Bloodstorm- a Dane and Bones Origin Story

by David Wood

  Maddock lashed out with his foot, catching the nearest rat with his toe and punting it into the darkness. The suddenness of the move startled several of the creature’s brethren who scampered away, momentarily opening a gap in the squirming mass, but Maddock knew it wouldn’t last long.

  “Zara! Run!”

  He didn’t wait to see if she would take the hint, but charged down the tunnel, kicking his feet out ahead of him with every stride. Squealing rats flew through the air ahead of him. Their cries and chittering filling the tunnel with an ungodly tumult. He could feel claws scrabbling against his pants legs and teeth slashing at the leather uppers of his boots. Worse, even though they offered little resistance individually, their combined mass felt like running through ankle deep mud; with each step he had to correct his balance or risk taking a nose dive into the swarm. After about fifty yards, the mass of rats through which he was plowing thinned out a bit, allowing him to run unhindered, but judging from the noise level, the surge from behind was only growing, and reinforcements were emerging from the shadows to either side. The rats were in a frenzy now. Nothing would dissuade them. Their only hope was to stay ahead of the horde until they could reach the surface again. He took some comfort from the fact that the light level around him remained more or less constant—Leopov was keeping up—but if she was wrong about there being a way out at the end of the line, they were screwed.

  She wasn’t wrong about the bunker.

  About five hundred yards further along, they entered a section of tunnel where the walls were sheathed in thick plates of steel, which formed a narrow collar, just big enough to allow a train car to pass through. The collar supported one of the vault doors Leopov had described.

  “Crap!” Maddock rasped when he saw it.

  The door was closed.

  SEVEN

  As he moved down the platform, Bones caught the eye of a loitering policeman. The man did a doubletake, his eyes flitting back and forth between Bones and Willis. Bones flashed a big grin and kept walking.

  “That’s right, assclown,” he muttered. “Just keep looking at the freakshow.”

  “Freakshow?” Willis retorted. “Speak for yourself. My man is clearly in awe.”

  “Ha. He’s a cop, and you’re black. Think about it.”

  The police officer continued to scrutinize the pair, as if trying to decide whether their mere presence constituted a violation of the law. But then his gaze slid away from them both, fixing instead on something behind them.

  Bones groaned, knowing without looking what had arrested the man’s attention. If there was one thing in the Leningradsky train station more conspicuous than a six-foot-five Cherokee and his equally tall and broad African-American traveling companion, it was the mangy-looking ragamuffin trailing fifty steps behind them.

  Bones risked a quick glance back, just as a panicked Lia executed a hasty about face and began hastening back toward the exit.

  “Damn it,” Bones murmured. “Nothing suspicious about that.”

  Professor, who had been trailing a few steps behind her, shrugged helplessly, a silent question in his eyes: What should I do?

  Bones swung back to the policeman again, but the man’s attention was now laser focused on Lia. After only a brief moment of indecision, the cop lurched into motion, striding purposefully after her. He brushed between Bones and Willis without even giving them another glance.

  Bones didn’t know if the man had recognized her as a wanted fugitive—was she?—or if he was merely responding to her guilty retreat. Either way, it was a serious monkey wrench in the works.

  “We need to distract that guy,” he said, turning to Willis. “Hit me.”

  Willis, who was watching the cop move away, was slow to process the odd request. “What?”

  “Hit me. We’ll fake a fight. He’ll have to come back and break it up.”

  “And we’ll end up in jail.” Willis shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, we’ve got to do something.” He made a full turn, searching the platform for something he could use to create a diversion, but every idea he came up with ended the same way—with him or Willis or both of them getting arrested for disorderly conduct. “I’d kill for a gorilla suit right now,” he muttered. “What if we—”

  Before he could complete the thought, a loud, booming voice filled the air.

  “Oh, say can you see...”

  Bones slowly turned toward the source. Willis, his head thrown back, eyes gazing up at the high canopy above the platform, drew the last note out longer than should have been humanly possible, and then, without pausing to take breath, continued in the same smooth baritone. “By the dawn's early light...”

  All over the platform, heads were turning in his direction. The policeman looked too, but after a moment, appeared to lose interest.

  Bones quickly added his voice and, what he lacked in perfect pitch and rhythm, he made up for in sheer volume. “What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?”

  Nearly everyone on the platform had stopped to look and listen. A few—probably American tourists—had their hands over their hearts, evidently moved at this impromptu display of patriotism in the heart of the capital of America’s longtime political rival.

  The policeman stopped again, turned and took another look at the two men. His eyes narrowed with naked suspicion.

  Uh, oh, Bones thought. Looks like this might get us arrested, too.

  Willis launched into the next line, “Whose broad stripes and bright stars,” but Bones skipped ahead, turning the volume up to eleven to drown his friend out.

  “And the rocket's red glare...” His voice cracked on the high note, eliciting a wince from several onlookers. He stopped singing and faced Willis with an accusing look. “Dude, you totally screwed it up.”

  Willis gaped at him. “Man, are you kidding me? I screwed up?”

  “It’s okay. You can’t be good at everything. Stick to things your people are best at. Basketball. And dancing.”

  “My people?” Willis’ deep voice rose an octave and his massive hands curled into fists at his sides, but there was a knowing gleam in his eye.

  In his peripheral vision, Bones could see both amusement and bemusement on the faces of the gathered onlookers, but more importantly, he saw that the police officer was still staring at them. Further down the platform, Lia had reached the exit and, a moment later, had disappeared from view. Professor was right behind her.

  Bones threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, it’s all good,” he said. “Remember, the white man is the real enemy.”

  Willis grinned. “True that.” He extended his right hand. “Truce?”

  Bones made a big show of accepting the handclasp, and then pivoted, curled one beefy arm around Willis’ shoulders, and threw his head back to resume singing. “O’er the land of the freeeeee...”

  Willis joined in for the big finish. “And the home... Of the... Brave!”

  The policeman frowned, shook his head, and then, evidently remembering his original purpose, turned away, but he was too late. Lia was gone.

  “Play ball,” Bones muttered.

  A second look revealed that Maddock’s first impression had been only partially right. The subway tunnel was indeed blocked by the massive vault-style door, but the door was not completely closed. Rather, it had been left slightly ajar.

  Maddock kept running toward it, slowing only when he was close enough to see the gap between the inside edge of the door and the steel frame. Four or five inches. Just enough to let air flow between the tunnel and the bunker beyond.

  He gripped the door in both hands, braced his left foot against the doorpost, and pulled with all his might but to no avail. The foot-thick steel door didn’t budge an inch.

  He tried again, straining until he thought his tendons would snap, but the heavy door refused to move. Like similar doors in bank vaults, its movement was controlled by a powerful hydraulic system—a system that had probably
not been activated in decades, if it had not been removed altogether.

  Behind him, the noise of the approaching rats had reached a fever pitch, filling the air with a sound like white noise.

  “Try to squeeze through!”

  Leopov’s reply was barely audible over the din. “I won’t fit.”

  Maddock knew he certainly wouldn’t be able to scrape through the gap, but Zara was smaller and might have a chance. “Try anyway!” he ordered.

  She ducked under his outstretched arms and insinuated her left arm into the narrow opening all the way to her shoulder. That was as far as she could go. Maddock tried a third time, but the door was as immovable as a mountain.

  Something brushed against the back of his leg. He looked down to find half a dozen rats trying to ascend his pant leg, their little claws scrabbling for purchase on the fabric, He shook his foot, dislodging a few of them, but even as they fell away, more rushed forward to take their place. Maddock left off his futile attempt to open the bunker door, planted both feet on the ground, and began tearing the rats loose, flinging them into the darkness and kicking at any who tried to get close. Fifty yards further back, the main body of the swarm was continuing its relentless advance, rolling forward like a tsunami made of teeth.

  He looked around, desperate to find a solution—a ladder that would allow them to climb above the ravenous creatures, a tool or even a piece of metal that would help him pry the door open just a few more inches, but there was only the door, the steel-clad walls, and rusty, disused subway tracks.

  Maddock stared at the rails for a moment, then knelt down to get a closer look. As he had earlier noted, the crossties were rotted and spongy, compressing under the weight of the heavy steel. The tracks disappeared under the vault door but he followed them back until he found the joint connecting two sections of track. He curled his hands around the top of the rail just past the joint and tried to lift it.

  Amazingly, he succeeded. It was heavy, much heavier than he had expected, the steel flexing under its own weight so that he was only able to raise one end of the long metal I-beam a few inches off the ground, but it was something.

  “Zara! Give me a hand here!”

  Leopov, who was busy kicking away rats, did not look back. “What?”

  “I’m going to use this as a lever. Maybe pry the door open a little wider.”

  “Will that work?”

  “Have you got a better idea?” he snapped. “Come on.”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond, but bent his knees and lifted the rail again, this time pulling it along as he shuffled toward the door. The rail, which was about thirty yards long, must have weighed at least a ton, but it nevertheless yielded to his efforts, sliding an inch, then another... And then Leopov was there, adding her modest strength to his. The rail slid nearly eighteen inches before Leopov lost her grip. The sudden shift caused Maddock to lose his hold as well, but the minor success had buoyed his mood.

  “Good!” Maddock shouted. “It’s working. Again.”

  Working together, they shifted the rail three feet on the next try. When it fell from Maddock’s fatigued grip, it was almost touching the door.

  “One more time.”

  This time, when he lifted the rail, Maddock pushed it sideways, lining it up with the narrow gap. “Now. Push!”

  The rail slid into the gap so quickly that Maddock had to let go to avoid losing his fingers. Without his hold, Leopov couldn’t hold the rail up, and it clattered noisily to the ground. She uttered an oath in Russian, cradling her hands together as if to soothe an injury, but there was no time for recriminations or apologies. The swarm was almost upon them.

  “Hold them off!” Maddock shouted as he ran down the length of the rail, kicking rats away with every step. When he reached the distant end of the rail, he bent to lift it and shoved a few more inches into the gap. It was harder without Leopov’s help but he did not ask for assistance; he needed her to keep the rats at bay just a few more seconds.

  When he finally had the rail inserted about halfway through the gap, he changed position and began pushing sideways, pressing the rail into the vault door. He had no idea if it was even possible to move the door—it wasn’t inconceivable that the hinges were frozen with rust—but this was his Hail Mary play. If it didn’t work, they were toast.

  But it did work. After a few seconds of pushing with all his might, he felt the door giving way, ever so slightly. The gap was now an inch wider.

  He tried again and this time the door moved another two inches. But the rats were upon him, swarming up his pant legs and, seemingly in defiance of gravity, scurrying up the length of track toward his hands. He let it fall, hoping it was enough, and started kicking away as many rats as he could. “Zara. Try it now.”

  Leopov didn’t need to be told twice. With a final kick that launched a rat into the darkness, she spun around and raced for the door, slowing only when she reached the gap. This time, she didn’t just put her arm through the opening, but a leg as well, and then, with only a slight effort, she squirmed the rest of the way through, vanishing from view and leaving Maddock in near total darkness.

  Maddock was right behind her. He stuck his left arm through, but then felt resistance as the hard edge of the door frame dug into his chest, stopping him cold.

  He grunted in surprise and dismay, wondering how Leopov, with her additional up-front endowments, had made it through where he could not. Then he felt something stab into his calf, and after shaking his leg to dislodge the rat, he pushed harder, scraping through as he forced himself deeper into the opening.

  There was a tearing sound and then the resistance vanished as his shirt tore apart. He spilled forward, bare-chested, practically landing in Leopov’s arms.

  He had just a moment to take in his new surroundings. The rails continued through what looked like a station or transit hub, with an elevated platform and an opening in the wall that looked remarkably like an oversized hatchway on a ship or submarine. The hatch cover—a large square with rounded corners and a wheel-operated latch mounted in the center—had come off its hinges and lay flat on the platform. The tunnel continued on into the darkness, beyond the reach of Leopov’s light. In the darkness behind him, he could hear the squealing of rats as they clawed over one another in their frenzy to get through the gap and reach fresh meat.

  Leopov was shouting, urging him to keep moving. Maddock recalled reading that rats could squeeze through holes the size of a quarter. With the vault door forced open about eight inches, there was plenty of room for the flood of rodents to pour through. Scores of them were getting through with each passing second, and they did not seem inclined to wait for the others.

  Maddock got his feet under him and followed her, sprinting toward the raised platform.

  The exit from the platform fed into a small room-sized chamber. The concrete walls were covered in peeling green-gray paint. There was another hatchway at the opposite end, and another door off its hinges, tilted up against the wall. They hurried through it and into a long, litter-strewn tunnel that led to yet another hatchway with the door removed.

  “I’m sensing a theme here,” Maddock observed. The hatch doors, while not as large as the one that had blocked the subway tunnel, nevertheless looked solid and quite heavy. Maddock guessed their original purpose had been to seal off sections of the bunker from contamination, but that didn’t shed any light on the mystery of who had removed them or why.

  Leopov, breathless from the run, nodded but said nothing.

  The tunnel ended at the foot of an ascending staircase—concrete steps with rusted metal handrails to either side. Maddock bounded up, taking two steps at a time, and as he rounded the corner onto a midway landing a few seconds ahead of Leopov, he glanced back the way they’d come. The narrow stairwell was filled with squeals and the tap-tapping of tiny claws on concrete. A hundred pairs of pink eyes gleamed up at him as the rats scrambled up the steps.

  The stairs ended at another open hatchway. Beyo
nd it was a transverse passage that presented them with their first decision. Maddock chose left, fully aware of the fact that a dead end might mean a literal dead end. The passage continued uninterrupted for several hundred feet before branching again, this time at a four-way intersection. Maddock chose left again, but after about fifty feet they began to pass regular-sized doorways to either side. Most were open for inspection, but Maddock knew they didn’t have time for exploration and doubted there would be anything of value—practical or otherwise—contained within. But there was something familiar about the doors and their spacing, and as they reached a corner—another left turn—Maddock realized what it was. The bunker’s floorplan reminded him of naval vessels he’d served on. This was important because it meant there would be an internal, utilitarian logic to the layout. Like a big ship, the bunker had been designed to accommodate a large population—perhaps hundreds or even thousands of people—and to facilitate their movements throughout its interior.

  If he was right, the corridor would make another left turn, and then another, describing an enormous square, to bring them back to where they had started. But there would be at least one or two stairwells positioned equidistantly throughout the square to provide access to the upper level.

  The turns were exactly where he thought they would be. So was the ascending stairwell, but Maddock did not allow himself to breathe easy. There was still a lot that could go wrong. The stairwell might not go anywhere, or might lead them into a hopeless maze of corridors and passages. And the rats were still coming. Worse, their ranks were growing, supplemented by members of a rodent colony that had infiltrated the bunker. Hundreds more poured out of the open doorways on each landing they came to, drawn to the tumult of the swarm and the echo of their footsteps.

  They climbed three flights before running out of stairs. Maddock’s heart stuttered as he saw that the doorway leading off the landing was closed off with an intact marine-style door. Mentally bracing himself for disappointment, he ran to it and gripped the wheel at the center, wrenching it hard to the left.