‘Got picked up by a patrol. Bastards tried to lynch my ass.’
Sicknote gagged. He bent double and convulsed. Thick vomit splattered on the floor. Half-chewed energy bar. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
‘Someone clean that shit up,’ said Wade, turning his head from the stench. ‘I don’t want to smell that stink.’
‘Hey,’ said Lupe. ‘You. Galloway.’
Galloway shook his head.
She lowered the shotgun to his chest, nudged his breast bone with the barrel.
‘Come on. Down on your knees. Get scrubbing, fucknuts.’
‘With what?’
‘Your hands. Your shirt. Whatever. Get it done.’
Galloway laid tissues over lumps of regurgitated energy bar. He tried to scoop them up. Vomit dripped through his fingers.
Radio beep. Lupe unhooked the Motorola from her waistband. Nariko’s voice:
‘Donahue. Come in, over?’
Lupe held the radio beside Donahue’s head.
‘Say “Go ahead”.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We’ve made contact with at least one survivor. Heading back.’
‘Sign off,’ ordered Lupe.
‘Ten-thirteen. Roger and out.’
‘Well done, girl,’ said Lupe. She patted Donahue on the shoulder. ‘Let me get some painkillers for your face, all right? Take the edge off the hurt.’
Lupe crossed to the equipment pallet. She led Wade away from the group. They stood at the foot of the entrance stairwell.
She switched on a flashlight. Wade’s face lit harsh white. She trained the beam eye-to-eye. No reaction. Dilated pupils.
‘What’s wrong with your eyes?’
‘Night blind. Been down here too long. I’ll be okay once we reach daylight.’
‘I guess,’ said Lupe, unconvinced.
‘So. Some kind of rescue team, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Three, travelling by boat. One nine milli between them.’
‘An army guy?’
‘Some kind of boffin. Institute of Infectious Diseases. He’s not a shooter. The other two are fire department EMTs.’
‘We can take them.’
‘We?’
‘Jump the fuckers soon as they get off the boat. Take them out. Do it quick, do it right.’
‘No. We rope them. Keep them compliant and intact.’
‘When did you grow a conscience?’ asked Wade.
‘They got a helicopter scheduled to pick them up in a few hours. If they go off air, the guys back at base won’t send the chopper. Think you’re going to walk home? Go tapping your way through the streets with a white stick? It’s hell out there.’
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Tell Sicknote. Make sure he understands. These folks are our ticket out. We need them, bro. We need them alive.’
21
The boat drifted through the tunnel darkness.
Nariko unhooked her radio.
‘Donahue. Come in, over?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘We’ve made contact with at least one survivor. Heading back.’
‘Ten-thirteen. Roger and out.’
Nariko pulled the Glock from her belt and press-checked for brass.
‘What’s up?’ asked Cloke.
‘Ten-thirteen. Urgent assistance required.’
‘Lupe?’
‘Who else?’
Fenwick Street. They waded across the submerged platform to the steps. They stood in the stairwell.
Nariko drew the Glock.
‘Get me out of this suit.’
Nariko kept the pistol trained on the ticket hall above them. Cloke and Tombes flanked her. They pulled back duct tape and zippers, helped her squirm from cumbersome NBC gear.
‘You guys hang back.’
She crept up the ticket hall steps, pistol gripped in both hands. She was stripped down to T-shirt and pants. Her skin prickled in the cold. Her breath fogged the air.
Cloke and Tombes followed behind her.
A face appeared at the top of the stairwell. A chubby guy with black-frame glasses.
‘Hey,’ shouted Nariko.
Shotgun roar. Smack of impact. The wall beside Nariko erupted. She shielded her eyes from whirling tile splinters and stone chips.
She fired back. 9mm rounds blew craters in the ticket hall roof.
Gunfire died slow like thunder. Silence and dust-haze.
Nariko heard a distant shout. Lupe’s voice. She couldn’t make out words. Angry, like she was calling some kind of ceasefire.
Nariko crept upwards.
The ticket hall.
Wade, sitting on the bench. He sat, legs crossed, arms stretched over the back of the seat like he was sitting in a park, enjoying the sun.
Nariko took aim at his chest.
‘Where’s Donahue?’ demanded Nariko, glancing round the empty hall. ‘Where’s the other guy? The guy with glasses? The guy with the shotgun?’
Wade didn’t reply.
Tombes grabbed a crowbar from the equipment pile. Cloke grabbed a hammer.
‘Donahue?’ shouted Nariko. Her voice echoed through the vaulted ticket hall.
‘Donnie?’ yelled Tombes. ‘You okay?’
Muffled shout from the office:
‘Yeah. I’m all right.’
Nariko turned back to Wade.
‘Come on. Talk. Who the hell are you?’
‘Just a guy waiting for a ride.’
‘Who’s the other creep?’
‘My spiritual advisor.’
Something weird and unfocused about the convict’s expression. Nariko leaned sideways. His gaze didn’t shift as she moved from his field of vision. He continued to stare straight ahead.
‘Cut the crap. What do you want?’ she asked.
‘Like I said. I’m looking for a way off this island.’
Nariko crept closer. She waved her hand in front of his face. No reaction.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Maybe I can get you a ride.’
Wade twitched, startled to hear her standing so close.
‘That easy?’
‘You were down here with Ekks, is that right? You were one of his lab rats?’
‘Yeah,’ said Wade.
‘Listen. I honestly don’t give a damn who you are, or what you want. But I don’t have time to waste on some lame-ass Mexican stand-off. Just stay out the way until we’re done. That’s all I ask. Call off your friend. I’ll get you home.’
Nariko engaged the safety and tucked the Glock into her belt. She sat beside Wade.
‘You’re blind.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Totally blind?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How long?’
‘Couple of days. Vision went blurry. Thought my eyes were tired. Tried to sleep it off. Woke the next day and couldn’t see a damn thing. Nothing. Not even black. It’s got to be a temporary thing, right? Eye strain. Down in the dark too long. Be fine, once I’m out of here and get some sun.’
Nariko checked out Wade’s shin. Red on red: a deep crimson streak below the knee of his scarlet state-issue pants.
‘What’s up with your leg?’
‘Cut it shaving.’
‘Let me take a look.’
Tombes picked a trauma bag from the equipment pile and threw it skidding across the floor to Nariko.
‘Roll your leg.’
Wade rolled his pant leg. Black, crusted blood.
‘That’s a pretty bad sore.’ She double-gloved and cleaned the wound. She probed the lesion. Wade winced.
‘Doesn’t look infected.’
She packed the wound with gauze and wrapped bandage round his shin.
Cloke discreetly unhooked the Geiger counter. He set it to silent. He took a background count, then swung the handset towards Wade. Flickering digits. The LCD readout flashed a threshold warning.
‘You folks here for Ekks?’ asked Wade.
‘Yeah,’ said Nariko. ‘Any member of his team left alive. Failing that, his research.’