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.
Get out of here alive first, then worry about what happens next.
He nodded his promise, which seemed enough for Reynolds, then asked, “Do you think Van Ness will come after you again?”
“I’m counting on it. My second order of business is to destroy the Foundation and destroy Van Ness. I’ll put forward a UN resolution to freeze his assets based on his election rigging and murders. Most countries and leaders are afraid not to pay Van Ness. They fear for their own lives. But my very survival proves that Van Ness can be stopped. The Foundation’s axis of fear will crumble. And if any country doesn’t follow our lead, we’ll cut off all their economic ties to the United States. I’ll starve the Foundation to death. Its monopoly will crumble. You can trust me on that. I’ll strip Van Ness of his wealth and his arrogance. When only a shell of the man remains, I’ll draft a secret executive order authorizing his imprisonment for the attempted assassination of the president of the United States. He’ll spend the rest of his life locked in a hole somewhere in the bowels of Gitmo.”
Munoz wasn’t so sure about that. Hell, he wasn’t sure he even liked how blatantly Reynolds was exposing himself. Why tell me all this?
“We don’t know if anyone escaped through the other tunnels,” Reynolds said. “I won’t forget what you’ve done today. When it’s all over, you’ll be suitably rewarded. Have a think about what you want.”
“A quiet life and big compensation packages for the families of the victims. It’s as simple as that.”
“That’s a certainty, you have my word.”
Munoz lied about wanting a quiet life, now that he’d had the time to finally contemplate his survival. Today’s events had broken something inside of him, and his old aggression had resurfaced, but this time he aimed to channel it in the right way. He found the idea of simply shutting down the Foundation and imprisoning its leader unsatisfactory. It failed to punish everyone who had taken part in the Z Train plot. Killing these creatures didn’t excuse cold-blooded murder.
Samuels had mentioned other members two times: once about an exfiltration team and a final unknown man from the Pavilion who activated the timers for the explosion.
Other people had blood on their hands. It was that simple.
Munoz refused to let anyone get away with doing this to his life. To the lives of his team. To the lives of the passengers and any victims in the Pavilion. Reynolds may be looking at the big picture, but Munoz saw things differently. The Foundation had made it personal. It had killed his friends. Destroyed the job he worked so hard to gain. Planned his death.
Those responsible had to answer for their actions.
I’m old-school Diego again, but with a genuine enemy.
They fucked up when they woke up these creatures by waking up one more monster.
Only a hundred yards remained and the first faint sliver of daylight appeared.
“Mr. President, one last question,” Munoz said. “You plan on destroying the Foundation.”
“That’s correct.”
“When Van Ness is finally gone, who’s left to destroy these creatures?”
Reynolds stared at him without answering.
The sliver of light went dark, as if something had blocked it.
“What the hell?” Reynolds said.
Munoz crept forward and extended his laser.
An enormous creature moved in the shadows, bigger than any he’d previously seen. It turned its head away from the natural daylight, cowering.
Reynolds backed behind Munoz.
The creature let out a long hiss and moved closer, visibly struggling in the cleaner air. Its tail slowly flicked from side to side, and it raised its claws.
Munoz’s finger sprung away from the trigger. He attempted to force it back, but it wouldn’t move. The gun was frozen in place. “What the fuck?”
“Shoot!” Reynolds yelled.
The creature stomped forward, taking short, unwieldy strides.
Reynolds’ left hand involuntarily rose to his own throat and his fingers crushed around his windpipe. “I’m not doing this! It’s got some kind of hold on me,” he gasped. “Fucking shoot!”
“I can’t move my hand.”
“What?”
The creature’s tail whipped through the air, smashed into Munoz’s ankles, and his ass crashed to the ground. It lumbered toward Reynolds, dug its claws into his shoulders, and raised him against the wall.
Reynolds screamed and kicked his legs. His face turned beet red as he fought against the creature’s stocky forearms.
Munoz forced his shaking left hand toward the laser, but the invisible force stopped him from reaching the trigger. The creature’s tail battered the ground next to his face, and its tip sliced his cheek.
“Fucking do something,” Reynolds yelled.
“Fucking do something,” the creature echoed, mimicking his exact tone, mocking its prey. It roared in Reynolds’ face, pelting it with strings of sticky saliva.
The creature’s tail rose for another strike, whipping above Munoz’s head and thrusting down. He forced himself sideways, using every ounce of strength in his body, and rolled away. The tail slammed into the track, denting the rail.
“Diego!” Reynolds screamed.
Whatever was happening to him, he felt released from its control, and Munoz’s finger tightened around the trigger. He swung the laser toward the creature and fired a beam across its stomach, holding down the trigger.
The creature’s innards spewed out and dangled between its legs, and its claws released from the president’s body.
Reynolds dropped to his knees and scrambled away.
Munoz fired again, slicing the beam across the creature’s head, and carved off the top of its skull. Its legs collapsed, and it slumped to the left. He fired again, blasting a hole through the center of the creature’s face, and brain matter burst in every direction.
As the massive creature crumpled to the ground in pieces, the laser gun finally kicked out, spent of all its charge. Munoz let the now useless gun slowly fall to the ground, praying this creature was their last.
Reynolds edged behind him while maintaining a close eye on the smoldering corpse. “What the hell? How could it possibly survive up here? The oxygen level has got to be close to normal here, we’re so close to the exit.”
“Evolution, Mr. President. They’re evolving. Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
This time, the president had no qualms about resuming their jog, grimacing and rubbing his neck as he staggered alongside Munoz.
The latest confrontation sent a chill down Munoz’s spine. The creatures were adapting themselves to humanity’s oxygen-rich environment. But he had also gone through an adaptation of sorts, and he was no longer prepared to lie down. The problem was he wasn’t sure who was really on the right side.
Fuck what Reynolds wants. I refuse to be silenced. I am owed my revenge.
Maybe Samuels was right about the war to come.
Bright sunshine streamed through the mouth of the tunnel and sparkled off the glass pyramid of the Z Train Exhibition Center.
Confetti drifted across the deserted station platform.
A few hundred cops and soldiers were packed in behind a security line, staring down the track. Every barrel was pointed in his direction. A military helicopter thwacked overhead. Hundreds of the press in the parking lot and their cameras swung away from reporters to face him.
A wave of paranoia hit Munoz and he skidded to a halt.
“Is there a problem?” Reynolds asked.
“I bet the Foundation has backup plans for their backup plans. What if they have a sniper in one of the office blocks, waiting to finish us off the moment we walk out?”
“Well then, I’ll walk out first,” Reynolds said. “It’s about time I saved your life for a change.”
The men cautiously walked out of the subway tunnel, President Reynolds taking point.
A counterstrike team broke the line and charged toward them, weapons raised.
“Mr. President,” one soldier shouted as he approached. “Who are you with?”
“Diego Munoz, from the command center.”
The team surrounded Reynolds in a tight circle.
“Where’s Agent Samuels?” another asked. “We heard about him before we lost contact with the sub. What the hell happened down there?”
“There’s no time. I need everyone to back away. An explosion is imminent and I don’t want anyone here caught by the blast.”
“Explosion, sir?”
“I’ll explain when you get me out of here. Move everyone back.”
“I’ll call Marine One.”
“No,” Reynolds said. “That explosion is happening in minutes. Did operations command send any more rescue teams to the Pavilion?”
“Secretary Mansfield ordered us to stay back until we figured out a way of clearing the gas from the tunnel.”
Reynolds gave a knowing nod. “I’m sure he did.”
The agents stayed in a tight formation as they escorted him toward the line. Munoz followed closely behind, staring in awe at the hundreds of uniforms and vehicles. The day’s events still hadn’t sunk in, and he’d had no time to think about the outside world during his escape, only how to reach it with the president in one piece. But now that they were free, he kept on high alert, suspecting Samuels had spoken the truth about the Foundation eliminating all its enemies.
Sirens blared from the other side of the river, and a thin cloud of smoke drifted over Manhattan. Munoz walked past the diesel train maintenance shed and noticed the missing train. He knew a couple of diesel engine operators, one an old drinking buddy.
Then it hit him.
Sal Kirsch was one of the few mad enough to mount a rescue attempt against orders. His longtime buddy had a heart of gold and a strong head to match.
It had to be Sal’s engine.
The crazy motherfucker.
Munoz peered back toward the tunnel and wanted the diesel engine to power out more than anything else in the world. Survivor’s guilt was one thing. Living with the guilt of leaving his team, and them all dying in the subway system, along with Sal, would physically and mentally crush him.