Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) (39 page)

The two women broke apart, and Nicole actually blushed after the brief contact. She pulled out her knife, and Sandy clutched the curved, sharpened metal pieces in her hands. They felt good, as if their solid weight made them more deadly.

Michael pointed and took the lead position, his headlamp bobbing as he swiftly walked ahead of the others. “This way,” he said. “I saw the platform about a hundred feet back. Once we’re there, it’s just a stair climb to the surface and Fulton Street.”

“Well, all right then,” Burns said with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Nicole palmed the flare gun in one hand and a knife in the other. As they moved toward the surface, she couldn’t take her eyes off her girlfriend. Under the dirt and the soot and the blood, Sandy had never appeared more beautiful.

11:48 p.m.

The platform was deserted except for a few rats, which remained at the periphery of the station. Their stomachs were extended and they moved sluggishly, as though they had engorged themselves recently. The group of survivors hurried past them and climbed the steps of the immobile escalator to the stairs that led to street level. The short climb was extended somewhat, each person moving slower than they could, taking their time, watching out for any creatures that might leap out at them from the sidelines. Also, they were more than a little afraid of what they would see once they got to the top of the stairs.

Nicole moved up first, scanning the area around the subway exit. She sucked in her breath, stunned at the vision before her – a vision of complete and utter destruction.

“Is it that bad?” Sandy asked, moving alongside her. Michael was at her side as if attached. They both gasped, and the sound fetched General Burns and the limping John up behind them. Even as Burns tried to guard their rears, he strained to get a better look at the city.

“Holy Christ,” he said.

Cars were overturned everywhere he gazed, and burned and half-eaten corpses spilled out of their doors and windows. Several of the large skyscrapers had fallen, causing a domino effect as one superstructure struck another, sending it toppling into a third. In one instance, the falling building had been stopped by a stronger one, and it leaned into it like a lover. Most of the windows in the buildings left standing were broken out, and fires blossomed within their dark hulls. A lot of the storefronts were obscured with smoke or blackened where something had exploded within. The streets were full of automobiles and buses and cabs, most crashed into one another. Half-devoured bodies lay draped all around the area, the blood washed into the gutters by broken fire hydrants spewing water. It was quite dark, as there was no electricity and only a sliver of a moon in the sky. The only illumination came from the multiple fires that dotted the nearby area. When they stepped farther out of the subway stairwell, they turned to gawk at what was behind them. The sky was glowing from the burning city. Manhattan was on fire, and the smell of charred meat filled the air like a hellish barbeque. Smoke filled the sky, billowing from the inferno that had once been uptown, filling the sky with plumes and trails.

“There’s nothing left,” Michael whispered. It seemed entirely appropriate to whisper, as though they were in a place due reverence, like a church or the site of a natural disaster.

“So much fire,” Sandy said, also whispering. “It’ll probably burn until there’s nothing left, not a single shred of this city.”

“It’s so quiet,” Nicole said, looking around at the devastation. “No screaming or sirens or fire trucks or anything. And where are all the creatures?”

“Don’t complain about it,” Burns said, taking out his cell phone. He quickly dialed a number and held it to his ear. It rang three times before someone picked up, and Burns sighed with relief. “That you Tommy?” he asked.

“Who do you think it is?” came the cheerful reply. “Where have you been, Hoss? I had about given up on you.”

“Been a little busy. You able to pick us up?”

“Where are you? Things have gotten a bit, um, ugly up here. I’m hiding on a rooftop, and I was just about to leave when you called.”

“We’re on Fulton Street, making for the… what’s it called?”

Michael said, “South Street Seaport.”

“The South Street Seaport. You know where that is?”

“I can get there, no problem.”

Behind them, something growled within the darkness of an alley. Nicole spun around, her knife in front of herself, peering into the lane. The growl had been low, but it had seemed very loud within the eerie silence of the burning city.

“How long?” Burns asked, motioning for the other three people to start walking toward the pier. Michael led the group; John loped beside him, while Nicole kept her eyes locked on the alley.

“Fifteen minutes, maybe,” Hemmer replied. “I’m all the way over on the other side of Brooklyn, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the military’s brought out some big guns in the sky.”

“We’ve been indisposed,” Burns said. “But we should be on the piers by that time.”

“Which pier?”

“Hell if I know. The one with five desperate looking people jumping up and down on it.”

A Lycanthrope stepped out of the alley near an empanada store, walking on all fours. It stood, rearing its head back and howling. It looked back at them, saliva dripping from its jaws, then it raised its head and let loose with another long moan.

As the group walked backwards, following Michael, they saw another once-human werewolf emerge from the shadows of a burned-out museum. Then another jumped from a second story window into the street. The first creature from the alleyway howled again.

“What’s it doing?” Sandy asked. “Why isn’t it chasing us?”

“It’s signaling,” Burns replied. “It’s gathering a damn pack.”

“All we have are knives and a pole,” Nicole said, moving a little faster as several more Lycanthropes appeared in the streets. “I’m not feeling very confident about this.”

“Then let’s move,” Burns said. “Fast.”

Over his cell phone, he heard Tommy Hemmer say, “I’m on my way. You guys get as far out on the piers as you can. I’ll lower a rope ladder.”

“Ten four,” Burns said, slipping the phone back into his pocket and taking off after the sprinting trio ahead of him.

The first Lycanthrope howled again, loud and soulful. Dark, hairy figures emerged from the lower levels of restaurants, leaping up the stairs and onto the street.

As the group ran, the pavement gave way to uneven cobblestones, wet and slippery from water gushing out of busted fire hydrants. Sandy stumbled on a slick spot, but Nicole caught her before she crashed to her knees, lifting the woman to her unsteady feet. She didn’t take a moment to ascertain whether Sandy was injured. She faced forward, knife and flare gun held in front of her, running as fast as she could. Sandy was right behind her, aware of the slippery stones now. Her concentration was focused upon keeping her footing secure.

Ahead of them, the buildings started opening up, the street broadening. The East River came into view as they moved past an Abercrombie & Fitch store. A banner featuring a half-naked model was burning in the large front window, charred and glowing bits of paper fluttering about within the confines of the window box.

A huge Lycan burst through the glass of the Abercrombie window, landing on its hind feet and tilting its head backwards with a triumphant howl. It still wore the shredded vestiges of designer clothing. Behind it, the flames devoured the poster even swifter as fresh air hit the display. The burning bits of ash flew through the street like fireflies.

“Hurry,” Burns shouted.

As he ran beneath an underpass and toward the river, Burns risked a quick glance behind them. He gasped at the sight of hundreds of Lycans swarming into the streets. They crawled from stores and alleys and the museum. They leapt from windows, landing deftly on all fours. They were on the roofs of the buildings, looking down at the retreating group of survivors. And all of them were howling, somehow communicating with each other. The sound of their yowls and grunts merged together into an assault on the general’s eardrums. It seemed to swirl around him, envelop him in its primeval savagery. It almost felt as though someone were squeezing his heart.

“Keep going,” he shouted, although nobody seemed to need much encouragement.

The group raced out onto the pier, their footsteps slapping hard against the wood. They turned their eyes to the sky, searching for any signs of an approaching helicopter. The sky remained empty except for the stars and a fingernail of a moon, which emitted just enough light to see the eerie empty pier around them. Boats large and small rocked in the choppy water of the river. Some had been bombed, but a yellow water taxi and a second small boat still seemed intact. They were both tied to the pier with ropes, and they bumped against the wood, creaking in the night.

Burns backed up against the group and raised the cell phone to his mouth again. “Hemmer? Where the hell are you?”

“I don’t see him,” Nicole said.

“Hemmer… Tommy, answer.”

“I’m on my way, general,” came a static-filled answer. “Patience, man.”

“We haven’t got the time for patience,” Burns grumbled.

The Lycans were still holding back, grouping together in the cobblestone streets near the maritime museum. They appeared to be growing restless, lashing out at each other. Several fights had broken out between the beasts, and a few had decided to spend the time rutting, climbing on the backs of others. Their howling was so loud, echoing off the storefronts and to the water, where it bounced back like an attack on the little band of survivors.

“They aren’t gonna stay away for long,” Nicole said, edging next to Burns. “What about the boats? You think we could take one out, wait for the helicopter onboard?”

“Only looks like two are in decent enough shape,” Burns said, motioning to the three burning boats, slowly sinking. One huge boat was half sunk already, its prow sticking up out of the water like an island.

The howling grew softer.

The wind picked up a bit.

The boats bumped against the pier, ropes groaning with the strain of holding them in place.

“This one’s closer,” Burns said, and he swiped at the ropes anchoring the boat. His knife cut through each one, efficient and tidy.

The boat was dubbed the
Marion M
, and it was little over sixty feet long, with a long forward prow and a cabin built on top. It was a small freighter with peeling black paint along the extended flat deck, and the square cabin was a light beige color. A pipe stuck out of the top, black and grime-covered as if used continuously for many years. Its sides were scorched black, as if the boat had been on fire but the flames had all been extinguished before too much damage had been done.

Nicole helped Sandy hop onto the boat as it started to drift from the dock, unfettered from its ropes in the front. Michael stepped onto the deck and wobbled a bit as the freighter rocked on the waves. He helped John across the water, steadying him. Stumbling, the reporter and the homeless man moved to the back of the boat until they could balance themselves against the solid cabin.

There were three more ropes on the stern end, and Burns hurried toward them. He sawed through one when an unholy roar erupted up Fulton Street behind the pier and the overpass. Turning, he saw the Lycanthropes moving as one pack toward the moored ships. Their waiting period was over. They sprinted at full speed, hurtling toward them, intent on their prey.

Burns sawed faster through the thick, heavy ropes. The front end of the boat was arcing away from the dock, but the back end was still moored. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand, refusing to turn and see the killers loping toward him.

“Start the boat!” he shouted at Nicole.

She stumbled toward the cabin, past Michael and John. Inside, she peered at the instruments, then looked back at Taylor Burns.

“I don’t know how to,” she said.

The Lycanthropes were beneath the overpass, hundreds of them, their eyes glittering in the dim moonlight. In seconds, they’d reach the pier.

Burns hacked through the second to last rope, shouting all the while.

“Just press a fucking button, Nicole. Press them all.”

She ducked into the cabin and confronted the instrument panel. It seemed fairly primitive with a device that resembled a stick shift and several gleaming metal buttons. She pressed them all to no avail. The engine remained quiet.

The Lycanthropes reached the end of Pier Sixteen, their claws clicking against the wood beneath them as they rushed forward. Splinters flipped into the air from their talons.

Burns sliced through the final rope, and he jumped onto the boat. He didn’t want the thing to float away and leave him helpless on the pier, surrounded by those things.

While John remained propped against the cabin, Michael helped Nicole, pressing button after button. At the far right, she found a key in a slot that looked an awful lot like the ignition key from her truck back home. So she turned it. The engine sputtered a few times.

“This is it,” she said.

“Hurry!” Burns screamed as the last rope dropped into the river water. “They’re almost here.”