The rope burned through her tactical gloves.
A sharp outcrop slashed her thigh.
Finally, she swung into the hole.
The rope slithered away from her boots a moment after she let go, cut from above, and it dropped into the abyss below.
Shrieks rang out. Close . . .
The women lined the cramped passage in single file, brightened by the lantern’s orange glow. Dumont crouched ahead of them, stabbing his light into the darkness.
“Sarah—” Ellen started.
“Fucking move!” Bowcut shouted.
Thankfully the group didn’t hesitate, and the eight of them headed off at a crouching run, ducking and weaving through the tight space. She covered the rear, expecting creatures to pour into the passage at any moment and not knowing if there was really anything she could do about it. Because the fact was the safety of the light had just taken a significant downgrade. If these smaller creatures followed—and she saw no reason why they would back off—Bowcut had little doubt escaping meant facing a hand-to-hand fight to the death.
And the creatures had a lot more hands.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The diesel engine’s wheels clanked slowly along the track. Sal peered through the cabin’s front window for any signs of what he had seen in the grainy photograph. At this speed, they still had a few minutes before arriving at the Pavilion. Any faster risked creating sparks. Lots of them.
So far, nothing had appeared out of the ordinary apart from the lack of working lights. Still, the deeper they descended, the faster his heart raced.
“I still don’t believe it,” Mike said.
“You heard Cafferty. Creatures. Plural.”
“You’ve read too many comics, buddy. And he’s wasted on too much methane.”
“Well, something’s down here. And if we see something, we flatten them.”
“I can live with that . . . if we don’t, you know, die.”
Sal shrugged at Mike’s worrying. He had no regrets about thundering through the police line, as it meant a shot at saving his friends and anyone else in the Pavilion, including the mayor and the president. Despite the fear building inside of him, he thought the only place worse than being here was back in the maintenance shed.
The diesel engine steadily continued toward their destination, when a movement caught his eye: down the track, a hatch flipped open on the left side of the tunnel.
Mike bolted from his seat.
Sal jumped, too, but quickly gathered his wits as he prepared for his first sight of the creatures.
Any minute now, he told himself. Stay as calm as possible and don’t lose your shit. People are relying on us. Stop for nothing. That’s what Cafferty had said. He thought he’d feel the crushing weight of their survival resting on his shoulders, but if he felt anything, he felt buoyed by the thought of saving all those people. He wasn’t about to back down from anyone or anything.
The engine closed to within thirty feet of the open hatch.
A figure rose up and extended a palm in a halting gesture, partially obscuring its face.
“Holy shit, Sal,” Mike said. “Should we stop?”
“It could be a trap. Remember what Cafferty told us? Stop for no one.”
“We can’t just barrel past—”
“We can. We stop for nothing. That’s one man. There’s loads more in the Pavilion.”
As the train rolled by the figure, Mike leaned closer to the window. “Fuck, Sal—that looked like the president.”
“It wasn’t the fucking president.”
“I’m telling you, it was John Reynolds.”
“Are you certain it was him?” Sal asked.
“I . . . I can’t be sure.”
“Then we keep going.”
The engine powered around a shallow bend and hit the straight descent toward the Pavilion. A smashed rail tie jutted from the ground at marker 119 and the track curved upward. It looked intact, though . . .
“Hit the brakes,” Mike shouted. “Hard.”
“And ignite the tunnel? Stop saying that.”
“We’ll derail, you dumbass.”
Sal kept the throttle at a steady level. As the engine neared, the headlights brightened on a gaping hole in the middle of the track, but the metal rails on either side appeared mostly undamaged, apart from being bent upward.
“Stop,” Mike said. “It’s suicide.”
“We’re committed, my friend. Buckle up.”
“We don’t have fucking buckles.”
“You know what I mean. This diesel engine weighs over four hundred thousand pounds. I’m telling you, we’ll flatten that track.”
“And what if the ground below won’t hold us? It has to be damaged to raise the track, right?”
“It’ll hold, buddy. It’ll hold.”
Farther past the damaged section, charred corpses were spread around the tunnel.
Mike crouched in the corner of the cabin and spread his arms against the walls, bracing himself for impact.
Sal tensed. He had no worries about the state of the track, but Mike’s comment about the strength of the ground had put a fresh doubt in his mind.
The engine closed to within seconds.
He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut. This was the moment of truth. If they couldn’t get past or, worse still, crashed, it was all over. They’d be all over.
The diesel engine juddered . . . and smoothly continued forward, bending the track back down into place under the enormous weight of the locomotive.
“What did I say?” Sal muttered, trying to force a smile. “Piece of cake.”
Mike stared out the window and his jaw dropped. “Creatures.”
A burned body lay against the wall, big and black. A scorched arm had frozen in the air with claws like talons. A tail. Skin had receded away from rows of sharp teeth. The engine passed another five twisted corpses that looked the same.
Cafferty had spoken the truth.
The picture in the TV van wasn’t a lie.
One creature, missing both legs, dragged itself along the side of the track. It flicked its tail at the engine when they passed, leaving tiny shatter marks across the window.
“Holy shit,” Mike said.
Sal swallowed hard and his grip tightened around the throttle lever, but that was a last resort. He knew he couldn’t risk it. Not yet.
Shit was getting real.
Both stood in silence as the markers passed by the window. Sal said a silent prayer, asking for a clear run from here to the Pavilion and a safe return to the maintenance shed. He fished out his phone to text his family, a last message in case he didn’t make it, but the signal had dropped out.
Something jumped from the middle of the track.
And another figure.
And another.
The engine’s headlights hit a group of creatures bounding directly for them.
Hundreds of the damned things.
Behind the moving mass, three dazzling lights swept through the tunnel like World War II searchlights.
The creatures rushed past on either side, giving Sal a gut-churning closer look at their powerful bodies. Muscles and veins bulged on their arms, legs, and chests. They bashed themselves against the sides of the engine. A tail lashed the front of the cabin and took out a headlight.
“My God,” Mike said.
Sal wiped sweat from his brow. They were committed, like whoever was shining the lights, sending the creatures hurtling in their direction.
The last few creatures in the tide raced past.
Another tail strike took out the remaining headlight.
The engine cruised past three people holding spotlights, focusing on the retreating creatures. One waved who looked like Cafferty, but he couldn’t tell for sure.
Seconds later, the circular entrance of the Pavilion appeared in the distance.
“They’ve got some balls walking through the tunnel like that,” Mike said.
“Not sure
why they didn’t wait for us.”
“Maybe they’re clearing a path?”
The Pavilion entrance grew bigger every second, along with the battered rear car where the survivors were holed up. People jumped out and cheered at the approaching engine. Two hugged, and another planted their hand on their forehead. Sal gently applied the brake, and they rolled to a gradual halt a few feet from the train.
“Check our alignment and the train’s couple,” Mike said. “Let’s get this done as fast as possible.”
“You see the state of this place?”
“That’s why I said as fast as possible.”
Dead bodies, with jackets spread over their upper halves, lined the far wall close to the Starbucks’ splintered window. The command center blast door had been smashed inward and body parts covered the ground immediately to its front. People in MTA uniforms moved around inside.
“Just how strong are these things?”
“Dunno.” Sal gazed up at the shattered overhead fittings. “But we don’t need Columbo here to work out they don’t like light.”
Judging by the state of the barricaded train, the survivors had put up a serious fight before clearing the creatures from the Pavilion. A few cops and MTA workers stood outside the car, fixing spotlights and oxygen tanks to the sides. Sal flung open the door and stepped out into the glare of the IMAX projector.
“Thank God you’re here,” Lieutenant Arnolds said. He approached Sal and shook his hand. “Is anybody else coming?”
“This is it. You wanna get outta here, LT?”
“Does the Tin Man have a sheet metal cock?”
“Does a what? Oh, I get it. We’ll hitch the train and head straight out.”
Sal moved between the diesel engine and the train, checking that the couples were aligned, and he raised his thumb to Mike. He headed over to the command center, where several people clustered around wires and electronic equipment. He recognized Anna, who had come along to Friday drinks a few times with Munoz and had stonewalled his drunken advances, like pretty much every woman. None of the other faces was familiar.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said.
“Literally, by the looks of it. You guys must have been through hell down here. Where’s Munoz?”
“He left with the president in the sub.”
“What sub?”
All eyes focused on Sal.
Anna’s smile vanished. “It hasn’t been picked up?”
“Not that I know. But we saw a figure in the tunnel. Mike thought he looked like the president.”
“What the hell? Was he near the breach?”
“You mean the hole in the ground? No. He came out of a hatch closer to Jersey City.”
“Without Diego?”
“We only saw one guy. How’d he get from a sub to there?”
Anna moved over to a schematic of the system on the wall, placed her finger on the docking station and traced a route to marker 110 in the Jersey tunnel. “If that was Reynolds, they didn’t get the sub. They probably went through the engineering bay to the maintenance tunnel. I don’t see any other feasible route to the hatch. He couldn’t have gotten there on his own, though.”
“Munoz saving the president’s ass.” Sal shook his head and couldn’t help grinning.
“Or his Secret Service agent who insisted on leaving us behind. Samuels. That guy made me show him around twenty times during the last week. He knows the layout, too.”
“Let’s hope they’re all safe.” Sal looked behind her at a pile of wires, batteries, and a large black projector. “What are you doing?”
“We’re powering this baby up and attaching it to the front of your engine. Any creature in our way gets blasted with light.” She turned to her team. “Attach the remaining oxygen tanks on there, too. As close to the wheels as you can. We’ll keep them open with the smallest possible stream. It’s a long shot, but with these tanks pumping out O2, we’re hoping any sparks we create don’t ignite the methane.”
“Every little bit helps,” Sal said, though it sounded crazy.
A covered mass on the floor caught his eye. Rigid pale white fingers poked from beneath a fire blanket, and the shape underneath looked like a torso with missing legs. Bile rose in his throat and Sal recoiled. For everyone’s sake, Anna’s plan had to work.
Chapter Thirty
The sight of the diesel engine speeding toward the Pavilion had boosted Cafferty’s hopes that some would make it out of here alive. For the first time since the explosion in the Manhattan tunnel, the survivors had a physical prospect of getting out of the subway system, instead of failed promises. He angled his spotlight toward the creatures, bathing the back of the retreating mass in its glare, and another wave of screams erupted through the tunnel.
North led up the middle of the track, walking at a quick pace. Always selfless and never flinching, focused on the task at hand, he never took a backward step. Cafferty knew without him today, things would’ve turned out differently and almost certainly for the worse.
Flament advanced with smooth, deliberate strides, looking every inch a trained killer and a far cry from the unassuming journalist who had earlier asked Reynolds a question about funding. If they made it out alive, Cafferty had to ensure they didn’t let him just wander off. He knew something about the creatures, and Tom wanted answers.
The two men moved with assurance and possessed skills more suitable for this environment, but Cafferty’s sense of determination drove him on. So far, they had the situation under control, and marker 119 lay just minutes ahead.
There, Cafferty prayed he’d discover the fate of Ellen and the other passengers. And if he didn’t . . . well, he had to know something before he even considered leaving. Part of him dreaded what he might find in the coming minutes. He could swallow losing his career and his reputation—those things were baubles in the grand scheme of life—but he couldn’t face living without the woman who had burned so strongly into his soul.
North paused and directed his beam over several smoldering corpses toward the distant breach. The mass of creatures funneled down the hole until none visibly remained. “That’s where we’ll probably find any passengers,” he said. “They can’t be anywhere else.”
“How do you know?” Flament asked.
“Look at the blood all over the walls. We didn’t see them come our way, and they sure as shit didn’t take any hostages to Jersey City.”
“Quiet,” Cafferty said.
The faint sound of flowing water rose through the ground.
“That’s the maintenance tunnel filling,” North said. “Jesus, if there’s a breach . . . we haven’t got much time.”
“How much?” Flament asked.
“No idea, but hanging around discussing it won’t help. Come on.”
North broke into a fast jog, and they followed hot on his heels.
Running in a gas mask sapped Cafferty’s strength and he struggled to keep up. Not that he was really much of a runner to begin with. One more thing I need to do if we get out of this alive. He squeezed out every ounce of energy to avoid falling behind. He was the main reason both men were here, and he couldn’t allow himself to become the group’s weak link on his mission.
North weaved his way between the corpses and arrived at the breach. Flament joined him and they crouched back-to-back, covering both directions.
Cafferty passed the last pair of bodies, locked in a death embrace, and he did a double take. One was human with a helmet and pistol by his side. His entrails had spilled out and were blackened from the earlier explosion. A dead creature’s teeth were clamped around the back of his head and its claws were buried in his back.
The sight turned his stomach. The thought of finding Ellen in similar circumstances added to his stress. He fought down the urge to vomit and reached the breach. Leaning against the wall and attempting to catch his breath, he worked to push any negative thoughts to the back of his mind.
“Tom, you okay?” North asked.
“Fine. I—I just need a second.”
“You got it.”
North inspected a length of rope that ran from pipes on the opposite wall and disappeared into the breach. He looped the spotlight around his belt, positioning the glare downward. “I’ll go first. We’ll go straight in, a quick search, and straight out. Cover my descent.”
Cafferty moved to the edge of the gaping hole and shone his light into the abyss, while Flament scanned the tunnel for any stray creatures lurking in the shadows.
North eased himself down, kicking off the wall and dropping a few feet at a time. His figure grew smaller as he lowered. The rope slackened, and his light disappeared as he moved farther down and in. “It’s a cavern,” he shouted frantically. “Creatures at the far end.”
The dread in North’s voice was clear, and Cafferty shot Flament a nervous glance. Millions of these things could be waiting below, far beyond anything the group could collectively handle, and it scared him shitless.
“You next, Mr. Mayor,” Flament said, seemingly more relaxed about their situation.
In fact, oddly relaxed. Like he was playing an arcade game rather than descending to his potential death. But they had to proceed if they wanted an answer.
Cafferty had never been into outdoor activities, apart from the odd round of golf at Forest Park or a cocktail at the Knickerbocker Hotel’s rooftop bar. So rappelling wasn’t really a skill he had acquired. Still, he’d seen what North had done, so he copied his security chief and attached his spotlight to his belt, grabbed the rope, and edged back. The brittle rock face crunched under his shoes as he told himself, Don’t look down.
Flament’s beam swept overhead. North shouted encouragement from below, instructing him to lean back and relax, which was easier said than done. Cafferty’s foot slipped and he tightly clutched the rope. His legs felt like jelly and beads of sweat dripped down his face, pooling at the bottom of his gas mask—a new level of discomfort he didn’t think possible. He ignored that and found new footholds, descending into the cavern as fast as he could manage, until he landed on a pile of rubble next to the remains of a smashed MTA lantern and dropped to his knees.
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