Someone — Jessie?
Oh, Jesus.
It was coming from the passenger car.
Panic rising, he crossed to one of the windows and peered inside, seeing no sign of life. He worked his way along the side of the car, looking in window after window. Nothing.
The crying continued. Deep, terrified sobs.
Moving around to the train car’s door, he found it padlocked shut. He searched the ground, snatched up a good-sized rock, and hammered the lock over and over, until it finally broke open.
Throwing the door wide, he was assaulted by a blast of light so intense that he had to shut his eyes — and when he opened them again, it wasn’t the interior of the passenger car he saw, but the curved cement walls of the Chicago freight tunnels.
He was underground, beneath the city, knee-deep in river water.
And Jessie was still crying.
How long has it been?” Rachel asked, staring down at Donovan’s lifeless body. She felt sick to her stomach.
Wong checked his watch. “Little over two minutes, give or take.”
“Give or take?”
“Relax,” Wong said. “He’s just getting started.”
There was light down here.
He didn’t realize where it was coming from until he discovered he was holding his flashlight.
What the hell?
He supposed he could try to come up with a logical explanation for this, but what was the point? Like a dream, logic was irrelevant here.
The feeling that he was being watched had not abated, and he wondered if this death, this afterlife, was merely a product of some form of communal thought. A kind of metaphysical Internet connecting each of us-both the living and the dead-through invisible data lines. While we remain a part of the whole, we also contribute our own little piece of randomness to the equation.
Maybe our thoughts are the programming code. Donovan had needed a flashlight, so he had one. That this had happened without his realizing it only confirmed that he had little or no control here. He was a neophyte, a guest with limited privileges, who hadn’t yet mastered this particular domain.
Of course, he could be wrong.
Could be that all of the above was just a bunch of happy horseshit. Hadn’t he just told himself to forget logic?
But, he wondered, if it was true, was it also possible that someone like Gunderson-who, according to Grandma Luke, had been straddling both worlds and had been raised to believe and have faith in these things-might have a better understanding of how to control the environment? Would he be able to hack into a fellow traveler’s thoughts and manipulate him at will? That might explain the feeling that someone was watching him. And the sudden changes in his environment.
It might also explain Jessie’s sobs.
Focusing in on them, Donovan raised the flashlight above his shoulder and shone it into the tunnel ahead, seeing little more than darkness. The sound of her tears put a knot in his stomach, but he was convinced now that this was just another of Gunderson’s ruses.
After all, hadn’t Gunderson used Bobby Nemo to get them to that train yard? Hadn’t he left the Suburban parked in plain sight to draw Donovan into those tunnels?
Hadn’t he used Jessie’s sobs before?
He’s playing you, Jack. Don’t believe a thing you see. Or hear.
Or feel, for that matter (Had something just brushed past him in the water?)
He shone the light toward his legs and saw nothing but murky liquid. A slight ripple on the surface, however, convinced him he wasn’t alone.
Feeling the sudden urge to move, he started through the tunnel, letting Jessie’s sobs guide him. The deeper into it he got, the higher the water rose. It was up to his waist now.
The fear he’d felt a few moments ago was also on the rise. Something slick and slimy resided in this black water and was stalking him with the practiced stealth of a predator.
Easy, Jack. Get a grip.
It’s all in your head, remember?
Staring at the water, he was reminded of the dubious green liquid that Wong had given him to drink. The fleshy bits floating in it that had almost seemed alive. Was he merely transferring that image to this place? Yet another piece of baggage?
Or was Gunderson playing netherworld Wizard of Oz?
Jessie’s sobs were closer now.
Following a bend in the tunnel, he continued toward the sound, the water rising to his chest.
Keeping the flashlight raised above his shoulder, he saw a dead end just ahead, a wall of cement that housed a familiar steel door, three-quarters of which stood beneath the surface of the water.
Something brushed past him again. Unmistakable this time. He flinched and wheeled around, shining his light into the blackness, catching just a glimpse of glistening gray flesh as it crested the surface, then disappeared beneath it.
Stifling a wave of revulsion, he whipped back around toward the door. The only way through it was underwater. He’d have to get down to where the thing that was stalking him resided.
The question was, would he be able to get through the door before the thing decided to strike?
The water rippled again, his stalker on the prowl. Unwilling to stand there and find out what its intentions were, he braced himself, sucked in a deep breath, then dove into the murk, heading for the steel door. It was too black down here to see anything, but he swam forward, legs kicking, arms outstretched, hoping to latch onto the wheel that should be mounted at the center.
A moment later, he collided with it. Grabbing hold with both hands, he tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge.
The thing in the water made another pass. Even closer this time.
Donovan jerked the wheel. Come on, you piece of shit, move.
Mustering up every ounce of strength he had, he tried a third time and it gave slightly, turning a fraction of an inch to the left.
He was about to try again when his stalker brushed against him, more aggressively than ever, its slick flesh icy to the touch. Donovan flinched and shot upward, breaking the surface of the water, sucking in precious air.
Sonofabitch.
You’re letting him control you, Jack. Don’t let him control you. The reality of this world is what you make it. No one else. Concentrate and you’ll get what you want.
Taking another deep breath, he dove again. A moment later he had the wheel in his hands, and from out of nowhere, the slimy thing bumped hard against him, then circled away.
A low, angry roar rippled through the water. He imagined the thing moving toward him again, its open mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.
Frantic now, Donovan turned hard, but the wheel still wouldn’t budge.
Turn, goddammit. Turn!
Feeling movement behind him, knowing the thing was surely headed straight for him, he centered his concentration on the wheel, and all at once it gave. Spinning it to the left, he yanked the door open — only to be assaulted by another blast of intense white light.
I can’t take much more of this,' Rachel said.
“Relax. He’s well under the limit.”
“How long?”
