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.”
“Can we use it?” Cafferty asked.
“The battery’s at two percent. Maybe for a single transmission.”
“To who?”
“To whoever he sent this image.”
“Who’s on the other end of the communicator?” Cafferty asked Fields.
“Go to hell.”
“You idiot—this message could save everyone,” North said. “Who’s on the other end?”
Fields paled as the realization dawned on him. “My—my assistant. She’s outside the Jersey City station.”
“I should strangle you for sending that picture,” Cafferty growled. “All hell will be breaking loose in the city, thanks to you.”
“Screw your self-righteous indignation. All hell’s already broken loose here, thanks to you.”
Two thunderous booms from the direction of the command center stopped Cafferty from doing what he had daydreamed about in several press conferences.
“We’re not finished yet—” Fields shouted.
He never got to finish that sentence. A serrated jet-black tail punctured the roof. It thrust diagonally down with blinding speed and punched through Fields’ left shoulder, and its glistening end stabbed out of the right side of his shirt.
Screams filled the car.
The tail whipped back through the reporter’s body, lashed the ceiling—creating a crimson dent—and slithered out of the train.
Everyone ducked, watching the ceiling expectantly.
Everyone except Fields.
His shoulders wavered, his eyes glazed, and his arms hung loosely by his sides. A patch of blood rapidly expanded on the side of his chest, and drops pattered the floor around his suede boots. The man looked about to speak, but Cafferty, figuring the yelling had drawn the creature’s attack, placed his trembling hand over Fields’ mouth, whispering urgently into the man’s ear while his other hand tried to put pressure on the wound.
The car fell silent while blood seeped between Cafferty’s fingers.
Fields let out a short, bubbling breath, his eyes rolled upward, and he collapsed with a twist on top of Lucien Flament. The French journalist eased his lifeless body to the floor, checked his wrist for a pulse, and shook his head. “Il est mort.”
“We need to get this message out,” North whispered to Cafferty. “Rescue teams need to know what we’re facing.”
North keyed in the message and went to thumb send.
The communicator’s screen died.
“For God’s sake!” North said.
Another shuddering boom came from the direction of the command center.
Lucien Flament shuffled over to Cafferty. “May I offer you a piece of advice?”
Cafferty stared at the French reporter, still numb after witnessing the ease of Fields’ death and unable to process anything beyond their immediate survival.
“We should think about this logically,” Flament said. “Why they didn’t attack the Pavilion sooner or enter the train, for example.”
“You’ve seen the state of the front car. Getting in isn’t a problem.”
“But they didn’t come in. What’s changed?”
Cafferty glanced down at the hissing tank. “A drop in methane?”
“You took the words out of my mouth, Mr. Mayor. Perhaps they can’t survive in our natural environment.”
“I buy that,” North said. “Which is why they attacked the train right next to the breach and appeared here when the fans died and gas spread into the Pavilion. If they’ve been sealed in caverns for God knows how many years breathing methane, it makes sense.”
“That implies a rather high level of sophistication,” Cafferty mused, “to know the gas would spread.”
“I’d say they’re extremely sophisticated,” Lucien said.
“Who exactly are you, Mr. Flament?” Cafferty asked. “You don’t strike me as a pen pusher.”
“I don’t really care how I ‘strike’ you, Mr. Mayor. But you’re right—I wasn’t always a reporter. I served in the Thirteenth Parachute Dragoon Regiment for ten years before pursuing a career in journalism. Le stylo est plus puissant que l’épée, Cafferty. ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.’”
“Not today it isn’t.”
Flament shrugged. “It is when there aren’t any swords lying around.”
North snorted.
Cafferty ignored that, failing to find anything remotely amusing in their current plight. “So you were talking about their intelligence?”
“Yes. It’s clear the creatures have some form of cognitive function well beyond a normal animal. They probed our car, perhaps testing our strength. Maybe they’ll turn their focus on us after they’ve finished with the blast door.”
“Why do you think that?” North asked.
“Because they haven’t torn the roof off yet. I suspect the oxygen tanks are helping us in more ways than we think.”
“You’re a useful guy to have around, Mr. Flament,” Cafferty said.
“I told you I could be of help. You had cops drag me away, if I recall.”
“I made a mistake.”
“A few, apparently. But if you can admit them, then there may be some hope for us. Call me Lucien.”
“Okay, Lucien. As long as we’re clear: the only thing I care about is getting these people out safely.”
“That’s good, because my only interest is in staying alive.”
This time it was Cafferty who snorted, shaking his head. But since those two goals weren’t mutually exclusive, he would take any help he could get, and right now that meant they had to grasp the small advantage Flament’s reasoning had uncovered. Cafferty started wondering how he could use oxygen beyond lowering the methane levels in the car, forcing the creatures back until help arrived.
“What are you thinking?” North asked.
“Can you mount a welding torch on to an oxygen tank?”
North hunched over and inspected the valve. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Good. Set up four of them as fast as you can. If any of those things tries to get in here, we’ll suffocate the bastards.”