Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) (12 page)

Nicole looked out the window, saw a Scorpion jet zoom over the river and launch another missile into a boathouse and a dock. She said, “I’m wasting time here. I need to get to—”

“Give me another minute,” he said, and when she opened her mouth, he commanded, “That’s a goddamned order.”

She closed her mouth, and her teeth clacked together.

“Thanks,” Burns said. “Where was I?”

“Trenches. Struggles. Common enemy.”

“Right. What the brass doesn’t really get – I’m talking about the pencil pushers and muckymucks in the offices – what they don’t get is that your comrades in arms
become
your family. You’ve been by my side through a lot of shit, Nicole. More so than any family member I ever had. Now, your loved one’s in trouble. I like Sandy a lot, but she’s not my family. You are. I hope on some level you know that.”

Nicole nodded. “Yeah, but we can’t just sit in our hotel room talking while Sandy could be getting killed. Or worse.”

He dialed a number on his cell phone, and he said, “Remember my friend with the helicopter? He’s just over … Tommy Hemmer, you old bastard, how are you doing?” He paused a moment before continuing, rolling his eyes at Nicole. “That was a rhetorical, Tom. I don’t need the whole list of ailments. Anyway, you near the hospital and your whirlybird? Good, here’s what I need you to do, and I hope you’re feeling like an adventure today.”

Nicole turned her attention back to the television and the footage of a burning New York City. Glancing back at her cell phone, she prayed Sandy was safe for the moment.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said. “I’m coming for you.”

1:12 p.m.

The creature who had once been Michael Keene’s friend Old Jones towered over the mole man and the reporter, at least eight feet tall, its head brushing against the ceiling. Saliva dripped from the Lycanthrope’s jaws, and it still wore a few rags from the clothes Jones had been sporting that morning. It snapped its mangled teeth at Michael and John as the pair backed into the room where Jones had once made his home.

The creature leaped, and John dropped to the floor so the beast landed on top of the dead mutant dog still trapped within the mattress. John rolled toward the doorway, instinctively heading for the only escape route. He bumped into Michael, who had the same idea, and they crashed into the side of the door, a jumble of arms and legs.

The Jones monster started ripping into the dead dog with its long, black claws, its only purpose to destroy, to rend, to tear. While it was busy tossing chunks of mutated dog meat into its gullet, Michael and John regained their footing and slipped out of the little room. Michael gestured to the left with his head, signaling John to follow him. John nodded.

They were ten feet away from the room when the Lycanthrope, finished or bored with the dog’s corpse, burst from its previous domicile in an explosion of bricks and mortar dust. It roared as it fell on all fours in the hallway and glared at them with hideous yellow eyes.

“Now what?” John asked.

Michael, starting to sprint, shouted, “Follow me, and run like hell.”

The pair of them took off as if someone had fired a starting pistol, and John was amazed at how fast the homeless man traveled. John had to work at it to keep up with him. Of course, his main incentive for accelerating was behind him.

The creature raced after the pair of men, its massive paws splashing through the small creek that trickled down the center of the corridor. The sound grew nearer as the two men hurried for the next turn.

“Don’t look back,” Michael urged.

Of course, that’s exactly what John did, and he saw the beast gaining on them, its huge head lowered, its eyes fixed pointedly on the pair of them. He turned to face forward again, producing a necessary burst of velocity, so that he almost missed the hole in the wall that Michael ducked into.

The rectangular rift measured about two feet wide and three feet up from the ground. Loose bricks and dust lay all around the bottom, so that John nearly tripped as he stooped down and bobbed through the opening. He saw the iron rungs in the wall where Michael was already ascending to the next level up. He wondered if the Jones creature could climb.

Stopping to think was not an option. As he reached the first rungs and began to climb, John heard the beast clamoring for access to the hole. Looking back, he saw the thing was too large for the exit, but the creature was punching out bricks from the wall, making the breach somewhat larger. By the time John had reached the tenth rung, the Lycanthrope was through the hole and reaching for the back end of the reporter.

John felt the Lycanthrope squeeze his foot, and he shook it, holding onto the iron rung for his life. The monster pulled, and John had to wrap his elbow around the loop of the rung. Dust puffed out from the corners where the iron had been pounded into the wall, and the rung began to slide loose from the cement. It made a grating noise.

The creature pulled again, and John’s body went nearly horizontal to the ladder. He screamed, and his elbow protested with lightning bolts of pain. The rung slid out of its moorings a little more.

Then his sneaker popped off of his foot, sending the monster windmilling backwards. John’s body dropped forward into the rungs, just as the iron ring he was holding came completely loose, falling the ten feet to the floor.

The creature hit the wall with a crash.

John started back up the ladder, reaching for Michael’s proffered hand that emerged from the exit portal in the ceiling. Once he’d grabbed the hand, Michael pulled him up the remaining distance.

John dropped to the floor, running his hands through his hair, trying to get his breath under control.

“I lost a shoe,” he said, wheezing a bit.

“You’re lucky,” Michael said. “Now, come on, before that thing figures out how to climb the ladder.”

John turned to the area where he’d just emerged from the corridor below. The monster’s hands were reaching through the opening, grabbing at the floor, which crumbled under the pressure. John hoped a brick would land in the bastard’s eye, blinding it. Then again, if it found a good purchase on the floor, it could possibly haul itself up to their level and resume the chase.

“You’re right,” John said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Follow me,” the homeless man said, speed-walking down the new tunnel.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” John asked, jogging behind him. “I can’t tell which way is up down here.”

“Then you don’t have much choice, do you?” Michael said. “Come with me or get lost. Not much of a choice.”

“You ever get turned around in the tunnels?”

Michael glanced over his shoulder and gave John a wink. Disconcerted, John stopped for a moment.

Michael said, “I hardly ever get lost. Come on.”

John grumbled. “Hardly isn’t the same as never.”

1:17 p.m.

Sandy watched the people on the tracks for a few moments, their transformation from human to bestial nature fascinating to her. She’d seen the change on the news, in documentary footage, but she’d never witnessed it firsthand from only a few yards distance. It held her in a trance, and the others in the sealed subway car seemed to be likewise hypnotized. They were all observing the metamorphosis, their faces nearly pressed against the glass, their breath steaming it up.

It started with convulsions and seizures, as the victims fell trembling to the ground. Seizures were followed by the emergence of claws from the fingertips, which pushed their way through the skin. Meanwhile, extra teeth, fangs really, sprouted from bleeding gums. Black tongues licked at the new teeth as the person’s mouth pushed outwards in three sharp punches, telescoping into an extended snout. Their eyes narrowed, and their ears started to elongate and fold into hairy points at the tips. By the time the ears were growing, hair had started sprouting all over the person’s body, twisting out of pores so quickly it was done within seconds. Then the person’s back sloped and twisted. Most of the transforming people dropped to their knees at this point, and this is when their clothes would begin to tear as their torsos rounded and grew more and more barrel-chested, their waists stretching and growing thinner. Each time the things inhaled, their chest expanded, the ribs snapping into place for a wider girth. Leg bones cracked and adjusted, bending into a near-canine form at the ankles, toes and knees. At this point, they mentally became more beast than human, and they ran on their newly formed legs – legs better adapted to sprinting on all fours.

And Sandy figured it might be better if the survivors in her subway car weren’t quite so visible to the things that were completing their transformation just outside.

“Everyone duck down,” she stage-whispered. “Don’t let them see you.”

The group sank into their seats, although Sandy and Craig peered over the bottom rim of the windows. Sylvia lay down on her side and Beth and Alice took positions sitting on the floor with their backs to the car’s wall. Howard assumed a similar Indian-style position across from the two women.

“We’re going to have to be very quiet,” Sandy whispered. “If these things are like first Lycanthropes, they’re going to start sniffing around for something to attack.”

“Can they get in?” Alice asked, a bit louder than Sandy’s comfort level.

“I don’t think so, but let’s not alert them and find out,” Sandy said, even quieter.

Craig murmured, “They’re done changing.”

Sandy watched as several of the creatures loped off into the darkness of the tunnel. One of them grabbed a second and forced her to her knees, entering her from behind and baying all the while. In the red glow of the emergency lights, it resembled nothing more than werewolf porn, and Sandy almost lost it and giggled. The violence of the act, however – the way the male thrust so hard, scratched red gouges into the female’s fur with his claws, and the way he bit into her neck to hold her immobile – terrified and shocked her.

Out of the two dozen newly transformed Lycanthropes, only eight seemed interested in the subway train. They spread out as a group, some of them exploring the empty cars that had been abandoned. Screams immediately sounded from the other cars, where some of the people had hidden from the rats. They must not have been able to fully close the doors, and the terrible noises emerging from those cars – tearing, ripping, horrified and pain-filled shrieking – only confirmed the deaths of the few who’d sought shelter there.

Sandy dropped all the way to the floor and motioned for Craig to follow her lead. He slumped down, and his eyes widened behind his designer label glasses. Remembering the sound of her Rihanna ringtone, Sandy reached for her Blackberry and held it in front of her so everyone in the car could see. In exaggerated movements, she switched the ringer to the off position. The others caught on and quickly stifled their own phones. Looking down at her device, Sandy saw Nicole had sent her a text message.

It said, “Coming for you. Hold tight. I love you.”

She smiled, warmed by the thought of her ultra-tough soldier girl racing to her rescue. Nicole might not be wearing shining armor and she was probably carrying an AK-47 instead of a sword, but she was certainly Sandy’s knight in every other way.

She only hoped Nicole would get there in time.

One of the creatures was snuffling around the closed door of Sandy’s car, searching for more to eat or screw. It scratched at the side of the car, gently at first, then a bit rougher.

Alice started to squirm, and Beth gently placed a hand over the girl’s mouth. It seemed to calm her down, but both of the women were shaking with fear.

Unable to see now, Sandy listened carefully to the curious examinations of the Lycanthropes outside. From another area, she heard a third beast scrabbling around the windows, and she wondered how strong the glass was in these cars. Through the filtered, hellish lighting in the tunnel, shadows darted back and forth, circling the subway train. A howl went up nearby, and a fourth (she thought, she couldn’t be certain) monstrosity sniffed around the door.

She looked around herself at the little group. Howard was sweating, but he seemed to be holding his shit together. If she didn’t look too closely, Sylvia appeared to be taking a nap, but upon closer examination the old lady was quivering slightly. Beth was solid, holding a hand over Alice’s mouth and stroking the terrified girl’s hair, keeping her quiet. Even Craig looked cowed, his chins quivering, his eyes wide and watery.

Suddenly, the P.A. system activated with a squawk. A deep, Brooklyn-accented voice came over the speakers in the car, surrounded by bad static. Sandy heard the words echo through the other cars, louder than it should have been because there was no one in them. No one alive, at least.

The voice said, “This is the conductor. If you are still in a car, please remain inside. Do not attempt to get out.”

“No shit,” Craig muttered. “Idiot.”

The scratching and sniffing around their car ceased suddenly, and the creatures took off toward the middle of the train. They bayed and howled, joined by several more of the newly created pack.