‘Give me the oar.’
Nariko turned the corpse and examined the cadaver’s shoulder patch. Black horse head on a yellow shield.
‘101st Cav. This guy was part of the platoon guarding Ekks.’
She leaned close over the rotted corpse, squinted to read dog tags.
‘His name was Donovan. Sergeant Donavan.’
‘So the mission is a bust,’ said Tombes. ‘The team got wiped out.’
‘Maybe,’ said Cloke. ‘But we have to know for sure.’
Nariko drew the pistol from her belt, disengaged the safety and took aim.
‘The guy looks pretty dead,’ said Tombes.
‘I’ve seen these bastards fragged with grenades. Three of them. Spun twenty feet, legs gone, but they kept coming, hand over hand.’
She fired through the soldier’s eye socket. The gunshot echoed from the tunnel walls.
‘Bullet to the brain. Only way to be sure.’
She tucked the pistol back in her belt.
A clump of papers floating in the water. Nariko scooped wet pages with an oar and examined smeared ink.
‘What does it say?’ asked Cloke.
‘Nothing. Requisition forms.’
‘Show me.’
Nariko held out the oar. Cloke examined the mulched pages.
‘Army mindset. End of the world, and still filling out paperwork.’
‘Maybe it kept them sane,’ said Nariko.
They paddled deeper into the tunnel.
They passed an old IRT coach laid up on a siding. Water lapped the bodywork. Flakes of paint suggested the carriage might once have been Tuscan red.
Nariko trained her flashlight on the decaying hulk as they drifted past. Warped panels. Rusted girder frame. Side doors hung from their hinges.
‘Been here a long while.’
Faint gold letters:
The beam of the searchlight shafted through vacant windows. It lit the flooded carriage interior, projecting a shimmering ripple-glow across the ceiling.
Rotted leather hanger straps. Split and buckled coachwork. Rattan upholstery peeling from corroded spring-frame seats.
Relic of a gilded age.
They paddled past and continued down the tunnel.
‘How far have we travelled?’ asked Tombes.
‘About a quarter of a mile, at a guess,’ said Cloke.
‘Hello?’ shouted Nariko. Her voice echoed down the dark passageway and died slowly. ‘Hello? Anyone hear me? Anyone out there?’
No reply.
Tombes cleared his throat and cupped his hands.
‘Hey,’ he bellowed. ‘Hey. Anyone. Sound off.’
Silence.
‘The roof is getting low.’
‘Ten minute cut-off,’ said Nariko. ‘Ten minutes, then we turn back.’
‘We should keep going,’ said Cloke. ‘That soldier was guarding Ekks and his boys. Part of the team. His body drifted south on the current until he snagged on something beneath the water. Proves the rest of the Bellevue Team must still be up ahead.’
‘Probably dead.’
‘Doesn’t change a thing.’
She pointed to the G-Shock strapped round the wrist of her gauntlet.
‘Ten minutes. Then we’re done.’
They paddled further down the brick tunnel.
An arched passageway to their left. The entrance was blocked by prop-beams and planks. An old work notice nailed to the wood:
Nariko trained her flashlight on the tunnel entrance. The beam shafted through crooked planks. Absolute darkness beyond.
‘You didn’t say anything about a junction,’ said Tombes. ‘You said it would be a straight run.’
‘It isn’t on the map,’ said Nariko. ‘It shouldn’t be here.’
‘There are bound to be uncharted passageways,’ said Cloke. ‘The city has been overbuilt so many times no one knows exactly what’s beneath the surface. Records were lost when City Hall burned to the ground in the nineteenth century.’ He looked around at crumbling brickwork. ‘There are hundreds of miles of subway tunnel, a warren of speakeasy cellars and opium hideouts, sewer channels dating back beyond the revolution. A vast subterranean realm. No wonder homeless guys took refuge down here. They could siphon water from the pipes, splice power cables. Create their own world.’
‘Place gives me the damned creeps,’ said Tombes. Involuntary shiver.
‘Ionised air,’ said Cloke. ‘Moving water. Prickles your skin like a static charge.’
They kept rowing. Nariko’s flashlight lit nothing but crumbling brickwork and rafts of floating garbage.
‘We must be approaching Canal,’ said Cloke. ‘Doesn’t make sense. Why would they travel this far north?’
‘Something up ahead,’ said Nariko. ‘Some kind of obstruction.’
The tunnel choked by a wall of debris. The flashlight lit tumbled cinder blocks, deformed girders, massive slabs of reinforced concrete bristling rebar. A BROADWAY street sign protruded from the rubble.
Nariko leaned from the boat. She lashed the tether to the Broadway sign.
She shone her flashlight over the jumbled blocks. Marble. Travertine. Polished granite.
‘Guess a building collapsed. Compacted the tunnel.’
She leaned over the side of the boat and shone her flashlight into the depths. The beam shafted through black water.
‘Something yellow down there. Something big. A school bus? A Ryder?’
Tombes surveyed the rockfall.
‘We’ve got a few demo charges,’ he said. ‘Nowhere near enough to shift this masonry. Maybe we ought to head overground to Canal.’
Nariko shook her head.
‘Forget it. Heavy rads. Street fires. Buildings collapsing left and right. Down here, we have a chance. Up top, we’d get ripped apart.’
She unhooked the Motorola and fumbled with gloved fingers. She retuned and held up the handset until she got signal bars. Hiss of static. A faint, rhythmic tocking sound.
‘Hear that? Their radio is still live, still transmitting, beyond that wall of rubble.’
‘Doesn’t mean a whole lot,’ said Tombes. ‘Might be a dead man with his hand resting on Transmit.’
‘Hold on,’ said Nariko. She mimed hush. ‘Listen.’
A young man’s voice whispering through waves of static. She held the radio to her ear and strained to make out words.
‘…Help us. If anyone can hear this transmission, please, send help…’
She upped the volume and switched the speaker to vox. The ghost-voice echoed from the tunnel walls.
‘…Can anyone hear me? Is anyone out there? Can anyone hear my voice?…’
‘Jesus,’ murmured Cloke. ‘They made it. The Bellevue guys. Some of them are still alive.’
‘Who is this?’ asked Nariko, addressing the radio. ‘What’s your name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Get a grip, kid. Come on. Get it together.’
‘Ivanek. Casper Ivanek.’
‘What’s the situation? Where are you?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Describe what you see.’
‘It’s dark. It’s cold.’
‘Is anyone with you? The Bellevue team? Is anyone else left alive?’
The voice faded to a whisper.
‘I’m alone. They were here, with me. But now they are gone.’
‘All right. Sit tight. This is Rescue Four. We’re coming for you, kid. We’re coming for you.’
20
Galloway stood in the plant room doorway, hands on his head, shotgun barrel jammed against the back of his neck. Blood dripped from his shattered nose.
Donahue snatched a heavy crash axe from the equipment pile.