Voss chose a target of his own. Even though his task was to break the glass, he hoped to nail one of the aliens at the same time. His right index finger tightened, the rifle jerked, and the bullet made a flat cracking sound as it passed through the air. Glass exploded, and the stink spun halfway around as half of its head disappeared in a cloud of blood. Then Chu fired. Both of his shots found their targets—they dropped as if they had been poleaxed.
But by then the toll booth’s front door had flown open, and in typical Chimeran fashion, the surviving stinks charged straight into the human guns. They were horrible-looking things with no hair, low foreheads, and needle-sharp fangs.
Chu dropped one of them. But since the Fareye’s rate of fire was relatively slow, it was up to Voss to put the rest of them down. The Hybrids were not only fast, but firing Bullseyes as they came. Voss had good reason to be concerned as a volley of homing tags stuttered past his head. Because if one of the tags hit, all of the subsequent projectiles would strike him too, no matter where the stink aimed its weapon.
So Voss forced himself to concentrate as he put two rounds into the first ’brid and saw patches of blood appear on its chest. The Chimera staggered, but still managed to take three more steps, before a final bullet took the top of its head off.
But precious seconds had been lost. The next alien was only ten feet away and closing fast when Voss pulled the trigger and held it back. Brass shell casings arced away and a row of bloody divots appeared across the stink’s muscular chest. Such was the creature’s momentum, however, that it slammed into the window frame before it finally came to a halt. Then, like a just-cut tree, the six-eyed monstrosity toppled over. Voss reflexively jerked on the carbine’s trigger, heard his weapon click empty, and hoped his fear didn’t show.
The sound of sustained gunfire brought Kawecki and the rest of the team forward. “Good work,” the officer said approvingly as puffs of lung-warmed air drifted away from his lips. “Maybe some of the other stinks will hear the shooting and come running or maybe they won’t. Let’s enter the tunnel as quickly as we can. At least they won’t be able to nail us from above.”
Voss nodded, released his empty magazine, and caught it. Clips, like everything else, were hard to come by. Stowing the empty in a pouch, he pushed a spare up into the well and pumped a shell into the weapon’s chamber.
Then it was time to follow Kawecki past a shot-up delivery truck. A bright red, yellow, and blue “Wonder Bread” logo was painted on its side. A frozen mummy could be seen sitting behind the wheel, forever eyeing the traffic ahead.
Darkness closed around them as they entered the two-lane-wide eastbound tube. Voss knew the tunnel was a little more than a mile and a half long, and about ninety-three feet deep at its lowest point. Reaching the other side would be a challenge—but it had to be done if they were going to attack the tower.
Inside the tunnel, the only lights were the beams from their weapons. And if it was frigid outside, it was even more so beneath the river, where the cold air had a tendency to collect. The pale beams played across the tiled ceiling, filthy walls, and cars that had been caught in the tunnel on the day New York was overwhelmed.
Voss couldn’t help but think about the people who had been in the vehicles all around him. It seemed reasonable to assume that at least some of them had been able to walk out. But what then? Had they been able to reach their homes? Or had they been slaughtered from above?
He pushed the questions away. His job was to focus on the present and the people who were still alive. “I have a pod farm on the right,” Lang commented from up ahead. “Stay left. Over.”
The fleshy structures stood about seven feet tall, and Voss knew the ones in front of him had been created by one or more Spinners. The ugly, blunt-headed creatures had razor-sharp teeth, sickle-shaped claws, and a ridge that ran all the way to the end of their pointy tails. So it was important to keep a sharp eye out.
Under normal circumstances, the team simply went around the cocoons, and the Grims “cooking” inside them, even if there weren’t any stinks around. It was nice to burn them out when they could spare an air-fuel grenade. But as tempting as the opportunity was, they couldn’t spare any ordnance. They left the pod farm untouched.
The side-wash from his light illuminated the cocoons as Voss walked past. The pods were pulsating, as if synched to a heartbeat deep within, and he was glad to put the groaning sounds behind him.
After fifteen minutes or so, the ice began to crackle and water splashed away from Voss’s boots. “It’s getting deeper,” Lang warned over the radio. “We’d better climb up onto the walkway. Over.”
Pedestrians weren’t allowed in the tunnel, but a raised walkway had been provided in case there was a need to evacuate the tube, so it was a simple matter to climb up onto it. However, as the team continued downwards, it wasn’t long before the thick green-gray slush was sloshing over the platform as well. “We can use the cars as stepping stones,” Lang suggested, as he jumped onto the roof of a taxi. “But they’re slippery, so watch your step. Over.”
The pace slowed considerably as the team was forced to leap from roof to roof while battling to stay upright. But worst of all was the occasional need to jump into the ice-cold water and wade with weapons held high.
Voss had just completed such a journey, and was standing on the trunk of a ’52 Chevy, when he heard a scream and turned to see a series of muzzle flashes.
“It’s Venley!” Rigg shouted in between short bursts from Mason’s Wraith. “He was wading across a gap when something took him!”
“It was a Fury,” Chu added grimly. “The damned thing was hiding behind a truck. Over.”
“Cease fire!” Kawecki ordered sternly. “Save your ammo. You could pour bullets into that Fury all day long without giving it a headache. Close the gap and keep moving. That’s all we can do.”
Voss knew Kawecki was correct, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Why had the Chimera allowed five people to pass before attacking Venley? Why not kill Lang, Kawecki, or himself? There was no way to know as they plowed ahead, careful to take even the most circuitous routes, rather than enter the water again.
It was tedious work, but gradually the water level began to fall, and they could climb up onto the elevated walkway once more. That was when Voss saw a message scrawled on the wall and paused to read it. “Watch out!” the block letters said. “Furies in the water.”
Now you tell us, Voss thought bitterly. Now you fucking tell us. It wasn’t the anonymous author’s fault, of course—but it felt good to vent some of his anger.
Kawecki called a halt so the men could change into mostly dry clothing and brew some coffee. Then, with something warm in their stomachs, it was time to go.
The next fifteen minutes were spent climbing a gradual slope until they could see a half-circle of gray light. Snow was falling beyond. The lacy curtain billowed occasionally when the breeze hit. Then the snowfall steadied again, as if determined to throw a new shroud over the city.
“There were guards at the west end,” Kawecki observed evenly. “So it would make sense if there were guards at this end as well. Take it slow. Over.”
But, logical or not, there weren’t any Chimera waiting outside the tunnel. There had been, however, judging from the maze of half-filled tracks, which meant the stinks might return at any moment. Still, Voss and Kawecki knew that all sorts of dangers could be lying in wait, so they paused to study the area through their binoculars before proceeding.