by Robert Craig
The city had been divided into quadrants: northeast and northwest, southeast and southwest (the two northern sections, because of their relatively uncomplicated track system, would be easiest to deal with and required the fewest number of men). Troops had been deployed to all of the farthermost subway stations of the island. They were to be aided by TA and NYPD cops whose job it was to see that during the sweep nothing got in or out of the island by way of the tunnels and bridges that linked Manhattan with the other boroughs.
The southeast and southwest quadrants presented a real problem. The congestion of tracks, systems, and routes from Fifty-seventh Street south to South Ferry and the accesses to Brooklyn was almost impossible to deal with methodically. Extra men were deployed to the farthermost stations; these squads of men readied themselves to begin the sweep from the waterfront inland toward the center of the island. The plan was to force the creepers toward central killing grounds: Washington Square station in the Village, the Fourteenth Street stations which ran a straight line across the island from Eighth Avenue to Union Square, and the Thirty-fourth Street stations, which occupied a fairly deserted part of town. At these crucial points, soldiers waited to eradicate the creepers as they fled north in front of the sweep.
It was calculated that the sweep south would force the creatures into position no sooner than the Thirty-fourth Street stations, which, like those on Fourteenth Street, spread across town in an almost even line. These sections of the city, busy during the day, saw relatively little traffic at night. Thus, it was essential that the north-south sweep begin before its south-north counterpart, to avoid the creepers massing beyond Thirty-fourth Street-in areas where there was a high civilian population. That, of course, was to avoid spillage.
“Spillage? What the hell is spillage?” Matthews had questioned Dolchik earlier.
The captain shrugged. “Russ, we have no idea how many of these creepers there are. There may be a hundred…or ten hundred. If we start forcing them toward a central point with our sweeps, they’re going to start massing…and some of them might just get by our men and up onto the street. That’s spillage.”
“Jesus Christ. If any of them escapes…”
“We’re taking every precaution to see that they don’t. Still, we have to consider all possibilities. We’d like eventually to herd as many of them into the Washington Square station as possible’, it’s on two levels and handles several different subway lines. A systematic sweep along the eastern side of the island should send ’em running right into our open arms.”
“Just keep them off the street, Dolchik,” Matthews warned. “I want people to know what a great job we’ve done with this after it’s over; not while it’s going on.” He shook his head. “My God, can you imagine the carnage if these things got out and made a break for it?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” Stan admitted as he wiped away a gloss of sweat that had broken out across the back of his neck. “We’re doing everything humanly possible to contain these things, Russ. Just say a prayer that there aren’t too many of them.” Dolchik had his own suspicions about the creeper population, and it scared the shit out of him.
All that had taken place hours ago, when Dolchik was beginning to feel tired. Now, five minutes before the sweep was about to begin, none of it mattered. The subway was empty and the success or failure of the mission was out of his hands.
“Captain, we’re all ready,” Lieutenant Tom Larabee, a tough-looking National Guardsman, interrupted Dolchik’s thoughts.
“Repeat your instructions once again, Lieutenant,” Dolchik demanded. There was no margin for error. This sweep was a one-time thing.
“My men have been notified to proceed inland, following their assigned courses and leaders toward the various central meeting points. They are to have their automatic weapons ready… and they are to shoot anything not in uniform.”
“That last part is most important, Lieutenant We can’t take any chances with these things.” And if Russ Matthews’ luck held, Corelli would go down in flames, too. “Are the men with the flamethrowers in place?”
“They are deployed in advance of each squad of men and will destroy any refuges of the creatures as well as the creatures themselves, Captain.” He smiled now and rested easily. “I don’t know what we’re after, sir, but I’ll tell you, my men will burn the shit out of them. The only thing that’s going to get out of the subway alive is me and my men. And you’ve got my word for that.”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Dolchik said, barely disguising the distaste he felt for this gung-ho attitude. “Now, you’d better get into position.”
“Yessir.” Larabee saluted and left the office.
Dolchik folded up the subway map and slipped it back into his desk. He took out a fresh cigar, bit off the end, and spit it into the wastebasket. Too bad about Corelli. In his own way he was a likable guy. Dolchik lit the cigar. Now Corelli was just a dead man.
Corelli raced through the tunnel toward the area just south of the Ninety-sixth Street station. In the past five minutes nothing had passed through the tunnels-no expresses hurtling mindlessly through the dark, no locals rocking along like subterranean rowboats on a darkened sea. It was an eerie feeling. It was as if the subway had died. And only Frank Corelli had come to the funeral.
The ominous emptiness around him convinced Frank that he was on the tightest time schedule of his life. It was as if with each step he took, the second hand of a cosmic stopwatch ticked off another second. He fought a growing sense of panic that constantly whipped up inside his gut, then subsided; it was like the wind devils he’d seen dancing over the flat Texas landscape when he was in the Army. He had to remember: panic made people irresponsible…and irresponsibility led to death.
He found the abandoned station sooner than he’d expected. He stood opposite it for a minute, visually scouting out its parameters. Even from the uptown-express track Corelli saw that the station’s platform was littered with rubble and that its walls were crumbling from years of neglect. The station looked totally deserted, forgotten years before in favor of the larger station at Ninety-sixth Street. It was the perfect place for the creepers to call home.
He sucked in a deep breath and made his way carefully across the tracks, keeping an eye on the third rail, which, he assumed, was still operative despite the lack of train traffic. He crouched low under the overhanging lip of the station’s platform and keened his ears for sounds of movement, speech, anything. But there was nothing. He then edged to the far end of the platform and listened again. Still nothing. In fact, the entire subway system lay soundless under the city. Frank knew he was wasting his time in contemplation; the only course of action was to move.
But he was afraid. Afraid that when he burst into the station he would find nothing. And he knew if Louise weren’t there, if the creepers weren’t hiding her there, then she was lost to him forever.
Corelli shelved his fear and bolted up over the platform’s edge. He huddled low, then scampered toward the door that had been cut through the cheap plywood of an old makeshift wall the TA had set up in front of the station. For a moment his decisiveness wavered; Jesus, what was he doing here? Was he still chasing shadows? Still running after monsters in the subway that no one had seen for real? Was he really staking his life and his sanity on linking a series of ancient newspaper reports to modern-day crimes? It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t sane. Yet, here he crouched, trembling with fear and anticipation.
Without another second’s thought, Corelli kicked open the wooden door and leaped inside, swinging the beam of his flashlight ahead of him. The room was empty. He felt the rush of adrenaline run dry. He was suddenly limp and drained. He’d been wrong about Louise. He’d gambled on finding her, and he’d lost. Jesus! The same feelings that had swamped him the night he’d identified Jean’s body returned. Twice in five years he’d loved, and twice he’d lost. Well, this time he was in charge, and he’d find the bastards who’d taken Louise and kill them one by one…i
f it were the last thing he’d ever do.
He leaned weakly against the door frame and examined the room. There were scraps of newspapers scattered around the floor, and in a corner, a pile of aged human feces. In another corner a stack of ancient boxes and cartons stood sentinel over nothing. Corelli moved into the room, swinging the light before him. He had been chasing ghosts! There was nothing here for him. Nothing except a foul smell. Corelli inhaled and almost gagged. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of putrefaction. It closed in around him with its flabby arm. He shook his head, pulled out a handkerchief, and quickly put it over his nose. Jesus, he’d never smelled anything like this before.
At the farthest corners of the room, on either side of the derelict token booth, stairways led back and away from the platform, then up toward the street level. There was space there to hide…to be hidden. It was his last hope. He mounted the first stair, praying he wasn’t too late, that maybe this nightmare might have a happy ending, that he might find Louise and break the horrible pattern of his love life.
The stairs were covered with bones. They lay stacked in neat piles according to size. It didn’t take much thought to guess that they were human bones, and as Frank shone the light upward, that guess was proven true: a stack of human skulls crowned the top stair, their hollow eyes and dead, mirthless grins proof that this part of his quest, at least, was a success. He’d found the lair of the creepers. But success? Corelli sneered at the very idea.
A rustling sound behind him sent Frank spinning around in terror. But the room was still empty. Something had moved, he was certain of it. Something had rustled over near the wall. His light caught and held the packing cases. Of course. How stupid he’d been. These creepers were clever. They’d remained hidden from sight for generations. Of course they would be hiding here on their home ground. Had he really expected to waltz into their headquarters and find them waiting, their arms outstretched in anticipation of the handcuffs? Christ, what had he been thinking?
Cautiously, one step at a time, service revolver drawn, Corelli backed down the stairs and walked to the center of the room. He paused, listened, then moved to the edge of the boxes, and, with one quick kick, his revolver cocked, Frank toppled the boxes and leaped aside… landing inches from Louise’s head.
“My God!” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. “I thought you were dead.” He slipped his arms under her and pulled her up to him, nearly crushing her with his strength. He ungagged her and kissed her.
“They’re coming back,” she gulped through his embraces. “They went out for fresh food. We’ve got to get out of here.” Her eyes were wide with terror.
“Let me untie you and…” He now saw the small body next to him. “What the hell?”
“It’s Lisa,” Louise cried softly. “She’s unconscious, but still alive. Oh, Frank, you’ve got to get us out of here.”
He’d already begun working on the knots at Louise’s wrists when the platform door flew open and slammed against the wall. Corelli froze. His breathing thickened and his hands once again wrapped around the cold comfort of his gun. He stood up suddenly and flashed his light out into the room.
There were six of them huddled together. They stood around the mangled body of a TA cop whose shredded uniform exposed craters of blood where hunks of flesh had once been. Corelli felt the fear rise in his throat, but it didn’t stop him from acting. Blinded by anger at what the creepers had put Louise through, Frank leaped onto one of the crates and challenged the creepers. “Okay, you sons-of-bitches, come and get me.” He brandished the gun, hoping to bait one or all of the creatures.
They were far more grotesque than Frank imagined they’d be, but they didn’t look all that dangerous. He surmised they depended on the element of surprise, the element of fear when they gathered “food.” Their claw-like hands certainly could rip out a throat, but only a throat at close range. Corelli had the advantage of size, agility, distance… and the gun, of course. This time he had them licked.
“Frank, look out,” Louise screamed as one of the creepers who had hidden in the stairwell slithered along the wall toward him.
Corelli turned toward the creature, but it was too late. The creature uncoiled its powerful leg muscles and leaped onto Corelli’s back, knocking the gun from his hand. The instant it clattered to the floor, the other creepers attacked.
Louise screamed until she couldn’t scream any more.
Lieutenant Tom Larabee plucked his walkie-talkie from its holster-type holder and punched the Communicate button. “Larabee, here.”
“It’s Dolchik,” the captain’s voice crackled over the receiver. “All the trains have been stopped. You and your men start moving as of right now.”
“Got it, sir,” Larabee said quickly. He loved being in command almost as much as he loved the idea of killing.
“And remember-”
“Kill everything that isn’t in uniform. Got it, sir. Over and out.” Larabee rammed the receiver into its holder and signaled the thirty men under his command to start moving. As they passed, he nodded in silent approval. Larabee didn’t know what they were after, but an order to kill meant it was big game. That was good, for Tom didn’t really care what they were chasing as long as they could wipe them out, as long as he could squeeze the trigger and end a life. That’s what counted.
As the last of his men marched past him along the subway tracks, Larabee strapped a tank of jellied petroleum on his back, ignited the gaping porous mouth of the flamethrower, and followed the team down into the subway tunnel. Lieutenant Tom Larabee was going hunting tonight, and God help anyone before him who wasn’t wearing a uniform.
Willie kept close to the subway wall, pressing his body against the sticky, dirty surface. Without the trains, being alone here was more frightening than usual. He longed for the rattle and crashing sounds. That, at least, would take his mind off the loud sound of his heart beating in his ears. Willie was scared shitless, more scared than he’d ever been in his life. But it was too late to turn back now.
He’d brought a flashlight, but didn’t need to use it now. Besides, if he met up with a creeper, he didn’t want it to have advance warning of his presence. The flashlight was for later-for running, escaping. His eyes were adjusted to the dim light, but his imagination played tricks on him. With every step he saw something move; a low shape scampering along the wall or across the tracks was the usual mirage. But when he strained his ears to verify what he saw, there was always nothing, nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing.
The deep, dark recess of the abandoned station loomed into view. Willie halted, remembering this was where he’d found Ted Slade. This was where he’d stumbled over the crumpled, mutilated body of his friend. For a moment Hoyte closed his eyes to vanquish the phantom image of the body on the tracks. And when he reopened them, he was no longer alone.
The creeper was crouched on the platform of the station. Willie couldn’t quite make out its shape, but he knew it was what he was looking for. He sucked in his breath and held it; his hand automatically went to the cross at his throat. The creeper sat on its haunches at the edge of the platform. Without warning, it leaped straight out six feet onto the downtown-express track. It paused a moment, then scuttled off into the darkness.
Willie swallowed hard and tasted the bitter gall of fear. Nothing Corelli had told him prepared Willie emotionally for a confrontation with the reality of the creepers. It was one thing to sit in his mother’s homey kitchen discussing these subterraneans, it was quite another to be alone in the dark subway tunnel with the true terror of the creepers within reach. Willie wanted to run out into the streets. But he owed Corelli, so he stayed.
He crept to the edge of the platform and eased himself up onto it, pulling himself over into a dark corner. If there was one of those things here, there were bound to be more. He slid his hand along his thigh and down his leg, feeling the knife sheath he’d strapped to his calf. Inside was a hunting knife with a mean nine-inch b
lade. Unlike so many of his friends, Willie wasn’t a real expert with a blade, but he knew how to handle it. And when the chips were down, he’d be okay. Now all he had to do was decide where to start.
The platform was slippery with dirt, and it smelled of shit… and of his own fear. Willie moved toward a thin shaft of pale light that spilled out through what appeared to be a door cut in the wooden wall. He pressed his eye up to a crack and peered in. Corelli lay directly before him on the floor. He was bound and gagged, and he looked conscious but dazed. The hair on the right side of his head was matted with a thick, slimy dark substance; Willie didn’t have to look twice to see it was blood. Louise knelt next to Corelli, attempting to comfort him, but each time she did, the largest of the creepers pulled her away with a distinctly proprietary air.
Willie moved back from the door and returned to his dark corner. There were five creepers and only one Willie Hoyte. Corelli was out of commission, and Louise couldn’t be counted on to help. Shit, what the hell was he going to do? The problem wasn’t so much a matter of getting Corelli and Louise out as it was a matter of getting the creepers to abandon their lair long enough to get Willie Hoyte in. But how the hell could he do that?
Willie shifted his weight, and his foot scattered some ancient newspapers that lay on the floor. He thought a moment, then came up with a plan; it wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but it was the only one he had now-so it’d have to do. Ever aware that any sound would tip off the creepers to his presence, Willie moved stealthily as he collected a handful of newspapers. Shards of wood and pieces of heavy cardboard blown onto the platform from years of passing trains completed the necessary material. He piled the refuse far enough away from the makeshift door so that when it swung open it wouldn’t be scattered.