Dust plumed everywhere. Thick clouds of gray going black. A growing murk enveloping all, lurching and swooshing.
She spun onto her back to be able to see the approaching destruction. Crab walked backward as she watched the debris twist around itself.
The tunnel cinched shut behind her. The circle tightening and closing. Rubble spilling down to close the gap where the opening had been.
An avalanche of industrial material advancing. Encroaching. Racing her way to fill the tunnel.
She watched it devour the other SWAT agents one by one. Covering them over in concrete shards and inky dust clouds roiling like smoke.
Trampling. Engulfing. Pummeling down.
And then the crushing blackness swallowed her.
CHAPTER 77
The police cruiser boomed down the ramp of the parking lot, tires squealing as it wheeled out onto the street. With the flip of a switch, the siren screamed to life, sending out its warbled, twirling song. Another thrown switch brought glowing movement to the lightbar on top of the car, flashes of red and blue.
Loshak gripped the ceiling handle in the passenger seat. He double-checked his seatbelt with the opposite hand. Watched the driver out of the corner of his eye.
Sergeant Burke jammed his foot down on the accelerator. Hunched over the wheel. Chittering his teeth like some kind of overgrown chipmunk in a bad mood.
The man drove like Evel Knievel.
They weaved through traffic at top speed. Jerking to the left and right. Flying through red lights. Braving a trip across the yellow line into the opposite lane. Narrowly missing cars from every angle.
Loshak managed to peel his eyes away from the treachery playing out on the road. He cranked his head back toward the backseat. Locked eyes with the two uniformed officers back there, one and then the other.
“Does he always drive like this?” he said.
They both nodded emphatically. Then they hunkered down in unison as the car tore around another tight turn and fishtailed coming out of it. The back end skidded around underneath them for a while before it smoothed out.
Loshak was glad to have the others riding along with him and Burke — four extra hands, a couple of extra guns. They’d reported the information about the abandoned subway station to Agent Fredrick, and the SWAT team was en route to the location even now. But Loshak had a feeling that the map nerd Burke would somehow get them there first, especially with the way he drove. Better to have some backup.
The cruiser gunned it through another intersection. Tires bouncing over rutted spots in the asphalt. Horns blaring around them.
Burke hissed laughter — that sibilant wheezing that either came from his mouth or nose or both at once. Just as quickly the laugh cut out. The man’s face went rigid, eyes swiveling everywhere.
“Almost there,” he said. “Our tunnel access will be on the next block.”
At least it was almost over, Loshak thought. The agent watched the pedestrians blur past on the side of the road, all the faces seeming to smear together as the car bobbed and weaved and zipped and darted.
And then the blasts shook the earth — three total, hitting one after the other. Deep resonant booms bubbled up from below. The concrete shivered. Rocked the car so hard it bounced and bottomed out once.
All the traffic around them did a strange stutter in reaction to the explosions beneath them. Cars jerking. Heads turning. A collective sort of double take rippling through this section of the public, like their hearts had all skipped the same beat.
All four law enforcement officers in the car looked at each other. Foreheads creased. Mouths reduced to grave lines. A wordless exchange of concern.
Burke’s mustache twitched atop those chittering teeth. He still hunched over the wheel, eyes wide now with morbid wonder. When the small cop spoke this time, his voice came out as a gravelly whisper.
“Mercy. I hope we’re not too late.”
CHAPTER 78
Darger coughed out a cloud of dust. Blinked a few times. Stared into the smoky wall hung up around her like fog.
The world looked sideways. Tilted and broken. Sheared-off concrete edges set at odd angles along the floor. Clumps of broken wall lying all around.
She lifted her head. Propped herself up on her elbows. Watched the listing ship of the world right itself some.
She took a few breaths. Let her inner ear settle.
Then she brushed at her chest and belly. Swept wads of pulverized concrete off herself. Chalky powder peppered with chunks had settled over all of her. Like someone had dumped multiple bags of flour on her, except gray and lumpy. Some of the pieces bigger, almost baseball-sized.
She stopped and breathed again. Needed to take it slow. Let herself come back little by little.
She could only vaguely feel the bruises covering her body for now. She knew from experience the real pain would come later. Settling over her in intensifying waves as the hours progressed.
Her ribs were another matter. Probing fingers elicited sharp torment and a spasm there. She’d cracked one. Maybe two.
Breathing deeply made it feel like someone was jabbing a pitchfork into her side and twisting. So she sucked in shallow breaths. Kept it to a dull ache.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. But that was OK. It meant she was still here. Still alive. That was something.
Finally, she craned her neck. Braved a look beyond her immediate area.
The rectangle of light still streamed in through the open doorway at the top of the steps. Murky and partially obscured by the smoky dust. The glowing beam lit up the swirling dirt, showed how tendrils of it twirled and braided about in the air.
She turned around. Saw the heaping rubble where the tunnel had been. Chunks of shattered concrete. Twisted steel rebar. It choked off the opening with wreckage. Clogged it completely.
Darkness cloaked the area. None of the others were there that she could see. Maybe they were still there in the pile, still alive.
Someone.
Anyone.
She sat up and everything got woozy again. Her vision turned runny along the edges like raw egg white.
Her chin dipped. Sank down toward her chest all at once. Everything tilted and darkened.
She caught her head just shy of her sternum. Took a few deep breaths to steady herself.
Something moved in the corner of her eye.
It was him.
Huxley stirred where he lay at the bottom of the steps. Dust motes shifted in the light around him.
He got to his hands and knees and then pulled himself to his feet. Climbed the stairs on wobbly legs. Slow steps. Both hands gripping the rail.
A dark shape moving into the light. Flowing. Looking like black smoke now. Like even the light could no longer remove the shadow from him. Not anymore.
He stumbled on the third step from the top. Dropped to one knee.
His right hand scraped off the rail and clutched his ribcage. He stayed there. Kneeling. Breathing. Chest heaving.
Darger forced herself up. More bits of concrete tumbling away from her, handfuls of dust spilling like she’d just been buried at the beach.
She staggered for the staircase. Feet gritting over the bits of wreckage. The remaining tunnel seeming to sway back and forth around her with each lumbering step.
Her numb fingers fumbled at the holster at her side. The cool of the gun pressing into the heel of her hand.
They wanted him alive, yes. She would try that.
If not…
A moan behind her stopped her in her tracks.
She turned. Scanned the choked tunnel mouth again.
Now that she was standing, she could see Fitch lying near the edge of the rubble. He looked small now. Swathed in shadow.
His body seemed crooked. Sprawled at some strange angle.
But his chest rose and fell. He was alive. Breathing.
Her eyes drifted lower.
His left leg was gone from about mid-thigh down. The femur jutted from the tattered
edge of meat — the bone itself protruding about eight inches and splintering into a pointy edge like a harpoon.
Blood pulsed out of what was left of the thigh. Sheets of watery red throbbing out. Sliding over the bone. Puddling outward in the gravelly debris.
She looked back just as Huxley wobbled through the doorway and moved out of sight, still tottering and slow. Then her head snapped back to the fallen figure.
Fitch moaned again, hand feebly patting curled fingers at the wounded thigh. Like he might be able to stanch the blood flow that way, might be able to hold his life in somehow.
The red jetted over the back of his hand. Sticky stuff clinging there. Viscous. The shade made it look like dirty motor oil.
An involuntary breath snuffled into Darger’s mouth and nose. Sent a fresh twinge of pain through her cracked ribs. A grimace curling her lips, wrinkling her nose.
Her heart beat faster. Pulse pounding in her temples, in her ears.
Her head swiveled to the open doorway and then back to the sprawling wounded man. Little wet sounds lisped with every throb of blood venting itself from Fitch’s wound.
She could chase Huxley or help Fitch. Not both.
She took another breath and chose her path.
CHAPTER 79
The cruiser wrenched to a stop in the middle of the street. Sergeant Burke jammed it into park and bolted out of the car in one motion. He streaked across the asphalt, oblivious to the traffic flowing past.
Loshak shook his head. The small cop was already standing over the manhole, waving them over, before the agent had even undone his seatbelt.
The others bustled out of the car. Hustling out into the wind of the passing vehicles.
One of the uniformed officers from the backseat set traffic cones around the car. Loshak and the other uniform jogged over to where Burke stood.
Between the four-way flashers, the cones, and the light bar glowing, Loshak thought there’d be plenty of notice that official police business was going to be occupying this section of road for a stretch. Nevertheless, the New York traffic honked off and on, the drivers apparently pissed they had to swerve into another lane to get around.
Oh, sorry about that, dickface. We’re only trying to stop a guy from blowing your goddamn face off.
Now all four of them stood near the manhole. Burke spoke — looking for all the world like he was yelling, mustache shaking furiously — but Loshak couldn’t hear him over the roar of the traffic. Maybe it didn’t matter. The next step was simple enough, right?
A pry bar tilted one edge of the manhole cover upward. Two of the officers got their fingers into the opening and together they rolled the metal disk out of the way. Looked heavy enough. It was hard for Loshak to believe that manhole covers were stolen on a regular basis — sold for scrap.
The dark hole now gaped between their feet. A perfect circle of nothing — or so it appeared.
Burke shined a flashlight down into the opening. First the beam revealed the steel rungs of the ladder leading down. Then it swung into the hollow and Loshak could see the concrete floor some fifteen or so feet below.
“This tube will get us right into the station. Not a problem.”
Burke waggled his eyebrows as he said it. Then he gestured for the others to start down with a firm dip of the flashlight.
Loshak lowered himself into the opening. Fingers gripping the gritty rim of the hole. He let his feet kick down into nothing before his toes caught the metal rung.
Then he descended into the dark place, whispering little half-formed prayers that they weren’t too late.
CHAPTER 80
Darger’s knees touched down in wet gravel. Lukewarm blood soaking through her pant legs right away. Adhering itself to fabric and skin.
It felt syrupy. Half-congealed already.
Fresh blood kept flowing into the puddle. Gushing from that wide-open wound. Gliding over the exposed bone. Hissing a little with each pulse. A slushy sound.
Up close the femur looked even more wrong. Broken down the vertical length of the bone. Whittled into a jagged, spiky thing. Yellow marrow exposed through the cracked side.
Her hands moved to her middle, fishing under the seam of the Kevlar vest. Fingers scrabbling at her belt. Finding the buckle. Unclasping it.
Fitch coughed and then scowled. Head turning to one side and then the other.
Darger half expected to see red appear on his teeth — signs of internal hemorrhaging — but the incisors stayed white and clean even if the face around them looked pained.
She pulled at the leather belt. Felt it slither free of all the belt loops one after the other. An odd release of pressure there.
“You should have left me, Darger,” Fitch said. He didn’t make eye contact. “Should have… gone after him. What good am I going to be to anyone now?”
But Darger knew he was wrong. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything.
Her hands worked quickly now. Moved lower.
She looped the belt around his upper leg — careful not to touch the jutting bone. Cinched it tight. A makeshift tourniquet.
One more surge of blood drizzled free. Surged into the red puddle with that babbling sound. And then the bleeding stopped.
They both held quiet then. Fitch’s chest heaved. Darger’s shallow breaths sounded like a panting dog’s.
Fitch looked down at his missing leg. At the belt binding the wound there.
He blinked a few times, lips opening and closing, but Darger couldn’t read his expression.
“I’ll probably never dance again,” Fitch said finally. He coughed again before he went on. “I mean, I never danced before, but still…”
CHAPTER 81
Footsteps sounded beyond the doorway. The clatter of shoes on cement, gritty thwacks echoing around, somehow growing louder without really sounding like they were getting closer.
Darger turned away from Fitch and lifted her gaze to the top of the steps. Stared at the light streaming in the doorway. For a split second she expected to find Huxley’s blood-red shirt there, the bomber coming back to try to finish them off.
Instead Loshak appeared in the rectangle of light. He stood up straighter when he saw her, then jogged down the steps, shoes clanging on the metal.
A few other officers filed in behind him. Their flashlight beams sliced into the gloom like glowing blades, swinging around with jerky flourishes.
As he drew up on them, Loshak’s eyes snapped to the place where Fitch’s leg used to be, rested for a beat on that jagged length of exposed femur, and then slid up to find Darger’s gaze.
“Just… just you two, then?” he said. He kept his voice low as though he didn’t want the others to hear just yet.
Darger nodded once.
Loshak stepped away. Said something into a radio, again keeping his voice low. Then he came back.
“Rest of the cavalry will be here any minute,” he said. “I’ve got an EMT unit on the way to help Fitch.”
The others came closer now. All eyes locked onto Fitch’s wound. Nobody said anything for a beat.
“Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you help, buddy,” Burke said, swallowing hard.
Fitch smiled up from his place on the floor. Something angelic in his face now.
“It’s OK. I don’t feel it anymore,” he said. “The pain, I mean. Some endorphin rush kicked in or something. Made it so I don’t really feel nothin’ at all. Crazy how the human body works, you know? Such an intricate machine.”
The men gaped at the tattered meat around the protruding bone. Glassy looks in all their eyes.
“It’ll be alright. I’ll be alright,” Fitch said, his voice going softer. “Hell, I’m one of the lucky ones when you think about it.”
He gestured at the clogged tunnel, and they all looked that way. The gravity of what had happened here settled over all of them.
When Burke swallowed again, it was audible against the stark silence.
The EMTs arrived shortly a
fter that. They loaded Fitch onto a stretcher, hauled him up the steps and away.
The rest of the task force arrived and began searching the abandoned station and the various tunnels snaking off of it. Burke and the others drifted that way, eager to aid in the search. Soon it was just Darger and Loshak left in the mostly crushed tunnel.
“They’ll search the tunnels,” Loshak said. “Maybe they’ll get lucky, but…”
“But you have your doubts.”
“I think he lost us. Gone in the tunnels, in the dark. I thought we were getting here in time.” Loshak rubbed his fingers at his brow as he went on. “When I first climbed down into the empty subway station, I heard scuffling, you know? Thought maybe it was him, that I’d gotten here in the nick of time. I drew my gun. Stalked toward the sound. But then I saw a rat tail slithering through a cluster of crumpled chip bags. It was nothing. He was already gone.”
“The rat got away this time,” Darger said, her voice tight and small.
The two of them stood and looked at the passageway choked with debris.
EPILOGUE
The second the plane touched down in Virginia, Darger checked her phone for any updates on the case. The news about the investigation had been sparse.
First, they’d tracked down an ID on the poor bastard who’d wound up a corpse in Huxley’s dingy basement. Ricky Fuller was the unlucky man’s name — a 26-year-old from Trenton who'd worked on and off in construction since graduating high school. He’d been reported missing by his mother in the hours after the first Huxley bombing. An officer in Trenton noticed the resemblance and got word to the task force.
Next, after an exhaustive three-day search, law enforcement had officially cleared the tunnels. There was no sign of Huxley. Their bomber was officially considered at large, and the manhunt would shift gears now.
Huxley had been moved to the top of the Most Wanted list, his face plastered on post office bulletin boards and the front pages of newspapers. Posted and reposted across the internet. Splashed on the TV screen of anyone watching the nightly news.
Violet Darger | Book 8 | Countdown To Midnight Page 29