyes."
The boy did not move.
Beau placed two fingers against the side of his neck.
He waited.
The seconds passed.
For a moment, he thought there was nothing.
Then a flutter.
A pulse so faint it was almost not one.
Once.
Twice.
A long pause.
Again.
"He's alive," Beau said.
The paramedics moved.
Beau lifted the boy himself.
He held him carefully until the medical team could begin working around him.
The boy seemed to weigh nothing.
Beau had carried sacks of feed that weighed more than Eli Carter.
He stripped off his thermal jacket and wrapped the boy in it.
He held Eli against his chest.
Then he stood.
He walked quickly.
He did not run.
The old paramedic in him remembered what a cold, fragile heart could not tolerate.
They climbed out of the darkness of Woodward Station and into the gray late afternoon.
The world above was waiting.
Blocks of riders stood on foot along the street.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
They formed two long walls down the avenue.
Between them, the road was open to the waiting SUV.
Beau walked between his brothers carrying a 14-year-old child.
Every man he passed bowed his head.
Beau did not look at them.
He looked only at the vehicle ahead.
He climbed into the back seat with Eli still in his arms.
Cyrus was at the wheel.
The door closed.
The SUV pulled away.
Only then did thousands of engines begin to start again, one after another, until their combined sound rolled between the buildings.
The hospital escort moved like a wall.
Inside the back seat, Beau pressed his lips against the top of Eli's head.
He spoke in a low murmur the entire way.