Monstrous

  There was a good chance that she was about to die.

  And that pissed her off more than she could have ever imagined. Sidney had often heard people talk about an anger so intense that they were seeing red—at that moment she knew exactly what they meant. Everything around her took on the scarlet hue of her fury.

  I will not die like this! her thoughts cried.

  Sidney was screaming as she pushed open the car door and dove from the car to the street. Instantly the rats and squirrels were on her, climbing her pants legs toward her face.

  No! And suddenly that something inside her brain began to bend and twist.

  The animals recoiled, jumping back from where she stood as the animals crawling on her body fell twitching to the street.

  The animals reacted aggressively, climbing upon one another to form their single life-form again, rearing up and back like some huge tentacle-like limb preparing to swat her flat.

  But Sidney wasn’t having any of that, that newly awakened part of her brain reacting in a very similar fashion, reaching out to whatever was closest—seizing control.

  Seeing with their eyes.

  The dogs were suddenly there, and under her control, multiple breeds of all shapes and sizes running toward the serpent of vermin, throwing themselves at the swaying monstrosity before it could strike.

  The rats and insects attacked their attackers, a maelstrom of snapping jaws, claws, and pincers.

  Sidney stood there, feeling the thing inside her head flex, move, and pulsate as it never had done before. Whatever was inside her skull was growing.

  Becoming stronger, writhing inside her brain.

  Changing her into something more than she had been before.

  The carnage went on for what seemed like hours, leaving the Boston street strewn with the bodies of dead animals that had been pitted against each other in a battle for supremacy.

  A battle that Sidney believed she had won.

  A gush of scalding blood poured from her nose down her face, and Sidney used her arm to wipe it away, surprised by the volume.

  Fearing that she may be running out of time, she proceeded up the street, paying close attention to the odd sensation at the back of her skull as she headed toward her final destination.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Delilah allowed herself to mourn and cry for less than a minute before wiping the tears away.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said, feeling stupid about the statement but truthful nonetheless.

  “You too,” he said, smiling sadly. “I didn’t think that you . . . I didn’t know . . .” Mason trailed off apologetically.

  She could see the red and angry insect bites on his face, as well as deep, scabbing scratches. It was obvious that he’d survived an encounter.

  “That’s fine—we weren’t sure if any of you had gotten out of the parking garage,” she said. “Do you know if anybody else did?” She thought of Phil and what had happened to him.

  Mason shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “We all split up, going our separate ways—running for our lives, really.” His expression got very grim. “I almost didn’t make it,” he said. “If I hadn’t managed to get to a staircase . . .” He pulled off his gloves to show his swollen and blood-encrusted hands.

  Delilah almost gasped they looked so painful. “We’ll have to clean those up,” she began.

  “Right,” Mason agreed. “Just as soon as we manage to get out of here and find a ride. That’s what I was looking for when I saw the flipped-over truck, and when I saw that there were people inside . . .” He held up the sprayer.

  “What are you spraying?” Delilah asked.

  “Found my way to a supply closet,” Mason explained. “Had some heavy-duty insecticide that I thought might help me out.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  “Yeah, I remember the state saying that we couldn’t use this anymore because it was too strong, and that they were worried that it was gonna get into the water or something. It’s pretty powerful stuff.”

  “The bugs don’t seem to like it at all.”

  “Which is fine by me,” Mason said.

  There was loud scratching at the wooden door, and Sidney felt her blood begin to powerfully pulse.

  “So what now?” she asked, starting to walk around the unfinished station. There was a customer service booth, a row of automated ticket machines, and, across the room, the escalator going down, as well as the staircase. There was a metal storage locker of some kind in the corner, probably belonging to the construction crew, and for a moment her heart leaped. Maybe there was something inside that could help them and . . .

  And then she noticed the locked padlock, and she felt her spirits crash yet again to the bug-covered earth.

  “We could make a run for it,” Mason said. “I could open the door, spray like hell, and we could . . .”

  “These stairs go down to the new station,” Delilah said, turning her attention to something that might lead to a more positive outcome.

  Mason turned from the door. “Yeah, I would imagine.”

  “New station stop, new tunnel,” she then said, turning from the stairs to look at him. “We could use the tunnels to get to another stop where there might be some help, police maybe.”

  “But we don’t know what’s down there,” Mason said worriedly. “In the tunnels.”

  “But we do know what’s out there if we go out that door.”

  The custodian shrugged, obviously still not on board 100 percent with her idea.

  She immediately started down the stairs. “You’re coming, right?” she asked as she descended the incredibly steep stairway. “Of course you’re coming. You’ve got a wife and little girl waiting for you at home.”

  It was the mention of his family that got him, and he started down behind her.

  “Steep,” he said, holding on to the railing as he went.

  “They had to go extra deep due to the composition of the rock or something,” she said, spewing some facts that she’d read online.

  “Probably why it took them so long,” he said.

  The sound of a generator became much louder the closer they got to the bottom, and she saw that there were bulbs strung up along the ceiling to provide the area with light.

  She also saw two bodies.

  “I was wonderin’ if anybody was workin’ today,” Mason said.

  They reached the bottom, keeping their distance from the badly ravaged corpses.

  “So much for down here being safe,” he said, eyes darting around, searching for danger.

  “As safe as anyplace, I guess,” she said, turning from the bodies to the corridor lined with scaffolding and sheets of plastic. It looked as though the two men had been applying plaster when they’d been attacked. The plastic moved strangely, like a chest moving up and down as someone breathed. She hesitated, wondering if it was safe.

  What choice do we have? she finally decided, reaching out for the opening in the flapping sheaths of plastic and heading farther into the incomplete station.

  “Wait up,” Mason said from behind, slipping through to get in front of her. She gave him a look that questioned what he was doing, and he held up his nozzle.

  “I’m the guy with the poison,” he said.

  “Good point,” she said, allowing him to lead the way.

  They were in an unfinished corridor leading down to where the station platform would be.

  Delilah felt it before she saw anything. A strange tickling sensation at the base of her neck and an almost instantaneous headache. It felt as though her skull was expanding.

  Mason stopped, the expression on his face suddenly pained. “Do you feel that?” he asked.

  She nodded. “It’s like the pressure in the air has changed or something.”

  They both started down the corridor again; the closer they got to the actual station platform the more careful they became. The strange pulsing sensation continued in her head, and she guessed in Mason?
??s as well.

  They reached the end and stood upon the new platform, looking down the four-foot drop to the shiny new rails. The platform was lit by a string of bulbs hung along the wall, the wiring feeding back to the generator at the bottom of the stairs.

  “So which way?” Mason asked, peering over the edge, looking to the left and then the right. It was incredibly dark inside the new train tunnels.

  She tried to see the subway map inside her head, imagining where the new tunnels might hook up with the already existing ones.

  “I think we want to go that way,” she said, pointing to the right, down into the inky blackness.

  “What I wouldn’t give for some lighting,” Mason said cautiously.

  Delilah considered this and had an idea.

  She ran from the platform back down the corridor where they had come.

  “Where are you going?” he asked her.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said, reaching the dead bodies.

  Standing over the corpses, she searched them for what might be there.

  “What the hell? Change your mind?” Mason asked, coming up behind her.

  “No,” she said, deciding how she wanted to do this. “They might have something we can use.” She squatted down and carefully turned one of the corpses over.

  There were hundreds of dead roaches crushed beneath the man’s body, and she could see that his face was incredibly swollen, with his eye bulging horribly and his mouth filled to overflowing with the bodies of the disgusting, shelled insects.

  Clipped to the man’s belt was what she was looking for, one of those small, high-powered flashlights.

  “Aha!” she exclaimed.

  Delilah reached down and removed it from the case that was attached to his belt, and clicked it on. The beam was bright, illuminating all the pockets of darkness in the lobby at the bottom of the stairs.

  “That’ll come in handy,” Mason said.

  She gently lowered the body to the floor and headed back down the brick corridor.

  “So we’re going to do this?” Mason asked.

  Back at the platform she sat down on the floor, letting her legs dangle over the edge before dropping down to the ground alongside the tracks.

  “I’m going to get home to my son and my mother,” she said. “Nothing is too big of an obstacle.” She looked at him, still standing up on the platform. “Are you coming, or am I doing this alone?”

  Mason didn’t look in the least bit happy but did as she had done, lowering himself over the edge. Delilah helped him compensate for the awkwardness of the sprayer tank still on his back.

  “Good?” she asked.

  He took a deep breath and nodded, staring down the tunnel into the darkness that awaited them. She clicked on the flashlight and dispersed some of the shadows, but the beam of white only went so far before it was swallowed up by the inky black.

  They started down the track, side by side, Delilah moving the beam along the ground, and then in front of them, searching for any signs of life. She felt her body practically vibrating with anticipation as the beam moved across the tunnel tracks; she was ready and waiting for . . .

  The pain in her head was back, and more pronounced. She looked over to see Mason stumble from the path and lean against the tunnel wall.

  “It’s really bad,” she said, fighting the urge to vomit.

  He just grimaced and nodded.

  They came to a dramatic curve in the tunnel, and just as they were about to go around—

  The flash of white was so intense that she could feel it on her skin. Blinded, Delilah spun away from the light. The horrible throbbing in her skull became worse, and as she slowly opened her eyes again, she noticed that the pulsating of the light corresponded with the pounding in her head.

  “What is this?” she asked aloud, looking over to see if Mason was all right. He had turned away as well, one of his hands now rubbing at his eyes.

  “We . . . we should go back,” he said, his voice filled with fear as he blinked repeatedly.

  Instead, she found herself turning toward the light.

  “Can’t you feel that?” she asked. “Whatever it is, it’s connected to the pain in our heads.”

  “We really should go,” Mason said again, already moving back the way they had come.

  But Delilah had no intention of going back. Cautiously she moved toward the bend in the tunnel. She could feel Mason watching her, waiting for her to join him, but she wasn’t going to do it. She needed to know.

  The terrible pain made her dizzy, and she had to move carefully or lose her balance. Delilah fell back against the wall, using it for support, moving along its rough plaster surface until she reached the bend. Squinting her eyes against further abuse, she slowly peered around the corner . . .

  And felt her already damaged perceptions of reality slip away beneath her.

  She didn’t understand. Couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it was that she was looking at.

  In the open junction of the subway tunnel, where multiple sets of tracks intersected, Delilah caught sight of something totally unbelievable.

  The longer she stared, the harder her brain worked to discern what exactly she was seeing, but there was no other way she could describe it.

  There was a hole hanging in the air.

  It reminded her a little of the whirlpool that formed in the sink or bathtub as the water went down, but this was far larger.

  The pulsating light was coming from the center of the swirling hole, burps of some strange, almost waterlike substance reaching out from the center to eventually dissipate in the tunnel area beyond.

  Delilah practically screamed as a hand dropped upon her shoulder. She looked over to see Mason standing there, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

  “God” was all he could say as he gazed at the unimaginable.

  The light emanating from the hole bathed the ground in an eerie incandescence, illuminating things that she hadn’t noticed until then. At first she thought them a trick of the light, but then came to realize that they were real.

  They reminded her of something, but it took a moment for her to find the comparison, and then it was there. Her first exposure to them had been in the Butterfly Garden at the Museum of Science. She had taken her son there a few months back on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

  Cocoons. They reminded her of cocoons.

  But these were large, about the size of a human body, and when they started to move . . . to writhe upon the ground . . .

  “I think we should leave,” Mason reminded her once again, sounding even more afraid than he had before.

  And he might’ve had a point.

  Delilah was considering turning around and heading in the opposite direction when the hole grew brighter, the swirling, fluidlike matter in its center spinning faster by the second.

  And then there came a deafening roar, as if a fighter plane’s engines had been ignited within the confines of the space. Mason winced, covering his ears, eyes wide and filled with terror.

  Something crawled from the hole, something covered in tentacles and spines that drew itself from the center of the spinning maelstrom before plopping down boneless to the ground among the writhing cocoons.

  The thing that arrived looked very much like the monster that she and Deacon had seen inside the Elysium shower room. Another one of the terrible things that maybe had been controlling the patients and the animals.

  She heard a sound close by and looked over to see that Mason had covered his eyes, sliding down the wall of the tunnel, ready to curl himself into a trembling ball upon the ground.

  As far as she was concerned that wasn’t going to happen.

  No matter how scared she was, it didn’t change the fact that she wanted to get home to her family, that she wanted to stay alive. If she had to, she would most certainly try to continue to survive alone, but she wasn’t about to leave Mason there without trying to convince him to follow.

  She didn’t want to mak
e a sound, reaching down and placing her hand on his shoulder. He flinched, whimpering pathetically, and slowly raised his head.

  We’re going, she mouthed.

  He continued to tremble, holding himself tighter. “We’ll never get away,” he said, shaking his head. “Those things . . . they’ll get us . . . we’ll never make it.”

  She felt her frustration begin to rise as she realized that at any moment they might be discovered. She had to make her move.

  “Give me the spray,” she said, reaching down to slip the canister from his back.

  “What?” he began, looking at her with tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m going to live,” she told him. “You’re giving up. And if you’re giving up, I’m going to take the poison spray with me.”

  “I’m not giving up,” he said pathetically. “There’s just no use . . . can’t you see? Can’t you see what we’re dealing with?”

  She remembered how many times since that morning she’d thought that she was done for, that she was lost—that all was lost.

  And here she still was.

  “Yeah, I see,” she said. “And I’m getting the hell out of here.”

  She gave the strap on the tank a good pull, and that seemed to be enough to convince Mason that she was serious. The custodian got to his feet, pulling himself together, as they both started back from where they’d come.

  But the animals were there, silently waiting in the tunnel before them.

  Delilah’s heart skipped a beat at the sight: the dogs, cats, rats, and insects there, blocking their path, staring with their glistening silver right eyes.

  And all seemed lost—again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Sidney had a good half hour on them.

  The Humvee threaded its way down the streets of Boston clogged with cars, trucks, and the dead.

  “This thing rides like a tank,” Cody said from the backseat, holding on as Langridge maneuvered the vehicle through the remnants of the ongoing apocalypse.