Awakened

by James S. Murray

  The hatch slammed shut. They were on their own.

  Cafferty held a steel pole across his chest and stood next to North in front of a set of the train’s blocked doors. The overhead lights shattering and the earsplitting booms coming from the direction of the command center had spread panic through the tightly packed car, but the mayor, the cops, and the MTA employees worked quickly to calm everyone down.

  “Listen up,” Cafferty bellowed. “I don’t know what the fuck those things are, but we’re all in the same boat—”

  “We’re on a train,” a young voice piped up.

  Nervous laughter rippled through the car.

  “Same train,” Cafferty said with a tight grin. “We have to fight them together. If we do—and if we don’t panic—we are going to get out of this alive. And if you don’t trust me, trust in New York’s finest.”

  He didn’t think that would really sell it to the frightened passengers, but he did see the cops on the train stand up a little straighter. They were scared, too, but if they could show the mettle he’d seen from the NYPD time and time again, Cafferty felt they at least had a fighting chance.

  He just wasn’t sure what they were fighting against.

  Well, I’m sure we’ll find out soon.

  Cell phone lights and MTA lanterns illuminated the interior of the car, casting thin light on the sweaty but now determined faces of others who stood by the windows and doors with their improvised weapons raised.

  The injured cop lay in the aisle, groaning as two fellow police officers applied pressure to the gashes in his legs.

  Nobody said a word as they waited for the creatures to attack.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The SWAT team had halted barely a stone’s throw from the breach after faint sounds of panic rumbled up the Jersey tunnel. Dalton and Christiansen knelt to Bowcut’s front on either side of the track. Dumont crouched to her left. She drew her knife and peered through her sights, searching for any signs of movement.

  “See anything?” Dumont asked.

  “Negative,” Dalton said.

  “Nothing here,” Christiansen said.

  Bowcut shuffled across to Dumont. “If that’s coming from the Pavilion, we need to move faster.”

  Dumont rose to his feet and indicated the team forward. Christiansen quickened his pace and took point, leading thirty yards ahead.

  They advanced away from the grisly scene, and Bowcut hoped she’d never have to witness anything like that again. Yet it had also increased her already steely determination to make whoever had attacked those innocent people pay for their actions. If justice was to be served by her cold steel blade, so be it. Right now, she really felt like getting her hands dirty.

  “Hey,” Christiansen said. “Flip on your night vision.”

  Bowcut had previously switched for a clearer view of the tunnel, and she was certain the rest of the team had done so as well.

  “Flip on your night vision,” Christiansen said again.

  “We have,” Dumont replied. “You don’t need to tell us twice.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “To change the setting on our sights.”

  The team moved forward. Erratic booms continued to echo up the tunnel, increasing in volume as they closed in on the Pavilion. Bowcut knew it wouldn’t be long before they faced the enemy, catching them like bilge rats before they escaped.

  “Flip on your night vision,” Christiansen said.

  “I did,” Dalton said. “What the hell’s your problem?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That was the third time you told me.”

  “I told you once.”

  Christiansen turned and headed back. “I haven’t said anything three times.”

  Bowcut stared at the man, baffled. It was clearly Christiansen who had spoken.

  “Flip on your night vision.”

  Christiansen stood in front of her. Mouth closed.

  The group dropped to an all-round defensive formation, kneeling with their backs to one another, knives extended.

  “Switch to thermal,” Bowcut said. She changed her setting and searched for any heat signatures.

  Nothing beyond specks of blood on the wall that had sprayed this far.

  A breeze whipped through the tunnel, coming from the direction of the Pavilion.

  “What the hell was that?” Dalton asked.

  “Someone’s fucking with us,” Dumont said. “Stand by.”

  They silently held their positions, twenty feet part.

  Bowcut scanned every part of the tunnel again. Nothing.

  “Someone’s fucking with us.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Dumont said.

  Something thudded against the ground behind Bowcut. She glanced over her shoulder.

  Christiansen’s head lay by his side. Blood squirted out of his neck. The knife dropped from his hand and his lifeless body collapsed to the track.

  Bowcut scrambled to her feet. “Fall back—now!”

  The remaining three sprinted up the tunnel. She had no idea how their attackers had not shown on the thermal image, but she’d worry about that later. Right now, the team needed to regroup and come up with another plan.

  Right now, we need to fucking survive.

  Someone let out a gurgled scream.

  Bowcut stopped just short of the hole, spun back to face the lower side of the tunnel, and looked through her sights. She drew in deep breaths, the gas mask sucking around the edges of her face and sweat pooling below her chin.

  Dumont skidded to a halt next to her and raised his Commando.

  Dalton staggered forward thirty yards from her position, missing his right arm. She urged him to close the gap, but something sharp and glistening thrust out of his stomach and lifted him off the ground like a paperweight.

  Bowcut unslung her rifle and rose to attack.

  Dark blood oozed from Dalton’s mouth. His left hand dropped by his side, unclipped his holster, and drew his Glock.

  “No!” Dumont screamed. “Dalton, don’t fire that weapon.”

  But if Dalton heard the captain, he clearly was beyond caring. He aimed over his shoulder and pulled the trigger . . .

  . . . and a methane-fueled ball of fire flashed around him.

  The blast shattered the railroad ties, and wooden splinters battered Bowcut’s body armor and helmet. “The hole!” she yelled.

  A wave of fire raced over their heads as more methane ignited.

  Dumont’s foot slipped in a pool of blood and he crashed to the ground. He scrambled to his knees and looked down with an openmouthed expression at a large splinter that had become embedded in his thigh.

  Bowcut grabbed his chest rig with both hands, dove for the hole, and used her falling body weight to drag him inside.

  They plummeted at breakneck speed, battering against rocks, straight downward into the abyss. Bowcut reached out to try to grab anything to slow her fall, but Dumont’s body kept crashing against her, tearing her grip. A blanket of flames rushed overhead, and a deafening boom roared through the tunnel.

  The hole narrowed.

  Bowcut thrust out her arms and legs, planting them against walls, and slowed her descent, gritting her teeth at the sharp jolt to her joints. Dumont did the same, but he was unable to keep his pain in, roaring in agony as blood dripped from his thigh into his boot.

  “I can’t hold it any longer,” he said. “My thigh . . .”

  He dropped, knocking Bowcut back into a free fall.

  Her back hit the ground hard, and her helmet slammed against rock. Staggered for a moment, she lay motionless, staring straight up at the gas burning through the shaft. It was mesmerizing, and for a moment its eerie beauty made her forget what had happened to Dalton and Christensen.

  But then she remembered, her training kicked in, and Bowcut mustered her remaining strength to roll on her side. She activated the mounted light on her Commando and swept the beam on her immediate surroundings. Dumont’s unconsciou
s body sat slumped against a boulder in the small cavern. Farther inside, where the ceiling lowered, the body of a police officer hung in the dusty air with two stalactites protruding through his stomach and chest.

  She crawled over to Dumont and shook his boot.

  He didn’t move an inch.

  I’m fucked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Something thudded on the roof of the train. Cafferty and the rest of the group looked up and listened as slow footsteps pounded the metal, traveling the length of the car. For a few seconds there was silence, and then the creature dropped in front of the barricaded doors. North forced his shoulder against the recently secured steel plate, gripping a screwdriver in his right hand.

  Silence returned once more. Then small sounds. Nothing like the previous explosion they had heard coming from deep inside the Jersey tunnel.

  A cop coughed into his palm.

  Near the center of the car, a woman whispered the Hail Mary.

  Cafferty’s held breath released with what sounded like an explosion in his ears. It woke him from whatever fear had frozen him in place, as if hearing his own breath was a reminder that he was still alive and wanted to make sure he kept on living. He wasn’t prepared to accept that his day of reckoning had arrived. Not yet. Not without battling until he drew in that final breath. Maybe he wasn’t a former marine like President Reynolds, but he knew about battling in a political arena and wasn’t going to back down from a physical fight.

  And he was ready.

  A shrill screech moved along the train’s outer body like fingernails down a chalkboard, sending a shiver down his spine. He imagined a claw shaving off a sliver of metal. Considering the damage to the front car, he realized it was only a matter of time before the creatures forced their way inside.

  Tap, tap, tap came from a blocked window.

  More taps on the roof, windows, and doors.

  Hundreds of them built into a metallic clatter, as if a hailstorm of ball bearings pelted the train, and the noise increased the pain of Cafferty’s splitting headache.

  “What the hell are they doing?” a woman cried.

  “Testing us,” Cafferty said.

  “No,” North said. “They’re teasing us.”

  The taps slowly died down.

  Nobody said a word for the next few minutes as they waited for the monstrosities outside to make their next move. The regularity of coughing inside the car increased.

  “All right,” North said. “Let’s make it more breathable in here. Open a tank of oxygen at both ends and one in the middle.”

  DeLuca crouched, heaved a tank to a standing position, and twisted the valve. Potentially lifesaving oxygen hissed out.

  It took less than a minute to experience a tangible difference. The excruciating throb in Cafferty’s head reduced to a dull ache and his nausea eased. The plan working gave him little satisfaction, though, given the danger lurking right outside the train. They had to find an effective way of combating the creatures, and fast.

  “David, now that we can think a little clearer,” he said, “got any other ideas about how to beat these fuckers?”

  “Our best idea is to stay here. Do you fancy heading outside?”

  “No, and I guess they could be in any tunnel.”

  “How the hell did they even get inside the subway system?”

  “From below?” DeLuca said. “Otherwise we’d know about them. Think about it—we’ve had a rise in methane and we know pockets exist underneath this new subway system.”

  “Do we?” North glanced over his shoulder at Cafferty. “Do you?”

  Cafferty’s mind turned to the industrial accident three years ago, when a tunnel-boring machine crashed into a prehistoric, methane-filled cavern. They filled the hole, he swept the accident under the rug to avoid a lengthy investigation, and the site of the Pavilion moved three-quarters of a mile west, under his strict orders.

  And now the stars were aligning for him in a chilling way.

  Because the Pavilion’s original location was roughly halfway up the Jersey tunnel—probably right near marker 119. When the search party had failed to find Grady McGowan’s body in a timely fashion, it was called off. And the methane was considered an unfortunate anomaly and quickly forgotten.

  But if he had gone by the book and been more thorough, it might not have come to this. Investigation teams would have explored the cavern, found the dead body, and, by doing that, discovered the creatures.

  A trainload of people would be alive. This trainload of people wouldn’t be in danger.

  Ellen wouldn’t be lost . . .

  Regardless of what was outside the train, he had to shoulder the responsibility for today’s events. Not for the existence of the creatures, obviously, but the timing of their discovery and the consequences.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?” North asked.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” Cafferty swallowed hard.

  “Tom, if you know something, now’s the time to come clean for all of our sakes.”

  “What’s it matter now?”

  “Because we all might die because of you!”

  The words rocked him, especially coming from North. But he couldn’t deny the inherent truth in the accusation. Cafferty played the events through his mind again and came to the same gut-wrenching conclusion:

  He had blood on his hands.

  “Tom,” North said more forcefully, “what do you know about those creatures?”

  “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “And the gas leaks?”

  Cafferty avoided eye contact, overcome by his own guilt. Everyone in the car stared in his direction, and he had no easy way to explain the sequence of events.

  “Tom,” North pressed. “The leaks.”

  “Three years ago, a construction worker died when he accidentally drilled into a cavern full of methane, close to where we originally planned on building the Pavilion.”

  “Grady McGowan, right?”

  Cafferty nodded.

  “Christ, Tom, remember the state of McGowan’s wife and kid standing next to his empty casket? You said it was an accident.”

  “It was an accident! There was no way to know it would happen.”

  “But this, right now—it’s not an accident, is it?”

  “We were so close. So . . . we cut corners.” Cafferty met North’s glare. “I cut corners to keep the project on track. You have to understand, it would’ve cost us millions and wasted precious time.”

  “How about lives wasted, you son of a bitch?”

  “I didn’t know it’d lead to this. How could I? I swear to you, I know nothing about these creatures. I’ll take full responsibility for everything else—and that’s bad enough—but you have to believe me. We’ve known each other a long time, David. I might have cut some corners, sure, but to think I’d willfully throw people to these . . . things? I’d never.”

  But even those words weren’t exactly true. Because Cafferty knew his ego and pride had ruled his decisions, and monsters or no, this project was his entire life. He had fought long and hard to make the Z Train happen, made so many enemies, sacrificed so much, and it had all blinded him from doing the right thing. He never wanted to admit defeat and face the jeers from people like Reynolds. This tunnel was meant to be his legacy, his footnote in the city’s rich history, and now it had materialized with unimaginable repercussions.

  Maybe I’m just as bad a monster as those creatures out there.

  Christopher Fields, the WNBC reporter, barged between two MTA employees and confronted Cafferty. “I heard every word. You’re finished, Mr. Mayor.”

  “We’re all finished if help doesn’t arrive or we figure out a way of getting past the creatures. After that, I’ll take whatever’s heading my way.”

  “Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.” Fields spun to face the packed car. “In case you haven’t heard, the mayor invited us down here for the opening of Jurassic Park. Those things out there are
from caverns he knew about and covered up.”

  “That’s not what he said, and you know it,” North said, stepping toward the reporter. “Keep your cool, Fields. Now isn’t the time for this.”

  “I’d say now is the perfect time. Hands up if you think we should throw the mayor off the train.”

  The crowd murmured, but nobody raised a hand.

  “I told you I’ll answer for my actions,” Cafferty said, “and I promise I’ll do just that.”

  “Your promises aren’t worth shit, Cafferty.”

  “Then listen to my promise,” North said. “I promise you that whatever you’re trying to accomplish means nothing at this moment. Let’s focus on keeping everyone alive, rather than starting an unnecessary panic.”

  “Unnecessary? How about the fact that we’re trapped down here surrounded by things that want to tear us apart? I figure if we’re all going to die, we might as well have the satisfaction of seeing that lying motherfucker die first!”

  “You really want to throw him to the wolves,” North said, incredulous.

  “I don’t want to die!”

  The reporter practically sobbed the last words, and it hit Tom in the gut. As much as he detested the man, Fields was right—he had brought them all down here to get killed. He wanted to say something to make things okay, but there were no words. It wasn’t okay.

  Fields must have seen his reaction, because he jabbed the stubby antenna of a handheld radio toward Cafferty’s face. “Don’t try to wiggle out of this, asshole! You’re going down for this, you piece of—”

  North grabbed Fields’ wrist and twisted it, revealing the radio’s screen. It displayed a grainy image of the injured cop with the creature partially out of the shot and a green check mark with “sent” in the bottom right corner.

  “What the hell?” Cafferty stepped closer, resisting a strong urge to punch the reporter in the face. “You’ve got comms?”

  “The world deserves to know about you.”

  North ripped the radio free. He slammed his hand in Fields’ chest, holding him at bay, and studied the device. “It’s a short-range UHF communicator.”