Ian jerked his head toward the platform. “Let’s get you up there with Yasha.” He kept his voice low as we climbed the short ladder. “The teams know where we are. As soon as they clean up, we’ll be getting plenty of backup.”
That’d be a lot of firepower to unleash directly below an in-use subway station. Not that I was against it. I was all for any and every kind of firepower we needed. “Won’t they hear us up there?”
“No chance. Even if it wasn’t New Year’s Eve, that’s one of the busiest stations in town, and tonight it’ll be packed with thousands of rowdy people. We could be firing cannons down here and no one would know.”
From what we’d experienced back at headquarters, a cannon might be the only thing that could put a dint in a grendel, and I wished we had one.
Calvin came running back to where we were.
“Ollie?” Ian asked without looking away from where he worked on my last few armor buckles.
“Gone.”
I started. “What kind of gone?”
“Gone as in on a train.” Calvin’s face was set on scowl. “With his bitching about having to take ‘uncivilized transportation,’ he’s lucky to have made it to a train.”
Best I could tell it’d been at least five minutes since the last explosion. That could be good or really bad. One meant we’d have backup soon. The other meant we’d never see our coworkers again. I was gonna go with the first one.
Ian finished with my armor. His eyes searched my face. “You okay, Mac?”
There were all kinds of okay; and right now, I wasn’t any of them. Our backup needed backup, my main weapon was a paintball gun, and my real gun might as well have been loaded with BBs for all the good it was going to do me or anyone else.
“Just peachy.”
“I need you to be on this platform.”
“So I can be out of everyone’s way?”
“So you can see down the tunnel in both directions, and blast their heads with paint. Eye shots if you can get it. Blind them long enough for us to kill them. And if you can’t mark them, just fire on their position; we’ll follow with live ammo. Calvin, you and Rolf take the northbound tracks. Me and Yasha will watch the south. Let’s go to bright light.”
I was stunned. We might as well stand in a spotlight. “Like the heat lamp over a buffet roast beef?”
Ian stopped and turned. “If those grendels are within a mile of this place, they know we’re here. We’re all that’s standing between them and the ultimate buffet. Light’s the only advantage we have and we’re going to take it.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
The waiting began.
I didn’t hear a peep from anyone. They were silent and focused, each getting ready in their own way for what would be coming for us from out of the dark. The guys had their game faces on, giving me no clue as to what was going through their minds. Well, except for Rolf. From the crazy-ass grin he was wearing, you’d think all of his birthdays—past, present, and future—had been tied up with a bow in this one moment.
Me? I was one of the first things Papa Grendel was gonna see when he cleared that tunnel. We’d tangled twice and he hadn’t killed me yet, though neither of those times had been directly my doing; I’d had plenty of help both times. I’d never particularly cared for baseball, but “three strikes you’re out” was stuck in a loop in my head.
Yasha growled low and deep in his throat.
“They’re coming,” Ian said, settling his assault rifle against his shoulder.
A roar only marginally softer than the lawyer-eating T-Rex in Jurassic Park shook the ground beneath our feet. It was louder than what I’d heard in the bull pen, but it was still some distance away. That roar was the grendel’s way of announcing that he was coming to kill us horribly, so that by the time he actually got here, we’d be appropriately terrified, thus prolonging his fun.
I had news. I was appropriately terrified right now.
“Please tell me you guys heard that.”
“No,” Ian said. “But I feel the vibration. They’re closing fast.”
“He.” I corrected him.
Rolf Haagen’s face fell in disappointment. “Just one?”
“He’s the only one roaring. It’s the one from the bull pen and tunnel. Do all grendels sound alike?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a ‘he’ and he’s coming right at you.”
My little announcement of impending doom cheered Rolf right up.
Ian adjusted his shooting stance so he could fire in either direction. “Yasha, keep your eyes, ears, and nose on those southbound tracks. Grendels are silent hunters. One roaring in our direction probably means the female’s sneaking up on us.”
The crazy Norwegian was grinning from ear to ear. “This trip might be worth it after all.” He reached over his shoulder and an instant later was hefting an honest-to-God broadsword. I hadn’t noticed it before, which considering its size was saying a lot. The sword was matte black and had blended right in with his armor.
To supplement his gun, Calvin pulled a massive knife from a sheath that ran nearly the length of the big man’s thigh. Rolf saw.
“That isn’t big enough.” The Norwegian gave his sword a fancy swing and tossed it to Calvin, who caught it cleanly. Rolf still had his spear, and an evil-looking rifle that he left slung over his back. “If he gets past me, don’t let him get away. And take care of that blade; it’s a family heirloom.”
Yasha stood in the exact center of the tracks, his hackles rising along with his growls.
Deep, unnatural laughter came from the tunnel, closer now. I’d know that gravelly chuckle anywhere.
“It’s definitely the male,” I said.
“Shit,” Calvin spat. He briefly tucked the sword under his arm, popped out what must have been a less than fully loaded magazine, and slammed home a new one. “This is getting old.”
I moved up to the edge of the platform so I could have a clear view in both directions. Yeah, all the noise was coming from one end of the tunnel, but a whole world of hurt could be coming at us from the other.
Ian’s eyes intently scanned the darkness. “Mac, let us know at thirty feet. Gentlemen, when she gives us a target, hit it with everything you have.”
Yasha moved to stand with Ian in the grendel’s path, positioning himself so he could cover the southbound tracks at the same time. He couldn’t see the monster, but he had to be able to smell it. Though it didn’t matter how sensitive your nose was, you couldn’t fight by smell alone, at least not for long. Rolf and Calvin remained on the lookout facing the northbound tracks, and I was on what I deemed the grendel hunter equivalent of a deer stand, though this wasn’t Bambi’s dad coming at us. I gripped the paintball rifle, and dimly realized that Ian was treating me as a full member of our little team. To me, that said everything about the depth of the shit we were now standing in.
Shit that got a lot deeper when the grendel suddenly stood framed in the arched tunnel opening—and I hadn’t heard a thing.
I swore and snapped my rifle to my shoulder, firing a steady stream of glow-in-the-dark paintballs. Some hit, most didn’t, but what did hit was enough.
Almost immediately, an eruption of gunfire hit the grendel at nearly point-blank range.
There were plenty of hits, but little damage, even around the head. The grendel had darted out of range, with the last volley of bullets pockmarking the tunnel’s concrete and steel arch.
The Norwegian was using quick and random attacks with the long spear, with Calvin doing the same with Rolf’s sword. I had to hand it to Rolf; his poking had drawn blood and was starting to really piss off the grendel. Part of me admired that; but considering how close he had to get to inflict any damage, it just confirmed that he was nuttier than a passel of squirrels.
The guys were doing a good job at keeping the grendel boxed in, but only because the monster seemed to want it that way. He was either playing with us or buying time for his mate to join the fun. Or both.
Room to maneuver wasn’t a problem; it was the obstacle course they were fighting on—uneven tracks, broken crossties, puddles, mud, trash. With the exception of the steel rails, the grendel’s weight simply crushed everything it stepped on.
Yasha had joined them. If the momma grendel came at us from the southbound tunnel, he could break off and deal with it then. Now he was darting and retreating in coordination with his human teammates’ attacks, working on the back of the grendel’s legs below the knee. Hamstrings. Even with fangs the length of my longest finger, he couldn’t get through, but he kept at it. Darting and lunging, same leg, same place, every time, trying to weaken the scales like a fanged battering ram to bite through to the muscle, hobbling it enough that Ian’s bullets, Rolf’s spear, or Calvin’s sword could hit a sweet spot.
I yanked my gun out of its holster. Screw this. The grendel was tagged. My job was done, but it wasn’t finished, not by a long shot. The grendel was a ten footer, my team was not.
I aimed. The monster’s head was massive. How could I miss?
Easily.
Damnation, that thing was fast.
It didn’t move far, arrogant bastard. It just kept shifting and pivoting, staying in the meager light of the abandoned station, taking every bit of steel and silver we threw at it. I’d emptied my gun, managing to land two shots, one to the head, one to the shoulder; both had about as much effect as a mosquito bite. But rather than run, the thing stayed and kept playing with us.
Oh no.
I froze in realization, then ran to the edge of the platform to the mouth of the southbound tunnel. Even with my bright helmet light, there wasn’t nothing coming at us from down there.
And there wouldn’t be.
I remembered Lars Anderssen’s words—a pair of mated grendels can communicate telepathically. The male was keeping us busy so the female could get to Times Square. Tia only needed one grendel to appear in front of those cameras at midnight.
