North aimed his blowtorch at the dark gap and blasted it with oxygen. The creature shrieked away from the roof.
At the far end, another section of the ceiling tore away. A creature’s tail whipped inside and thrashed backward and forward, carving three people to pieces in seconds. Blood spattered over the walls and the conductor’s cabin door, and screams erupted throughout the train as the crowd surged toward the middle of the car.
“Blast it with oxygen,” Cafferty shouted. “If we lose one side, we lose the whole fucking train!”
It was easier said than done, though. Still, he was proud when a cop crawled underneath the swinging tail. He reached the tank, raised the blowtorch, and pulled the trigger. At the same time, a woman spun and raised the flash on her phone upward. Others quickly joined them, swooping below the tail and reinforcing the defenses.
The tail rocketed out.
The relief was momentary, and soon shrieks in the Pavilion drowned out the screams in the car.
“Good job,” Cafferty yelled. “Just a little while longer, and help is coming.”
I hope.
Claws raked the outer body, creating deafening metallic screeches.
A man in a suit flew back from a window. His back skidded against the aisle and a steel panel that had been secured on the inside of the car thudded against the ground. Tails immediately lashed both sides of the car, and the whole thing rocked side to side.
“The holes will increase the methane,” North said through gritted teeth as he tried to keep his balance. “We can’t sit around while they turn this place into a cheese grater.”
“You’re right.” Cafferty grabbed a cop’s flashlight and moved to the broken window, where a resolute-faced woman fired blasts of oxygen into the darkness. He cast his beam across the platform.
Several creatures scampered from the glare.
Looking across the Pavilion, Cafferty saw that the command center’s blast door had been battered inward by the creatures. The bright light from inside the command center spilled out into the Pavilion, keeping the creatures at bay, but illuminating the body parts and torn clothing of the Secret Service agents in its path. The IMAX projector’s deep blue beams highlighted a throng of creatures, stalking at either side of the light, hovering in the darkness just along the edges of the shadows.
“Oh my God!” a woman cried. “Someone help him!”
Cafferty stopped and turned.
Two scaly arms had reached through the gap at the far end of the car, grabbing the cop who had been wielding one of the air tanks and lifting him by his head. His body swung as he threw uppercuts, but if he was doing any damage, it wasn’t apparent to Cafferty. Mostly all he could see was the blood trickling down from where the claws dug into his cheeks and temples.
“Grab his legs,” somebody yelled.
Two women and a man latched on and tried to drag him down.
Thick veins throbbed on the creature’s arms. This one seemed more determined than the others, and its claws sunk deeper into the cop’s face.
The cop screamed. His legs kicked. Blood streamed down his neck.
Flament shoved his way through the people, extended his SLR camera toward the gap, and repeatedly activated the flash so that burst after burst of brilliant light hit the creature like the bullets from a semiautomatic gun.
The creature roared and twisted the cop’s head sideways.
The crowd gasped at the sound of a dull crack.
Still Flament moved closer, within reach of the creature and the cop’s twitching body, and his camera continued to strobe.
With a snarl, the creature’s arms vanished in the blink of an eye, and the cop landed in a crumpled heap.
“Listen up,” Cafferty shouted. “Any of the press with cameras, get those flashes working on the gaps!”
Women and men retrieved cameras from cases. They moved to the two holes in the ceiling and the broken window, and the car lit up, looking like a warped version of an early-nineties rave party. One of the guests wrestled off his jacket and laid it over the dead cop before taking over the officer’s duty, blasting oxygen through the blowtorch flame guard.
“It’s working,” someone shouted. “They’re backing off.”
With the respite, another cop dragged his dead colleague into the conductor’s compartment, out of the sight of the few children on board, while two others dragged the three lacerated corpses through. Cafferty knew there was no hiding the sight outside, but he was glad the death didn’t seem as close. He rushed back to his end of the car, ducking between people and weapons.
“How’s it looking outside?” North asked.
“Like shit, David. We’re on a knife edge,” Cafferty said. “Those camera batteries won’t last forever. Neither will the oxygen. But . . .”
“What?”
“I think there might be another way.”
“How?”
“We get someone in the command center to configure the IMAX to blast the screen with a pure white image.”
North nodded. “Flood the Pavilion with light. It’s a good idea . . . if anyone’s still alive in there.”
“That’s going to be the theme of the day, isn’t it?” he said. “But the creatures are crowding the entrance, which means they haven’t gotten in yet. So we might be in luck.”
“God knows we need it.”
God? A devout Catholic, Cafferty couldn’t help but wonder where the hell God had been.
How many Hail Marys is that going to cost me?
Shaking his head, Cafferty flipped open his laptop and breathed a sigh of relief as the internal LAN registered full bars. He maximized the private messenger app.
TC: Diego, are you there?
He peered across the nervous faces in the car while waiting for a reply. At the far end, Flament stood between two members of the press, camera raised toward the gap. The Frenchman had already saved a lot of lives with his quick thinking and deserved a medal if they got out alive.
Someone else would have to pin it on him, though. Cafferty knew if he survived, his reward would be a cramped cell, an orange coverall, and a plastic tray of food. He deserved it.
The laptop chirped.
“We’re in business,” he said.
DM: Anna here. U OK?
TC: For the minute. What happened at your end?
DM: Those things smashed in the door. We hid in the back but they wouldn’t come too far into the light of the command center.
TC: Switch on the IMAX.
DM: We have no remote connection anymore. Can only be controlled directly from the AV room.
TC: Do you have anything else?
DM: Wait—we’ve got spotlights in the supply room. 2 secs.
Cafferty leaned down and peeked through a gouge in the side of the train. A minute later, three thick shafts of light blasted out of the command center and carved across the platform, sending scores of creatures scattering. The shafts focused on the length of the car, bathing it in brilliant white light.
“Thank God,” someone in the car said. A few others echoed the sentiment.
Thank Anna, Cafferty thought.
DM: How’s that for you?
TC: You’re a champion.
DM: Glad to be of service.
North ducked next to Cafferty and scanned outside. “Nice. What about the IMAX, though?”
“They can’t control it from the command center anymore.”
“Of course not—our luck wouldn’t be that good,” North said.
But then he nodded, looking around. Cafferty could see his mind working, and with a final nod, he knew David had an idea. “What are you thinking?”
“Couldn’t they shine out another spotlight, this time creating a path from there to the AV room? We can run toward the door through this beam and then down the other beam to turn on the IMAX. That thing will light up the entire Pavilion like a Christmas tree.”
Cafferty smiled for the first time in a couple of hours. He felt like leaning forward
and kissing the top of North’s head.
TC: Got a spare spotlight to focus on the AV room? We need a route from here to switch on the IMAX.
DM: Great idea. I knew there was a reason I voted for you. We’ll do it now.
Less than a minute later, two more shafts of light stabbed out of the command center and focused on the short corridor leading to the AV room, creating an L-shaped path from the car.
DM: Want one of us to do it?
TC: It’s my responsibility. I’ll come see you after we’re done.
DM: No sweat. You’ve given us hope.
He wasn’t so sure about that, but it was clear from the reactions in the car that the light had brought palpable relief to the people stuck inside. If he could pull off this one last job, he might actually be able to truly force the creatures back from striking distance.
This will be my penance . . . and maybe all of our salvation.
First, though, he had a final question for Anna.
TC: Did Diego leave with the president?
DM: Yeah, and his creepy agent. He’s coming back after they leave on the sub.
TC: When’s that?
DM: Should be any minute now.
Cafferty snapped the laptop shut and stared at the lines of light crisscrossing the Pavilion. Pulling himself out of his reverie, he scanned the car for anything that would aid his mission. He wasn’t really a betting man, but he rated his chances at fifty-fifty.
If I don’t go, though, then I’d put our chances at zero.
Cafferty had to take the risk.
Chapter Twenty
The DSRV powered into video range, and its feed appeared on one of the docking station’s screens, displaying the murky depths of the Hudson. Algae-covered objects sat among the riverbed’s gently swaying vegetation. Munoz ignored it for the moment. He stood behind Samuels while President Reynolds covered him with a gun.
Munoz looped a cable tie over Samuels’ wrists and pulled it tight, then added another three for good measure, securing him to the chair. The two gunshots to his thigh and shoulder had incapacitated the big agent, but Munoz wasn’t going to make the mistake of underestimating a highly trained individual.
Especially a treacherous one.
“You’re signing your own death warrants,” Samuels said. “I’m your only realistic way out of here.”
Reynolds scowled. “You just said my only way out of here was in a body bag. So why don’t you shut the hell up and save it for the court-martial.”
“Look at the screen,” Munoz said, shoving him in the back. “The sub’s arriving and you’re heading for a lethal injection.”
“You’re both fools,” Samuels replied. “You’ve no idea what you’re facing.”
Munoz let out a deep groan. They had already witnessed the creatures, and Reynolds appeared to have some prior knowledge of their existence, so he just chalked up such nonsense as a last-ditch attempt by the agent to confuse them. With the sub right there, he was going to keep his mouth shut and get the job done. He’d grown up in a neighborhood where chumps tried to talk their way out of things, and even though Samuels had shown himself resourceful, he was tied up, neutralizing the threat.
As much as Munoz wanted to see how many times he could punch the man in the face, he simply focused on the hatch’s keypad.
Samuels’ earlier gunshot had pierced the edge of the air lock’s pad, though a green light still glowed around the digits, hopefully meaning it wasn’t broken. They had the lung-busting option of a manual crank, but that took up precious time. He depressed the number 2 . . .
And a satisfying beep! echoed in the small room. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.
The speaker above the desk crackled. “This is Rescue One, are you there, over?”
Munoz moved back to the desk and put on a headset. “Diego here. We’re receiving your live transmission. Steve, we’re bringing up a prisoner who requires medical treatment.”
“A terrorist?”
“Might as well be.” Munoz eyed Samuels. “And a piece of shit.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the head of President Reynolds’ Secret Service detail. He just tried to assassinate him.”
“Jesus, Diego, are you serious?”
“One hundred percent. Make sure you let everyone know it’s Agent Samuels.”
“Jesus . . . okay. What kind of injuries?”
“Gunshot wounds to the shoulder and thigh. Unfortunately, he’ll live.”
“Roger. Out.”
Samuels glared at him. “Did that make you feel special?”
“Why would it? I just wanted them to be aware of what they’d be dealing with—a dangerous, traitorous cocksucker. But let me be clear: I don’t give a shit about you. My main concern is getting the president to safety and then doing the same for my team.”
“Wow, a noble gang member.”
Munoz strode over to Samuels and casually nudged the agent’s wounded thigh with his shoe. It was petty, but seeing the man wince was worth it. He spun back to face the screen.
The docking station appeared through the gloomy water: a solid steel square rising out of the silt. The sub adjusted its course toward the external hatch, slowed its speed, and drifted the final few feet.
A metallic clank boomed from the other side of the air lock, followed by a mechanical whir.
“Successfully locked on,” Steve said through the speaker. “Securing the seal. This’ll only take a moment.”
“Roger that.”
“Seal secured. I’m opening the first hatch and equalizing the pressure. Stand by for my order to open the second hatch.”
Munoz moved back to the window.
The external hatch fanned open, revealing the brightly lit interior of the DSRV. Steve Hillard climbed from behind the controls, wearing his dark green coveralls, and gave his trademark warm smile. He stepped through into the air lock chamber, pistol in hand, and focused on the control room window.
Munoz gave him a mock salute through the glass. Only one hatch separated the president and the traitor from a safe evacuation . . . and making it out of this living nightmare in one piece.
He started to press in the code: 2-1-0-8-9—
The chamber’s overhead light flickered off.
“No . . .” Munoz said. “It can’t be . . .”
“What?” Reynolds asked.
The light from inside the DSRV cast a weak glow onto Hillard’s confused face.
“Get back in the sub!” Munoz shouted.
Hillard frowned and pointed to his ear. He couldn’t hear the warning.
Munoz banged his fist on the protective glass.
It didn’t matter.
Two creatures sprung from the darkness and rammed Hillard, crushing him into the chamber wall and forcing him to the ground. One locked its teeth around his neck and forced its claws into his eyes. Blood flowed down his temples and squirted from underneath his jaw.
Hillard’s mouth opened and he let out a silent scream, and the fact that Munoz could hear nothing made the scene somehow even more chilling.
It wasn’t over, though. The second creature tore at Hillard’s coveralls, slicing it to ribbons and gouging deep purple lines in the captain’s stomach. A claret streak splashed the window, obscuring the view, but not enough to keep Munoz from seeing the creatures quickly transforming Steve’s body into a shredded mess before they dragged him out of view.
Reynolds darted to Munoz’s side and peered through the glass with a look of horror.
Only a dark trail of blood remained.
“H-h-h-ow did they get into that air lock?” Reynolds asked.
Munoz staggered back a couple of paces and peered at the ceiling. “They’ve been in here. The grille. The creatures could be anywhere in the ventilation system.”
“Which is why I covered the vent,” Samuels said. “And when they’re done in that submarine taking out the rest of the crew, I promise you they’re coming back in here to tear
us apart limb from limb. Mr. President, it’s time we make a deal. First, cut me loose.”
“You’re getting no deal.” Reynolds aimed up at the dark square in the ceiling. “We’ll go back to the command center and wait for the rescue teams.”
“Already dead,” Samuels said.
Anger consumed Munoz as he stood over the big agent. “You claimed the blast door would hold.”
“I lied. This wouldn’t have happened if the president had paid his bills. Ask him.”
“So it’s all about money.” Reynolds shook his head. “Van Ness unleashed this on America—on me—because I won’t be blackmailed?”
“Money, respect, common sense, national security, take your pick. The world is a less dangerous place with you out of the White House.”
“You really are a piece of work. I don’t know why I couldn’t see it.”
“Because you’re usually too busy with your head between your secretary’s legs.”
As incredible as this exchange was, Munoz’s immediate interests lay elsewhere. He rushed back to the computer and switched to the structural view. All tunnels glowed red and reported breaches and high methane levels, as expected. He zoomed in on the command center, flagging multiple failures, and he maximized the crucial one:
The blast door reported as open and nonfunctioning.
The creatures had broken through.
Having just watched Hillard’s uncompromising and savage death, his imagination exploded with the thought of what had happened to his team. Their last thoughts were probably that of pure terror . . . and disgust at him for having abandoned them. First Donaldson and now his team. Munoz bowed his head, rage coursing through his veins. He hated himself for leaving them, but he knew he had little choice. He could only hope they had found peace quickly.
And with those somber thoughts, he knew there was only one thing left to do: he had to save Reynolds.
“Mr. President,” Munoz said, “the command center isn’t an option. I believe it’s been compromised by the creatures.”
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