Adam Baker - Terminus

‘He’s zoned out.’

‘Can’t we give him something?’ asked Donahue. ‘A shot to chill him out?’

Lupe shook her head.

‘The seizure will pass. Then we can find out what actually happened in here.’

Donahue climbed the steps to the street entrance. She stepped over broken bodies. Bone-chips crackled underfoot. She left boot prints in puddles of coagulating blood.

She pulled on a respirator and adjusted straps. She pulled on gloves.

She checked the gate, rattled the cuff and chain. Secure.

She shone her flashlight into the alley.

Rain had turned to snow. A silent cascade of plump flakes. Asphalt carpeted white. The wrecked motorbike already veiled by a growing drift. The scattered bodies in front of the gate, the frozen screams, clawing hands, sightless eyes, dusted with ice.

The snow was flecked with ash. Particulates from the cinder cloud that still hung over the city like a shroud. Cremated buildings, cremated people. Prevailing winds would already have swept radioactive nucleotides inland, scattering lethal toxins across the Midwest.

She listened to the growling rubble-roar of a distant Midtown mega structure folding in a titanic avalanche of concrete and girders. The iron gate rattled in its frame. Donahue placed a hand on the stairwell wall and felt the tremor slowly subside.

‘How’s it looking?’ called Lupe, from the foot of the stairwell. ‘What’s it like out there?’

Donahue pulled the polythene curtain back in position. She descended the steps. She took off her respirator and gloves.

‘Want to build a snowman?’

‘Shit.’

‘Turning into a blizzard. Better wrap up warm. This place will get cold as a meat locker soon enough.’

Donahue loaded a hypo with 15mg Diazepam, slapped Sicknote’s arm and sunk the needle. His panting breath slowed to steady, gentle inhalations. He closed his eyes and blissed.

A dried trickle of blood down the side of his neck. Donahue gently turned his head and examined the wound.

‘Bitten?’ asked Lupe.

‘No. He’s been pulling at the implant behind his ear.’

Lupe contemplated the conduit mouth.

‘So. Galloway is back.’

‘Or whatever he’s become.’

Tombes sorted through the equipment pile. He shook out burned bags. He salvaged clothing and energy bars.

He pulled a scorched tarp aside and wiped soot from a pile of gas cylinders. He checked psi gauges.

Lupe joined him.

‘The tanks got pretty roasted. Still intact, though.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Which is why we didn’t get burned to hell. Imagine if this shit ruptured.’

‘You shouldn’t be out here alone.’

Tombes threw Lupe an FDNY sweatshirt. ‘Put it on. This place will be an ice cave in a couple of hours. Get some layers.’

He loaded Lupe’s arms with gear. Coats, bottled water, an axe.

‘We better fortify the plant room. Turn it into a proper fallback position, in case we get more problems.’

‘Are you kidding me? Cloke just got snatched from the damned place.’

‘You got a better idea?’

‘No.’

‘We ought to get a fire going. Generate a little heat.’

Lupe crawled into the conduit, knife in one hand, flashlight in the other.

She crouched and shone her flashlight deep into shadow. The brick pipe receded to a distant junction.

She gripped the knife, tempted to crawl further, find Galloway and drive the blade into his eye.

‘Hey,’ called Donahue, from the mouth of the pipe. ‘Don’t go too far.’

Lupe inspected the brickwork. Blood smears.

‘Broken fingernails. Looks like Cloke put up a fight.’

She shone her flashlight into the tunnel darkness.

‘Cloke?’ she shouted. ‘Can you hear me?’ No response. ‘Dude, if you’re injured, if you can hear my voice, make some noise.’

Her voice echoed and died.

‘He’s gone,’ said Donahue. ‘Come on out. Let’s see if we can block this aperture. Do it right this time.’

Lupe backed out of the pipe. She held up ragged, bloody fabric.

‘Found a pair of pants.’

‘Cloke?’

Lupe examined the fabric. Black polyester.

‘No. Galloway, I think. His uniform.’

She threw the bundled rags into the corner.

‘Look at this,’ said Donahue. She crouched on the floor. A brass case. Flecks of glass. ‘Cyanide capsule. I guess Cloke tried to use it.’

‘Poor bastard.’

Donahue picked up a couple of empty nail jars and tossed them into the pipe mouth. Broken glass scattered over brickwork.

‘That won’t stop him,’ said Lupe.

‘No, but we’ll hear him coming.’

Tombes opened a backpack and took out a red plastic case.

‘I have something that might help.’

He popped the lid and took out a demo charge.

‘How much you got?’ asked Lupe.

‘Not much. Enough left to blow Galloway to offal.’

He mashed the nub of ammonium nitrate against the side of a small, green oxygen cylinder.

He selected a colour-coded time pencil from a cigar box. Yellow band. He carefully pressed the aluminium tube into the explosive.

‘You know how these detonators work, right?’ He held up pliers. ‘Pinch the tube. Two minute burn. Big fucking bang. Oxygen will create a fierce secondary burn. If Galloway is in the vicinity when she blows, he’ll be torn to pieces, and those pieces will be cooked down to the bone.’

He set the bomb and the pliers on a wall ledge.

‘Remember. Two minutes. Long enough to get clear. Because you better be on the other side of the hall when she pops. If those explosives are fired in a confined space, they could bring down the roof.’

They held torn mesh over the conduit mouth and lashed it back in place with plastic ties. They stacked boxes against the grille.

‘He could punch through easy enough,’ said Tombes. ‘A pile of boxes won’t slow him down. But we’ll be waiting. We’ll stand guard. If the fucker makes another appearance, we’ll shut him down for good.’

Sicknote slowly awoke. He looked around. He blinked. No glasses. The plant room was a blur.

Pounding headache. He reflexively reached for the port behind his right ear. He discovered his hands were cuffed and his ankles were lashed with flex.

‘What’s going on? Why am I tied up?’

‘You wigged out,’ said Lupe. ‘Didn’t want you to get hurt.’

‘Are you going to let me go?’

‘Maybe later. How are you feeling?’

‘Like utter shit.’

‘That thing in your head. Doesn’t seem to help much.’

‘I got wires in my brain. I’d tear them out, but the socket is screwed to my skull.’

‘Want some Codeine?’

‘It won’t help.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘The pain will pass in a few minutes. Just got to ride it out.’

Lupe picked his spectacles from the floor and placed them in his hand. He put them on. The left lens was missing.

‘Sorry,’ said Lupe. ‘Guess they broke.’

‘Can you blank out the missing lens?’ asked Sicknote. ‘Tape it over, like an eye patch?’

‘If you like.’

‘One good eye. I’ll see better that way.’

‘Tell me what happened to Cloke.’

‘Galloway. Must have been watching, listening, lying in wait all the while. Picked his moment, then made the snatch.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Pretty far gone. A putrefied mess. Not much left of his face. He looked like those ghouls outside. But stronger, faster. He picked up Cloke with one arm. Threw him around like he didn’t weigh a damn thing. Took him into the pipe.’

‘So why are you alive? Why not take you? Why not take Ekks?’

Sicknote shrugged.