Terminus (20 page)

Cloke scanned himself. Then he scanned Tombes.

‘Bad?’

‘Won’t kill us outright, but it might bite us on the ass a few years down the line. Cancer. Leukaemia. Not much fun in a world without hospitals.’

Tombes held out the notebook.

‘Ekks had this in his hand. Damn near broke his fingers persuading him to let go.’

Cloke examined the book. Letters and symbols, page after unbroken page.

‘What the hell is this gibberish?’

‘Maybe the guy went nuts.’

He held up a random page.

‘This thing is longer than
Lord of the Rings
. See how the ink changes? He burned through three pens.’ He flipped more pages. ‘See the letters? The handwriting? He took time over this stuff, wanted to get it right. And see here? He struck through a couple of lines, corrected himself.’

‘So what?’ asked Tombes. ‘Seen anything like it before?’

‘No. Any other documents lying around? Did he have a laptop?’

‘Nothing. Just that notebook.’

‘Looks like code. Can’t think what else it could be. Might be some kind of weird DNA sequence, I guess.’

‘We’re going to have a hard time moving this guy. What if we have to re-enter the water? Maybe we could strap him to the backboard, try to keep him rigid.’

‘That kind of presupposes there is actually a way out of here,’ said Cloke.

‘And we only have two suits. That’s the hard truth. If Ekks is going to make it back to Fenwick, one of us will have to stay behind.’

Lupe radioed Cloke.

‘Come on, man. Pick up. Talk to me.’

No response.

She stood in the office doorway and surveyed the ticket hall.

Sicknote crouched on the floor scribbling his strange phantasmagoria. Swirling vapours. Screaming faces. A black, viscous puddle of madness slowly spreading across the tiles.

Wade sat on the bench, head thrown back, snoring in his sleep. His face was pale, skin glazed with sweat. He mumbled like he was sinking into a fever.

Donahue sat on the platform steps, staring down into subterranean darkness.

Galloway lay unconscious on a pile of equipment bags, bandaged stump spotted with blood.

‘Have you all given up?’ shouted Lupe. Her voice echoed through the ticket hall. ‘Are you all just going to sit here and die?’

They ignored her.

Lupe returned to the IRT office. She stretched, swung her arms, poured water over her face.

She took Donahue’s radio from the table.

‘Cloke. Switch on your radio, dammit.’

Cloke’s voice:

‘
We found Ekks.
’

‘Is he alive?’

‘
Just.
’

‘Talking?’

‘
Unconscious, but breathing.
’

‘Can he be moved?’

‘
I didn’t come all this way to leave him behind.
’

‘Any other survivors?’

‘
No. We’re going to look around one more time, try and find a way out. Maybe there is some kind of maintenance access, something we missed. Stairs that will take us up to street level.
’

‘Check the tunnel floor. Walk the tracks, make a thorough search. Every inch.’

‘
Did Donnie spot something on the schematics?
’

‘Maybe. Look for some kind of manhole, some kind of inspection hatch that will take you down to a lower level. Look hard. It could be your only chance.’

Cloke checked beneath each subway car. He ducked between the wheel bogies and inspected the track bed. Rats stared back at him. He made shoo gestures. They stood their ground.

‘Give me your lighter.’

Tombes handed over his shamrock Zippo.

Cloke set the lighter to high-flame and wafted fire at the savage-looking rodents. Flame reflected in mean, black eyes. They turned and scurried away.

Tombes stood guard. He scanned tunnel shadows. He shook his flashlight to coax the last power from dying batteries.

‘Anything?’

‘Yeah. Think I’ve got something.’

Cloke crouched on hands and knees, flashlight trained beneath a coach. He unhooked his radio.

‘There’s some sort of grating beneath one of the cars.’

‘
Get a closer look.
’

Cloke squirmed between the wheels of the thirty-ton car. He slid beneath a traction motor and massive suspension springs.

‘Bars. Steel bars. Hinges and a big-ass padlock. Any idea what I’m looking at?’

‘
One of the utility maps shows a large ground-water channel running beneath that section of subway tunnel. You must have found some kind of storm drain.
’

Cloke squirmed further beneath the carriage. He leaned over the grille and shone his flashlight downwards into darkness.

‘A narrow pipe. Rungs set in concrete. It goes deep. Way deep.’

‘That’s it. That’s your route out.’

Galloway leaned against a ticket hall pillar. Drugged stupor. He hugged his mutilated arm to his chest. He was pale with blood loss.

His eyelids drooped. His knees began to buckle. He snapped awake, caught himself as he toppled forwards. A stumbled recovery. He glanced around, wild-eyed, disoriented. He looked down at his stump. The events of the last few hours repopulated his mind like a fast reboot.

Something lying at the base of the pillar. Galloway slowly crouched, picked up the blood-caked belt he had used as a tourniquet, and threw it into corner shadows.

Sicknote held up a Sharpie.

‘The pen has run dry.’

‘Only one I got,’ croaked Galloway. ‘Sorry.’

Sicknote scratched his forehead with an inked finger. It left a smear like a soot streak.

‘You don’t think they’ll let you board that chopper and fly out of here, do you?’

‘What?’ asked Galloway.

‘Why are you still here? Hanging round with these guys? They won’t offer you a ride home.’

‘Fuck are you talking about?’

‘You’re bitten. Sooner or later, you’ll turn.’

‘Shut up.’

‘How long before the chopper arrives? Twelve hours? Fourteen? Do you think Lupe will wait that long? Sooner or later, she’ll take steps.’

‘The others would stop her.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Shut up, all right? Just shut your damned mouth.’

Galloway dug an energy bar from a holdall and tore the wrapper with his teeth. He chewed. He looked around.

Wade lay on the bench. He moaned and murmured. His limbs twitched and trembled as he fought monsters in his dreams.

Donahue sat at the head of the platform stairs, antiemetic medication and painkillers scattered on the step beside her. Her shoulders were slumped. She stared down into darkness.

Lupe stood in the office doorway. She was watching him. Backlit. He couldn’t read her expression.

She took a swig of water and turned away.

Galloway searched inside the trauma kit. He found a scalpel capped with a rubber stopper. He tested the blade on the fabric of the bag. It sliced through thick Cordura like it was paper. He re-capped the blade and slipped it into his pocket.

Tombes crawled beneath the subway car. He bit a Maglite between his teeth. He squirmed into position over the drain grate. Steel bars. Hinges. Padlock.

He took the flashlight from his mouth and laid it on the track bed.

‘Pass me the gear.’

Cloke pushed the plasma cylinder between coach wheels.

Tombes grabbed the webbed cylinder and hugged it to his belly. He unbuckled a strap and unravelled the hose. He pulled on leather gauntlets. He balled a fire coat and pushed it between himself and the grate as a partial heat shield.

‘All right. Here we go.’

He twisted the regulator and triggered the handset. The cutting flame burned brilliant white, roared a high, continuous scream.

He shielded his face and held the cutting head at arm’s length. He pressed the exothermic flame to the padlock. Thick smoke. Steel began to sweat and drip. The heavy padlock melted like butter and fell away.

He pressed the cutting head to the grate hinges. The underside of the carriage was lit by flickering arc-light. He blinked sweat. He worked by touch, unable to look directly at the incandescent flame.

He cut through the first hinge, then the second. The grille twisted, detached and dropped into the shaft.

Tombes shut off the cutting flame. Sudden silence. He listened to the grate as it tumbled down the pipe, abrading concrete, slamming tunnel rungs, hitting water with a deep and distant splash.

They examined Ekks.

Tombes checked pulse and blood pressure. He checked the saline drip.

‘How’s his respiration?’ asked Cloke. ‘Any better?’

‘Not great. But better.’

Cloke searched the carriage. He kicked over a couple of boxes. He upturned a suitcase and emptied it over the floor.

‘Forget it,’ said Tombes. ‘I already looked. Nothing in the bags, nothing under the bed.’

Cloke picked up the notebook.

‘Just this?’

‘Yeah,’ said Tombes. ‘Just the book.’

Cloke thumbed pages.

‘Reckon he found a cure?’ asked Tombes. ‘These notes. Reckon they amount to some kind of formula?’

Cloke held up a random page. Dense, urgent text.

‘He spent hours writing this stuff. Days. It’s got to mean something.’

‘Reckon you can hack it?’

‘Given time.’

Cloke dropped the notebook into the document bag, and lashed the bag with tape.

Tombes watched him work.

‘Well, guess I got the short straw,’ he said, looking down at his hands. ‘Three guys. Two dive suits. I’ll cover your back. I’ll make sure you and Ekks get safely into the water. But do me a favour, all right? Achieve something. Get that back to Ridgeway. Crack that damned code.’

Cloke shook his head.

‘You’re not staying behind.’

‘How do you figure?’

‘Nariko. She’s down there, in the water, with a helmet and air supply. We can lash her tanks to an NBC suit. Probably enough residual oxygen to make the journey.’

‘You want to strip her body?’

‘She would want you to live.’

Galloway climbed the steps to the street entrance.

He watched hands claw the opaque polythene that curtained the gate. Fingers daubed blood on the plastic.

He looked down. His bandaged stump was flecked with blood. Spines pushed through the gauze. He breathed deep. Part sigh, part shuddering sob.

‘Are you all right?’

Wade climbed the steps. He gripped the stairwell balustrade for guidance and support.

He listened to ragged fingernails rake plastic.

‘Is that them?’

‘Yeah,’ said Galloway.

‘How many?’

‘Plenty.’

‘They never let up, do they?’

‘No. No, they don’t.’

‘Lupe said there was a bike in the street.’

‘She did?’

‘Chopped. Chromed out. Big-ass ape hangers. Wish I had my eyes, you know? I’d like to see that Harley. The world has gone to hell, but that bike is still out there, sitting in the alley. Something beautiful. Something that makes sense.’

He bent double. He coughed and retched. He hacked and spat.

‘You don’t look so good,’ said Galloway.

‘Getting worse by the hour. Guess I don’t have long. Maybe I’ll head outside, when the time comes. I’d like to feel the rain on my face one last time, know what I mean?’

‘You’d get torn to pieces.’

‘Any of those bastards lays a finger on me, I’ll fuck them up.’

‘Always the rain with you guys.’

‘I did some time in Texas. All the guys on The Row, sealed in the same six-by-nine year after year. Some of those guys were running multiple appeals. State. Federal. Any motion to commute their lawyers could dream up. Pretty much a full decade locked down under artificial light. They didn’t give a shit about sun. They just wanted to feel rain.’

Galloway unclipped a bunch of keys from his belt one-handed, did it slow and quiet. He selected a cuff key with his teeth. He silently released the handcuffs that clamped the gate closed. He let the cuffs hang loose and open.

‘Hell with it,’ murmured Galloway. ‘We all got to die sometime, right? Just got to pick our terms.’

Tombes floated in dark water. He squirmed deep into a crevice between massive concrete slabs.

A half-cut girder. He triggered the plasma arc and touched the cutting head to steel. Metal bubbled, liquefied, ran in rivulets like tears.

Cloke hung back. He watched stuttering flame light from deep within the heart of the rubble pile.

Tombes shut off the arc and withdrew from the fissure. He pulled a chunk of girder clear and threw it aside.

‘Can you reach her?’ asked Cloke.

‘Yeah.’

‘Want me to do it?’

‘No. It’s my job.’

Tombes forced himself deeper into the crevice. He reached Nariko’s body. Her face behind the visor: eyes closed as if in a deep sleep.

He unsheathed a knife and began to saw through the fabric of her suit.

‘The pistol should be tucked in her weight belt. Can you reach it?’

‘No.’

Tombes backed out of the space dragging Nariko’s tanks and helmet behind him.

‘We’re done.’

He shouldered the gear and swam for the surface.

Cloke took a last look inside the fissure. His helmet lamps lit Nariko’s body, half-buried beneath tumbled masonry blocks. Her hair gently wafted in the current. The water around her tinged pink with blood.

He turned away and kicked towards the surface.

The subway car.

They lay diving equipment on the floor beside Ekks. They knelt and inspected the gear.

‘She looked peaceful,’ said Cloke. ‘She looked at rest.’

Tombes ignored him. He checked valves. He checked each tank gauge.

‘How much air left in the bottles?’ asked Cloke.

‘About an hour. Maybe less.’

Cloke got to his feet.

‘Get him ready to move. I’ll meet you back here in fifteen.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Tombes.

‘Couple of things I need to do before we leave.’

Cloke returned to the radio carriage. The operator fused to the transmitter, broadcast lights flickering intermittent red and green.

Cloke retuned his Motorola.

‘How you doing, son?’