Nocturnal (80 page)

Aggie nodded.

“Good,” Clauser said. “Everyone does what I say, when I say it. Hoods up, tuck your weapons in, and let’s go.”

“Wait,” Aggie said. “I need one more thing.”

The cop stared at him with those cold eyes. He put the black skullcap on, then lowered the mask. The white skull smile grinned.

“You already asked for
one more thing
, Aggie. What do you want?”

Time for the giant set of balls; it was now or never.

“A badge,” Aggie said. “I know we’re going to fight monsters and all that, but cops are gonna show up and I already got two strikes. If you all get killed, I need enough bullshit to get away.”

The skull-smile shook his head. “No way.”

“Then I ain’t going.” Aggie crossed his arms and gave his best hard stare. He’d never been much of a poker player, but now everything was on the line.

Bryan Clauser stared back. Angry green eyes glared through slits. The skull-smile grinned. “Fuck it,” he said. “Not like I’m going to need this thing anymore.”

He reached into a pocket and handed over his badge. Aggie took it, amazed that his bluff had worked. Now all he had to do was stay alive just a little bit longer.

“Time to go,” Clauser said. “Everyone follow me. If you fall behind, you’re on your own. Aggie, you stay with me, and don’t try anything.”

Doors opened. Out of the black station wagon stepped two men in hooded cloaks, two men in black peacoats and black masks, and a scared-shitless black man with a gun and a badge. They crossed the dark parking lot to the brick sidewalk, then to the U-shaped concrete wall surrounding the escalator down to the subway.

Terror tried to tangle Aggie’s feet. He felt like his head might explode, like he might go crazy at any moment.

He was going back down … maybe he was already insane.

Aggie kept moving for one thing and one thing only:
for the baby
.

Clauser went down first.

Everyone else followed.

T
he biggest man Pookie had ever seen held Jessie Sharrow tight, only it wasn’t a man, it was
two
men, one with a professional wrestler’s size and a tiny head, the other with a withered body, a huge head, and a tail wrapped around the bigger one’s thick neck.

A bunch of monsters stood on the shipwreck’s prow. The snake-face; Tiffany Hines’s dog-face, who wore a too-small tuxedo jacket and orange Bermuda shorts; a black-haired girl with a pair of chain whips curled on her hips; a tall, black-furred, cat-faced man wearing jeans and a black-fur cape; the wrinkled old babushka lady; and a little guy with wire-rim glasses and an obscenely distended belly who kept flicking a gold Zippo lighter. These creatures, along with the two-men-in-one, seemed to have some privileged standing with Rex.

Rex stood on the prow’s farthest point, arms again raised to address the audience. “You have heard the arguments. Now, we must pass judgment.”

There hadn’t been any
arguments
, just a long list of accusations against Sharrow — accusations like
aiding and abetting murderers, conspiring to kill people, being a bully
, and
hating on us like a dick
. They were the accusations of an awkward teenage boy who suddenly had all the power in the world.

Rex raised his left fist, his thumb pointed in parallel to the ground.

The crowd roared
guilty! guilty!

Jesus … the kid thought he was a Roman emperor or something, and this was his coliseum. Rex turned slowly, letting everyone see his fist, his thumb. He gazed up at his people, his eyes wide with murder, his upper lip curled and his teeth gleaming in the lights of the ship’s skull-encrusted mast.

Guilty! Guilty!

Rex lifted up on his toes, then pointed his thumb down.

“Sir Voh,” he said. “Carry out the execution.”

Pookie shook his head in denial, pulled at the ropes, wished for a miracle.

The big one lifted Sharrow and set him down on the deck. A sprawling right hand the size of Pookie’s chest pressed down on Sharrow’s stomach, holding the police captain in place. Sharrow’s blue uniform — which had
always been so clean and perfectly creased — was covered with dirt from the long haul to the ship.

“Please,” Sharrow said.
“Please!”

The little one crawled higher to perch on the top of the big one’s head. Tail still wrapped around the big one’s neck, he stood on emaciated, spindly legs. He looked down at Sharrow. “For the king. Fort, finish him.”

The big man raised his left hand to the sky and made a fist.

Guilty! Guilty!

“No!” Sharrow grabbed at the hand on his stomach, he punched, he scratched, he even lifted his head to bite but his mouth wouldn’t reach.

The fist slammed down onto Sharrow’s chest, crushing him like a fluid-filled lightbulb. Blood sprayed out of his mouth, the droplets arcing high into the air to fall on the deck, the dirt, and on Sharrow himself. His legs and arms spasmed briefly, then fell limp.

The monster stood. Sharrow’s bloody chest had been smashed flat. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch — he was just gone.

Rex pointed at the corpse. “Remove the criminal!”

White-robed men scrambled out from somewhere behind Pookie. Four of them lifted the shattered body, which flopped in the middle as if the chest were the broken spine of an old blue book. As the masked men carried the body past Pookie to somewhere behind, Pookie closed his eyes.

Jesus save me from this madness
.

“Him!”

Rex’s voice again. Pookie couldn’t look — was Rex pointing his way? Would he be the next one to face the boy’s judgment?

“No, leave me alone!”

The voice of Dr. Metz.

Pookie opened his eyes to see the white-robed men dragging the silver-haired medical examiner up to the prow. Rex was watching, nodding, smiling wide with a closed-jaw grin.

“Bring that bully here,” Rex said. “Let the next trial begin!”

I
t was four in the morning and the Muni station was empty. The only obstacle had been a pull-down gate, which Bryan had attacked with his gloved hands, bending and twisting and snapping until he and the others could slip through. From there, they’d hopped turnstiles and headed down unmoving escalators. Even Alder made good time, fast-hobbling on his cane.

The Muni platform spread out in front of them, a long, empty, light-colored floor with deep, blackish tracks below on either side, tracks that led into shadowy tunnels. Aggie led them off the platform and onto the tracks. Adam pointed out the third rail, told everyone it had nine hundred volts, four thousand amps, and to steer clear.

Bryan wasn’t sure if Aggie would make it. The man was literally shaking. On the drive here, Aggie had told his story of a white dungeon, of masked men, of an old shipwreck buried deep underground and a bloated nightmare known as
Mommy
. With all Bryan had seen and experienced in the last few days, he had no reason to doubt Aggie’s story. There was no question that Aggie believed every word of it — you couldn’t fake that kind of fear.

This had to work. He had to find these things, find the one with the chain-whips, find Pookie.

They walked through the tunnel, along a narrow ledge that paralleled the rails. Flashlights played off grimy white-tiled walls and cinder-filled tracks. They didn’t have long before the station opened again for morning trains. Bryan led, followed by Aggie and the others. John Smith brought up the rear.

Only five minutes into the tunnel, Aggie tapped Bryan on the shoulder.

Bryan turned. “Is this it?”

Aggie’s hands shook, making his flashlight beam jitter on the white tiles. “I don’t know, man. I think I walked about this far. I can’t really remember.”

“You better,” Bryan said, “and fast.” Aggie looked up the tunnel, down the tunnel. He looked at the walls, searching for something.

That scent
 …

Had Bryan imagined it? He breathed deep through his nose … there it was again, the smell that made him want to do something, made him want to
protect
.

He put a hand on the tile wall, then knelt on one knee. He looked left, sniffed, paused, looked right, sniffed.

Stronger to the right.

He stood and gently pushed Aggie behind him, then walked on.
Yes, stronger
.

Footsteps behind him.

“Yo, pig,” Adam said. “What is it?”

Bryan sniffed deep, kept walking. “Aggie brought a baby out of here last night. I think I can smell it.”

The odor grew stronger as he walked. This same exact scent had made him dizzy in the hospital. Bryan felt his hunter’s excitement building. The smell started to fade, just a little, but he could tell it was
weaker
. He turned and retraced his steps. The scent again grew in intensity — when it was at its peak, he stopped.

He knelt … stronger still the lower he got. Bryan dropped to his hand and knees, bent his head and sniffed where the tiled wall met the narrow walkway.

Strongest of all
.

He looked up at Aggie. “Is this it?”

“Maybe,” Aggie said. “I just don’t know.”

Bryan stood. He raised a foot.

Aggie grabbed his shoulder. “Wait! There’s like pillars and stuff right behind there. It’s booby-trapped to collapse. Be careful.”

Bryan lowered his foot. He tapped on the tile wall with his knuckles. It sounded hollow. He reached to the right, knocked there to test the sound — solid, like a tile wall should be.

“Give me some light.”

Flashlight beams danced, reflecting off the dirty hexagonal tiles. Bryan leaned in. Right there … was that a darker line of mortar? He drew his knife and slid the point along the line … the blade slipped through. He angled the blade down and pried. A thin, black gap rewarded the effort.

“Shine it in here.”

Adam pointed his flashlight into the gap. Bryan saw bits of a tunnel beyond. He slid his fingers into the gap. “Everyone look out,” he said, and then he
yanked
. The fake wall split down the middle, shreds of plywood and bits of tile flying onto the tracks.

Four flashlights played into the narrow tunnel. Inside, Bryan saw a line of hodge-podge brick-and-masonry pillars extending off into the distance.

“That’s it,” Aggie said.

Bryan didn’t need the confirmation, because he could
smell
that this was it. He leaned down until his nose touched the ground.
Here
.

Aggie leaned in. “That’s where I set him down. Go in and you’ll see footsteps in the dirt, follow them real careful.”

Bryan stood. He took a flashlight from Adam, then entered the tunnel. He played the beam across the ceiling, the walls, the floor. He saw the footsteps Aggie described.

Aggie grabbed his sleeve. “I did my part, now lemme go. Please don’t make me go back in,
please
.”

Bryan felt bad for the man, but not
that
bad. Aggie could be the difference between finding Pookie alive or not finding him at all.

And no matter what, someone had to pay for Robin.

All the eyes … all the teeth
.

“You’re coming with us,” Bryan said. He turned and looked at John. “You watch Aggie. If he tries to leave, shoot him in the leg.”

John nodded. “Sure thing.”

John wasn’t going to shoot Aggie. Bryan knew that, but hopefully Aggie didn’t.

“Everyone follow me,” Bryan said, then carefully put his left foot in the first footprint.

T
he snake-face man lifted Dr. Metz up high, one hand curving up under the old man’s ass, the other cupped around the back of his neck.

Guilty! Guilty!

Pookie couldn’t draw a breath. It felt like he wasn’t taking in air at all. He closed his eyes again — he couldn’t watch this.

Rex’s horitzontal thumb lifted, then pointed down. “Sly, execute the sentence!”

Metz screamed, but it was a short scream that ended with a sickening
snap
.

The crowed roared in bloodthirsty approval, a passionate chorus that hurt Pookie’s ears and shook his body.

He heard and felt the masked men brushing past him to remove Metz’s body, then felt them brush by again as they returned to wherever they had come from.

“Next criminal!” Rex’s every word was a hoarse-throated scream, every syllable thick with madness and psychotic lust.

“Him! Bring me that one!”

Open your eyes, open your eyes
.

But Pookie could not. He just couldn’t.

Hands grabbed at his body. His eyes opened of their own accord as panic gripped him, pulled at his heart and kicked his stomach, and when he looked forward he saw only one thing.

Rex Deprovdechuk, pointing his way.

B
ryan couldn’t
see
the smell, but it might as well have been a glowing rope hanging in the still air. There wasn’t much circulation down here — what had been barely detectable in the train tunnel now filled his nose and mind. The scent called to him at a base level, made him want to kill anything that might harm the source. It was so powerful; Bryan hoped he didn’t find that source somewhere down here — if he did, he didn’t know what he might do.

After leaving the booby-trapped pillars behind, they moved faster — as fast as he could through a narrow tunnel made of dirt and broken brick, chipped concrete, bits of rusted metal and charred wood.

Then, noises. Faint, nothing but a whisper at first, a whisper that was lost in the sounds of Bryan’s movement. He stopped, made the others stand still. He listened and understood: it was the sound of a crowd, tinny and thin from traveling some length down the tunnel.

Aggie had said this tunnel led to the arena with the shipwreck.

Bryan faced the others.

“We’re close,” he said. “Turn off the flashlights. Stay close to the person in front of you. Move careful, but move
fast
. And from this moment on, not another word.”

He turned off his flashlight and slid it into an inside pocket of his peacoat. One by one, the other flashlights blinked out. Darkness filled the tunnel.