Free Primeval (Werewolf Apocalypse Book 2) by William D. Carl

blinked out and stayed out.
    And the subway train juddered to a screeching halt.
    “Oh shit,” the African American man whispered. “This ain’t good.”
    Sandy’s phone rang once. As she fumbled to get it out of her pocket, it fell silent.

Chapter 11
     
     
    12:30 p.m.
     
    Michael Keene led John Creed down the tracks, away from the 42nd Street Subway Station. The white tiled hallway echoed with their voices and footsteps, but the usual buzz of numerous conversations was absent. It gave Michael the jitters, and he wanted to head underground as fast as he could and hide away.
    “We’ll have to be careful,” Michael said, and the beam of his headlamp bobbed as he walked. “The Transit Authority’s always watching for people trying to go underground. Luckily, it looks like the rats scared away most of the normal crowds for this time of day. Follow me and stay close. And watch your feet. If trains switch tracks, you could get your foot crushed.”
    “Thanks.”
    “No problem. Now, follow me this way.”
    Michael headed down the dark tunnel, lit every fifty feet or so with dim lights, which were either blue or red. He moved with the calm assuredness of someone who’d traversed this pathway many, many times, confidence on full display. John, busy watching his tread and the dreaded third rail, moved as quickly as he could, following him.
    They scurried farther into the tunnel, and it grew darker and narrower as they went. The walls were dirty brick, and every once in a while they passed cubby holes where people probably ducked when the subway trains went roaring past. The various tracks were separated by grime-covered metal walls, with large gaps in between pillars.
    “Almost there,” Michael said.
    John nodded, but he felt a trembling beneath his feet and heard a rattling noise in the tunnel ahead. As he watched, the tunnel grew brighter, and it started to fill with light.
    “Uh … Michael. Train.”
    “Better hurry then,” the mole man said. “Just in here.”
    He showed John a large hole in the wall where the brickwork had collapsed. It was extremely dark inside the hole, and Michael hopped through it, disappearing into the murky blackness. His headlamp glowed dimly, offering little illumination.
    The train was growing closer, the sound of its screeching becoming louder as if the machine were protesting against its speed. It sent vibrations along the tracks, which grew stronger with its approach. The light was also getting brighter. As John looked up, he saw it form a perfect circle when it turned the corner and started directly toward him.
    He jumped, flinging himself into the hole and banging his shoulder against the bricks. A few of them broke loose and fell, crumbling into dust at the bottom of the hole. The train passed with an insanely loud noise. It created a breeze, which blew more dust into the air, making John cough. Michael, however, seemed immune. The lights of the train flickered past the hole, briefly illuminating the passageway into which they had climbed.
    Michael turned on a small flashlight and said, “This way.”
    They stepped down a long corridor, filled with dark-red bricks. There were as many on the floor as there were lining the Art-Deco archways. Everything was damp to the touch. John could hear water trickling somewhere, but he didn’t see any streams. His foot went into a small pool of extremely cold water, and he hissed.
    “We’re about a quarter of the way there,” Michael said in what appeared to be a disembodied voice. All John could see was the tiny beam of his flashlight. “I just wanna check on someone before we get any lower.”
    “Lower?”
    “Oh yeah, we have a few more levels to go down. We’ve been going farther and farther under the surface, but we’ll have to take a ladder soon to the next level down.”
    “How many people live down here?” John asked, jogging to keep up with the bouncing parallel headlamp and penlight.
    “Oh, I dunno,” Michael