“That’s not happening if you blow us all up, is it?”
“There are plenty more creatures . . . and plenty more pregnant women. Don’t worry—we’ll suss it out.” Flament took a step back. “Au revoir, my friends. My transport is waiting.”
“You can’t leave us down here, you son of a bitch!”
“I’m quite sure you’re wrong, Cafferty. I can leave you down here, and I will. Because no one—no one—is making it out of these tunnels alive.
“Especially not you or your wife.”
Bowcut couldn’t believe her ears. An organization dedicated to fighting the creatures. One of its undercover agents engineering an affair for blackmail purposes and casually talking about the group’s fate as if discussing the pros and cons of future picks for the MLB draft. All of this was irrelevant, though, if they couldn’t find a way out, and fast.
She gripped the handle of her knife behind her back and shuffled forward a few inches, closing the distance between her and Flament. He needed stopping, immediately. Cafferty and the Frenchman continued their conversation, with the mayor becoming increasingly loud and red-faced.
The strobe light had reduced to faint flickers, reflecting off the water pooling around her boots. Creatures would be on top of them at any moment, and in her recovered state, she knew the peril of facing their massed ranks without the use of Flament’s specialized weapons.
There was no way on God’s green earth the Frenchman was swanning out of the cavern after he revealed himself. This had to end now.
Bowcut focused solely on his movements as he repeatedly swept his gun across the group, figuring out the best time to pounce.
“I’m quite sure you’re wrong, Cafferty. I can leave you down here, and I will. Because no one—no one—is making it out of these tunnels alive.
“Especially not you or your wife.”
Flament aimed at the far end of the group.
Bowcut lunged forward and closed to within three feet.
The Frenchman swung his gun toward her in a rapid, smooth movement.
He was fast, but he was also cocky. She’d seen him move earlier, and it was clear he was highly trained. And normally he’d probably have caught her between the eyes. But she was prepared, and she expected him to round on her with his gun. So she reached inside his arm before he had the chance to shoot and parried the weapon with her left fist.
The laser gun discharged, creating a red-hot flash as the beam of light pierced through the cavern.
A man roared in pain. Maybe Dumont . . . or Cafferty . . . or North.
Flament looked bemused, as if he couldn’t quite understand why she wasn’t already dead. Bowcut rammed the tip of her knife underneath his chin. The blade drove through his jugular, up inside his open mouth, and plunged into his palate.
This should shut the sick fuck up.
The Frenchman’s eyes bulged.
His gun thudded against the ground.
Blood spilled over his bottom lip and gushed down his chin.
Flament gargled and reached forward, and his hand weakly slid down Bowcut’s chest rig. She brushed it away and looped his satchel off his shoulder, ripped out the knife, and took a step back.
He stared at her through half-closed eyes. His left leg buckled, and he reached out once more as if to ask her something. Bowcut answered his unasked question with a kick toward his chest. The sole of her boot smashed into his sternum, sending him skidding backward to the edge of a passage.
A dozen razor-sharp claws reached out, dug into his skull, and dragged Flament into the blackness. Dark figures thrashed, snarling and growling, ripping apart the Frenchman’s body. Savaged body parts sprayed into the cavern, showering her boots and cargo pants with blood, followed by a broken pair of circular glasses.
Several of the women took sharp intakes of breath.
Bowcut didn’t even flinch.
It was over, but the roar behind her . . .
North had crouched over Dumont’s prone body.
She rushed over to see her captain clutching the upper left part of his chest. Blood seeped between his fingers, and his crimson lips made his face look an even paler shade of white under the glare of the weakening strobes.
“The prick fired a laser,” North said while ripping out one of Dumont’s field dressings. “Went straight through him.”
“We’re not leaving you behind, Captain,” Bowcut said. “Hang in there.”
North pressed the bandage over the wound. “He’s bleeding out. Gimme some space.”
Dumont clutched Bowcut’s rig and tugged her closer. “Sarah, I need you to tell—”
“Don’t give up on us,” she said, more in hope, considering the area of the wound. “We didn’t come this far to lose you.”
“Get the hell out of here. All of you. Tell Marci I love her.”
“No . . .”
Dumont’s eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled to the side.
“Captain!” Bowcut lifted him by the shoulders.
“Promise me,” he whispered. “You’ll get these women outta here alive.”
Dumont let out a deep sigh and relaxed in her arms.
“Captain!”
North checked for a pulse on Dumont’s wrist and neck.
His gaunt face told her the result.
He lifted the soggy dressing and peered at the wound. Finally, he made eye contact with Bowcut. “You did the right thing taking out Flament.”
“The right thing? It killed Dumont.”
“That French fuck would’ve killed every one of us, and you stopped him. Dumont understood that, just like he understood we’re all dead if we don’t get moving.”
He was right, and pure looks of terror on the women pressed against the wall told her, too. There was no time for regret. They still had a perilous journey through the methane-filled caverns to contend with, and their survival wasn’t even close to being guaranteed.
North grabbed the satchel, set down Flament’s communicator, a camera, and a pile of eight strobe grenades. He squeezed the sides of four grenades, tossing them in turn down each of the passages.
Flashing light erupted from all sides, back at full strength.
The creatures’ shrieks faded into the distance as they fled.
“Can you disarm it?” Cafferty asked, peering down at the timer hooked up to the C-4. “Like immediately?”
“I’m not sure it matters,” North said.
“What do you mean?”
“Flament told us they planted multiple charges in the tunnels, remember? Any one will ignite the methane.”
“He might be lying,” Bowcut said.
“We don’t have the time to risk that,” North replied. “Leave it here. We’ve got fourteen minutes and our only hope is catching that train. If it hasn’t already passed the breach, that is.”
“What train?”
“A diesel engine barreled into the Pavilion to drag out the train.”
The train gave them another reason to get their asses moving. Bowcut picked up Flament’s gun. It weighed more than she expected and a green light glowed on top of it, but more crucially, it didn’t ignite the whole place when it previously fired. “We need to move.”
“No argument here.” Cafferty clasped Ellen’s hand. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Tom, I’m—”
“Don’t. You don’t need to apologize. All this was my doing, and I’m just grateful you’re alive. I lost you once. I don’t want to lose you ever again.”
“I love you so much.”
“I love you, too—”
“No offense,” Bowcut said. “But save it for later.” She planted one final kiss on David North’s lips. “Well, later beginning now.”
“Let’s move out,” North shouted.
Bowcut took one last lingering look at Dumont before leading the group in an upward direction. Leaving the captain’s body here went unsaid, but that was just another unwanted action forced upon them today. A necessary
evil. She aimed her laser along the flashing passage and moved forward at a fast pace, driving back any stray creatures who lurked behind boulders and outcrops. She and North were as much a team down in the tunnels as they were partners on the topside. He wielded his spotlight deftly, always filling the space her laser wasn’t covering. They were in sync, and the group progressed quickly. They raced through the tunnel, even as her own mind raced about the death of Captain Dumont . . . and the man who caused it.
She sliced apart a creature to her left, and they kept going.
Sarah Bowcut had grown up with a father and a brother who firmly believed there was right and wrong. Good and evil. Justice and oppression. Flament’s Foundation seemed to think there were other rules to this world.
She refused to let that live in their world.
If I survive, these fuckers are going to pay.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Sweat poured down Sal’s face, soaking the collar of his gray T-shirt as the diesel engine clanked into the tunnel. On the reversing camera screen, the IMAX projector pumped out fifteen thousand watts of light, clearing their route to freedom. Through the cabin’s window, spotlights glared from the sides of the car, brightening the walls and ceiling, and the tanks hissed out oxygen.
Everything was set for their journey of no return.
It had to work.
Anything else didn’t bear contemplating.
Water flooded onto the track, though they had the power to outrun it if necessary, providing the Pavilion didn’t cave in. His hands trembled from the vibration of sixty thousand pounds of thrust driving the engine toward Jersey City. He kept the speed steady, reducing the risk of igniting the methane, and calculated that if he had to slow for the other group, they’d be back inside the maintenance shed in nine minutes.
“This is fucked up,” Mike said. “Imagine what those creatures will do to our cabin if they can smash in a blast door.”
“It’s not like we have a choice, buddy.”
“Holy shit, Sal. Look.”
On the reversing camera screen, black figures clung to the top of the tunnel and hunched by the sides of the track, all with their backs turned. Sal’s heartrate spiked. He knew increasing the throttle might blow them all to hell. The people in the car had clearly fought creatures off before . . . Maybe they could again.
“They might be sensing this is their last chance,” Mike said.
“Who knows what they think? I ain’t stopping to find out.”
The train neared the creatures.
The full power of the projector washed over their bodies.
Piercing shrieks rose over the sound of the engine.
Within seconds, the train powered into the black mass. Sal and Mike watched on the camera as the creatures leaped to different parts of the tunnel, unable to find any cover from the brilliant light. The frenetic mess outside reminded him of a colony of bats in a cave somehow transforming into a swarm of wasps.
God, get us out of here . . .
But it was the devil who answered his prayer, as three creatures dropped onto the car and slammed their claws against the roof, again and again, ripping out slices of metal. Even from here, he heard the muffled shouts and screams from the train car. He was surprised his own voice wasn’t joining them.
Mike backed away from the window.
Sal told himself to stay focused. His goal was to get these people out of here; panicking wouldn’t help. Accelerating was their final and potentially deadly option, but they weren’t there yet . . .
The engine juddered, followed by a deafening crack.
“What the hell?” Mike yelled.
Sal peered out the side window, trying to locate the cause. Several creatures threw themselves at the side of the engine. He lost his balance after the second blow and slammed into the dashboard.
“How can they be this strong?” Mike said. “It wasn’t like this on the way down.”
“I told you, I ain’t stopping to ask.”
The engine bashed through the main body of creatures, taking repeated blows, though none powerful enough to stop their advance. A heartbeat later, they cleared the writhing black mass and hit a clear section of the track.
But at least three creatures had latched on to the undercarriage. Their claws gripped the bottom edge and their tails whipped out.
Sal had to do something before they derailed. It was time to take a risk. “Hold on tight,” he said. “Let’s hope the oxygen tanks are doing the job.”
“Wait!”
Waiting wasn’t an option. Sal yanked the brakes. The electronic traction-control system automatically activated the sand sprayers in front of each wheel, providing much greater traction. The sudden loss of momentum sent two of the creatures flying forward, tumbling out of control up the track. One fell from the car’s roof. Sal released the brakes and pushed the throttle forward.
“Fuck you,” he yelled.
The diesel engine plowed into the creatures, crushing them under the weight of the wheels. Blood and body parts splattered against the tunnel walls.
A razor-sharp tail lashed one of the cabin’s left windows, shattering it to pieces. Fragments of glass exploded into Sal’s face. He staggered back, grabbed the controls to stop himself from falling, and caught a reflection of himself in the front window. Tiny nicks peppered his face, but he was still alive, coherent, and determined.
“Keep your head down, Mike.”
“I can’t keep my lunch down.”
Mike turned to the corner and heaved. Foul-smelling vomit splashed onto the floor.
A remaining creature ripped off one of the car’s steel plates, revealing the passengers inside, weapons raised. It bashed the plate against a spotlight, shattering the glass and killing its beam. It dragged a cop through a hole in the roof. Its teeth clamped around his face and its claws raked along his body, slicing his shirt to ribbons and tearing open his torso.
Sal swallowed hard. It was his first sight of a creature attacking a human, and the lightning barbarity momentarily paralyzed him. He had expected to come across chilling scenes in the subway system after seeing the photo and the state of the Pavilion, but watching an attack in the flesh . . .
People in the car swung improvised weapons at the gaping hole, sending the creature scuttling to another exposed part of the roof. It dragged another cop’s body through, thrashing him around like a rag doll.
Mike crouched by his pool of vomit, clutching his arms around his knees.
“Hang in there,” Sal said. “We’ll get through this.”
Mike murmured a response.
Sal grabbed his radio. “Any station, do you hear me, over?”
Nobody replied.
“Any station, do you hear, over?”
Nothing.
The car’s glare had stopped the creatures from venturing inside. That would change if they continued to gouge off sections of the roof and destroyed the overhead lights. Sal didn’t know how much longer they could hold out, but it couldn’t be long. And after the defenses had fallen, the creatures would be free to tear everyone apart.
He knew they had to speed up. They were going too slow to survive the onslaught.
The decision Sal faced was the toughest in his life. The oxygen tanks wouldn’t last forever, and he didn’t know the extent of the gas leak. Accelerating, causing repeated sparks, might kill everyone.
But it might also save them.
Might.
It was an impossible choice.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Munoz jogged up the track, moments from hitting broad daylight with time to spare before the C-4 detonated, and he rounded a sweeping bend that led to the mouth of the Jersey tunnel. He had no regrets about killing Samuels. The Secret Service agent had intended to leave Reynolds and him floating in the flooded docking station with bullet holes in the back of their heads.
Bangs echoed from deeper inside the tunnel, too faint to tell if they were from the diesel engine or the creatures causing
more mayhem before being blown to oblivion. Whatever the source, it sounded far away—deep enough inside the subway system that if it were the train it stood little chance of making it to safety.
Munoz peered over his shoulder to check for any following creatures. Reynolds wheezed a few steps behind, but they had used their last strobe and only had the laser for protection, if it still had any juice left . . .
“Slow down,” Reynolds said. “We need to chat before heading out.”
Munoz eased to a fast walk. “About what?” he asked, though he was pretty sure he knew what the president was about to say.
“About how you need to keep quiet about Van Ness and the creatures. Pretend you never saw a thing. It’s for my protection, and yours.”
“It doesn’t feel like it’s for my protection. Besides, haven’t there been enough lies? Isn’t this a perfect time to expose him and the nightmare living below our streets?”
“And cause a worldwide panic? And let the people who perpetrated this find a way to escape? No, my first order of business is to root out the traitors involved in this conspiracy. I can’t do that until I gather a team I implicitly trust and make plans to arrest every one of them in a single swoop—the secretary of defense, whoever else. I want to bring these sons of bitches down, trust me. But if we go public, they’ll disappear.”
“How are you gonna manage that?”
“I’ll find out anyone involved with the contracts or who attended meetings with the Foundation. Blake Mansfield’s personal phone and email records will probably say a lot. I need your cooperation, Diego. Promise me you won’t say a word until I have these traitors arrested.”
Munoz wasn’t quite sure he could do this. He had been through a hell of a lot with the president, and that meant something, but it didn’t necessarily mean he trusted him. There was a certain level of reasoning to Reynolds’ words, but there was also a lot of political nonsense that Munoz couldn’t stomach. He hadn’t killed a man to keep this quiet. He wasn’t about to let all those people in the Pavilion die for nothing, either.
But he also wasn’t stupid.
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