Undertow (The UnderCity Chronicles) (33 page)

Lindsay could feel Jack’s worried eyes on her. “If I can pee from a plank hanging higher than a kite, I can handle this.” She turned to Crabbe. “Fine. We’re ready.”

After a furtive scan of the deserted shore, Crabbe pried open the cover, then clambered down the rusted iron rungs. To Lindsay’s relief the tunnel lay only a dozen feet below, though Crabbe hadn’t been kidding when he said it was small. Even with his undersized physique his chin was pressed into his chest.

Jack stood on the other side of the hole from Lindsay. He’d taken off his sunglasses and his amber eyes held hers with tenderness.

She held that look and said, “Tonight, I’m inviting Janice over for a family dinner. The four of us. Afterwards, we’ll take down the Christmas tree together.”

The look in his eyes deepened. “I’d like that, Linds.”

Their crawl through the drainage tunnel wasn’t as bad as Lindsay had expected, the cold having congealed the filth and litter into inoffensive clumps. Still, the pressing confines of the icy pipe meant that she had to push her backpack along ahead of her, and even with the reassuring illumination of her flashlight she was relieved to see the cave appear in her beam.

Crabbe took her hand and popped her into the small chamber, flashing his own light about nervously. Lindsay registered the steep fissure a few feet away but her attention was drawn to the stack of dozens of small crates, all heavily rotted from the damp. One of the boxes perched high up was a little more intact than the others, and Lindsay trained her light on some still legible words.

“Schenley's Whiskey,” she read.

Crabbe was unwinding rope. “Yeah, my grandfather used to smuggle in booze from Kingston. Back in the 20’s Schenley’s was the best you could get.”

“So smuggling runs in your family, does it?” Jack asked, pushing out of the passage behind Lindsay.

Their guide turned up his gloved hands. “How else you think I’d know about the Chasm? Hell, it was my grandfather that named it.”

The rocky crevice that led down to the underground river was as dirty and cold as the pipe they’d come through, and it was only with rope that a reasonably safe descent was possible. Crabbe went first, surprising Lindsay with his agility.

“It’s only about thirty feet down,” Crabbe called from below.

Lindsay peered down. “Don’t you find it ironic that the underground has so many high places?”

Jack set another knot in the rope. “This whole adventure reeks of irony.”

The descent was treacherous, the fissure studded with rocks and long blackened icicles, but she reached its bottom barely shaking. She now stood on the narrow shore of a Stygian waterway, its surface covered in an oily slush. Bobbing in the water was a small metal skiff, large enough for four people, and on its rust-flecked prow was its ominous name.

The Charon
.

Jack touched down beside her. Crabbe held the boat steady and gestured with his head for Jack and Lindsay to board. The moment they did that, he hopped in and they were away. “This’ll go faster if you hold the light while I pole us down the river,” he said to Jack. “It should only take us about a half-hour to reach the place, and then the clock starts ticking, okay?”

Jack clicked on his flashlight, shining it on the inky water. “We’ll be back.” He slanted Lindsay a look. “There’s a dinner party I have to attend.”

Schenley's Chasm wasn’t a neat channel by any stretch of the imagination. Eons ago, water had cut its way through the rock following the path of least resistance, resulting in a narrow subterranean canal that twisted as wildly as an angry serpent. In places the ceiling was high, stretching upward into blackness beyond the reach of their lights, while in others it forced them to duck their heads. The tunnel grew warmer as they progressed, the water melting from an ice-choked mire into a greasy, sulfurous stream.

“You swam in this?” Lindsay whispered to Jack as some unidentifiable piece of carrion floated past them.

He gave a grim nod. “Parts of it are shallow. I walked some of the way.”

She looked dubiously at the muck-thickened water. “I can’t imagine how. You were brave, Jack.”

“No, just desperate. Between the cold and toxins I was lucky to make it to Agharta. If Gali hadn’t managed to rappel down and rescue me, I’d have been rat food for sure.”

Of course, Jack would downplay his escape but there was one thing he needed to know. “This water brought you out Jack, and it’s taking us to Seline. It's going down in my books as the most wonderful waterway this side of Venice.”

Jack gave a slow grin. “You know, Venice has a really interesting underside. I’ll take you there, sometime. The two of us and some scuba gear.”

Lindsay clung to the moment of lightness, to the expectation of a future together. “You’re such a romantic.”

At length Crabbe brought them to a sizable cavern, its pitted ceiling sharp with glistening stalactites that glowed orange under their flashlights. There was a small graveled shoreline, its black pebbles mixed with the shattered bones of vermin, and beyond it lay a winding passage into the rock. Markings like those Lindsay had seen in the upper tunnels were scratched low upon the walls, the largest of which was the spider Jack bore upon his shoulder.

This was it. They had reached the no-man’s land between the world of humankind and that of dark legend. From here, they’d rescue Seline, the niece she had raised and loved as a daughter, or they’d fall into the clutches of the Moles.

She’d presumed that at this moment she would only feel terror, and while adrenaline pumped through her, she also experienced a strange kind of stillness. Was this what courage felt like? She watched Jack crouched over, double-checking the equipment, and she knew her calmness stemmed partly from his steady presence.

Jack straightened and leaned into Crabbe’s face. “Wait here,” he growled.

“Two hours.” The smuggler tapped his watch. “Starting now.”

Lindsay stepped out of the boat and pulled her gun from her pack.

There, in the near dark, Jack’s eyes steadied on hers. “Ready?”

She met his gaze. “Ready.”

As one, they drew breath and on his signal, she followed him into The Pits.

* * *

The natural passage that led from Schenley's Chasm was less than a hundred feet in length, and opened into a bizarre circular tunnel supported by a seemingly endless row of hewn columns. Set within the walls were numerous small niches and alcoves, each containing horrific little fetish dolls constructed from the bones and pelts of vermin, each a nightmare in miniature. Around the evil shrines were more of the Moles’ disconcerting symbols, painted in a dim phosphorescent pigment.

Jack looked both ways down the silent passage, then stepped back to where Lindsay waited. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and she quickly realized why. The unmistakable scent of cold metal hung in the otherwise musty air.

Her lips grazed his ear. “What is this place?”

“One of the tunnels they’ve dug,” he answered. “They extend from a central chamber like a web, and right now we’re on the very edge of it. We’re deep inside their territory, so we have to keep things as dark and quiet as possible from here on in. Turn off your light, and don’t switch it back on unless you absolutely need to, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t even
touch
any of those rat figures. You don’t want to know what's inside of them.”

Lindsay swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay then. Follow close, and stay sharp. If they detect us we won’t get two seconds warning before they attack.”

They entered the dark tunnel, their senses strained for any hint of danger. Their progress went unimpeded, Jack leading her on a zigzag course through the tunnels toward the heart of the Moles’ domain, Lindsay noting each twist and turn. At length they came to a notably different intersection, the bisecting concrete tunnel clearly of human construction.

Jack edged to the corner for a quick look, then guided Lindsay down the stark corridor. “Deep earth bomb shelter from the fifties,” Jack whispered. “Phone lines are wired into it.”

So much for national security.

The floor of this new tunnel was tiled, and in the grime Lindsay could make out innumerable footprints tracking in both directions. They weren’t large, in fact most were smaller than her own. Bare feet whose splay-toed shapes weren’t quite right, and whose uneven pattern didn’t suggest a human stride.

Even now, after her experiences in Seneca and surrounded by the ghastly evidence of their existence, it was difficult to accept that such things as the Moles existed. No wonder Jack had never presented his findings to the academic community, nor sought police protection after making it back. The very notion of monsters dwelling beneath the city was preposterous, especially when viewed by the scholars and bureaucrats who ran the world from the comfort and safety of their offices.

Jack stopped in his tracks and killed the light, his arm swinging out to flatten her and himself against the wall. Nothing met Lindsay’s ears save for her own breathing, but then from down the corridor, she picked up the crackly hiss of the Moles’ language. Panic shot through her, until she realized by the echoes that they were still distant.

In the dark, Jack’s hand found hers, his strong fingers entwining with her own and tugging her forward. With infinite slowness, he led her toward the sound, then guided her silently around another corner and away. His pace quickened, and the inhuman conversation faded from earshot.

His light came on, and Lindsay found herself in another concrete passage, its walls pitted with bullet holes and stained with the gore of a battle fought years ago.

“This is as far as anyone’s ever made it by force,” Jack murmured. “We’re almost at the phone room. From there we can take a shortcut to where they keep prisoners.”

Lindsay’s eyes darted about, absorbing the remnants of pitched battle. “This was where Reggie fought them?”

“He and his little army, about forty in all.”

“What happened to the bodies?”

He grimaced. “Let’s just say the Moles have a lot more of those rat figures now.”

Another minute brought them to a heavy metal door, which Jack listened at intently before opening. The chamber beyond was packed with rows of outdated telephones and bulky junction boxes, along with a bank of old-fashioned tape recorders. Everywhere were stacks of New York phone books and boxes of audio tapes, and scrawled on the walls were scrolls of phone numbers. Lindsay’s skin crawled as she picked out that of her apartment.

“They monitor the world from here,” Jack spoke into her ear. “Even though they don’t really understand us in any true sense, they’re good at gathering information.”

“Who do they listen in on?” Lindsay asked.

“Police, the transit authority—anyone who deals with the underground. That’s why people like my father rarely see them. The Moles keep themselves off the radar.”

They exited the silent room, emerging into yet another corridor in the Moles’ labyrinth. Jack took one turn, then another, guiding her through musty halls, and Lindsay was hard-pressed to keep track of their route.

At last, they came to a door—an unmarked and unremarkable steel door, its surface a cracked mosaic of flaking white paint. The chill metallic scent had sharpened as they had ventured deeper into the Moles’ lair, and Lindsay knew in her core that they were now at its very heart.

Cautiously Jack placed his ear to the door, and Lindsay held her breath as the seconds ticked by. He straightened, looked at her for one long immeasurable moment, then gestured to the gun in her hands. She flicked on the light and readied her weapon.

In one quick motion, Jack pushed open the door and the two of them strode in, their beams bathing the chamber in light. A hoarse cry shattered the silence, and Lindsay staggered at what she saw.

The filthy, tiled room was large and bare, a thick concrete pillar rising from the center of its floor to support the ceiling, and huddled behind it was Seline, half-naked, clutching her eyes in agony against the blazing light. Her clothes were shredded, bloodied rags. Her skin was raked with swollen scratches and streaked with tunnel grime.

Lindsay rushed to her side, hugging her tightly. “It’s Auntie Lindsay, Seline,” she whispered. “Keep your eyes shut and stay quiet. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Seline was hysterical. “There’re things down here…monsters…and this woman…she said you were coming….”

“Shhh, Seline. It’s okay,” Lindsay said, willing her voice into calmness, despite the growing dread that they’d probably walked into a trap. “Jack Cole’s with me, and he’s going to lead us out right now, but you have to stay quiet, okay?”

“I can’t, Auntie. I can’t.” She cried softly, her fists balled over her eyes.

“Sure you can. Take my arm, and—”

“No,” Seline whimpered. “You don’t know what they’ll do to me if I try and leave. What they’ll make me into. Oh God…just run...”

Jack seized Seline by the wrists, and brought his face within an inch of hers. “And that’s what they’ll do to Lindsay unless you get off your ass right now. Move it.”

Seline hesitated, locked between two terrifying possibilities. Then, she rose to her feet, her expression an alloy of panic and determination.

Lindsay steadied her, Jack took the lead, and together they slipped out, closing the door behind them. Seline had to shade her eyes, her weakness making her slump against Lindsay.

Navigating the dark corridors quickly and quietly, they made it back to the Mole-dug tunnel that led to Schenley's Chasm. They were practically running now, desperate to reach the waterway before Seline was missed, and it was their haste that cost them.

From behind a pillar a huge shape loomed and a massive fist backhanded Jack across the face, the force of it sending him head over heels, his gun clattering across the floor. Before Lindsay could react, another shadow leapt at her from behind, throwing piano wire around her neck. Reflexively, she inserted her gloved hands between the garrote and her throat as her attacker yanked back, and she lost hold of both Seline and her weapon as her knuckles were pulled tight against her windpipe.