Night-Train

by Thomas F Monteleone

  “No, I wasn’t,” contradicted Provenza. “They would have thought we were crackers. Shit, they still would! You know people don’t want to hear any of this weirdo stuff. They’ll always look for a rational explanation first.”

  “Yeah, and how do they explain all those people on the train simply vanishing?”

  “The Transit Authority thinks it’s a kidnapping. That they’re all being held hostage somewhere, and we just haven’t been notified by the terrorists yet.”

  Corvino smiled in spite of himself. “Hey, that one’s not half-bad! What are they going to do when they don’t receive any demands from these ‘terrorists’?”

  “That’s not the worst of their worries. Transit’s got another dilly.”

  Corvino sat up. “The subways again?”

  “Listen to this one …” Provenza briefly related the attack on the train at the 33rd Street station. Eyewitnesses and a transit cop on the scene had reported that some punks were killed during a robbery attempt by some kind of “blobs” that were crawling all over the train. Provenza described the accounts, which said that the blobs slipped down onto the tracks and disappeared, leaving the half-eaten bodies of their victims.

  “Half-eaten?” asked Corvino.

  “Yeah, like that sewer inspector, and maybe the bum in the steam tunnel, too.”

  “Do we have any of the witnesses from the train?”

  “Just the guy who was being mugged, and he’s half-crazy. They’re keeping him for observation at Bellevue. Everybody else panicked and scattered. The transit cop says he’s not sure what he saw. I don’t blame him—he’s probably worried about getting a leave of absence and a trip to the loony bin.” Provenza picked up a tear-sheet from the telex. “Here’s some of the other incidents, if you want to take a look at them. The city went a little bonkers last night.”

  “And I have a feeling that it’s just the beginning,” said Corvino. “Oh, Christ, I hope Carter knows what he’s doing.” Provenza nodded. “The way I see it, we’re up against it. I say we give it a try tonight, see what we can find out. If we get out of there alive, we go tell the captain whatever we know.”

  “What’s the general opinion of the brass? Have you been able to scope that out?”

  Provenza shook his head. “Nah, just the usual bullshit, you know—the old full-moon syndrome.”

  “Is it a full moon right now?”

  Provenza nodded. “I think so.”

  Corvino laughed nervously. “How appropriate!”

  “By the way, we’ve been pulled off the warehouse heist for the time being. Everybody’s on special assignment today. I wonder why?” Provenza quipped.

  “What’re we doing?”

  “Got a list of some of the missing-person reports to check out.”

  “Hey, listen, don’t you think we should tell Carter what’s been going on? How much of what you told me has been leaked to the press?”

  “About half, in a watered-down version, of course. None of the gory details, but it’s probably freaking some people out.”

  “Well, I think we should give him a call. I think he should know what’s been going down.”

  “Go ahead and give him a call,” said John. “That reminds me, I have to call my buddy at the armory. When do you want to pick that stuff up? As soon as we get off duty?”

  Corvino nodded and picked up the phone to dial Lane Carter’s office at NYU, while Provenza moved over to the closest vacant desk and picked up the receiver there. Lane Carter answered the phone on the first ring and listened intently as Corvino filled him in on the developments of the previous night.

  “I imagined that there was more to the stories than what appeared on the news this morning,” said Lane. “It has begun in earnest, Lieutenant.”

  “I figured that out already. Do you think we should still go through with our plans?”

  “By all means. We have no choice, really. Any of you is free to back out if you want. Nevertheless, I will be going down there tonight.”

  “We’ll be there, don’t worry about that. We’ll be there around seven o’clock. Be careful, Lane, and good luck.”

  “I shall see you tonight, Lieutenant. Good-bye.”

  Hanging up the phone, Corvino started wondering about whether Lya should go with them. It had occurred to him before, but he had tried to keep the issue out of his mind. He didn’t want to sound like a macho asshole, but he was truly concerned about her. It didn’t make much sense to expose her to what was certain danger.

  Provenza returned to the desk, grinning. “It’s all set. We stop by around six. Sam’ll have two carryall bags waiting for us. I’ve got us four concussion grenades, two automatic rifles, and a shotgun. Plus some torches, flares, and plenty of ammo.”

  “Christ, where’d you tell him we were going? South America?”

  “Sam’s a good guy, and he doesn’t ask questions. He owes me too many favors, you know? And besides, it’s best when you don’t ask questions—the less you know, the less you worry about it afterward.”

  Corvino shrugged. “Okay, if you say so. I just hope we don’t get scammed before we get started.”

  “It’s foolproof, don’t worry about it. You ready to get out of here?”

  Corvino stood up and adjusted his jacket and tie. “Yeah, let’s hit it.”

  Just then the phone rang, and Provenza answered it. “Yeah, this is Provenza. Who? … Oh, yeah, how’re you doing? … You do? A what? How do you spell that? Wait a minute …” He pulled out a pen and his pad and started writing something. “And who was this guy? … Natural History, huh? Well, I guess he knows what he’s talking about. Does anybody else know about this? … Okay, send the report down this afternoon … Yeah, and thanks for giving me a call, I appreciate it. Yeah, bye.”

  “Who was that?” asked Corvino, looking at Provenza, whose expression had changed into a grim, thoughtful mask. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “That was Bill Lonigan, from the lab. He’s the guy who did that cast for me, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. Did they identify the print?”

  “They think so. Nobody from the Bronx Zoo could be sure, but they recommended a professor of—” he looked at his note pad for an instant “—paleontology at the Museum of Natural History, a Dr. Robert Burcroff, and he identified it.” Provenza shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying. Corvino pressed him. “So tell me, man, what did he say it was?”

  John looked at his pad again. “He says it looks like the print of a deinonychus. “ He had difficulty pronouncing the word.

  “What the hell is that? Some kind of scientific name? For what?”

  Provenza looked at him with a crooked smile. “For some kind of dinosaur. That’s what this professor says, anyway.”

  “Oh, Christ …” said Corvino.

  CHAPTER 33

  MARSDEN

  It had been “Museum Week” on Lya’s “Cityscapes” feature, and each day she had interviewed some of the curators and directors of New York’s many, many museums. Normally she would have loved the assignment, since there were a few museums on the list that she had never even heard of, much less visited. Most of the people she had been interviewing were fascinating and entertaining, and not at all like the stuffy, dry stereotypes that resided in the public’s mind.

  But today she had been completely distracted from her work and had simply gone through the motions of the assignment without her usual enthusiasm. When she had awakened that morning and found Michael already gone, she was at first distressed, but his note reassured her. When she had read what he had written, she had spoken out loud to the empty apartment, saying that she loved him too, and had wished that he was there so that he could hear the words.

  She understood why he had left her sleeping that morning. Both of them needed some time alone with the distraction of their work, to think more clearly and to prepare themselves for what was coming this evening. Lane Carter had been the only one to speak openly of the danger. Between Mic
hael and Lya, little had been mentioned about the consequences. She didn’t want to think about losing him so soon after finding him. There was a desperate quality to their newfound love and a feeling that this was it, and that if they blew this one, neither would ever find anything close to it again.

  But as the day wore on, Lya could not keep the frightening thoughts at bay. The newspapers and the wire services were full of hysterical reports of the wave of horror that had swept over the city the previous night. No one offered any real explanations for the series of bizarre occurrences, but everybody was hyping them and making as much good selling copy as possible. Late-edition headlines like POLICE BAFFLED and A NIGHT OF TERROR dominated the front pages of the Post and the News, and every time Lya caught sight of them on a street-corner newsstand, she was reminded of it all. Her mind would go back to the day in the tunnel with Professor Carter and his glowing stone, and she could see again the empty-eyed corpses in the subway car.

  And she knew that tonight they would be in search of even greater horrors.

  After she returned to the studios at Central Park West and finished the final taping for the day, Jerry asked her if she wanted to stick around while he edited everything down for the evening broadcast. Lya often stayed to watch how her material was edited for its eventual broadcast, but today she passed it up, saying that she was tired and wanted to go home. Jerry probably had noticed her detached air through most of the day, but he discreetly said nothing.

  She had dinner at a small Thai restaurant on the West Side near Columbus Circle, but the usually intriguing flavor of the cuisine seemed almost tasteless to her. She was eating for strength, not enjoyment.

  At 6:30 she stepped out into the already darkening street and hailed a cab. There was no way she was going to take a subway, she thought, almost smiling at the idea. Oddly, she felt better than she had all day. Perhaps it was because she was going to be with Michael, or maybe it was because she sensed that there would be an ending soon. Her unconscious had been grappling with the fears and the unspoken terrors for so long now that it was something of a relief to know that the ever-building tension would soon reach a climax.

  The traffic was still heavy as the cab worked its way through the grid of streets down to Washington Square. Lya wondered if more people were taking cabs and driving cars this evening in the wake of the disturbing news about the subways last night. Most New Yorkers probably had paid little attention to the screaming headlines in terms of equating them with personal danger. But in a city of so many millions, even a small percentage of increase would make a difference in the amount of traffic. She checked her overnight bag, making sure that she had everything she would need. No one had said anything about what kind of clothing they should wear, but Lya was always known for her organizational and planning abilities. She carried some old jeans, a sweat suit, an alpaca sweater, and hiking boots with insulated socks. Years ago she had joined a backpacking club but had discovered that the rock-climbing aspects of the club activities were too much for her; now she was glad that she had never got around to discarding her gear from that more adventurous phase of her life.

  “Okay, lady, here we are,” said the cabbie. Lya had not realized the cab had stopped beside Carter’s apartment building. She paid the driver and got out, noticing that it was very much darker now, and that the streetlights had been turned on. There was still lots of traffic in the square and the sidewalks were crowded with groups of students and the ever-present bohemian types.

  She knocked once at Lane’s door and the professor opened it almost immediately. “Ah! Ms. Marsden! Come in, please.”

  He was trying to be his usual ebullient self, but she sensed a slightly forced aspect to his manner. As he guided her into the room, she saw Michael and John Provenza unloading items from two large NYPD equipment bags. Upon seeing her, Michael quickly came over to her, held her gently, and kissed her.

  “Hello, sweetheart. We got here early.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said.

  “What’s in the bag?” he asked, and she explained that she had brought some clothes to change into.

  “Good idea. Why don’t you go into the bathroom and do that; then we have some things to go over. Lane wants to get started as soon as we can.”

  By the time Lya returned from the bathroom, Michael and John had laid out an impressive array of gear.

  “All right, I suppose we’re ready,” said Lane Carter. “Detective Provenza, if you would brief us all quickly on the uses of everything …”

  Lya noticed that Provenza and Michael both had changed into snug-fitting coveralls and laced-up combat boots. They looked like members of a SWAT team, and she figured that that was the source of the contraband. She also noticed that Michael’s friend spoke with none of his usual swagger and easy confidence. He was, like the rest of them, somewhat unnerved by their undertaking.

  “Okay, the guns first. We have two automatic rifles here, which Corvino and I will carry. Extra ammo is carried in these pouches, which clip onto our equipment belts like this. We also have a shotgun, heavy-gauge. It has a limited range, but it will blow the crap out of anything in a confined space like a tunnel.” He looked at Lya and Carter. “Either of you ever fired a weapon?”

  Carter shook his head.

  “I took a self-defense class a few years ago,” Lya said. “They taught us how to fire a .22 pistol.”

  “Not good enough,” said Provenza. “I mean something like this shotgun?”

  Lya shook her head. “They’re supposed to have a heavy recoil, aren’t they?”

  “It can bang up your shoulder pretty good if you don’t know how to use it.” Provenza paused. “All right, we don’t have time to give classes, so one of you will have to volunteer to just carry this one. You keep the safety on, and stay close enough to hand it to either Corvino or me if we need it, okay? Now, who wants to carry the shotgun?”

  Lane Carter took a step back. “Gentlemen, with that object in my hands, I might be far more dangerous to the expedition than anything we might encounter.”

  Lya smiled thinly. “I guess I’m it, John. Don’t worry, I think I can handle it.”

  Provenza smiled. “I think you can, too. Here, carry it like this, so that it’s balanced in your grip and it won’t feel awkward. Hold it awhile and get used to it. And don’t worry, the chamber’s still empty.”

  He handed the shotgun to Lya, and she was surprised that it was not as heavy or unwieldy as it looked.

  “These,” Provenza continued, “are concussion grenades. They don’t throw off fragments like the ones in the movies. They make a hell of an explosion, though. Corvino and I will carry two each, but we don’t want to use them unless it’s absolutely necessary. If we’re underground, they might cause a cave-in from the shock wave. Okay, and these are heavy-duty torchlamps, one for everybody. We also have some flares, and a radio. I don’t want to use that either unless we’re really up against it. No sense letting anybody know we’re down there unless it’s our last-ditch effort, right?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “I think we should move along in single file—Lane up front, then John, then you, Lya, and I’ll cover the rear. The idea is to fan out if we run into any trouble. If we stay in too close a group, we could be an easier target, okay?” Everyone nodded.

  “Now, for a few procedural items,” said Professor Carter. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a ski sweater and held a nylon windbreaker. He also had an over-the-shoulder bag filled with several lumpy items that Lya assumed were various artifacts, or “talismans” as he called them.

  “In light of last night’s flare-up, I doubt if Ms. Marsden was able to get the necessary permissions from city departments for us to be prowling around …” He looked at Lya, and she shook her head.

  “No, I didn’t even try,” she said quickly. “I didn’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions, and I was certain we would be denied.”

  “Good. Good,” said Lane. “Better that we move
about unobserved. We do, however, have our maps.” He reached into his windbreaker and pulled out the four folded sheets Lya had given him. “Transit. Sewers. Steam. And Con Ed. I have spent the last couple days studying these schematics and I feel reasonably comfortable with them. Actual practical usage may be less successful, but I feel confident that I can get us around under the streets.” He reached into his bag and produced several other objects. Lya recognized the star-stone, but the rest were unfamiliar.

  “Aside from the Celtic stone,” Carter began, “I have assembled a few other items that may prove useful.” Picking up a stafflike object about three feet long, he held it up for everyone to observe. It had a strange quasi-human face carved into one end, with two serpents coiling about its head. The other end tapered to a blunt point.

  “This is called a ‘divining wand’ in the literature,” said Carter. “Depending upon your source, there are various things it is supposed to be able to do. In the simplest forms of geomancy, variants of this are used to find water. Other societies have used it to find sprites or spirits, while others claimed to use it as a, say, demonic scepter—something to control the demon-beasts from the bowels of the earth.”