CHAPTER 4

“So that’s the situation, people.” Ben had explained his theory to his Rebels, gathered in a huge warehouse along the Harlem River. “And I think the creepies expected me to piece it all together, leaving me with some choices to make. If we stay here, they’ve really got us in a box. For I think a large force of them have moved up into Spuyten Duyvil and the Kingsbridge area, as well as into the subway tunnels and over into University and Morris Heights. And they didn’t use the bridges; they used boats. Dan’s Scouts have been out since dawn, and have found where they launched off. I’m going to remind you all, one more time, that just counting the Night People, we’re outnumbered fifteen or twenty to one. With Monte’s people coming in …

twenty-five to one. Like that well-known philosopher used to say: Them odds ain’t worth a damn!”

The warehouse reverberated with laughter. A woman called out, “What was that philosopher’s name, General, Ben Raines?”

Ben joined in the laughter. “Could be.” He waited until the warehouse had settled down. “So we’re going to do this the Rebel way, people. I’m not going to order you all into a death trap. I’m going to walk outside and have a cup of what passes for coffee nowadays. You people vote on it. You want to continue clearing out the Big Apple, fine. You want to go home, that’s fine, too. Ike and Cecil and West are canvassing their troops now.

Take as long as you want. I’ll be outside.”

Ben walked outside, expecting to be alone. But Beth and Jersey and Cooper walked out with him. They had already voted in their minds. They were staying. Dan and his Scouts walked out right behind them. James Riverson, the big ex-truck driver from Missouri, who had been with Ben since the outset, came next. Ben didn’t even have time to get a cup of coffee and roll a cigarette before the Rebels came pouring out of the warehouse. They walked to Jeeps and Hummers and tanks and APC’S and trucks.

“We’re go in’ to work, General,” a Rebel Ben knew only as Joe called out, climbing into a Jeep. “You have you a cup of coffee and a smoke.

We’re gonna start pushing on down south; see if we can find some creep ass to kick. We got a big job ahead of us, you know?”

Ben smiled at the man, then allowed his eyes to roam all up and down the line of Rebels. The lines from King came to him: “I have a dream.” Ben looked at the faces of his Rebels. Black and white, Asian, Indian, Spanish …

they were all represented. The

dream worked here, Doctor, Ben thought, and now these men and women are willing to risk their lives to push that dream of peace and equality even further.

And I’m damn proud of them.

Ben saluted his troops as the vehicles rolled past. When the last truck had pulled out, he turned to Beth. “Get Ike and Cecil and West on the horn, please.”

The Rebel commanders and the mercenary came on.

“What’s the word, gentlemen?” Ben asked.

“Unanimous, Ben,” Ike took it. “Not one person voted to leave.”

“You very carefully explained that this city could well be our tomb?”

“We laid it all out for them, General,” West replied.

“Probably made it even more dismal than it really is,” Cecil told him. “We’re here for the duration, Ben.”

“I’m damn proud of you all. I want you to know that.”

“Let’s go to work.” Ike finished it brusquely, but with a very definite catch in his voice.

“Hang tough,” Ben told them.

The Rebels found nothing. No Night People, no survivors, nothing. But Ben had felt eyes on him all that morning and well into the afternoon. He said nothing about it; he waited for someone else to experience the same sensation. Beth was the first one to vocalize the eerie feeling.

“We’re being watched, General. I don’t know where they are, or who it is. But our every move is being observed. I’d bet on it.”

“I’ve felt it all morning, Beth.”

“We all have,” Beth confirmed it. “Me, Jersey, Cooper, and a lot of the others. And speaking for me, it’s a damned weird feeling.”

The Rebels had pushed down to Fairview Avenue that cold late-fall day, but not a one of them felt comfortable or secure with it. Because of the near total silence in the city, the sounds of planes coming in from Base Camp One, and their taking off, could be heard if the wind was right. One plane every hour, twenty-four hours a day. Joe had told Ben a huge truck convoy was on the way, carrying ammo, food, medicine, and clothing. Should be arriving in three to four days.

“Come on out and fight, you bastards!” Ben muttered, an edge to his voice.

But the only fighting was far to the south of Ben’s position. Ike and Cecil and West were lucky if they cleared a third of a block a day. On more than one day the Rebels and the Night People stood and slugged it out, with no one gaining any ground.

And so far, Ben’s people had yet to fire a shot in their push south.

Ben inspected an apartment complex that had been recently declared secure. He started from the roof and walked down. He found the skeletal remains of a man and a woman, sitting in rat-chewed chairs in front of a dusty and long-silent TV set. Ben squatted down on the littered floor and picked up what remained of a

TV Guide.

A daytime talk show had been circled. He noticed with a warrior’s dark humor that the topic for that day was gun control.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, folks,” Ben muttered, dropping the tattered and yellowed magazine to the floor and standing up. Then felt slightly guilty after saying it. It passed quickly.

He walked across the hall and pushed open the door, noting that like so many, the Rebels had smashed open the door. A skeleton lay on the floor,

a rusting rifle beside the bones. Brass lay among the litter by a window. Ben knelt down and picked up one empty casing. A 30-06. Here was one New Yorker who did not go into that long sleep placidly.

Ben walked to the shattered window and looked down on the street, then back to the bones. Old bones, years old. He theorized that the man gave a number of looters exactly what all looters deserve: a bullet in the head.

Ben found a blanket and covered the warrior’s bones. He walked out of the apartment, carefully closing the door behind him.

The apartment building and the old bones therein both depressed and troubled him. Why did the gas kill some almost immediately and let others live? And what had killed the man who chose to fight?

He put those questions out of his mind and stood just inside the doors to the apartment building, in the semi-gloom, knowing he would be hard to spot by anyone outside, and worried his mind about the absence of the enemy. His people were getting deeper and deeper into bogie country-far too deep to leave little pockets of Rebels behind as rear guards. He had too few people as it was; they had to stay together for safety’s sake.

What to do?

He stood in the gloom of the foyer, knowing Beth and Jersey and Cooper were just outside, waiting with the squad of bodyguards. His eyes swept the top floors of the buildings across the street. No, they wouldn’t be on the top floors. The slithering creepies would be belowground, hiding like rats and snakes. But if that was the case, how were they watching the Rebels? From what vantage point? Had they dug tunnels away from the existing tunnels, coming up under buildings, with hidden passageways?

Maybe.

Ben stepped to the door. “Come on inside, all of you. We’re going to re-inspect this building. In the basement. Beth, I want a generator set up and lights strung down in the basement.”

Dan intercepted the transmission and was at the scene moments after hearing it. “Fresh ideas, General?”

“Could be. Might well be a wild goose hunt, too.” He explained.

Dan nodded and turned to a Scout. Before he could give the order, Ben said, “I’ll lead it, Dan.

You’re in command up top.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the generator humming, the basement filled with light, Ben walked down into the darkness. “Pull everything away from the walls, people. And don’t be disappointed if we don’t find anything. It might not be in this building, or the next one, but it’s the only logical explanation for what’s been happening. As

soon as we clear a building, they pop out like the blood-sucking leeches they are. Come on, let’s go to work.”

“You want us to carry this stuff outside, General?”

“No. They’ll find out soon enough what we’re doing without us giving it away. Just move everything out to the center of the floor, after I inspect the center. But I think they’re tunneling in through a wall and hiding the entrance with something solid.”

Everything was moved away from the walls. The walls were carefully checked. Nothing. Not even a rat hole.

They moved on to the basement of the next building.

Same results. The Rebels tried three more basements before hitting pay dirt. As soon as they pulled several large wooden crates away from the wall, the unmistakable odor of Night People struck them all.

“Bingo!” Ben said. “Get Dan down here.”

The Englishman came down the steps

quick-time. A grim smile curved his mouth as he smelled the foulness of the creepies and his eyes touched upon the dark hole in the wall. “Tunnel-rat time, General?”

“Yeah. And you’re looking at the chief rat. No arguments. Who’s going in with me?”

Everybody stepped forward. Including Beth.

“Have you lost your mind, Beth?” Ben asked.

“The boredom of the last few days momentarily clouded reason, General.”

“Well, I’ll put a little sunshine on it. You stay up here and keep track of the radio business.”

Dan had already sent for heavy flashlights and spare batteries from the supply truck. “Pierce, you and Bouten take the point and keep the point. And that is a direct order.”

“Yes, sir.” The Scouts checked the flashlights and stepped into the foul-smelling darkness. While the Rebels certainly had the technology to produce flashlight batteries, as long as they had millions of rechargeable batteries at their disposal, and the means to recharge them, that technology was on the shelf for a time.

Just before Ben bent down and crawled into the darkness, he turned around to Dan. “Do you know if Katzman ever got ahold of Emil and his warriors?”

“No, sir. I’ll have Beth check on that.”

“Fine.”

“General? Radio contact is going to be bad down there. If you’re not out in one half hour, I’m coming in.”

“All right, Dan.” Ben disappeared into the smelly darkness.

“Father Emil! Father Emil!” the woman shouted, running toward the main camp of Emil and the hippies. “Great General Raines has called us on the radio you got from Colonel Williams.

He is welcoming our aid and has given us instructions on how to get to wherever it is he wants us to go.”

Emil grabbed the piece of paper, read it quickly, and jumped to his feet, which was a dangerous move for Emil: the hem of his robe seemed to be constantly catching on something-usually his feet.

“Lafayette!” Emil shouted, pointing to the west.

Sister Sarah assumed he was talking about General Raines and moved his arm to the east. “We are on our way!” He turned around, caught his feet in the hem of his robe, and fell down in the dust.

“Jesus Christ,” Rosebud muttered,

eyeballing the antics.

Thermopolis walked to Emil and helped Sister Sarah get the little man to his feet. “May I read that communiqu`e, please?”

“Oh. Sure, Thermy.”

Thermopolis read the message and paled under his tan. “Did you read all of this, Emil?”

“No. Just the first part.”

“General Raines says we may be outnumbered twenty-five to one.”

Emil hit the ground again, in a dead faint.

Sister Sarah waved away Thermopolis’s help and motioned for some of Emil’s flock to come help.

Thermopolis walked back to his group.

“We’ve got to talk, Rosebud.”

“I heard; most of us did. I can’t speak for the others, but to my way of thinking, if we don’t help Ben Raines stop these horrible people now, we’ll have to run and keep on running for the rest of our lives.

The kids and grandbabies are all right, Thermopolis. They’re being well taken care of by the older people back at the village, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

“Rosebud, all of you, you know that even if by some miracle we help defeat the Night People in New York City, we’ve only chopped off the tip of the iceberg. We well might be fighting the Night People and

under the command of that authoritative bastard Raines for the rest of our lives!” He shuddered at the thought.

“But if we don’t hook up with a large enough group to resist,” Zelotes pointed out, “we’re doomed.”

“I don’t know which would be worse,” Thermopolis said. “Eaten by cannibals or having to listen to Ben Raines’s right-wing bullshit for the rest of my days.”

“He doesn’t force his personal philosophy on anybody, dear,” Rosebud reminded her old man. “He just wants everybody to be educated and to obey the few laws that the Rebels live under. You remember what Jerre told us about him.”

“Oh, I know it. He’s not as bad as I make him out to be. Well, what’s it going to be, friends?”

It was unanimous. They would go on.

“So be it,” Thermopolis said.

“Twenty-five to fucking

one!”

Emil shrieked, coming out of his faint, his scream reaching everyone in camp. “Holy shit!”

“Douse the lights,” Ben whispered. “Let your eyes grow accustomed to the dark.” The flashlights were clicked off. Ben and the Scouts were well away from the opening in the basement. “Now get out of the way.” He edged past the point team.

“Colonel Gray said …”

“Colonel Gray doesn’t give me orders.

Just pass the buck back to me if you get any static about it.” Ben squatted in the tunnel for a moment, getting his bearings. He had seen at first glance that the tunnels were

not new. They were very old. Maybe fifty or a hundred years old. And quite possibly, Ben thought, a lot of unsolved murders in the Big Apple could have been cleared up if these tunnels had been known.

He also had a strong hunch that the Night People had been around for a lot longer than anyone could possibly guess.

He inched forward until coming to a curve in the tunnel. He peeked around it. Not even a tiny finger of light reached him. Touching Bouton on the arm, Ben whispered, “Come with me.”

The tunnel both widened and heightened. The men were almost able to stand up erect. Ben inched forward, feeling his way along the wall. Another turn, a sharp one. Far at the end of that stone corridor, Ben could see a small light. He stepped aside and pulled Bouton forward. The Scout saw the light and nodded his head.

“Get the others,” Ben whispered. “Remove any loose equipment and tape up for silent approach.

And bring me some tape.”

The Scout melted into the darkness. Ben waited for what seemed to be an hour. But the luminous hands of his watch told him it was less than three minutes before he heard the slight scrape of boots on stone, the sound not carrying more than a few feet. But even that was enough to give them away.

When Bouton reached his side, Ben whispered, “Pass the word: the next person who drags his feet gets to launder all the dead creepie’s robes.”

Bouton passed the word.

Ben took the already torn strips of tape and silenced his equipment, then inched forward. He sensed the others behind him, but did not hear them. Low voices reached him; seconds later, the odor and sizzle of cooking meat also reached him. He grimaced, knowing full well what the creepies were eating.

There was now enough light in the tunnel for the Rebels to see each other. Ben turned and made an eating gesture to Bouton and the others, then pointed to the end of the corridor.

The Rebels all struggled to keep from gagging. Ben moved forward, motioning Bouton and Pierce up to him.

The corridor was wide enough for three men to walk abreast, while the floor was on a slight but constant slant downward. Ben clicked his Thompson off safety. The others did the same. The voices grew louder.

Ben motioned for the team to halt. He slipped forward, taking a peek into the large stone room. He almost lost what remained of his lunch.

Like sides of beef, naked, very dead human bodies were hung up on meat hooks. Ben could see where, he assumed, the choicest cuts had been carved from the bodies. Strips of meat were cooking over a charcoal fire.

He knelt down and motioned Pierce and Bouton forward and motioned for them to kneel, then waved three more Rebels forward.

Ben lifted his Thompson to his shoulder. One old .45-caliber SMG and five M-16’s on

full auto ripped the cruel air of the tunnel, sending the ten subhumans sprawling and kicking and squalling and finally, for the good of humankind, dying.

“Jersey, go get Dan. I want him to see this.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

A moment later, they could all hear the sounds of her upchucking.

No one blamed her a bit.