Sweat poured down Cafferty’s face as he inspected the train’s retrofits. Since the explosion and the fan failure, the temperature and humidity had climbed, and his soaked shirt clung to his back. To say things had taken a turn for the worse was putting it mildly.
A thin cloud of smoke still partially cloaked the area. Cafferty thanked God the explosion snuffed itself out when it hit the Pavilion’s higher oxygen density, but he knew they wouldn’t get lucky a second time with the methane levels slowly rising. His pounding headache had returned with a vengeance, and he paused to catch his breath.
Thankfully, the welding of a steel plate onto the final vent of the train was almost complete when he’d received the messages from Reynolds. One of his team stood on a seat and went about finishing the job with some high-strength adhesive. Others attached plates over the windows using heavy-duty bolts and screws.
“If what he says is true,” North said, “I hope the tunnel collapsed on the terrorists’ heads.”
“It’s the ones in the Jersey tunnel I’m worried about. I’ll feel safer once Reynolds splits and we’re in the command center.”
“Agreed. It’s down to us to hold out.”
“And that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Several police officers wheeled four more industrial tanks of compressed oxygen from the maintenance room to the train, giving them a total of ten on board. Paul DeLuca and his crew carried over MTA lanterns, flashlights, tools, and steel poles from the stage. Shooting wasn’t an option, but if the terrorists attacked again, Cafferty had no intention of surrendering without a medieval-style fight to the death.
“My head’s killing me,” North said. “You look like crap, too.”
“Thanks,” Cafferty said wryly. “Listen, we better load up the train. Let’s wrangle everyone on board. The explosion might not have kicked off another wave of panic, but if people start losing consciousness . . .”
David North nodded and headed straight to work.
Cafferty knew his rock-solid head of security was good—he never doubted that—but he never understood how great until today. Having North by his side gave him the strength to focus on their immediate situation, instead of becoming consumed by the thought of Ellen’s fate.
Although, of course, now that he was thinking about her . . .
No. Focus!
Cafferty crossed the Pavilion and entered the food court. The people inside had retreated from the entrance and clustered around tables in the far corner.
“Mr. Mayor,” a man asked weakly, “is help still coming?”
“What was that explosion?” another voice said.
“Are we still under attack?”
The questions came fast and furious, and Cafferty sensed the panic.
“I don’t know,” he said firmly, and something about his tone silenced the questions. “The truth is I just don’t know. We’ve lost communications with the outside world. The tunnels are full of methane and the fans are no longer working. The explosion could’ve been anything. An accident. A spark. A single gunshot. I won’t lie to you—it could be another attack. So here’s what we do. We stick to the plan. I need you all to calmly proceed to the train’s rear car before we can’t breathe anymore out here. Once we’re sealed inside, we’ll figure out what’s next.”
“What if the terrorists attack here?”
“Then we fight back.” He smiled grimly. “You all know that New Yorkers don’t lie down to let someone stomp on our faces. Now, let’s get to the train.”
Cafferty returned to the train, followed by a procession of roughly fifty people. He had lost count of the exact numbers in the Pavilion but figured they needed to squeeze around one hundred souls inside the car, like sardines in a tin.
Like the 6 Train during rush hour, he thought. I have to work on that next . . .
He almost burst out laughing. Here he was, facing a catastrophe, and he was already thinking about what his next project should be.
This methane must really be getting to me.
He looked around. Guests, MTA workers, the press, and police filed into the train. The ones by the doors and newly armored windows grabbed hammers, wrenches, pipes—anything that could be used as a weapon.
Cafferty waved over the five Secret Service agents in front of the blast door, but they maintained their positions guarding the command center. He didn’t expect them to leave their post anyway, but they were no less susceptible to the methane than anyone else, so he figured he’d ask. He scanned the Pavilion for any strays before calling in the cops from the tunnel entrances. It would leave them exposed, but if those officers passed out from the methane, it wouldn’t matter if they were still guarding the tunnels—the attackers could just step over them.
God, this plan has to work.
Having rescue teams arrive to a train full of corpses didn’t bear thinking about. The sight of the blood-spattered front car was bad enough.
“Do you know of anyone missing?” North shouted from the far end of the train.
Nobody responded.
Three gunshots split the air, coming from the Jersey tunnel, and Cafferty’s heart leaped into his throat as he braced for the inevitable.
By the grace of God, the methane didn’t ignite.
But it meant someone was out there and willing to risk shooting. And that there was something worth shooting at. All of which meant they didn’t care if the methane exploded. Cafferty wondered if that was because they wanted it to ignite or because they thought whatever they were shooting at was a bigger risk than a tunnel full of explosive gas . . .
People pressed toward the door to look toward the Jersey tunnel, while others pushed to get deeper into the car. The last thing they needed was a stampede on a crowded subway car.
Mustering all his strength, Cafferty shouted, “Everyone stay on the train!”
The cops worked to keep people inside, urging them with a professionalism that gave Cafferty a sense of pride. The best damn police force in the world, he thought.
That is, until a police officer sprinted out of the mouth of the tunnel, barreling through his line of colleagues, screaming, pistol drawn, face bloodied and full of pure terror. He scrambled onto the platform and aimed back toward the tunnel entrance.
“Hold your fire!” Cafferty bellowed. “You’ll kill us all!” Even as he said it, though, he could see the officer’s finger edging toward the trigger. And while the previous shots hadn’t set off an explosion, the risk was too great . . .
But Cafferty was also too far away to stop him.
Luckily North was at the other end of the car, and the big man sprung from the train and dove on top of the officer like a linebacker, ripping the gun from his hand before it discharged. Other officers rushed to help.
“Get the fuck off me,” the cop said, struggling to break free of North’s grip. “We’ve gotta get outta here. They’re in the tunnel and heading our way!”
“Who is?” North asked.
“There’s hundreds of them.” He coughed. Blood spouted out of his mouth and speckled his face. “We’re dead. We’re all dead.”
North let go of him and raised his bloodstained hands in front of his face. He leaned back down and ripped open the cop’s shirt.
Three diagonal gashes had torn open his chest and stomach, and every heartbeat sent more and more blood pumping from his torso.
“Who did this?” North asked. “What are they armed with?”
The cop’s eyes closed and his head flopped to the side.
“What happened?” North asked desperately. He shook the cop’s shoulders. “Tell me!”
“They followed me back,” he whispered. His limbs went limp and his body relaxed in death.
Cafferty put his finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled. The cops at the mouth of the Jersey tunnel glanced over their shoulders. “Fall back, now! Into the car.”
That was all the impetus they needed. They started making their way back as quickly as possible when one officer was seemingly sucked into the darkness at lightning speed.
His cry rang through the tunnel.
In the blink of an eye, another cop disappeared, yanked into the pitch black by an unknown force.
Cafferty’s eyes widened. “What the fuck?”
The remaining seven cops didn’t even look back—they sprinted for the train. One stumbled and fell flat on her face. Before she had a chance to drag herself back up, a long black arm reached out of the tunnel and clasped her ankle.
She grabbed a rail tie, looked toward the train, and screamed.
The arm must have been incredibly strong, and in a second it had ripped her free. She clawed at the ground but couldn’t stop being dragged away.
Cafferty stood frozen, watching as three cops vanished in a heartbeat. What the hell is going on?
What the hell was that . . . thing?
As he tried to parse everything, he didn’t even notice his head of security charging toward him.
North wrapped his arms around Cafferty and strong-armed him inside the car. But Tom had to see, so he shook free enough to lean out the open door, praying the rest of the cops made it to the train where everyone could make their final stand.
One boarded.
Then another.
Three. Four. Five.
A single cop remained outside, overweight, and he puffed his cheeks as he bounded along the track.
“Come on, man—run!”
The officer tried. But it didn’t matter, because a jet-black creature burst out of the tunnel with lightning speed, and it was clear the man had no chance.
Yet as horrible as that was, all Cafferty could think was: A creature.
He took a sharp intake of breath.
The creature raced forward on two muscly legs and its shriek echoed around the Pavilion.
A mix of shouts and screams filled the car.
“What the hell’s that?”
“God!”
“It can’t be . . .”
“Jesus Christ . . .”
“Run,” Cafferty shouted to the cop. “Fucking run!”
“Please run,” he whispered to himself.
The creature hunched down, leaped forward, and pounced on the cop within five yards of the train doors. The cop collapsed to the ground. The creature’s claws shredded his trousers and gouged his calves as it seemingly climbed up the officer’s body.
Flesh and fabric tore off the cop’s torso.
Lucien Flament, the French journalist, shoved past Cafferty and thrust between the open doors with a claw hammer raised over his head. He aimed a kick at the creature’s gut, knocking it back.
The cop scrambled on all fours inside the train and collapsed on his back, wincing and taking rapid shallow breaths. A few passengers moved to help with his wounds.
The creature’s movement had slowed, and it rose on its legs to a height of seven feet, shrieking once more. It was a chilling sound, and its open mouth revealed three rows of razor-sharp teeth, a horrific sight. It had sleek scaly black skin, a bulbous head, a thin tail with jagged spikes running along it, and four muscly arms, each with three talon-like fingers.
Flament swung the sharp end of the hammer down and smashed it into the creature’s skull. Dark brown blood dripped from the two steel prongs.
The creature lurched to the side and let out a piercing howl.
Cafferty staggered back and hit the throng of people inside the car. “Get back!”
He turned around again to see the Frenchman swing the hammer downward once more, going in for the kill. A split second before it reached its target, though, the creature leaped back into the darkness of the subway tunnel, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.
The train fell silent.
So did the Pavilion, apart from the footsteps of police officers racing from the other entrances and boarding the car. Everyone focused on the pitch-black tunnel, waiting for another living nightmare to appear.
Cafferty balled his trembling hands into fists, utterly staggered at what he had just witnessed.
Flament simply pushed his glasses up his nose, straightened his sweater, and stepped back inside the car.
A cacophony of high-pitched shrieks emanated from the darkness of the tunnel.
Everyone tensed.
Cafferty recalled the dying man’s words. There’s hundreds of them. He had never subscribed to conspiracy theories or the far-fetched stories about monsters, but he couldn’t deny what he just saw. It hardly seemed believable. They were under attack from a new kind of evil, unknown to the world. Until today.
This wasn’t terrorism. It was pure terror.