Slaughter in the Ashes

by William W. Johnstone

  “Then let’s get packed up and make plans to get the hell gone from here.”

  Ben bumped Ike on scramble and told him what they were planning.

  “I was just about to tell you to get out of the park, Ben. Aerial recon shows the punks appear to be massing for an attack against your position. For some reason, they’re mainly coming at you from the west.”

  “All right, Ike. We’re out of here. Eagle out.” Ben turned to Judy. “You people know all the rabbit holes in and out of the park. I’ll follow your lead.”

  “How much time do we have, Ben?”

  Ben shrugged. “When you hear the mortars incoming, we’re out of time.”

  She put serious eyes on him. “I don’t know where to take us.”

  “This park is going to be first blown all to hell, and then filled with punks. And you know what they’re going to do if they take you women alive. Just get the people out of here.”

  Ben figured they had probably less than a hour before the gangs struck. He looked up at the sky. About four hours of daylight left.

  Ben packed up his gear just as Judy walked up, wearing a heavy pack. “We’re going to go out the east side, Ben. Through an old drainage tunnel we found. That will lead us underground, into the tunnels.”

  Ben stared at her for a moment. “The creeps—the uglies, as you call them?”

  “There may be seven or eight hundred of them. As compared to thousands of punks.”

  Ben nodded. “We’ll take our chances against the uglies, then.”

  “There is a chance there won’t be any in that area. When the punks started arriving, we noticed the uglies began pulling out.”

  “We can always hope.”

  “You ready?”

  “Anytime. I just want to activate a few more claymores before we pull out. I want to leave a few surprises behind for the punks.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll pass the word to keep this area clear.”

  Ben spent a few minutes carefully placing claymores and then backed away, joining the others. “Let’s go.”

  The lead-off men led the group single-file into thick brush, the elderly men and women and the small children placed in the middle of the column to reduce their chances of being separated. It was not a long walk to the edge of the park, but it was tough going through the thick underbrush that had been deliberately allowed to grown wild. There, the group halted for a moment’s rest.

  “The drainage pipe is over there,” Judy pointed. “In all that brush. It wasn’t in use for years before the Great War. Not many people know it’s there.”

  “Where the hell does it lead?” Ben asked.

  “Originally, it flowed to the sewer under the city. But the uglies, I guess it was them, knocked out the brick wall and enlarged the whole thing. I’ll be honest with you—we really don’t know where it comes out. It’s a maze under there. But we do know that if you get lost, just keep walking and looking up. There are manhole covers and exits into buildings the uglies knocked out long ago. I’ve been lost in there several times. The first time, I thought panic would give me a heart attack. Then I learned it’s practically impossible to get really lost.” She looked away from Ben to nod at Doctor James. “Go ahead,” she said quietly.

  Ben watched as the doctor and his nurse began giving the younger kids shots to knock them out, and he knew why it was being done—there were rats in the tunnels as big as small dogs. This would insure the kids’ silence. Ben had questioned the doctor’s request for the drugs when he had first called in to Ike, but had done so silently, figuring the medical man had his reasons. Now he knew why.

  The group rested quietly for a few more minutes, until the drug started taking effect and the kids began yawning. When they could no longer keep their eyes open, they were picked up and held while others tied them in place on the adults.

  “Let’s do it,” Judy said, standing up.

  One by one, the people began disappearing into the darkness that loomed just a few feet inside the wide drainage pipe. Ben brought up the rear, and there he placed several claymores outside and just inside of the huge pipe.

  Then he stepped into the darkness and the unknown, walking down the slight slant into the maze of tunnels that lay under the city.

  TWELVE

  They all carried plenty of extra batteries for the flashlights Ben had requested from the aerial drop, and candles to be used if they had to spend more time than anticipated in the darkness of the tunnels.

  They had gone only a few hundred feet in the oppressive darkness when the nearly overpowering stench of rotting human flesh hit them like a hammer blow. Even the drugged and sleeping children stirred in the arms of those carrying them, wrinkling their noses against the sickening smell.

  Judy halted the column and called for Ben to join her up front. “They’ve come back,” she whispered. “They haven’t been this close in months.”

  “We probably pushed them this way,” Ben told her. “Pass the word, no candles or open flames of any sort. There might be methene down here.”

  “You can bet the uglies know we’re here,” she responded.

  “Put someone else in the rear. I’ll stay up here with you.”

  Judy assigned two other men to bring up the drag, and she and Ben took the point, working their way slowly eastward through the huge drainage pipe. Stinking dark water slopped at their boots and often the powerful beams from their flashlights would catch huge, beady-eyed rats glaring at them, their hairless obscene tails trailing behind them in the filth.

  Light suddenly flooded the chamber ahead of them and Judy said, “Open manhole cover. Pass the word—absolutely no noise as we pass under it.”

  “Does that mean we’ve passed one block?” Ben asked.

  “Yes. At least three more to go.”

  The column began passing noiselessly under the open manhole cover, with two people counting each head as it passed. When the last person went by, they passed the word: everybody accounted for.

  Around a bend in the tunnel, and darkness once more swallowed them. Silence, except for the scratching of tiny clawed feet as the big rats reluctantly gave ground before them. But some of them gave no ground, squatting on the ledges and glaring balefully as the humans passed by.

  “I hate rats,” Judy whispered.

  “Join the club,” Ben returned the whisper.

  Two blocks later, and Ben and Judy each threw up a hand to signal a halt. The beams of their flashlights had flicked over, then quickly arced back and settled on a scene out of a horror writer’s nightmare: several thousand rats were blocking the tunnel. The mound of moving, hairy, filthy rodents was several feet tall and several feet wide. From under the disgusting ever-moving mound, Ben and Judy could see the gnawed-on hands, feet and arms of once-human beings. White glistening bone now, with only a few scraps of meat still remaining.

  “Sweet Jesus Christ!” Judy gasped.

  “Back up,” Ben said. “Back to the last manhole. We can’t go any further in this tunnel.”

  Judy pointed a shaky finger at the moving mound. “But that . . .”

  “What’s left of the uglies’ dinner,” Ben replied, trying to keep the disgust and horror out of his voice. “This is where they put the leftovers, I guess. Come on, back up. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Slowly the column backed up, with many wondering what was going on, for the majority of the men and women who made up the small band of survivors had been spared the sight of the rats feeding on dead human flesh.

  “We’re going to be a couple of blocks short, Ben,” Judy said.

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “No.”

  “No point in discussing it then.”

  The smell had caused several people to lose their lunch. The sounds of gagging and retching filled the tunnel for several moments.

  “Watch your step,” Ben advised drily.

  Ben did not lose his lunch. He had seen worse over the years. But at the moment he would be hard-pressed
to recall it.

  “Who . . . ?” Judy gasped on the way back to the last manhole cover.

  “I don’t know. Maybe punks the creeps waylaid over the past few weeks. The bodies haven’t been there long. Maybe there are more survivors in the ruins than you think. We’ll never know, Judy, so put it out of your mind.”

  “I hate those damn uglies!”

  “You’re at the end of a long list, dear. Move!”

  Two of the younger survivors went up the ladder and out the manhole cover. They were gone for a couple of minutes before one called down, “It’s all clear. Come on and be quick about it. The men carrying the kids up first. Untie the ropes and pass them up, then follow. Head for the ruins to the east. It’s what’s left of a church, I think.”

  The words had no sooner left his mouth when the unmistakable sounds of mortars came to those in the tunnels.

  “It’s started,” Ben said. “That’s why there are no punks around here. They’ve all massed around the park for the final assault. They’ll probably soften up the park for an hour, concentrating first on the areas they know are rigged with booby traps. Then they’ll hit the park. It won’t take them long to discover we’re gone.” Ben reached out in the dim light and brushed several large roaches off Judy’s back.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “Very large, ugly roaches, Judy.”

  She shuddered in revulsion as Ben picked another roach out of her hair.

  “There are roaches on the island of Madagascar that grow to four inches in length and stand up on their hind legs and hiss and spit,” he said.

  “Now, I really could have done without that knowledge!”

  Ben chuckled.

  “But so far they’re found only on that island.”

  “Unless you’re just trying to make me feel better, thank God for small favors.”

  “Kids are clear and in the ruins across the street, Judy!” Greg called.

  “The elderly next,” she returned the call. “Then we go as we’re lined up.”

  “A squad of men out, Judy,” Ben gently corrected. “Throw up a defensive line. Then the elderly.”

  “You’re right, Ben. I’m not thinking.” She corrected her orders.

  “Clear!” The word was called after a few moments, as the defensive line got into place street-level.

  “I’ll go last,” Ben said.

  Ben waited until the last man had climbed up the ladder, then took a final look at his surroundings. Several dozen rats had left the huge mound of rotting cadavers and they squatted along the sides of the tunnels, glaring hate at him, their eyes glowing wickedly in the gloom.

  Topside, he breathed in and out deeply, several times, clearing his lungs if not his nostrils of the dreadful stench of the tunnels. Then he moved over to the ruins of the old church and squatted there behind cover, listening to the punks’ bombardment of the park. He lifted his handy-talkie.

  “We’re clear of the park,” he radioed. “To the east side as planned. Four blocks east. Start dropping them in, people, and good shooting.”

  Across the Hudson River, Rebel gunners manning 105s and 155s began lobbing in a variety of rounds with deadly accuracy and effectiveness. The 155s were using anti-personnel rounds, each shell filled with from 36 to 60 high-explosive anti-personnel grenades. Some of the 105s were using a mixed bag of rounds, from HE to anti-personnel. Whatever they used, the rounds were falling dead on with devastating results, and it stopped the punks’ advance into the park cold.

  Ben climbed up on top of a building that had, miraculously, remained virtually intact during the Rebels’ assault several years before. Using binoculars, he peered over the several blocks of ruins and rubble and began calling in rounds. Ben smiled, thinking, You might call me an RO, for rear observer.

  Judy climbed up to join him. “You thought of where you might take us?” Ben asked.

  “No. Wherever we go on this rock, we’re still going to be within mortar range of those bastards.” She jerked her head toward the park.

  “Yes, but when my people are through today, there will be considerably fewer of the species known as punk, you can be assured of that.”

  “That will help us right now. But the question is—can we survive until your people take this damn rock?”

  “Oh, we’ll survive, Judy. Put any doubts about that out of your mind. Even if we have to go down into the old subway system to do it.”

  “More of that remains than you might think, Ben. I’d say at least a hundred or so miles. Your people wrecked about half of it.”

  “And only God knows how many miles of other long forgotten tunnels are under the city.”

  “Hundreds of miles of them, Ben. But what uglies are left live down there. And the rats.”

  Ben grimaced. “Well, we’ll go into the drainage tunnels only as a last resort. But the subways . . . that might be our salvation.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t like the underground.”

  “Neither do I. But the prospect of getting captured by punks appeals to me even less.”

  “You do have a point.”

  “Is anyone in your group familiar with what remains of the subway tunnels?”

  “Oh, yes. Several of the men.”

  Ben looked at her for a moment, neither of them speaking. Finally, Judy nodded in agreement. “We don’t have much choice in the matter, do we?”

  “Not a whole lot.”

  “I’ll get Mike, see what he says about it. I honestly don’t know where the nearest entrance is. I do my best to avoid those places.”

  Ben stood alone on the roof for a time, watching the Rebel gunners blast the punks on the west side of the park. He sensed Mike coming up to stand quietly beside him and turned.

  “Judy says you’re thinking about moving us into the tunnels, general.”

  “You have a better plan?”

  “Not really, sir. We’ve got emergency rations to last us for a time but water is going to be a problem.”

  “You know where there is some seepage?”

  “Yes, sir. But I sure as hell wouldn’t want to drink that stuff.”

  “We can boil it and then purify it with tablets. Believe me when I say my people have drunk water that at first glance would gag a maggot.”

  Mike smiled. “All right, sir.”

  “How far are we from a subway entrance?”

  “About two blocks.”

  “Then I guess we’d better do it, Mike. It’ll be uncomfortable, but we’ll be alive. And my people are gearing up to once more assault this rock. A few more days, and we’ll be home free.” I hope, Ben silently added.

  “Then I’ll get the people ready to move, sir.”

  “Send a patrol to check out the subway entrance first, Mike. Use the walkie-talkies from the drop. The punks don’t have the equipment to intercept any transmission from them.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir?”

  Ben cut his eyes.

  “Is it true that there is no crime down in the SUSA?”

  “It’s true, Mike. We have zero tolerance for crime and criminals.”

  “What a wonderful place that must be to live and raise a family.”

  Ben smiled. “You’d be surprised. I figure about half of your group could make it down there.”

  “This bunch? Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all. It takes a very special person to live down there, Mike. When your people are out of this box and free to make choices, you’ll see.”

  “Well, count me in as one who will make it, general.”

  “Oh, you will, Mike. I have no doubts about that.”

  “I’ll send that patrol out now.”

  “We don’t have much daylight left,” Ben reminded the man.

  “Where we’re going, general,” Mike replied grimly, “that won’t make a bit of difference.”

  THIRTEEN

  Ben waited topside and stood guard with a small team of survivors while the others disappeared into the darkness of the old subway
system. Ben waved the others down until he was alone at street level.

  “All right, Ike,” he muttered. “We can last about a week if we’re both careful and lucky. So get it in gear, boy.”

  Ben stood up and took one last look at the outside world, then walked down the rubble-littered steps, being careful not to disturb the war-torn look of them.

  “This way, general,” a man called. “To your right.”

  Ben joined the man and together they walked past the turnstiles and out to the platforms, where over the years millions of people had waited for transportation to and from home and work—back when the world made a little sense.

  Ben hopped down to the tracks and began following the bobbing beam of the survivor’s flashlight as the man walked deeper into the tunnel.

  “I don’t like it either, general,” the man called over his shoulder, as if reading Ben’s mind. “Nobody in their right mind likes the tunnels.”

  As he walked, Ben sniffed the air. There was not the slightest whiff of creepie. He said as much.

  “They’re spotty throughout the city,” the man replied. Ahead of them, Ben could see the darting beams of flashlights. “As you know far better than me, there used to be thousands of uglies in the city. After you people got through with them a few years back—before any of us got here—there were only about a thousand or so left . . . at least that’s how we figure it. But they had done a lot of work down here in the tunnels. You’ll see. Some of us, before we banded together, used to hide out down here.”

  They caught up with the main group just as a man stuck his head out of a large vent of some sort, about six feet off the tracks and about three feet up from a concrete walkway. “All clear, folks,” he said. “Hand the kids up.” The iron grate to the vent lay off to one side, propped up on the ledge.

  One by one, the kids began disappearing into the side of the tunnel. Once during a rest break, Ben stepped up onto the ledge and looked inside. He stood for a moment, astonished. There was a walkway about six feet in diameter that opened up into an enormous cavern. The room was as large as a gymnasium.

  The man who was helping the kids and the elderly into the cavern smiled at the expression on Ben’s face. “There are places like this all over Manhattan, general. This big rock is honeycombed with natural caves and tunnels. I don’t know when this air vent was put up, but I’ll wager this cavern has been long forgotten.”