Blood Lust: A Supernatural Horror (46 page)

Simmons
listened closely as McNeil described the airshafts
and the metal doors
. If he beat Hardin to the subway and hid out, he could
discreetly
keep an eye on
him;
help him if he needed it. It might be his last day working for Section One, maybe even a jail term, but right was right, something he had learned in Iraq. No matter how convoluted a situation became, right was always right.
He smiled when McNeil
decided to help Hardin. Hardin, as gruff as he appeared, had a way of conveying confidence.

Simmons
gathered his equipment and
hurried
back to his van.
He had a few plans of his own to make.

****

Ella
Ramirez
had
mixed feelings about Hardin’s success.
T
he creature was dead and the story over.
She had conveyed it to paper as carefully as she could in hopes of someday doing a feature story on it when the
excitement
had died down.
She had some
footage
, not enough for a feature, but enough to shows hints. It was grainy and
shot literally on the fly in some cases.
She had moved on to other stories and Detective Hardin had gone off on a well
-
deserved vacation.
She was at City Hall trying to interview a whistleblower about a shady securities deal, when
Steve
Capaldi
stopped filming to
take out
his
vibrating
Blackberry. His smile baffled her.

“It looks like we’re in business again
,
”
he said.

2
5

I was up early
watching the sun
creep up
over the city
skyline
,
heavy with pregnant anticipation
for the culmination of the day’s events
;
for today would see an end to this creature, one way or another.
I
quickly
showered and dressed
in boots, jeans, undershirt and t-shirt
.
It felt odd not to wear my usual suit
and tie
, but I was no longer a cop. I was now just a
n ordinary
citizen out to correct an injustice
, a vigilante
.
It was with some reluctance I laid my badge on the table beside the bed.
If I didn’t return… No, better not to dwell on that.

T
oo keyed up to eat breakfast
,
I
brewed a cup of
complimentary
coffee
.
It tasted flat.
I stumbled around the hotel room, anxious to get started
, awakening Joria
.

“Is that coffee I smell?” she asked, leaning on one elbow
. One luscious breast peeked temptingly from beneath the sheet.

“
Something similar,” I replied. “Want some?”

“Let me shower first.”

She rose and walked naked to the bathroom. My eyes followed her lovely ass
across the room
as it
swayed and bounced
with a life of its own
.
She glanced back and smiled from the doorway, noticing the direction of my gaze.
A few seconds later, I heard the
shower
running.
I pulled back the curtains and looked out.
The motel parking lot was almost full but I spotted the black SUV parked near the corner of the office
and wondered why Section One hadn’t busted down the door and taken Joria
.
Whatever the reason,
at least I didn’t have to waste time defending her to them. I needed her.

I rechecked my weapons
, filling my pockets with .50 caliber shells, flares and glow sticks.
Then I used the duct tape to secure the flashlight to the end of the barrel of the elephant gun to free my hands. McNeil had been uncertain if the lights were still working in the abandoned tunnel
.

Joria emerged dressed and smiling. She poured a cup of coffee, took a sip and frowned. “I see what you mean.” She added artificial creamer
and came to stand beside my chair.

“I want you to promise me you’ll stay with McNeil and his crew
out of the tunnel.”

“You need my help.”

“I need you alive.”

She took one of my hands in hers. Her skin felt soft and warm against
the roughness of mine. I pointed to our Fed friends.

“Our watchdogs are back.”

I felt her tense up.

“They seem content to watch, or else they would have paid us a visit.”

Her voice was bitter as she said, “I don’t trust them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed. I did not add that I didn’t trust her
either. She finished her coffee. I had set mine aside as undrinkable. “We had better go.”
             
We
arrived at the airshaft
above the subway tunnel system before the others. As I stared down into its Stygian depths, I wondered what hell waited below. The
pitch-black
emptiness drew me downward, dizzyingly. I braced my hands on the steel grate and stared into the dark yawning maw until my hands grew numb.
A blast of fetid hot air shot upwards from the shaft. Below, I could hear the rumble of a subway train.
I pulled myself away and fought down a wave of vertigo.

“I don’t like heights,” I explained to Joria as she studied my tense face.

Her nose wrinkled. “It smells.”

I
took a deep whiff and
smiled. “You’re not used to big city air.”

“I’m from Sao Paolo,” she
replied defensively.

“Yeah, but you’ve got a jungle to scrub the pollution
. We don’t.”

McNeil arrived
within a few minutes
with four others. Two
men
jumped off the truck, stringing hoses for a torch from the truck to the grate over the shaft. McNeil must have read the
look of
dread on my face.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he said. “I can round up some weapons and we’ll all go
in
with you.”

I smiled and shook my head. My mind screamed at me to accept his offer, but I knew I could
n’t
for the same reason I
couldn’t
g
o
to
Captain Bledsoe with my plan.
“
Too many have died already
.”

He nodded at the sawed-off elephant gun I had slung
across
my shoulder.
“Is that enough?”
he questioned
, his doubt obvious
.

“It should do the trick if I get a clear shot.”

He shook his head
slowly.
“You must have a death wish.”

“
N
o death wish.
I’ve just seen too many deaths lately. I don’t know how much more I can take. This has become personal.”

“So you said.” He looked at
Joria
quizzically. “There’s more to all this than you’re admitting. I just hope you
remember th
e reason you’re going down there, to kill this thing.”

“Killing it is my
priority
,” I
assured him
. I noticed he was staring at Joria
as if trying to decide her part in this
. I decided I had better make introductions. “This is
Dr.
Joria Alvarez
from Brazil
. She’s studied this creature
for years
.” He nodded to her. “Joria, this is
Oliver McNeil.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. McNeil,” she said.

“Same here,” McNeil replied. His voice had none of the warmth it had held when we first spoke.
H
e was
either
suspicious of
the reasons for Joria’s presence
or
concerned for her
safety
.
I watched
as
one of McNeil’s men fire up the cutting torch.
With a click and a pop, the tip burst into yellow flame spewing black
, sooty
smoke. With a quick adjustment, t
he bright blue actinic flame sliced into the metal grate with a shower of sparks.
I glanced away
from the glare.
The
acrid
odor of
molten galvanized steel
metal drifted to me.

“We’re through,”
the cutting torch
wielder
called out
a few minutes later
. It took all four
men
to move the heavy grate out of the way.

McNeil looked at me. “Ready?”

I nodded.

The four men went first
,
and then me, followed by
Joria and
McNeil.
I tried not to look down as I descended the metal ladder. I watched the square of sky above me slowly dwindle in size. The rungs were rusty and rough
on my hands
. I wish I had thought to wear gloves
as the others had
.
We descended for what felt like forever.
Next stop, hell
, I thought
morosely
.
My arms and shoulders
grew
tired and my fingertips numb. McNeil had informed me that the shaft was one hundred and
thirty
-five feet deep. Just as I was
beginning to doubt
his word, one of the men called out
,
“Watch your step. It’s slippery
down here
.”

The sky was
a mere pinpoint overhead
and provided no light
. Each of the men had flashlights
, using them to
illuminat
e
the opening to the horizontal shaft.
My first
step produced a crunch. I looked down to see a pile of twigs and leaves and pieces of white bone littering the floor, rat bones, I believed
, washed down from above
.
Beyond
the opening
, the
flashlights outlined the
glint of subway rails.

“There’s a walkway alongside the track,” one of the
men
said. “Be careful.”

In the anemic light provided by the flashlights
, Joria glanced at me, her face grim with determination and something else I couldn’t identify – fear,
anticipation.
Suddenly, t
he walls began to shudder
and the floor
quake
.
Her eyes went wide with fright.
A
roar
increased in volume
and soon
filled the tunnel. Hot
,
musty
air
reeking
of grease and hot metal whipped around
us
like a mini tornado
. Loose paper and dust shot up the vertical airshaft
on a blast of air
. McNeil looked at his
pocket
watch
and smiled
.

“
Number
Four
. Right on time. In seven minutes it will pull into Bay Station and in fifteen
more it will reach End
-
of
-
the
-
Line.”

The walls
stopped shaking and t
he dust settled.
Joria relaxed slightly but
looked down the tunnel suspiciously.
As we
trotted
along the walkway, I hugged the
dirty
wall, fearing the notorious third rail I had heard so much about in movies
, but I noticed it had a shield covering it
,
allaying some of my apprehension of
accidental
electrocution
. We soon came to
a heavy steel door set in the wall
, like the hatch
way
of a
ship
.
S
treaked
with
rust
, it was old
but looked serviceable.
Normally, turning a tarnished
brass handle
hermetically
seal
ed
the door
, but t
he years had
dry rotted the rubber gasket
. It crumbled at my touch. Brackets
for a steel bar
had been added later
. I pee
r
ed inside.
The passageway
was
as
black
as
a funeral shroud
and smelled
like any long abandoned building
, plus one or two odors
I could not readily identify
.
Two men continued down the tunnel
, while two remained with us
.