Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) (27 page)

At the entrance to the wine cellar, Tocat and Juan hung back, letting Jack and Reggie cross the room in case any traps had been laid.

“Fuck,” Reggie grumbled. “The least they could have done is arm us.”

But Jack wasn’t thinking about his own safety, or even that of his friend. They were both veterans of the underground, and whatever happened, they had a fighting chance. His worries were for Lindsay, and what would befall her should they not return.

At best she would end up as one of the nameless slaves in King’s community, set to work in those toxic labs amidst the unstable addicts the criminal had collected. At worst…well, that was a fate he couldn’t bear to think of.

“We’ll make it back,” Jack muttered.

“Shut up and keep moving,” Tocat ordered, he and Juan now following them into the chamber. “We’re almost there.”

Jack was crossing the far doorway, with Juan and Tocat halfway across the room, when a fearsome groan sounded from behind them. Before he could spin around, Reggie was tackling him, the two of them sprawling out of harm's way as one of the massive wine racks came crashing down. Juan yelped, his cry cut off by a deafening collapse of metal, wood and glass. The reek of spoiled wine blew over Jack on a blast of air, and his eyes watered from the intense acrid fumes. Struggling up, Jack and Reggie looked back. The mass of heavy timbers and shattered glass had landed squarely on Juan, and on the far side of the chamber, Tocat was against the wall, his left leg pinned beneath the wreckage.

He cursed wildly, and aiming his weapon high, let off a long burst of gunfire. With the noise of the shelving still echoing through the chamber, the noise was almost unbearable, and with his hands over his ears, Jack looked up to where Tocat was firing. The bullets were tearing up the entrance of a small shaft, barely wide enough for a child. Even through the dust, Jack could see that whatever had been there was already gone.

“Stop firing!” he yelled at Tocat, who surprisingly did as he was told.

Gagging on the wine fumes, Reggie staggered across the room, searching for Juan under the jagged debris.

“Forget it, Reggie. He’d dead,” Jack said, making for Tocat. “Come over here and help me.”

Together, the two of them shifted heavy timber from off the Teco leader. The man’s kneecap had been broken by the weight of it, yet he didn’t cry out despite his agony. He clutched his ruined leg. “We have to get back.”

Reggie heaved the gang leader over his massive shoulders. “No kidding.”

Jack grabbed the half-empty gun, and pointed its light in the direction they’d come. Nothing. “Let’s go. They’ll be on us any second.”

Jack and Reggie ran the corridor, the light from Jack’s weapon skittering over the walls as they retreated back to the doorway. To his surprise they made it, and Jack hit the intercom.

“It’s us! Let us in!” he yelled.

He could hear the low crackle of static that proved the device was working, but there was no reply.

Reggie angled Tocat to the intercom. “Tell them to let us in!”

“
¡Abra la puerta!
” Tocat shouted. “Open the fucking door!”

The intercom was quiet. Down the hall came the echo of what sounded like a rumbling subway.

“Fuck,” Jack said. He leveled his gun at the lock and fired. Amid the rattling burst of gunfire, the edge of the door disintegrated.

One hard kick forced it open, then Jack beamed his light back down the tunnel to blind their pursuers as Reggie and Tocat stumbled inside. He was at their heels, and slamming the door shut, braced his shoulder against it.

An instant later, he was almost thrown off his feet as the Moles thudded against it. Reggie dumped Tocat to the floor and jumped to Jack’s side, pressing the heavy door back against the fierce ramming from the Moles. Again and again, the door jerked violently inward, Jack and Reggie fighting to hold it back, then as suddenly as it had started, the battering ceased.

The two of them looked at each other in the blackness, then cautiously Jack kneeled down, squinting through the jagged hole where the lock had been.

“They’re gone,” he whispered. “For now.”

They moved to Tocat’s side. Despite being tough as nails, the man was obviously suffering, his pant leg dark with blood. “Where the hell is everybody?” he said through gritted teeth.

Jack was wondering that himself. Motioning for Reggie to stay where he was, he rushed to the end of the short hallway, shining his light through the open door into the darkness beyond. All was silent and empty, then on the floor he saw something that clutched at his heart.

Bodies. Blood.

Lindsay
.

Lindsay sat in the heavy metal chair as the mayor of Seneca fiddled with his flashlight, playing its beam around the darkened room and over her chest. The man with his perpetual sneer was insufferable. Especially when she knew that it was all show. His fingers trembled every time he took a cigarette, and the ashtray was overflowing. The three Tecoacualli members in the room looked bored, though from the tight grip on their weapons Lindsay could see they, too, were nervous as hell.

“Well, I think that’s enough fucking time,” King said more loudly than necessary, turning his light on one of his men. “Jorge, go make sure all the workers are secure, then bring everybody here. Seems we’re going to need a bigger team to go fix that fucking cable.”

Jorge didn’t move. “What about Tocat? Shouldn’t we wait for him?

King shone his flashlight right into Jorge’s eyes, purposely blinding him. “If he’s still alive, he obviously needs some fucking help. Stop with the questions and get the fuck moving.”

Jorge flicked on his flashlight and pushed open the office door. Lindsay listened to him march down the hallway, hard and fast. A man contemplating violence. Rico, another guard, closed the door behind him.

King chuckled, and set his flashlight on his desk, the beam pointing upwards. Lacing his fingers together over his bovine belly he smiled. “How you doing, Lindsay?” he asked in mock concern. “You’re not scared, are you?”

“Just waiting.” Not that a man like King could ever comprehend what she meant by that. He’d sent her friends on a suicide mission, not only to face the Moles but to somehow kill Tocat as well. The fact wrenched at her gut, and as each minute crept past, the torture of her fears for Jack and Reggie had grown till she thought she would scream.

King rubbed his belly, the folds of fat rolling up in a wave. “I bet you are.”

Through the thick office door came the muffled blast of an automatic weapon, almost instantly cut short.

All was quiet.

“Rico,” King said, his voice stripped of joviality, “go see what that was.”

The Teco edged to the door, cracking it open enough to insert his flashlight, his pistol at the ready. “I don’t see anything.”

“Then go take a fucking look, you moron!” King bellowed.

The man drew breath, then disappeared through the door.

“Tito, lock the fucking door.”

The remaining guard jumped to his duty, sliding a heavy bolt into place.

“Probably some idiot shooting at fucking shadows,” King said, not very confidently.

Lindsay eyed the narrow vent above King’s desk. Exactly how big were the Moles, anyway? “Are you sure there’s no way for them to get in?”

“Not unless the fuckers can walk through walls.”

“Or in them. Like rats.” Lindsay’s suggestion was more whimsical than serious. King didn’t take it that way. The tip of his cigarette bobbed in the dim light like a firefly. Lindsay shifted in her seat uneasily. They waited in silence for Rico’s return, King’s apprehension deteriorating into brooding fear. Suddenly he turned to Lindsay.

“Is this some fucking trick of Cole’s?”

“Jack’s not stupid.” This wasn’t some action movie where he and Reggie could overcome a complex full of armed guards with their bare hands. Had there been an exchange of gunfire or sounds of pitched battle she may have believed that it was a rescue attempt, but whatever fate had befallen Jorge and Rico, she was sure Jack hadn’t been the one to deal it.

“You had fucking others with you, didn’t you? People waiting outside in case you three got trapped in here. Who is it? Those crazy fucks from Sumptown? Reggie’s crew from Grand Central?”

Lindsay didn’t care to answer, her eyes riveted to the door.

King jerked open one of his desk drawers and took out a huge revolver. Getting up he seized Lindsay by her hair and yanked her painfully to her feet.

“Tito! Open the fucking door!” he demanded, jamming the cold point of the revolver against the small of her back.

The man shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, boss.”

“Do what I fucking tell you! I give the fucking orders here!”

Tito stayed put. “Those are Moles out there. They got Tocat and Jorge and Rico! They’re not human!”

“It’s only Cole, you fucking retard! The Moles are just a bunch of psycho crack-heads, not fucking monsters! It’s all a bunch of fucking bullshit! The fucker must have had people waiting for him outside, and now they’re trying to rescue his woman. Fuck that. We’re going to use her as a fucking hostage. Now do as I fucking say or we’re going to lose this whole fucking place.”

Tito cringed under the verbal onslaught, his fear of King and fear of the Moles crushing him like a vice.

“Open the fucking door!”

“No!”

Twisting her neck, Lindsay saw King’s face was purple with rage and fear, sweat dripping down his brow despite the coolness.

“Fuck you, Tito!” he snarled, and shoved Lindsay toward the frightened guard. Lindsay fell to the ground at his feet, while King snatched the flashlight from his desk and turned it to the door.

“Keep your fucking gun on her!” King growled, and drew back the heavy bolt.

For a moment there was silence, and all Lindsay could see was King’s massive silhouette before the blank metal of the door, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. Then he slipped the gun into the waistband of his pants and slowly, very slowly, turned the doorknob. It opened with a creak, and the room dimmed as King focused his light into the hallway.

In an instant, the light was gone.

There was a sudden squeal from King, and Lindsay felt the vibration of his huge body crashing to the office floor, struggling with something at his throat. “Aggh! Fucking kill it!” he shrieked, his voice high with terror, and the room lit up with the flash of Tito’s pistol.

That brief instant of light caught an image that burned into Lindsay’s mind. Some shapeless ragged thing at King’s bloodied throat, its jaws locked on his jugular. Another crouched before Tito, ready to spring like some nightmare carnivore.

Too terrified to scream, she scrambled away, her shoulder banging painfully against the desk as she rolled under it, clutching her ears as King’s frantic screams and Tito’s gunfire filled the room. There was a horrible wet chopping sound, a heavy thud against the floor, and a long, gurgling moan from King. All was silent again.

Lindsay huddled in the pitch blackness, her knees curled to her chin, arms over her head, heart pounding. Her thoughts skittered to Jack.
Don’t let them get you, Jack. Don’t let them get you….

A strange crackling noise flittered through the room and then another. A metallic smell drifted to her and away, the sounds dropped off, and she felt that whatever horrors had come to Seneca had withdrawn. Still, long minutes passed before she gathered the courage to crawl out from under King’s desk.

Blindly, she crept in the direction of the exit, running her hand along the edge of the desk to guide her, her foot catching on King’s motionless form. Biting her lip, she inched past him, to the wide open door. Carefully she got down on her knees, groping for the flashlight, only to discover it was useless—the Moles had smashed it.

“Shit,” she muttered. She saw a flicker of light ahead, the beam of a flashlight from an adjoining corridor. It had to be one of the guards.

Scuttling back, her ankle bumped against something heavy. It was King’s revolver, and taking it, she flattened herself against the wall beside the doorframe. The beam of light shone through the open door, and looking down, Lindsay almost retched from what it illuminated.