Excerpt: Soulless

Prologue – Underground

At one o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday, the island of Manhattan was still lit up like noon and abuzz with activity. The city – as the cliché went – never slept. At least, not until three or four A.M. or later. While not as choked with human traffic as they would be in a few more hours, the streets and sidewalks were far from empty. Late night partygoers, night shift workers going home and their early morning replacements heading out, police patrols and taxi cabs – all jostled together in a tide of human activity that seemed hardly aware of the late hour. They bustled about in artificial light, be it the eerie yellow glow of a street lamp, the garish colored neon of the bars and clubs, or even the archaic dancing glow of a vagrant’s campfire – the human race kept itself surrounded with light, pushing back the early morning darkness.

Beneath the streets was another story though. Past the brightly lit subway platforms, away from even the utility lights of the tunnels and the there-and-gone illumination of the passing trains, darkness more complete than the blackest night above smothered everything and everyone.

Somewhere in the choking blackness a figure moved. His name was Frank Newton. At least, that was what he called himself these days. It tended to draw less attention in most circles than his given name. He was a solidly built man, short by most standards, but with a wide, muscular frame. His bearded face looked like something out of an antique painting of Spanish royalty – which wasn’t as far from the truth as one might imagine. Not that there was any light to see his face with down here, nor anyone interested in looking. Certainly, his aristocratic features were the last thing on Frank Newton’s mind at the moment.

A dozen or more injuries decorated Frank’s body. He counted at least ten stab wounds in his chest and back. A deep slash in his thigh slowed his movement. But worst of all were the bites that stood out on his arms and neck. These weren’t just punctures or cuts made by incisors. Each bite was a deep gouge where hunks of flesh had been torn away. The bite burned more than all his other wounds, and were he able to see, Frank was sure he could have watched them turn a sickly gray green before his eyes. His other injuries were grievous by any standards, but it was these four bites and the poison slowly spreading from them into his blood that might end his life tonight. But even if this was his time to pass, Frank wasn’t about to go without completing his mission. Someone had to know what he had seen in the dried out, forgotten reservoir. If he couldn’t stop the horror that was about to occur, he had to at least get a warning to those who could.

Stumbling, struggling to stay on two feet, Frank made his precarious way across a service catwalk. The hot wind that blew up at him from far below advertised a ruinous fall should he lose his footing. He kept one hand on the safety railing next to him and moved one miniscule step at a time along the damp metal grating. He had come down into the tunnels with state-of-the-art night vision goggles – goggles that could pierce even this darkness. But he had lost those in the terror of battle and flight. His weapon too was forsaken somewhere further down in the labyrinth, its precious rounds expended.

The only thing he clung to was the compact digital camera. It was, he was convinced, the only reason he had been chased this far. Because there could be no doubt at least one enemy was still on his trail. He couldn’t hear any sounds of pursuit, certainly couldn’t see anything. But now and then, when the air currents in the tunnels shifted, he could smell it: a rank, sepulchral odor that cut straight through the musty air and smell of filth and pushed him into flight. If the thing behind him caught him here, in the dark, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

The rusting metal groaned a soft protest to his weight as he moved across it, but it held. Soon enough he was across the unseen chasm and back in the equally invisible concrete tunnels. He was heading south; that much he knew. He could only hope he was also heading up, back to civilization. If he was lucky, he could evade pursuit simply by making it to the surface. The distant rumble of subway cars drew him on. Unless he had gotten massively turned around in the dark, he had to be approaching the 59th St. – Columbus Circle station. Just a little further…

His free hand, gliding over the rough concrete wall, suddenly slid into empty air – a doorway! Feeling around, Frank smiled for the first time in what felt like hours. It wasn’t just a doorway; a narrow staircase led upward toward the sound of trains. He could have skipped up the stairs two at a time, so suddenly had his mood been lifted, but he forced himself to take them slowly. No sense in tumbling down a flight of stone stairs now, when he was so close to escape.
It was then, at the top of the stairs, that he heard it. The smell had been with him for so long it had begun to fade into the background, just another in the long parade of offensive odors one breathed in down here. As a result, he hadn’t realized how near his pursuer had approached. Now, for the first time, the thing behind him advertised its presence with sound. It wasn’t much; it almost certainly wasn’t deliberate. But Frank heard it nevertheless, the soft scraping of a boot on the bottom step. Another step sounded, this time higher up the stairs. And another.

Frank’s spirits, lifted by the fortuitous advent of the staircase, now sank. Up ahead, he could see the dim lights of a working subway tunnel, but with the enemy this close he didn’t know if he could make it in time. Well, he hadn’t come this far not to try. He bolted for the light, hoping only to make it into the tunnel before he was overtaken. Now he could hear the thing give up all pretense of stealth. It pounded up the stairs and gave chase. The dark was not an impediment to his enemy, Frank reflected bitterly. It could see just fine in the dark and besides, it had a fresh trail of his blood to follow. It was going to catch him; there was no way it couldn’t, not now. Even if he made it to the next tunnel, he would never make it to a platform, let alone up to the street.

He kept running, the enemy hot on his heels. As he approached the tunnel, the light within seemed to grow brighter. Frank could almost see again. In conjunction with the rapidly increasing light, a steady rumble built around him until it was a roar that shook the very walls of the tunnel. Suddenly, there was hope again. It would mean the end of Frank’s life, no question there, but at least the message would get out. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Frank tore open the battery compartment of his small camera. The batteries fell out and rolled away into the darkness, but Frank didn’t care enough to notice. He was focused on removing the tiny card that rested next to the batteries. Soon the one gigabyte SD card was clutched in his hand, the remainder of the camera discarded like the rest of his equipment. He heard the camera crunch under his pursuer’s feet – it was closer than ever. No time left now, he was almost to the tunnel. The roar of the oncoming train was like a continuous explosion that battered his eardrums. Its light blinded him after so long in the dark.

Without another thought, Frank popped the card into his mouth and swallowed. Halfway down his throat the little rectangle of plastic got stuck. He fought his gag reflex and sprinted for the growing lights. Just at the mouth of the tunnel, his enemy caught up to him. Horrendously strong fingers – more like claws really, closed on his shoulders. He was jerked backwards with more force than any human could have exerted. For the fifth time tonight, teeth sank into him. Blood flowed hot as his assailant’s teeth sliced through the meat of his neck and crushed the collarbone beneath. Frank no longer cared – he barely even noticed the pain. All his attacker had done now was doom itself.

The noise of the subway was everywhere. It vibrated every bone, every cell of both combatants. The lights flooded the tunnel. With the last of his strength, Frank lurched forward, dragging the thing with him. Its grip loosened as it realized the danger and tried to retreat, but there was no time. The light and sound reached a crescendo and Frank Newton – born Francisco Villanueva so far away and so very long ago – looked his death in the eye, satisfied that he had done his duty, that others would continue the work he had begun. When the end came, he had no regrets, no deep thoughts at all, save one:

I’ve put this off for far too long anyway.