A Perfect Machine(60)

If he had taken a different route to the old subway tunnels, he would have seen Henry and the four men who’d intercepted him, which would have changed the entire outcome of that situation. He might have seen Palermo, too. But he hadn’t; the route he’d taken was the most direct one, on main streets. Two or three people passed him, but they were all rubberneckers, and each of them had asked if there was anything they could do to help. He had just shaken his head and carried on.

Milo, too, felt the new snowflakes falling down around him, just before he entered the old subway tunnels – not long at all after Henry had gone down. He relished their coldness on his burning skin.

When Milo was safely inside the darkness of the entrance, away from streetlights, sirens, and the eyes and offers of well-meaning strangers, he gently set Faye down on the concrete at his feet. Just to get a momentary breather.

And in that darkness, below him, down the stairs, he heard the hiss of escaping air. Saw two burning coals in the dark, and knew that his friend, Henry, was close.



* * *



Marcton was unable to move for a few minutes after the monster disappeared into the abandoned subway tunnels. He consciously sent instructions to his legs to work, but they would not listen. He wondered dreamily, his mind in a fog, if he was broken. Maybe nothing would work again, and he would just stand here in the street, as snow piled up all around him. He had an intense vision of suffocating under a mountain of white, and that’s what finally got him moving.

Breath caught in his chest, and he hitched in oxygen. He blinked rapidly, looked around. Cleve, Bill, and Melvin had similar expressions, but they seemed steadier than him.

Cleve reached a hand out, said, “You alright, Marcton?”

Marcton’s second and third breaths came easier. “Yeah, um… Yes. We should call the warehouse.”

“Definitely,” said Melvin. Waited a beat. “Any idea what that was, Marcton?”

“Nope.”

“Thought not. Well, whatever it was, I’m glad it didn’t stomp us. ’Cause that would have hurt.”

“Only for a second,” Bill said. Tried to smile. Failed, managing only a weird half-grimace. His hands shook. “I need to sit down.” He moved to the curb, sat down unsteadily.

Melvin looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then finally spat it out. “Should we call Kendul? Now that Palermo’s, well… gone.”

“We don’t know that for sure yet,” Bill said.

“We need to confirm, at least,” Marcton said. “And we can’t wait for the news tomorrow.” He thought about that for a second. “Not that they’d be able to identify the body.”

“Can someone else go?” Bill said. “Not sure my legs would get me all the way there. They’re still shaky as shit.”

“I’ll go,” Cleve said, and headed in the direction of the nurse’s building. “Might clear my head a bit.”

“Don’t be seen,” Marcton said as Cleve walked past him. “Only get as close as you need to, then come back.”

“Yep, got it.” He walked away, turned a corner, and was gone.

“So. Kendul, yeah?” Melvin said.

Marcton sighed, walked over to where Bill sat on the curb, joined him. “I guess we should. They were old friends. He should hear the news from us.”

“If Palermo’s dead.”

“Yeah, if.”

But they both knew he was. Marcton, especially, felt it in his gut.

The three men passed the remaining time before Cleve’s return in silence, just watching the snowflakes come down. Feeling the wind pick up. Turning their collars up against it – except for Marcton, who, as usual, still only wore a T-shirt and jeans.

Soon, Cleve came back around the corner. It was hard to tell from his face what the news was.

Marcton and Bill stood up. Melvin came closer. Cleve had to nearly shout now to be heard over the wind: “Two bodies. Well, one and a half. Neither are him.”

It was not at all what Marcton expected to hear. “What? You’re sure? Absolutely positive?”

“Positive, man. Didn’t recognize either body. They were both fairly smooshed and all, but their faces were pretty much intact, and I swear neither was Palermo.”

Marcton turned around in the direction of the subway entrance, put his hand over his mouth, turned back, said, “Well, we don’t know what happened inside. If the thing was tossing bodies out of windows, it might have left a few inside, right? We don’t know the body count indoors.”

Everyone nodded.

“So how do we find that out without trying to get inside?” Melvin said. “Rubbernecking from a safe distance is one thing, but no way we’ll be able to get in there. At least not till the cops are gone… But hey,” Melvin continued, “maybe Kendul can get inside. Would the leader of the Hunters have any pull with the city cops?”

“Dunno. Maybe,” Marcton said. “I’m just not particularly looking forward to that conversation, you know?”

“Well, since we don’t know – for sure – if Palermo’s in there, you don’t have to lead off with, ‘Hey, so your old buddy’s dead. Can you help us identify the body?’”