Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) (10 page)

Beth answered as calmly as she could. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs’, Alice. Let’s see what happens for certain before we go making assumptions. Like the gentleman said, it could have just been construction in the tunnels.”

“The point is,” Craig Chew said, “none of us know what the hell it is. Could have been anything. We need to just sit tight and wait.”

Sandy noticed people in other cars were opening the doors and stepping out of the trains, across the barrier between tracks. They were stretching and walking around between the other sets of rails, speaking with each other, some calmly, others gesturing frenetically. She imagined their discussions were running similar to the one occurring in her own subway car. She pointed to the groups outside.

“Looks like the rest of the train’s setting themselves free,” she said. “Having a smoke, talking.”

“Stupid jackasses,” Craig Chew said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief that he stuffed back into his shirt pocket. “If the train starts up again, they’re going to be left high and dry and have to walk the rest of the way.”

“Plus, there are the rats,” Howard added. “I saw a bunch of them before we left the platform. It looked like they were heading toward the surface, but who knows how many of those suckers are still down here. I’ve never been bitten by a rat, and I ain’t starting now.”

The young girl moved herself even closer to Beth Chavez, almost as if she wanted to climb into the taller woman’s skin to escape from the giant rodents. Sandy wondered how she was such a great athlete when she seemed as scared as a rabbit. Perhaps she was so familiar with the world of the volleyball court that she felt more at home there than in the real world.

One of the passengers from another car, a young man in a black leather jacket – cigarette in the corner of his mouth, silver flask in hand – pounded on the windows of their car. “Hey, come on out. Join the rest of us.”

Alice burrowed farther. Sandy glared at the man, said, “Leave us alone.”

The leather-clad smoker shrugged it off, said, “Fine. Whatever. No skin off my back, but you’re missing the party.”

All along the track, Sandy saw people moving out of the protection of their cars, opening windows and doors as if the air was better in the nearly dark, red-lit tunnel. She wanted to shout at them, to tell them to use their brains, but it seemed as though they were turning the whole disaster into a celebration and a sobering voice like hers wouldn’t be welcomed amidst the cocktail conversations. She shook her head.

“Stupid.”

“What’s that dearie?” Sylvia asked, leaning closer to hear her.

“I said they’re all stupid, getting out of the safety of the train.”

“Who’s to say we aren’t just as dumb waiting around inside like trapped rats?” Craig Chew asked.

Another shudder accompanied by a loud booming noise shook the subway. Several of the people milling around the tracks fell over or had to grab hold of someone else to maintain their balance. Dust crumbled down from the roof of the tunnel, sending several people outside the train into coughing fits. Others laughed at the pratfalls their fellow passengers had taken.

“That was loud,” Howard Reigel said. “And it sounded close as hell.”

“I can’t stand this,” Alice said, peering out the window.

Sandy tried dialing Nicole on her Blackberry again, but then set it aside with a long sigh. Still no connection. And she was getting tired of feeling impotent, of not knowing what was happening in the world above her head. It almost made her understand why the people in the other cars wanted to wander freely in the tunnel. They were reaching out for explanations, even though they probably all realized they wouldn’t get any this deep underground. Still, people needed reassuring, no matter how much they were endangering themselves.

Craig stood and moved toward the doors. He perused them for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind whether to open them or not.

“Don’t be a schlemiel, Mr. Chew,” Sylvia said. “We’re safer in here. Pretty soon, the subway will start running again and we’ll leave all those poor fools out there on the tracks. They’ll have to schlep all the way home.”

“What if it doesn’t start again?” he asked.

“It’s too soon to know anything like that,” Sandy said, standing and peering out the windows. She thought she heard another sonic boom, but it was faint. Whatever was going on outside seemed to be moving away from them. “If we’re patient for a while, we might get some instruction, maybe even find out what’s really happening out there.”

Alice asked, “You think it’s like the Bible says? Is it the End Times?”

Beth smoothed her hair down, clucking her tongue at the girl. “It’s probably just construction, like Mr. Chew says.”

Mr. Chew was still considering the doors and the possible opportunity of escape and relative freedom. He was sweating heavily, and Sandy noticed for the first time how warm it was getting in the subway car. The air conditioning must have gone out along with the lights. A bead of perspiration trickled down the side of her face.

As she watched the tunnel for some indication of what was happening or any sign of rescue, she thought she saw a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye. The red emergency lighting didn’t help her vision much. It appeared as if the ground around the rails was moving, undulating as though in the middle of an earthquake. She squinted, held her hand against the glass to obscure any reflection.

“There’s something out there,” she said.

Immediately, Howard Reigel was by her side, fast on his dancer’s feet. He was soon joined by the others.

“What is it? Where?” he asked.

Sandy said, “Look at the ground, by the rails out there.”

Some of the people wandering outside their cars were pointing at the same area. Then, they were all peering into the darkness, a few of them backing up slowly.

Sandy heard a sound, soft, like a squeaking wheel that needed oiled. She realized what it was before anyone else.

“Oh God,” she said. “They’re rats!”

And they flooded into view – thousands of rats, maybe tens of thousands. A squirming, slithering carpet of the beasts. All of them were mutated, larger than usual, and with a horrifying abundance of teeth sticking out of their mouths. Long, naked tails whipped back and forth, like aggravated cats, and their eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the crimson glow of the emergency lighting.

Sandy had never seen so many rats in one place, and she’d certainly never seen such humongous beasts as these creatures swarming toward their subway train.

She wanted to close her eyes to the horror.

But she couldn’t.

Instead, she picked up her Blackberry and dialed.

And dialed again.

And again.

12:50 p.m.

The creature that had once been Old Smith’s dog, Jake, fixed its rueful gaze on Michael Keene and John Creed. It growled at them, a sound wholly alien to the canine species, lower and gurgling with some kind of viscous liquid. The brown and white hair on its back stood on end, obscuring the patchy spots of fur, and its eyes seemed lit from within with a wan, yellow fire.

The two men remained rigid, their backs to the rear wall of Old Smith’s little room. The creature was blocking the only exit, and even though Michael had the remnants of an old tennis racket, he didn’t feel especially armed. A piece of wood and string against the powerful rippling muscles of this slavering beast seemed pretty ineffective.

The dog creature glanced at them both, then lunged at John. Michael swung at the creature’s side, shouting, “Don’t let it bite you!”

John tumbled over the mattress, grabbed the edge and held it before himself, a rotting shield. It provided a barrier between the reporter and the gnashing jaws of the mutated dog. He soon realized that this blockade wasn’t going to last very long. The creature was already clawing and chewing on the other side, spitting foam rubber stuffing in every direction. Still, he held it in front of himself, pushing back against the thing’s relentless assault.

Michael stepped forward and swung the broken tennis racket as hard as he could into the monster’s side. The wood snapped, sending a large piece of the racket and all the string hurtling into the corner, but leaving him with what amounted to a very sharp stick with a rubber grip.

John had backed all the way against the wall, moving sideways a bit to get a better angle on the mattress. The dog creature chewed at the stuffing and spat it out, raking large black talons across the material. John knew it wouldn’t be long before the mutant clawed or gnawed its way through the mattress and went for his throat.

“Some help here!” he shouted.

Michael looked at the pointed, splintered handle of the tennis racket and moved it so the taped end was grasped firmly in both hands. He raised it over his head, his grip tight on the rubber.

John watched in horror as a black nose emerged from the other side of the mattress where the dog-thing tore through the stuffing. The reporter held it out as far as his arms would reach to keep the thing away from his face for as long as possible. The creature snapped its jaws wide open, and John was treated to a spectacular view of the monster’s ragged rows of teeth in its black maw. As it opened its mouth wide, the material ripped on either side of it. When it closed its jaws, shoving its bushy head through the new hole, he saw a single yellow eye, rolling in its socket. The thing was completely wild, insane with the thought of John’s tender flesh only a few inches from its snapping teeth.

Michael moved over the creature. It didn’t sense him; it was too busy trying to devour the man on the other side of the foam rubber barrier. Michael straddled the beast’s waist and shoved downwards into the creature’s back, aiming for its heavy barrel chest. The sharp end of the tennis racket plunged through the beast’s hide, just to the right of its backbone. Blood splashed out of the wound, and Michael, still holding the racket, twisted it, enlarging the puncture hole. He hoped he was doing major damage to the thing’s internal organs.

The creature screeched in pain and backed up a few steps. The mattress went with it, jerking out of John’s hands. The monster’s head was trapped within the cavity it had chewed in the foam, and it shook its massive cranium, trying to dislodge the annoyance from around its neck.

Michael grabbed the end of the racket and pushed forward with all his might. The sharpened wooden stake inched forward, and he felt it press against something inside the creature, something important, something vital. Then, the resistance gave way, and the pointed end emerged from the hide of the beast’s chest. Blood spurted from the wound, and the thing slipped in its own fluids for a moment. It howled, and then fell to the floor, the large foam mattress still encircling its huge head like a Victorian ruff.

Michael backed away from the still beast until he felt the damp brick wall against his shoulders. He was breathing heavily, and his hands were shaking. He watched the monster for nearly a minute, waiting for it to spring back to life and attack again. The creature, however, remained still.

John rose up from where he’d been trapped against the opposite wall and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He kicked at the beast, and its body jiggled, but it didn’t awaken.

Michael was the first to speak. He said, “You may not believe me, but that was a little terrier just this morning. I saw it myself. It couldn’t have been more than a foot and a half long altogether.”

“Are there any more dogs down here?” John asked, peeking out the door of the little room. “I mean, maybe this isn’t the same dog.”

Michael shook his head. “No, this is Jake … was Jake. I’d know his markings anyplace.”

“What the hell did this? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a Lycanthrope, only the canine version. Far as I know, the virus only affects humans. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“The rats,” Michael answered. His breathing was starting to calm down, become normal. “Those huge rats we saw chasing that woman.”

“Those little bastards came out of the subway, probably right above our heads now.”

Michael looked at John, the whites of his eyes showing as they widened. “Where there’s one rat, there are a million,” he said. “The underground’s chock full of them.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We get the fuck out of the underground, right? Head for the surface?”

“It only makes sense. If these tunnels are breeding grounds for these mutant rats, then I don’t want to be anywhere close to the nest.”

Michael shivered.

“Are you all right to get us back up top?” John asked, laying a hand on the homeless man’s shoulder.

The small gesture consoled Michael, and it snapped him out of the horrible procession of images racing through his mind – giant rats swarming over him, devouring him, huge dogs and cats and bats.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get moving. For the first time in a long time, upside is looking pretty damn good.”

John clapped him on the shoulder again, and Michael took the lead, walking out of the little room. He moved slower as they crept down the tunnel, scanning his flashlight back and forth, trying to illuminate every nook and corner. If something was lurking in the dark spaces, he wanted to see it before it pounced.