Chapter 24

The Jeep Rubicon careened off of a rubble patch and started to skirt around another. “Faster, you fuckers, faster!” Came a piercing scream over the din of screeching tires. “You couldn’t stick to the plan, could you, you asshole!” Hardy Primm shouted towards the second Jeep racing along close behind them. It wasn’t enough to snatch those eight beautiful bitches out from under the Murray’s noses — no.

Jackson had to go break into the Murray arsenal and jack some rocket launchers. Granted, these were top of the line beauties themselves — the Meatpackers had nothing near this kind of firepower — but this extracurricular activity had tipped the Murrays off. And this is why there were two battered, black vintage Escalades hot on their trail. “That fucker.”

Thankfully, these Escalades didn’t have any rocket launchers, because Jackson and Peggy Sue had wiped them clean of all seven of them. Bullets ricocheted off of the back of Jackson’s Jeep as Peggy Sue fired a round of Titan Tips towards the black beasts that bore down on them, cracking the windshield of the first one. Primm stood on the passenger seat backwards, hanging onto the support bar and doing his best to help with his own shotgun, but Jackson and Peggy Sue’s Jeep was bouncing around in the way. In the back, just underneath the long barrel of Primm’s gun, lay four smooth-skinned, semi-conscious girls in a heap, bouncing around like pop-corn.

Hardy Primm screamed and cursed again as their vehicle’s wheels hit the start of the Penn Plain with a skid. “Use the fucking rocket launchers, use them!” he yelled behind him. Both Jeeps were now on the flat expanse of Penn Plain — they were going to have to lose these Murrays here. They couldn’t very well lead them to the entrance of the Meatpacking Bunker. Ricardo, at the wheel, drove crouched over. Primm yelled himself hoarse towards Ricardo. “McHaley, take a left, we have to kill these fuckers on the Plain!” Ricardo’s grunt was lost in the barrage of shots that were whizzing over their heads. He changed tack towards the left, and trained his wheels in the direction of the ruins of lower Manhattan.

No one’s ever found a trace of these things, ever — no carcasses, no droppings, no leftovers…

Yep.

Maybe they clean up after themselves?

Riley laughed in her head. Jake could really brighten up someone’s day. Tell me more.

It was just a thought.

Hang on Jake, keep on it — we’re at The Teeth. Keep comm live.

As soon as the three agents had cleared two rubble hills out of the sight of the square, they had suited up and gotten into gear. Titan Tip shotguns, pistols, and energy pulse grenades. A creature-hunter’s best friends. But they were only there for recon — strict orders to find evidence or a lead, record, and retreat. Find the next. No engagement — retreat at the first sign of danger. It was easy for Ops to instruct as a “scaled-down version” of the past — failed — search and destroy missions. They weren’t on the field.

Chip Gordon killed the Patrol’s engine and gave a low whistle. He had parked at the apex of one of the rubble hills. The Teeth were indeed as majestic as Polo had said. There was a massive square of them — perfectly lined-up columns that were in various stages of ruin. They looked spiny, like in the mouth of a “fish” that was in a picture he’d seen as a child. He deftly locked the vehicle down and set its low-grade spectrum bend on to match the rubble surrounding it. It would be practically invisible until someone got within ten feet of the truck.

“Well,” he said, turning to Riley and Lester, who had joined him on the hillside. “Let’s get to work. O’Brien?” O’Brien held up his system square, which showed a small map of their area.

“The lone previous mission in the area was 1.7 miles to the north of here — Corporal Marpide sent his last report here, and disappeared here.” Lester pointed to several spots on the map. “Fission readings, geological surveys and blueprints suggest we best enter here, in the south-west quadrant.” He pointed in the distance, just beyond a row of columns. “There.”

“Alright. Let’s check in, and then get going,” Gordon said. The three stared at three different points on the horizon in silence.

Jake — we’re going in. Please record my current position. Any last words of wisdom?

Keep all your senses on, I guess. My link isn’t as strong to you there because digital infrastructure sucks where you are. But I’ll send you anything I find. Riley, please please please be careful.

I will. Thanks, Jake. Talk to you later.

The three of them looked up at each other, ready. Gordon issued final instructions. “Sync with O’Brien’s master map. Stay close with comms and ROSRDS fully on. Messaging on thought — no one makes a sound. Record everything. If you so much as see a pinky toe of a creature, we all run. If we’re lucky, we won’t see any. We’re good?”

Riley and Lester nodded in unison, all three tapping the rings under their gloves. Chip switched to thought comms.

We’re going in.

NEW YORK CITY

In the subterranean darkness, water dripped and echoed as if from a distant land. Pritchard, O’Brien and Gordon scrambled over slick rocks. That narrow passage had turned out to be a dead end. They had been exploring for almost two hours with no sign of anything extraordinary; Pritchard could almost feel Gordon’s impatience through their comm link.

We have thirty more minutes in here, then we go back. Gordon broadcasted mentally.

As we agreed. Pritchard confirmed. O’Brien remained silent, picking his way through the passage.

They all continued in silence until they reached the main, wider branch.

Deeper once more? O’Brien asked.

Fine, Gordon said curtly. They wound away from their initial entry point in the basement of a ruined building, deeper into the maze of earthy, stony passages. Other than the regular drip-drop of water somewhere in the labyrinth, there was oppressive silence as they walked.

Do you smell that? Pritchard asked suddenly.

What? O’Brien asked, taking deep breaths into the air.

Yeah — It smells like cadaverine, putrescine, indole… Gordon listed.

That way. Riley pointed silently into the darkness. Gordon nodded and climbed over a pile of stones. The other two followed.

Ry — Jake’s thought message crackled through Riley’s private comm link. We just unscramb… files you sent… The team…

Jake, the signal’s breaking. We’re deep underground. Meter’s not working.

… shoot them! Ry, you can’t sh…

Jake?

Don’t sh… and they mutate, Ry — they change… monster you saw. That was because the… it correlates.

Don’t shoot the creatures?

…DON’T SHOOT THEM. Ry can you –

Jakes thought messages cut off. Riley’s main takeaway from that exchange was not to shoot the creatures. But why? She thought back to The Rock — about the monster, and the interviews, and — and suddenly Gordon stopped.

What is it? Riley asked, trying not to gag in the overpowering stench of decomposition. Her eyes were watering.

I think we just found something. O’Brien said, stopping just behind her. He held back coughs and tried to hold his stomach. The three headlamps flashed into the giant maw of a cavern lined with bodies and skeletons. There must have been thousands upon thousands of corpses in various stages of decay, skulls split wide open.

Hello, Gordon said, his ROSRD furiously taking records along a hundred dimensions. They all cranked Dark Vision to maximum capacity and took a furtive step into the giant burial ground.

If these aren’t signs of creatures, I don’t know what are, broadcasted O’Brien. He slipped on the slick floor, but righted himself.

Can you feed Ops? Asked Gordon. I lost my link a while back.

Riley shook her head. Lost my link just before we entered this place. It was choppy to begin with. But guys, listen — my guy said that we shouldn’t shoot the creatures.

What? Why not? Gordon asked, stomach heaving from the rotting stink. O’Brien was scanning the first wall of corpses up close. The array of decomposing clothing was vast — everything from ragged tatters to some evening gowns here and there. Towards the bottom of the mountain of cadavers were bones. Gordon read his gas meters. We need to plug into oxy. Gasses here are toxic.

Pritchard and O’Brien followed Gordon’s lead, slipping a device over their heads. Riley activated hers and took a deep breath, then responded through thought comm. We were choppy. Based on my recon from last week, I think we should err on the side of caution. We shouldn’t shoot. Anything. O’Brien? She looked at O’Brien for confirmation — he glanced over his shoulder and nodded.

Gordon admitted that Pritchard deserved some respect. His instinct also told him that this would be wise to listen to her counsel — she had seen creatures up close. But he couldn’t think of any other way to protect themselves.

They looked around for a few more minutes. ROSRDS were recording at a furious pace. O’Brien came back near the entrance and looked down at where he had slipped. Under dirt, grime and the ground beneath their feet was covered in evenly laid tiles. Where are we?

Your map says…

Suddenly, something moved from the top of the mountain and a few bodies near the top began to cascade, bouncing off of other bodies, towards the ground. The three agents sprang back towards the door and agreed in unison, before Gordon’s thought message came through. They didn’t need to know what it was that had caused the disturbance on Hell Mountain to understand that they needed to get out of there — fast.

Muscles straining, Lester O’Brien catapulted himself out of the crevasse into blinding sunshine and turned back to help Riley Pritchard out. The two of them broke into a flat sprint after Chip Gordon, who was clambering deftly between two crumbling columns towards the hill of rubble where their truck was parked. A moment later, a raw-skinned head and shoulder popped out of the crack in the ground, followed by a nine-foot hulk of a creature. It thumped without hesitation towards Lester’s retreating figure. Within seconds, Alpha after Alpha flew into the square and joined the chase. Gordon unshielded and unlocked the vehicle with a steady hand and counted — six… seven… eight. There were eight oversized-creatures trailing the three agents at lightning-quick speed.

O’Brien’s lungs burned as he topped the hill just behind Riley. Gordon gunned the truck alive and screeched off just as O’Brien and Pritchard’s doors closed.

“Pritchard, I am taking you on word about not using firearms. If we shouldn’t shoot them, what do we do?” Gordon asked urgently, guiding the truck along the valleys of rubble in a flat mogul. The eight creatures swarmed over the hill behind them as the truck’s wheels skidded in the rubble.

“A big rock –” Riley responded. “Frog Head.”

Gordon nodded and squeaked the truck around a curve. The Alphas, who were steadily gaining ground on them in long-legged strides, scrambled around the hill after the agents.

O’Brien reached into the back of the 4-by-4 and pulled out a coil of thick rope. “I see what you’re after. Dodge to buy time, Gordon — I’ll do the rope work, you circle around and I’ll heave, okay?”

Gordon nodded and stepped on the gas, lurching along in a winding path, widening their lead ahead of the creatures. Frog Head appeared at the top of a slightly higher hill, and taking the forty-degree incline head-on, Gordon urged the truck directly to the peak. The creatures trailed behind, but never flagged.

Even before Gordon skidded to a stop next to the neck of the massive wall that had broken in the shape of a frog’s head, O’Brien was out the door, hitching one end of the rope to a sturdy hook on the back of the car.

“Pritchard, can we at least use the pulse grenades?”

“Hang on!” Pritchard finally reestablished contact.

Jake! Jake, are you there? Eight Alphas after us; we’re somewhere in Chelsea. What did you say about the creatures? Can we use pulse grenades?

Riley!!! No! Firearms turn them into Alphas. Energy pulses could turn them into monsters! I’ll explain later!

“That’s a negative, Gordon — it’ll mutate the creatures into worse things.”

“Alright, O’Brien, it’s all to you!” Gordon yelled out the window. O’Brien finished winding the rope around the narrower neck of the Frog Head and tying it off. The creatures reached the foot of the hill and began to climb. Gordon eased forward and the rope grew taut; O’Brien hastily threw together a leverage system of rocks and metal bars. The first of the creatures were already halfway up the hill. O’Brien could smell them as the breeze turned, but he stood stock-still, waiting — looking directly into the lead creature’s filmy eyes. Two heartbeats passed, and when three or four creatures were within five feet of him, O’Brien roared. “Now!” He threw his weight on the lever as Gordon hit the gas.

A groan filled the air and twenty feet of thick concrete collapsed atop the lead creatures, crashing in a cloud of dust. Three were crushed with a crunch, and one was pinned by the leg. Another skipped away in time and fell down the hill, but bounced up to continue the chase. Dexterously, O’Brien scrambled down the slope and jumped into the truck. Pritchard helped haul him in, and Gordon returned to weaving along the small valleys full speed. The three agents didn’t give themselves time to cheer. The remaining four creatures didn’t pause — they split across to skirt around the hill.

“Gordon, the bunker square’s that way — head to the Plain,” Pritchard said, pointing south. Tires spitting rubble into the air, Gordon pulled the vehicle into a hard left and sashayed it on bumpy rubble southwards.

“Ops links back up?” Riley asked as she reset her ROSRD and comm ring.

“Negative,” said O’Brien, tapping his ear.

“ROSRD fell out in the caves,” Gordon said grimly. He hadn’t had time to upload any of his data.

“I’m up with mine,” Riley breathed as she bounced along. The Alphas were closing in again.

Jake? Jake are you there? We need ideas. Heading to the Plain.

“There are only three of them,” O’Brien said from the back seat. The Alphas moved quickly for their size; they didn’t seem to tire.

Jake, where’s the fourth?

Ry — I’m here. I’m pulling up your topography. The fourth made off towards a bunker square. Riley grunted in frustration and sent a silent thought to Polo. The Penn Plain opened up ahead of them. Wheels screeching, they jumped forward on flat ground and peeled off. Reaching easier ground, the Alphas ran sped up — they were on a clumsy sprint and were clipping steadily along ten feet behind the dusty truck.

“I’m going to try linking again. We need to upload the cave data ASAP, Riley,” O’Brien said, keeping an eye out on their untiring hunters.

Gordon stepped harder on the gas pedal and eyed the gas gauge nervously. “Negative; we got damage somewhere in the rubble. I think our tank got punctured somewhere. I’m steering clear of the main north-south road. Running parallel.”

Riley — can you get to the rubble hills to the south of the Plain?

Negative — vehicle damaged.

Can you ram them?

“Can we ram them, Chip?”

Gordon glanced at his gauges. The gas level was falling faster than normal. “Don’t have much juice left… let’s try… Hang on.” Gordon turned towards the rear, putting a hand on the back of Riley’s seat. The other two agents turned to look at their three targets and braced themselves. The vehicle drifted forward for a split second, then Gordon threw the truck into reverse, pushing the gas pedal into the floor as far as it could go.

Tires screeching, the truck slammed into the first hulk of creature. Metal twisted. The three jerked with the impact; equipment flew. The thing had dented the back of the truck, broken through the rear door and was reaching across with massive hands, grasping for Lester.

“Shit,” O’Brien breathed as he bashed the creature’s red-scabbed hand back with the butt of his shotgun. O’Brien knelt on the back seat and leaned his bulky frame into the back, pressing his feet against the driver’s seat to gain leverage. The creatures breath was a cesspool stench and O’Brien fought to maintain consciousness. He threw a punch at the intruder’s face. His knuckles made contact with hard bone and raw skin, forcing the creature’s head back momentarily. A meaty hand grabbed his arm, jerking him towards the rear of the vehicle, but suddenly grew lax and began to spray dark red blood around the interior of the truck. A deafening, inhuman scream rose.

O’Brien shielded his face and looked to his left — he saw Pritchard smiling with at him an eyebrow raised, her face spattered with the creature’s stinking blood. She was kneeling next to O’Brien in the back seat, holding a long, serrated-edged knife smeared with dark red liquid. The creature’s arm lay at the bottom of the back of the truck. The two of them leaned away from the blind attack of the creature’s other fist. O’Brien hit it with his shotgun and dodged back to make way for Pritchard’s smooth slice through the other limb, sending more creature spray throughout the cabin.

Meanwhile, Gordon was hunched over in the driver’s seat, sending forth a stream of curses and grabbing at the pulse grenade that had fallen between the gas pedal and the floor. While the creature writhed and lashed out, incapacitated and stuck in the back of the truck, the other two creatures had caught up and were moving to flank the vehicle. But finally, Chip Gordon pulled the pulse grenade free without activating it, and just as he straightened up in the driver’s seat, he threw the engine into forward drive and slammed on the gas. The truck lurched away from the grasping hands of the two creatures on either side of it. It peeled itself off of the armless, flailing Alpha, which slumped to the ground in a heap, and shot forward with a gaping hole where its rear door had been, littering the Plain with truck parts and bits of broken equipment.

Riley wiped her knife on the back of the seat and slipped it into its snug sheath strapped to her thigh.

Lester settled down into his seat, rubbing his knuckles. “One more down, two to go,” he observed. “Closing in again.” The two Alphas left standing had shaken off their confusion and resumed the chase.

As the three agents looked ahead, they all spotted the same thing at the same time. But it was Gordon who gave voice to their thoughts, momentarily distracted from the two Alphas running behind them by what was looming ahead. “What the fuck is that?”

Ricardo cornered the Jeep sharply around a block and sped off northwards again. The heavier Escalades struggled to make the turn that the two Rubicons squeezed through and lost some ground. But they got their bearings back quickly and sped up to get back within shooting distance.

“Peggy Sue, take over! I’m going to use a rocket launcher! Just follow Hardy and try to keep this thing steady!” Jackson yelled towards Peggy Sue in the temporary respite from the rain of Murray bullets. The two muscled men maneuvered themselves awkwardly, and finally managed to switch places without losing too much speed as the Jeep bumped along. The battered Escalades were still at some distance, but had regained momentum. Jackson didn’t have much time.

“You know how to use that?” Peggy Sue yelled behind him.

“Not yet,” Jackson replied, dumping two porcelain-smooth girls on top of the steel cases in the back seat of the open Jeep to give himself some room in the rear. He climbed over, pulled one of the boxes towards himself and flipped it open. He blinked at its contents for several seconds. He probably just needed to slip the rocket into this launcher thing and fire using that trigger. Which is what he was going to do.

Assembling the contraption as best he could as they bounced along, Jackson Black knelt down carefully next to an unconscious bitch and slung the rocket launcher over his right shoulder. He aimed carefully towards the Escalade directly behind them.

“Excellent — he’s got the rocket launcher,” Hardy Primm yelled to Ricardo. They were back on the open plain with a stretch of nothingness around them but clouds of dust. Now was the time to obliterate those Murray bastards.

Ricardo shifted in the driver’s seat and turned to look behind him. Just past Primm’s wiry legs was a vision of Jackson in all his military glory; the sun glinted off of the shining rocket. Ricardo grunted and broke into a wide grin. He had only heard about these rocket launcher things; today, he would get to see it deal doom and destruction. Casting a quick glance towards the road ahead, Ricardo felt his grin slip. One cloud of dust ahead of them wasn’t just a cloud of dust at all.

Sneakers flying, a gangly, thin mousy-haired boy ran to the deck to join his friends, gripping a Far Vision in one hand. Hiro was at the scope, zooming in on an Ugly that was in the process of sucking the brain out of an unlucky human just south of Great Central. Blatty and Rhonda were watching the same scene with Far Vision, and Aminah was running something through her system cube.

“Hiro, can I use the scope for a second please?” Cubby said breathlessly, mopping unruly hair out of his eyes. “You can use my Far Vision!”

“What? It’s just finishing! This one is clean — the skull cavity is completely empty! Uglies are something else!” Hiro protested.

“But look, guys — look! I saw it from the comm room!” Cubby pointed further south, in the distance, on the dusty plain between Times Square and Lower Manhattan.

Easily diverted, the gang turned their attention and Far Visions to the curious scene unfolding on the Penn Plain. This was not something you saw every day.

Cubby smiled and took over the scope while Hiro was distracted. He swung it towards the Plain and gasped.

“I hope someone is recording this!” Hiro shouted.

“I’m getting it, I’m getting it!” Said Aminah excitedly.

Gordon swore. Pritchard’s eyes widened. Through the whirlwind of dust directly in front of them broke the face of a battered, forest green Jeep Rubicon. At its wheel was a giant man; a short, thin one was standing on the back seat, looking at something behind them. And they were on a collision course.

“Chip, I think –” O’Brien started to say, but suddenly, he could no longer think. The dirt, gravel and concrete just in front of the three agents rose up in a wave, and the bright, blue sky turned to black.

Two femtoseconds before impact, Riley Pritchard let herself float. With each breath she exhaled, every single muscle in her body relaxed; every nerve slept. The blast threw her limp body around the inside of the truck, and she was unconscious of colliding with everything and everyone in the vehicle as they flew through the air.

“Holy fuck!” Peggy Sue gave a gravelly scream as a wave of heat sliced through the air above his head. A trail of smoke streaked across the sky in a low arc just above the Jeep in front of them, and exploded with a deafening blast somewhere in the distance.

Jackson dropped the rocket launcher to the bottom of the Jeep and sprang around. Primm seemed to be in hysterics, but their Jeep — and their booty — was intact. Jackson’s relief only lasted for a moment as bullets began to once again whiz by his ear. He dropped to the floor of the Jeep and, shaking, reached for another rocket. He knew how to use this now.

“Mother fucking fucking asshole idiot!” Hardy Primm screamed himself hoarse. The rocket had missed their Jeep, but just to make sure, he patted himself down with shaking hands. Satisfied that he was still all there, he attempted to release more invective towards Jackson. Suddenly, the strangest sound hit his ear. For the first time in his life, Hardy Primm heard Ricardo McHaley speak. A delightful fairy tinkle — almost like a melody — issued forth from Ricardo’s grizzled lips over the dusty air.

“Hardy Primm, hang on to your ass!” Ricardo sang.

Then their Jeep hit something hard. And Ricardo McHaley’s beautiful voice was the last thing that Hardy Primm heard before the small Meatpacker flew, arms and legs splayed, into the air.

“Yes!” Jackson pumped his fist into the air as the second rocket blew into the Escalade’s windshield. The truck exploded into bits, sending shrapnel flying. Suddenly, he was thrown hard to the side as Peggy Sue swerved. “The fuck –” Jackson began, but stopped himself as they careened past two overturned vehicles lightly lit by small flames, ghostly in a sudden curtain of dust.

“Where did that –” Jackson stopped again as he was thrown to the other side, landing hard against the soft flesh of one of the girls. Peggy Sue was screaming.

Jackson might have been having a nightmare. As the Jeep skidded sideways, out of the haze appeared two filmy eyes and the gaping red maw of the ugliest creature Jackson had ever imagined. The Rubicon slammed into Jackson’s nightmare, rolled them all over in a tumble of flesh and metal, and finally lay still in the swirling dust.

The second Escalade skidded sideways to a halt at the edge of the wall of swirling dust. Smoke filled the air. All was still, save the several small fires licked at the odd collection of smashed vehicles. The back door of the truck opened and a boot-clad, shotgun-toting man stepped out. He looked around and gave a low whistle, then a few commands.

“I hope they survived. Just get the girls — and the rockets if you can find any — and let’s get the fuck out of here. Something might blow up, don’t waste time with that random party. In and out, folks…”

Three more men spilled out of the black truck, cocking freshly-loaded pistols and coughing in the soupy air. They waded into the smoke and dust, fanning out. After skirting around the mysterious brown truck, they found the two overturned Jeeps.

“All dead here, boss,” cut a voice through the fog.

“And here,” came another from across the wreckage. “Nothing to bring home. What’s that smell?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. Alright, le –” He was cut off. The booted man gave a strangled cry as a dark shape swooped in and, with a massive hand, broke his neck.

“Boss? I can’t see a thing… What –” Shots rang out. There were confused shouts, and nervous running. A minute later, all was silent again. The stillness was interrupted by the swish of bodies being dragged along the ground.

Cubby saw the smoke and dust go up and felt sick to his stomach.