Andrew Klavan - The Final Hour

I came out of the tunnel into another great arcade, a vast expanse of emptiness and columns and shadows. There were tunnels all around me, tracks disappearing into deeper darkness.

I stopped at the edge of the place. I looked from one exit to another. I felt the hopelessness like a bottomless pit inside me, the fear like a hand tightening on my throat.

Where was I supposed to go now? Which tunnel? Which way?

“You’re not alone, Charlie,” I whispered to myself-as if I were Mike, as if I were Mike talking to me. “You’re never alone.”

I felt my heart reach out desperately into the darkness.

Help me, I thought.

Almost as if in answer to my prayer, a train shot out of one of the tunnels, the light glaring in my eyes as it headed my way. I quickly moved to the right, off the tracks, and edged away farther into the arcade. The train barreled by to my left and then disappeared into the tunnel behind me.

It vanished into darkness. And it turned out my prayer had not been answered at all. There I was, just as before, and I had no more clue which way to go now than I had when the train appeared. My lips were still dry with fear. My stomach was still empty with hopelessness.

Then I saw the way.

It was because I’d moved. I’d shifted position to get out of the path of the train. Now I was looking directly down one of the tunnels that exited the arcade. As I stood trying to figure out my next move, something blinked down there. A light. More than one light. Several lights with different colors, blinking and shifting in the shadows again and again.

Instinctively, I started moving toward that light. After only a few steps, I understood what it was.

It was light coming into the tunnels from the outside-electric light of some kind, maybe neon lights-something that was blinking and shifting up there.

Times Square! I thought.

Of course. Times Square, where the New Year’s ball came down, where the greatest concentration of people would be. If Prince was going to release gas into Times Square, he’d have to go somewhere with an opening onto the street.

I started to run. I crossed the arcade and headed for the tunnel.

It was a narrow passage with only one set of tracks running through it. The minute I stepped into it, I saw what I was looking for.

Up ahead, there was a narrow platform. Tiled walls, illuminated by dim lights. It looked as if they had begun to build a station here but never finished it.

The colored lights blinked and shifted on the walls and I lifted my eyes. There, above the platform, there were two grates in the high ceiling. Through the grates, I could see-the city. A solid mass of people was passing overhead. I could hear noisemakers and shouts and an enormous whisper of human motion. I could hear music in the distance, as if a live performance was in progress. And I caught glimpses of lights: big lighted signs, jumbo TV screens, massive shifting images that sent their moving, blinking glow down here into this dark, underground world.

And finally, I saw Prince.

He was dressed all in black so that he blended into the shadows of the station. But a track switch clicked somewhere and a red signal light in the tunnel turned green and the green light picked his moving silhouette out of the surrounding darkness.

Prince was at the far end of the station platform. He was at a ladder embedded in the wall there, a long, long workman’s ladder leading up to the high ceiling and the grates maybe ten stories above. He was just about to begin the climb. As he took hold of the ladder, I saw he had a knapsack on his back. I knew he must have the Cylon Orange device in there.

A breath of foul wind blew over me. A rumble sounded in the near distance. A train was coming, headed for the tunnel.

“Prince!” I shouted.

He glanced over and saw me. His eyes flashed as they caught the light from the oncoming train. He didn’t hesitate. He started his climb.

I ran over to the platform, grabbed hold of the edge, and hauled myself up. I leveled my gun at Prince.

“Prince!” I shouted again. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

He didn’t stop, not even for a second. He kept climbing.

The rumble of the train grew louder. The glow of its headlight started to spread over the tracks below me.

I took aim.

Then a man stepped out of the shadows and pressed a gun to my head.

I spun even before the barrel touched me, sweeping my gun hand around to knock his gun away. Good thing I was fast. He was already pulling the trigger. The gun went off with a deafening blast, but the bullet went wild as his gun went flying. I lowered the barrel of my gun to his face, ready to shoot, ready to kill him then and there so I could stop Prince.

But he was fast too. He spun away and back-kicked me in the gut. I staggered and he kicked again-a high kick at my wrist this time-knocking the gun out of my hand.

He was a big man, blocky, blond, and stupid-looking, but he moved like a bolt of lightning. He jabbed his stiffened fingers at my throat. I dodged to the side and grabbed his arm. I elbowed him in the face, crushing his nose in a blast of blood. But it barely slowed him. He wrapped his arms around me and charged to the edge of the platform, carrying me with him.

We both went over the side together, falling down to the tracks and into the path of the oncoming train.

The impact of the ground broke the big man’s hold on me. I jumped to my feet-and saw the headlights bearing down on me, seconds away. The Homelander was up just as quick, his shadow blocking the light. The rumble of the train filled the tunnel. A warning whistle screamed, deafening.

Desperation filled me. All I could think was, If I die here, a big chunk of the city dies with me.

I leapt for the platform. It was a bad move. The Homelander threw himself at me, grabbed me. I elbowed him again. He wouldn’t let go. The train bore down on both of us as we struggled.

I twisted around, hit the big man with the web of my hand, right under the chin. He gagged. His arms lost their strength. With the power of terror, I hurled him away from me. He staggered back a few steps-and suddenly stood bolt upright. Caught in the glare from the onrushing train, he froze in position, trembling as if in fear.

But it wasn’t fear. He had backed into the third rail. It was the voltage that had frozen him there. He was staring at me, trembling. But in fact, he was already dead.

The train punched into the station, heading straight at me. I turned and threw myself at the platform again, hauling myself up.

I felt the whisper of death on my sleeve as the train rushed by me. But I was already rolling across the platform, safe. The next second, the train was gone.

The Homelander was gone too. Not a sign of him. I guess the train hit him, carried him off-but I didn’t have time to figure it out now.

I looked across the platform and saw Prince. He was almost halfway up the ladder, moving quickly and steadily toward the grate that opened into Times Square, pausing only a moment to reach behind him and shift the pack he had strapped to his back.

I climbed to my feet and raced after him.

There was no time to recover my gun. Once Prince reached the top of the ladder, once he reached the grate, there was nothing to stop him from activating his device, charging those canisters, releasing the gas. I ran as I’d never run before, straining every muscle with the effort that sent me tearing across the platform at top speed.

I leapt for the ladder and started hauling myself up. If I was exhausted, if I was weak, if I was battered, I no longer felt it, any of it. I just felt the need to move, to climb, to go, to reach him, to stop him.