“Boom,” Sidney said as she pushed the detonator, throwing herself at her enemies as the electrical charge detonated the dynamite.
And everything was lost to the sound of thunder.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The explosion drove them back, fiery and loud, bringing down large portions of the ceiling and tunnel walls with its fury.
Cody recovered quickly, a painful ringing inside his skull, all sounds muffled as if underwater.
Snowy had managed to break away from him, and she ran down the tunnel but could only get so far. A wall of rubble had come down to block her way.
Sadly he watched the dog pace in front of the barrier, barking pathetically as she stopped and attempted to dig her way through the rock and dirt.
Muffled voices could be heard somewhere behind him, and he turned to see both Langridge and Sayid, covered in blood and dust, the looks upon their faces showing complete and utter shock.
Surprised that they had managed to survive, he guessed.
He wished that they all had been as lucky, going to squat down before the fallen ceiling, comforting the anxious dog, lying to her that everything was going to be all right.
* * *
Delilah and Mason had gone in the opposite direction, heading down an alternate tunnel, which would bring them back toward a station closer to downtown Boston, she hoped.
The explosion had been loud, a shock wave rolling down the tunnel so powerfully, even where they were, that the force flung them both to the ground.
Mason was still in a state of shock, and Delilah helped him to stand, hurrying him along as the tunnel filled with black smoke and billowing dust. She turned a few times as they walked away, wondering about the others and doubting very much that they had made it.
She hoped that they had and said a little prayer for them, the first prayer that she had said in a very long time. She didn’t think that it could hurt any, and who knew—if somebody was actually listening up there, perhaps it would even help.
Perhaps.
By the time they’d made it to the next station, they found it completely void of life. The corpses of hundreds of rats, insects, dogs, cats, and squirrels lay scattered about. It was as if they had just stopped where they had been standing, their power source cut off—whatever had been controlling them destroyed.
Mason was better now, at least able to walk on his own.
The power was still out as they climbed the steep escalator steps up to the surface and confronted an eerie calm. The storm had stopped as well.
“Is it over?” Mason asked almost dreamily, looking around the quiet Boston streets.
She did not answer his question, catching glimpses of movement from pockets of shadow, hoping that it was, but not really knowing.
They found a car with the keys in the ignition in the middle of Tremont Street and decided that they would borrow it.
They drove in silence up Tremont, navigating around the Common and then Park Square to Columbus Avenue, avoiding cars, trucks, and the bodies of people and animals that littered the already narrow streets.
The closer Delilah got to home the more nervous she became.
Maybe whatever happened at Elysium hadn’t happened here, she thought, then said aloud.
“Maybe,” Mason said.
They began to see people, alive, and for a moment Delilah felt like cheering. Others had survived. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so afraid or alone.
But then she realized that something was wrong with them, the way they seemed to be wandering, not seeming to be going anywhere, unaware of their surroundings.
“Must be shock,” Mason suggested as they slowly passed a young woman in running clothes just standing at the corner, cell phone clutched in her hand.
Is there something wrong with her eyes? Delilah wondered fearfully, turning to look back, but they were already too far beyond her.
“Yeah, must be,” Delilah agreed absently.
“Which number?” Mason asked, slowing the car down.
“Right there,” she told him, pointing through the window. “Four twenty-five.”
He brought the car to a stop and looked at her, fear in his eyes. “Are you going to be all right?”
She nodded quickly, opening the door. “You go home to your wife and baby,” she said, climbing from the car onto the street. “Don’t you worry about me—go.”
She slammed the car door, shattering the eerie calm on the street.
Mason didn’t even wave as he drove off, tires squealing as he took the corner way too fast.
Dead birds were strewn across the front steps of her building—crows. She felt as though someone was watching her and looked quickly around. She couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean there was no one there.
She reached into her pocket for her keys, and her heart stopped. They were gone. She could have dropped them in hundreds of places.
She muttered about the basement as she turned and headed back down the stairs, careful not to step on the crows. She walked quickly around the building, down a side alley to a recessed stairway leading to an old wooden door that she knew wasn’t the most secure, having used it to sneak in and out of the apartment in her wilder, earlier days.
Before she’d had her son, before she’d wisened up.
She remembered the trick with the door, pulling the knob toward her with all her might and slipping one of her fingers into the space near the lock to move the latch aside. The door opened toward her with a snap, and she ducked inside, being sure to close it behind her.
The cellar smelled of dampness and cat pee, and she moved between the crowded rows of odds and ends left behind by previous tenants.
Even in the darkness she found her way to the stairs and climbed them eagerly up to the first floor. She saw that some of the apartment doors were ajar and was almost tempted to check on those inside, but she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on getting to her own apartment, to her mother and her son.
She didn’t have a key, but that didn’t matter; her mother had hidden a spare one at the top of the door jamb for an emergency, especially since her mom had locked herself out of the apartment one day while doing laundry.
Standing on tiptoes, she found the plastic case and slid it open to reveal the key. She plucked the key out, dropping the case into the pocket of her scrub pants as she slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.
Delilah rushed inside calling for her mother and son.
It took her a moment to realize that the power had returned, that the lights were on, but flickering, making the blood staining the walls and the front of the refrigerator shine wetly in the wavering light. She felt her heart seize as she looked at the dark stains, and then the signs of struggle in the kitchen.
“Mom!” Delilah called out. “Mom, where are you?”
She left the kitchen, moving into the small living room. That was where she found Tom and Jerry, both dead, their blood staining the beige carpet. On the floor nearby she found the bloody base of a table lamp and knew how the cats had died.
Her mother loved those cats, and she was gripped by a momentary sadness as to what it must have been like for her to have to kill them.
Her eyes then went to the door of her mother’s bedroom, and she noticed that it was closed. She also noticed the deep claw marks that had been gouged in the flimsy wood of the door as the cats must have at some point tried to get in.
Cautiously she approached the door, leaning in close and listening. There was hissing on the other side, a sound like static from the television.
“Mom, it’s okay,” she said, gripping the knob and pushing the door, only to find it blocked. “Mom?” she called out, putting her shoulder to the door and sliding the dresser that had been moved behind it out of the way. “It’s me. . . . Is Isaiah okay?”
She came around the dresser to find her mother and son standing with their backs to her, in front of the flat-screen TV showing only static.
??
?Mom?” she said, feeling something terrible begin to squirm inside her stomach. “Izzy, it’s Mommy, why are you . . .”
And slowly they turned toward her.
And as she looked upon their faces, she saw it—her mother’s and son’s eyes covered in a wetly glistening shroud of silver.
And Delilah began to scream.
EPILOGUE
The pain was brief, followed by—nothing.
It was over. She was dead. Her story ended. There was nothing more to tell.
Or was there?
From nothing it came, the darkness all around her. It was like being in the deepest part of the ocean where the rays of the sun were unable to reach.
Something told her that she needed the light—those very rays—and she began her ascent. Climbing toward the surface.
Ascending toward the light.
Sidney Moore opened her eyes, gazing up at an unfamiliar ceiling. Eyes darting about, she saw the needle in her arm leading to the IV of clear fluid and realized she must be in a hospital.
Memories flooded her mind, painful flashes of where she had been: the tunnels beneath the city and what had occurred there. She saw her final assault against the organism, remembering the swirling vortex hanging in the air and the bomb that she’d detonated.
Her heart beat crazily as she recalled the searing blast of heat . . .
And then nothing.
She pushed herself up in the bed, making sure that all her extremities were intact.
How is this possible? she wondered, seeing some cuts and bruises, but otherwise appearing to be fine.
There was a window across the room, and she threw her bare legs over the side of the bed and cautiously stood. There were some aches and pains, but she managed to stay on her feet as she grasped the IV pole and pushed it toward the window.
Her view was of a concrete courtyard, and beyond that a high stone-and-metal wall wrapped in barbwire.
A prison, she thought, beginning to panic.
There was movement beyond the wall, masses of people moving from side to side, looking as though they were waiting for something.
Waiting to come in?
The door swung open behind her, and Sidney turned as a man and a woman dressed in military fatigues entered the room. They smiled pleasantly at her.
“Are you feeling well, Ms. Moore?” the man asked.
“Where am I?” Sidney asked. “Why are there so many people outside that wall?”
The woman guided her back to bed and checked Sidney’s vital signs.
“Something bad has happened to this country,” the man continued as he strolled to the window and gazed outside. “To the world actually,” he said, before turning his gaze to her. She noticed that his eyes were the nicest shade of blue. Funny the things one noticed when afraid.
“But we think you can help us, Ms. Moore,” the military man said hopefully. “We think you can help us stop it.”
The muscle twitched and then started to move inside her skull, reminding her of its presence.
Reminding her that it was still there.
“Tell me,” she said. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, love to my wife, LeeAnne, for all the help she provides. Love also to Kirby for his constant inspiration. With him in my life, I know the true face of evil.
Special thanks also to Michael Strother for getting the ball rolling, to Howard Morhaim for dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s, to Liesa Abrams for just being amazing, and thanks to Thomas Fitzgerald and Seamus, Dale Queenan and Allie, Barbara Simpson and Mugsy, Larry Johnson and Mel, Harrison (and Stephanie) Raciot and Chewy, Nicole Scopa, Frank Cho, Tom McWeeney, Mom Sniegoski, Pam Daley, Dave Kraus (You would have loved this one!), Kathy Kraus, and the beasts that walk like men down at Cole’s Comics in Lynn, Massachusetts.
“Oh no, it wasn’t the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Thomas E. Sniegoski is the author of more than two dozen novels for adults, teens, and children. His books for teens include Legacy, Sleeper Code, Sleeper Agenda, Force Majeure, and Savage as well as the series The Brimstone Network.
As a comic book writer, Sniegoski’s work includes Stupid, Stupid Rat-Tails, a prequel miniseries to the international hit Bone. Sniegoski collaborated with Bone creator Jeff Smith on the project, making him the only writer Smith has ever asked to work on those characters.
Sniegoski was born and raised in Massachusetts, where he still lives with his wife, LeeAnne, and their French bulldog, Kirby. Visit him online at sniegoski.com.
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THOMAS E. SNIEGOSKI
The Savage Series
Savage
The Fallen Series
Book 1: The Fallen and Leviathan
Book 2: Aerie and Reckoning
Book 3: End of Days
Book 4: Forsaken
Book 5: Armageddon
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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First Simon Pulse hardcover edition May 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Thomas E. Sniegoski
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Jacket photo-illustration by David Field, based on a concept by Sammy Yuen Jr.
Jacket photograph of girl copyright © 2017 by Steve Gardner/PixelWorks Studios
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ISBN 978-1-4814-7718-5 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-7720-8 (eBook)
Thomas E. Sniegoski, Monstrous
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