“I wish I could. See the claws?”
“Of course I saw the goddamn claws! How many of these things are we talking?”
“Hundreds, maybe thousands.” Bowcut focused her light on the middle passage. “Down that way is a huge cavern, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, and it’s full of them. Captain, I think we’ve stumbled on their nest.”
Dumont stared at her, dumbstruck.
“There’s something else,” she continued. “There are six hostages alive down there. Six women, kneeling in a circle, side by side in a cocoon of some kind. I can’t explain it, but they’re alive.”
“This is crazy. We need backup, now.”
“You saw those creatures. If we fall back, those women are as good as dead. We need to act as fast as we can.”
“What I saw means we can’t fight hundreds of those things. We can’t even fire our weapons or we’re toast.”
“Who says we fight? What’s inside those MTA safety boxes?”
“Safety boxes?”
Bowcut looked toward the breach where the train tracks were. “The ones attached to the tunnel wall every hundred yards.”
“First aid kits, rope, flashlights . . .”
“Exactly. Here’s what we do. I’ll climb up, snag the lanterns, and secure a new line of rope. Then we’ll use the light to keep those creatures at bay while we free the women and get the hell out of here.”
Earsplitting shrieks blasted out of the passages.
“Are you out of your mind?” Dumont asked.
“We know they hate light, right? Would you think twice if your sister was trapped inside the cavern?”
“That’s different.”
“It isn’t. Those hostages have brothers and sisters.”
“I can’t allow a suicide mission.”
“It’s only suicide if you want to die. I’m not planning on dying. I’ll head back up and check the next box. You make sure nothing comes within striking distance. It’ll take a few minutes.”
“I swear you’ll be the death of me.”
“Hopefully not.”
He gritted his teeth. “Get going.”
Bowcut slung her rifle, headed over to the burned rope and gave it a firm tug. It predictably snapped free, dropping through the shaft and bunching on the ground by her boots. She coiled it around her shoulder, intending to attach the undamaged end to the tracks if nothing else was available.
A mound of rubble led up to the left edge of the breach. She wasted no time in scrambling up, grabbing the lowest outcrop of jagged rock, and heaving herself upward into the shaft.
Rookie climbers always made the mistake of thinking it was all about arms. Engaging her full upper body made it easier to hoist herself, and she powered upward. Sweat trickled down her face, and her thighs and shoulders burned, but she trusted in her technique.
After energy-sapping minutes, Bowcut reached the top. She raised her head into the now silent subway tunnel and rotated her light 360 degrees, checking for any signs of movement.
Dalton’s corpse lay sprawled in the distance, charred to a crisp, unrecognizable from the man who had entered the tunnel. His dreams of early retirement had ended in a brutal fashion. A creature nearly twice his size smoldered by his side, its claws still sunken inside his body.
Deeper into the tunnel, several more dismembered creatures were spread around the track, all previously undetectable with thermal imagining. It confirmed her suspicion that the explosion triggered by Dalton had inadvertently saved her and Dumont’s lives.
Bowcut climbed out and sprinted toward the Jersey subway station, turning every few seconds to ensure nothing had followed. She passed marker 117, reached the next safety box, and unlatched the door.
It contained a length of rope, two bright LED lanterns, and a first aid kit.
She threw the rope over her shoulder. Both lanterns worked, bathing her immediate surroundings in an orange glow. They radiated nowhere near the power or range of her rifle light, but they provided her with two extra sources for the high-risk rescue attempt.
Being back in the tunnel left her feeling exposed in the wide space. The explosion had killed creatures close to the breach, but there was no telling how many might be left and if they were heading in her direction.
Bowcut accepted Dumont’s concerns about the danger, and the gruesome evidence backed up his point. He had a deep sense of duty and always put his team’s welfare high on the agenda. However, she could not accept leaving the hostages at the creatures’ mercy. They were the only two people currently capable of acting, and this sense of duty overrode her fear.
A breeze wafted through the tunnel.
The same thing had happened before Christiansen’s death.
Bowcut dropped to one knee.
She swept her light’s beam across the walls and punched it directly over the track. A creature hunched and glared at her through its beady eyes. Strings of saliva dangled from its teeth.
It screamed and leaped out of the glare of the light.
The strength of her resolve forced away any lingering trepidation. She advanced, following the creature’s movements. It sprung to different sides of the track and retreated out of sight.
Bowcut rounded the shallow bend at pace, making sure it had no respite from her light, and forced it away from the breach. The creature’s steps thudded into the distance as it swerved from side to side, and it disappeared into the darkness. She waited for a minute, expecting it to return the moment she trained her light away from its direction of travel.
No creatures returned.
She tied off one of the ropes around some pipes and ran it under the track into the breach. She attached the lanterns to her chest rig and scanned the area for a final time.
Faint shrieks rang out from the direction of the Pavilion.
Hundreds of them.
A rumble echoed up the tunnel, quickly building into a thunderous clatter.
She guessed the creatures had dropped their stealth techniques and were storming toward her position for a collective assault.
I can keep one at bay, maybe a group in tight tunnels, but hundreds in an open space?
Thinking fast, she tied one of the lanterns to a railroad tie at the entrance to the breach. If those creatures were coming for her from the Pavilion, this would slow them down.
Bowcut wrapped the rope between her legs and over her shoulder in the Dülfersitz position, for rappelling without mechanical tools, and lowered herself. She controlled her speed by letting the rope slide through her break hand and moved fast before the creatures arrived and severed her descent.
Her boots hit solid ground.
She shone her light toward the top of the breach, hoping to deter any creature from jumping straight down and slicing her or Dumont with a swing of the tail.
Dumont glanced over his shoulder. “That was quick.”
“Not as quick as the creatures heading our way.”
“What?”
“We need to move. Now. Some are heading up the tunnel.”
“Jesus Christ. We don’t know if this’ll even work.”
“We don’t have a choice. I’ll lead, you cover our back.” Bowcut passed him a lantern. “There’s another at the top. It might hold them for a while.”
She headed across the cavern, ducked below the stalactites, and crawled underneath the suspended cop’s body. Dumont limped after her, wincing with every step. He dropped to a reverse crawl and focused his beam on the breach while shuffling to her side.
From here, the objective was clear. In and out of the huge cavern as fast as possible and returning to the subway station with six freed hostages.
No more waiting.
No more debating.
No more losing.
Hundreds of creatures lay in wait. Hundreds more were heading in their direction. It was do or die time.
Bowcut took a deep breath and prepared to advance.
As she took her first steps forward, the shattered re
mains of the lantern she had placed at the breach dropped into the cavern.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A thin trail of smoke had risen above Manhattan after the first underground explosion. Every time Sal gazed across the river, his desire to take his diesel engine into the subway system increased. A flurry of activity on the police line had followed the second boom from inside the Jersey tunnel, but so far, nobody had followed the small SWAT team toward the Pavilion.
The alarm on his watch chirped, signaling his personal cutoff point.
He went over in his head what they knew, and it wasn’t much. They still had no word on the safety of the passengers, the mayor, the president, and, most important, his friends. An hour had passed since Mike and he were ordered to board their diesel engine, ready to move at a moment’s notice. But since then, they’d heard nothing. Either the police and MTA had done a great job at keeping silent, or they were as equally in the dark.
Sal cut his alarm and reached for the cabin’s door.
“I told you,” Mike said. “Don’t even think about it.”
“The shit’s hitting the fan. Big time. The only person who’s come out is a sickly looking cop. Enough is enough, Mike.”
“You think you’re tougher than that SWAT team?”
“Our engine is. We could barrel in, grab everyone, and be out before those terrorist assholes knew what hit ’em. This morning, two guys from Bay Ridge; this afternoon, national heroes. Right?”
“Or this afternoon, two dead idiots from Bay Ridge. Don’t be a douche. We’ve no idea if the explosions wrecked the track.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“Yes—wait for the cops to tell us.”
Asshole. Mike still wasn’t on board. And while Sal could probably go in by himself, it was definitely better to have his partner along for the ride. He shook his head and glanced around, hoping for more ammunition to persuade Mike. His eyes landed on a bunch of reporters in the parking lot gathered around a woman at the back of a blue-and-white WNBC van. Some recoiled from the open doors. Others stood staring with openmouthed expressions. Cell phone cameras flashed and raised voices drifted across to the maintenance shed.
“Betcha it’s an update,” Sal said. “I’m taking a look.”
“Stay here, buddy—we could get the call at any moment.”
“Oh, now you’re ready to go? We haven’t gotten the call yet, so might as well see what’s going on.”
Sal opened the cabin door, climbed down the short steel ladder, and headed along the platform. He couldn’t stop thinking about the footage from inside the Pavilion and the photo of Munoz’s shocked face. Those were his people down there. If the activity in the parking lot revolved around their fates, he had to find out.
More press flocked around the van, pushing forward to gain a better view of whatever had attracted the sudden interest. Sal reached the back of the throng and rose on his tiptoes, but he couldn’t see past the sea of heads. He squeezed his way past four people.
“What gives?” he asked a man in a suit.
“It’s a new photo from the Pavilion.”
“What the hell?” a woman said near the front.
Sal wrestled his way forward, squeezing his wide frame through the crowd. Inside the van, a female reporter sat next to a screen displaying a low-quality image from inside the Pavilion.
A cop lay flat on his back. Blood pooled underneath his shredded legs. A distorted black figure stood halfway out of the shot. A huge figure. Sal squinted, trying to figure out what he was looking at. It looked barely human, but that didn’t make any sense. Still, he couldn’t quite tell.
“What the hell is that?” he asked the reporter, pointing at the figure.
“I’m not sure. It’s the last image our reporter Christopher Fields sent. I’ve asked him four times, but he isn’t replying.”
“Is there any way to clear up the photo?”
“Don’t you think we’ve tried?” she asked, exasperated. “Who are you?”
“Someone who gives a shit. Did Fields say anything else?”
“There’s a gas leak or something. I don’t know where or how bad.”
“That’s it?”
She gave him a blank stare.
With no other information forthcoming, Sal forced his way clear of the crowd. The reactions on the faces around him matched his confusion. One thing was clear, though: that was a cop and he was being torn apart. By what, Sal couldn’t tell, but he knew that the photo had finally snapped his wafer-thin patience. Waiting and hoping were no longer on his agenda if the attack was still ongoing with the added threat of a gas leak. He had no way of knowing the true danger, but he had to act.
With or without Mike.
Sal walked calmly past a bunch of cops and headed back to the maintenance shed, resisting the temptation to break into a sprint and give away his intentions. He reached the push-button railroad switch halfway along the platform, glanced in either direction, and depressed it. His engine’s track silently aligned with the tunnel. A few cops and soldiers on the police line peered toward the shed, but nobody said anything to him.
Mike glared through the cab’s window suspiciously.
Sal picked up his pace, knowing his last action had already been flagged in the MTA operations command center. Any unscheduled changes guaranteed an immediate call from his boss. Usually, anyway. Today he was hoping all the chaos had that crew off their game. Still, he didn’t want to tempt fate, so he quickly climbed the cabin’s short ladder, entered, and sat behind the controls.
“Are you nuts?” Mike demanded. “They won’t let us through.”
“They can’t stop this train. The rescue failed and there’s a gas leak. It’s down to us now.”
“A gas leak? This is a goddamn diesel engine.”
“I’ll take it slow once we’re inside the tunnel. Those two explosions will’ve burned off the gas, giving us a window to get in and out.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Look, I’m not staying here any longer. If we do nothing, those people die no matter what. At least we’re giving our friends a fighting chance.”
“Or we’re bringing the match that lights the whole thing to kingdom come! We’re not going.”
“We are going.”
Mike shook his head. “You are one stubborn son of a bitch. There’s no way I’m going down there.”
“Then get off my train and suit yourself.”
Sal gunned the throttle and the engine roared. He reached forward to release the brakes and sent them on their way.
“Sal, for once in your life don’t be an asshole.”
He had no response to that, so he let his train do the talking. The engine’s sound had attracted more glances from the police on the line, but it didn’t seem they had quite caught on yet. He gazed directly beyond them at the dark tunnel. This was his time to make a difference and nothing was going to stop him.
“Oh, fuck me,” Mike said. “We’re really doing this?”
“You got a few seconds to jump.”
“You asshole. I’m not letting you go in on your own.”
Sal smiled at his best friend. They always came to the same conclusion by using different logic. He always looked at the positives and jumped in headfirst. Mike complained his way to always doing the right thing.
The engine picked up speed and barreled out of the shed in the direction of the subway tunnel entrance. Sal gave an extended blast of the horn. Most of the cops and soldiers turned to face the shed.
They clanked past the Exhibition Center’s sparkling glass pyramid and closed to within seconds of breaking through the police line. He stooped behind the controls in case any cop got an itchy trigger finger at the sight of a slowly accelerating diesel engine.
Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.
He shouldn’t have worried—uniformed men and women scattered away from the track, way too concerned about being run down by the rogue train. Someone among their ranks d
id have the presence of mind to at least shout through a bullhorn, instructing them to stop.
Sal slid the cabin’s window shut instead.
He was past listening, past the point where he considered anything other than storming to the Pavilion. If these guys weren’t prepared to help those trapped inside the subway system, that was their problem.
I’m coming, fellas!
Mike ducked down, covering his head with his arms.
The engine snapped the line of tape, rushed past the confetti-covered platform, and dipped inside the dark tunnel. Sal flicked on the headlights, blasting out two powerful beams. He eased their speed to avoid creating sparks. “What did I tell you?” he said. “Nobody fired a shot.”
Mike rose and let out a deep sigh.
They slowly clanked deeper into the tunnel. Sal focused on the route ahead, searching for any signs of the enemy. The image he just saw in the van defied logic. It defied the laws of nature. But no living thing could defy the brute force of a diesel engine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The command center’s spotlights continued to bathe the train compartment and form a clear path to the AV room. Hundreds of creatures swarmed in the darker parts of the Pavilion, their shadows occasionally flickering on the walls. Every few moments, a stocky arm or leg would test the edges of the glare before the creature would screech and retreat into the safety of the dark.
So far, so good, Cafferty thought.
During this lull in the action, he had ordered Paul DeLuca and his team to repair the damage to the train as best they could. They busily went about stretching lengths of duct tape over the gouges and tears in the car’s body, attempting to keep the atmosphere inside relatively breathable.
In the meantime, Cafferty had spent the last few minutes preparing for his mission. He and North had borrowed body armor and flashlights from members of the NYPD and attached makeshift handles on two of the smaller steel plates. He knew the rudimentary shields provided little protection, considering the state of the distant blast door. But if they stuck to the middle of the spotlight shafts, he figured they were just out of the creatures’ range.
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