Glancing over, Sal’s eyes widened at the sight of thousands of gallons of water exploding out of its entrance and racing across the polished stone ground.
“Come on!” Mike yelled.
Sal ran for all he was worth, even as Mike got the train moving down the track. No one had ever accused him of being the fastest guy in the world, but he was pretty sure he could have at least medaled in the Olympics in both the sprint and long jump, because as the water came rushing toward him, he made a desperate leap toward the open door of the diesel. He landed hard against the steel frame and felt himself slipping, when a pair of soft but firm hands grabbed his wrists.
“I got you,” Anna said, and, struggling, helped pull him in just as the water completely covered the Pavilion.
As the diesel train picked up speed down the tunnel, Sal looked back at the tons of water roaring into the Pavilion. They had gotten the train with the passengers moving, but he couldn’t help wondering if he had saved them from one death only for the torrent to rush up the tunnel, consume the train, and spit it out of the Jersey City entrance like a cork, except filled with the mangled corpses of humans . . . and creatures.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Reynolds activated another strobe grenade, lighting up the tunnel with rapid flashes. He had only a couple left, and they still had a decent stretch of the tunnel to cover.
Sweat trickled down Munoz’s face as he advanced.
There might not be enough strobe grenades left to cover our escape. And the laser could die on me at any moment.
What he wanted right now was to hear the rumble of an approaching diesel engine. But so far, he heard nothing, and that scared the crap out of him. He checked his watch. They had sixteen minutes left to escape if the communicator message had told the truth, and he saw no reason to doubt it—the person on the other end would have no reason to believe anyone but Samuels would see the text. His chest heaved and his thighs burned as they jogged up the incline. He was running on almost pure adrenaline at this point.
“Not far now, Mr. President.”
Reynolds just nodded, smartly saving his breath for the run.
The two of them kept going until a sight caused Munoz to hiss, “Stop!”
Two dead creatures lay on the ground to their front, both in pools of glistening blood. One had had its guts torn out.
“They weren’t killed in any explosion,” Munoz said.
“Hit by the diesel engine?”
“Maybe.” But he doubted it. “Something about this feels wrong.”
“Other than the dead monsters on the ground?”
Munoz ignored that and stepped onto the tracks—carefully placing his feet to avoid making a sound—and passed the lifeless bodies of the creatures. A quick glance told him that somebody or something had gone to town on them. Both had received multiple blows to the head that chipped away shards of their scaly armor and dented in their skulls. A pile of intestines, stinking like fresh horse manure, lay to the left of the closest corpse.
Reynolds shook his head. “Don’t tell me we’ve got something bigger and badder down here.”
Munoz continued forward, scanning the ground ahead, worried that was exactly what they could be facing. But then he came to a square grate lying on the track to his front . . . and a tiny silver sphere resting in a puddle. It glinted in the thin light.
A strobe grenade.
Munoz glanced over his shoulder.
A bloodied human figure leapt out of the wound in the dead creature’s stomach, raised a steel pipe over his shoulder, and crashed it into the side of Reynolds’ head.
A dull crack echoed in the tunnel and Reynolds slumped to the ground, knocked unconscious. The gun spilled out of his jacket and rested by his side.
Munoz staggered back, but he still had the presence of mind to raise the laser and fire.
A red beam shot from the barrel, missing his intended target and zipping through the tunnel.
Damn.
The figure stood over Reynolds, covered in gore, a freak show with murderous intent. Whoever it was showed speed that belied someone skilled at killing. The pipe rose for the killer blow.
“Freeze, motherfucker!” Munoz shouted. “One more move and I’ll slice off your head.”
The figure looked up, and Munoz almost dropped the gun.
It can’t be.
Can it?
The figure wore the same trousers and shirt as Samuels, except they were now shredded to ribbons and caked in blood. The back of his head had been gouged, exposing part of his skull, but the body shape made it an unmistakable match.
“Samuels!” Munoz said. “You’ve got two seconds to drop your weapon and move away from the president.”
The pipe dropped from Samuels hands and he stepped clear of Reynolds’ body, keeping his back toward Munoz.
“Hands in the air,” Munoz said. “No sudden movements.”
Samuels slowly turned to face him. Munoz gasped. He had claw marks across his chest and was missing two fingers on his left hand, and a tear across his left cheek exposed his teeth and gums, right down to his throat. A pool of blood formed under his feet, pouring out of his body from somewhere. The Secret Service agent looked like he was half dead.
Munoz wasn’t sure how he was accomplishing the other half.
“We meet again,” Samuels said coldly, his voice sounding altered from the gashes in his throat. Deeper, raspier.
“How the fuck did you survive?”
“I was . . . highly motivated,” Samuels replied, smirking with the half of his face that wasn’t ripped open. “Now, why don’t you turn around and keep running, while I complete my mission?”
Samuels began to turn back toward the president’s motionless body.
Munoz fired another warning shot with the laser, this time missing on purpose. “I didn’t say you could move, asshole.”
“You’re awfully tough using my gun,” Samuels replied.
“And you’re delusional if you think I’m gonna let you kill the president.”
“Delusional? One way or another, the president is a dead man. He gets finished here, or he gets finished if he makes it out. The Foundation always completes its mission. Your decision only affects your life. You’ve still got time to make it out before a blast wave destroys everything—the nest, the Pavilion, the tunnels, everything.”
Munoz studied the traitor and didn’t see a speck of remorse—or a lie—in his bloodshot eyes.
“Tell me something, Samuels. How is it that you can justify killing so many innocent people today? How is it that you don’t give a damn about what you’ve done?”
Samuels glared at him, wincing every few seconds and sucking in deep breaths. Finally, though, he spoke. “How do I justify what? You owe your very existence to the Foundation. You live aboveground in the sun, but you’re really in the fucking dark. You don’t know the sacrifices we make every day to keep you and everyone you know alive. So let me fill you in: there can only be one dominant species on this planet. The creatures intend to take on that mantle and humanity is standing in their way. They don’t feel remorse. They cannot be reasoned with. They’re stronger than us, evolve faster than us, and . . .”
“And?”
“And they’re smarter than us.”
“Smarter than you, maybe,” Munoz said. “But let’s say I buy your bullshit that the Foundation is nobly trying to save humanity.”
“That is precisely our mission.”
“Well then, why would you be going out of your way to kill the president? Why not just destroy the nest and move on? It seems to me that Van Ness cares more about revenge than stopping these monsters.”
Samuels grunted a laugh. “Van Ness doesn’t care if Reynolds lives or dies. The key has always been the creatures. Once we saw the signs of potentially the largest nest on record, maybe topping a million creatures, our only concern was ensuring its destruction. Which is exactly what I’ve done. My C-4 will take care of the tunnels and my colleagu
e is dealing with the nest. That’s the only thing that actually matters.” He shrugged. “Reynolds’ execution? It was merely an added bonus, sanctioned by two of his own administration.”
“You make it sound so nonchalant, like killing people is just another day at the office. That assassinating anyone who doesn’t play your game is something you can just shrug off.”
“I can shrug it off. Wanna know why? Because those assassinations save lives. You call this a game, but that’s because you still don’t get it.” Samuels grunted. “Even after all this, you still believe in the world you’ve lived in your whole life. That world only exists because of the Foundation, and we’re getting very close to a moment when even we may not be able to fight it.”
“What do you mean?”
“These nests are growing rapidly, and they are evolving to tolerate higher levels of oxygen. Mark my words. The day will come when we’ll face a battle on the surface. Men like Reynolds stand in our way, and the Foundation simply cannot tolerate that. Humanity can’t tolerate that. He put your life—and the lives of every single person on this planet—in danger out of ego.”
Munoz shook his head in disbelief. Clearly, Samuels had drank the Kool-Aid.
But then again, so had he.
How often have I been on my podcast, talking about shit just like this?
“How many of these nests are there? How many have you destroyed?”
“My personal handiwork? The Chicago ‘gas explosion’ of 2011, the Amsterdam tenement fire that wiped out three city blocks in 2014, the London sewer implosion in 2016. I could go on and on, but I’d rather finish my job . . .”
“Those were all cover stories for the Foundation destroying other nests?” Munoz asked, ignoring Samuels’ comment.
“You’re finally learning.”
“I . . . but . . .” Munoz was trying to process all this. The creatures were real—he’d seen them, fought them, and killed them. There was no disputing that. But how had they never been encountered before? How was this simply hidden? Where—
“Where did they come from?”
“Hardly the time and place for a history lesson, ese.”
Munoz held the gun up straighter at Samuels’ head.
“If you insist. These monsters lived here long before the first bipeds wandered the plains of Africa. A few ancient civilizations dug deep enough to breach a nest. The Mayans vanished from Chichen Itza in 900 a.d. and the Toltecs in 1300 a.d.. They’ve been hiding in plain sight on some centuries-old rock carvings and paintings. Visit Wadi Mathendous in Libya, Kondoa Irangi in Tanzania, Kakadu National Park in Australia, El Abra in Colombia, Tassili n’Ajjer in Algeria, and Vernal in Utah if you want to see proof.” Samuels cleared his throat and spat a thick globule of blood.
“If they’ve been around so long, then why the urgency to destroy their nests now?”
“Human advancement. Urban expansion and population growth have necessitated massive underground excavation. Tunnels for water management, mass transportation. Never before in human history have we dug deeper into the earth. Understand this: we’ve encroached on them, not vice versa. We’ve unearthed nests and expedited their evolution. I’ve witnessed them becoming more skilled at avoiding our traps, appearing higher and higher in the earth’s crust. Apparently, sixty years ago they could barely move a chair with their telekinetic power. Five years ago, I watched a cluster of them drag a human down into the abyss.”
“Telekinetic power?” Munoz asked. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Believe what you want. Just know this—these creatures are evolving faster than we are. They can no longer be contained. If we don’t stop them, there won’t be any humanity left to defend. Now, put down my gun, let me finish my job, and let’s get out of this tunnel before it blows.”
Reynolds groaned and rolled onto his side.
Munoz’s finger twitched on the trigger and his eyes squinted. The clock was ticking, and he’d gained enough information about the Foundation to satisfy his immediate curiosity. His mind was reeling, but at the moment the main thing was what to do with Samuels before completing his escape.
This prick is responsible for killing my team . . .
“Don’t be a fool,” Samuels said. “I can see in your eyes what you’re thinking. Let me pick up the pipe.”
“So you can kill me? Get the fuck outta here.”
Reynolds murmured and raised his hand to his head.
“You are not part of my mission. You have my word I’ll let you go. But I am going to finish this no matter what. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Samuels said, and edged toward Reynolds.
“Step away from the president.”
Samuels edged closer.
“Get the fuck away from the president!”
Samuels dove for the pipe.
Munoz fired the laser.
A brilliant red line speared from the muzzle and punched through Samuels’ lower left side. Munoz shifted his aim up, diagonally cutting through the Secret Service agent’s abdomen and chest, sending blood and guts splattering across the track until the beam sliced out from his right shoulder.
Samuels’ upper half slid backward, his lower half fell forward, and both parts of his dead body landed in a heap.
Munoz let out a deep breath, staring at the corpse.
A groggy Reynolds came to and bolted to a sitting position. Munoz moved over to him and helped him get back on his feet. Blood trickled from a swollen cut over his left eye, and he blinked and flexed his jaw.
“What the fuck—he’s back from the dead?”
“Not anymore,” Munoz replied.
“Jesus. Thanks, Diego. That’s about the fifth time you’ve save my life.”
Munoz wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that anymore.
Samuels’ secret communicator buzzed in Munoz’s pocket. He pulled it out and peered at the screen. A message read, “Confirm extermination.” It was from “AVN.”
“You might want to see this,” he said, passing Reynolds the device. “Look at the initials.”
“It’s him. It’s Albert Van Ness.” Reynolds tapped a reply and flashed the display toward Munoz. “Let’s see what he thinks of this.”
You failed. Now I’m coming after you.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Seawater jetted through a crack in the cavern’s ceiling, soaking the ground. Lucien Flament edged backward, gun extended, and swept it across the group. The Frenchman’s expression had transformed from perpetually neutral to a sneer, and Cafferty realized the apparent guardian angel turned mysterious creature hunter had quickly transformed into their enemy.
The strobe grenades Flament had thrown were losing power, and the shrieks from the passages grew louder by the second. With time running out, something had to give.
“What the hell are you doing?” North shouted. “You said you were saving our lives.”
“I said many things. It served a purpose. Now please shut up—I can’t stand to hear whining, especially in an American accent.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Flament sighed and rolled his eyes, muttering something in French. “Does it matter?”
“You’re about to kill us all. It fucking matters!”
“If you must know, there’s something invigorating about seeing people on the brink of death. All emotions and senses are heightened. They do and say things you don’t see in normal walks of life. I suppose I’m a collector of these snapshots. They intrigue me.”
“You’re a sick bastard,” Ellen Cafferty said.
“I see your opinion of me has changed,” Flament replied with an insincere smile. “I’m wounded.”
“How do you know him?” Cafferty asked Ellen. “Who is he?”
“Not now, Tom. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“You never told him, did you?” Flament said. “He should thank my virility for giving him an opportunity to see you again.”
“What’s he talking about?” Caf
ferty snapped.
“Don’t listen to him,” Ellen said. “He’s mad.”
“Completely mad. But look around, Mr. Mayor. Does anything strike you as odd about the women your wife finds herself in the company of?”
Cafferty scanned the other survivors not in SWAT uniforms. All women. All frightened. Some . . . pregnant. But . . . Ellen and he hadn’t been intimate for months. Ever since she learned of his marital indiscretion, that part of their life ended. Her angry stare at Flament told him everything he needed to know, though. He glared at the Frenchman, clenched his fist, and advanced.
“Very cute, Monsieur Mayor, but that’s far enough,” Flament said, pointing his strange gun directly at Cafferty’s face. “We French are the best lovers because we don’t treat seduction with negative connotations. It’s just a game, something to be played out until the lure is irresistible. I seduced Ellen because, well, she’s lovely. And because I knew I’d be seeing you here, and it amused me to know I had that over you. Then, today, I seduced you into helping me while you thought I was helping you.” Flament glanced at his watch. “Truly, though, I must say my good-byes now.”
Ellen gripped Cafferty’s arm. “Tom, you have to believe me, I am so, so sorry. You and I were basically separated and he caught me at my most vulnerable. It only happened once. I promise. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“I . . .”
There were no words, though. Because he did believe her. And he knew he had no right to be angry—his own neglect and affair had clearly pushed her into Flament’s arms. But that would be what a rational person felt. And everything about today was far from rational. The confession, both the words and the look on her face, tore at his guts worse than any of the creatures could have. Mostly, though, he felt sick at himself for feeling mad at her. He thought he would crumble right there.
“You should be thanking me,” Flament said. The Frenchman smirked in a way that would drive a pacifist to violence. “You see, the only reason your wife is alive right now is because she’s carrying my child. We don’t know why the creatures are studying these women, but the Foundation for Human Advancement intends to find out.”
Awakened Page 24
