The Janus Reprisal

49

We can’t let up,” Russell said.

“I agree, but I’m concerned about Howell. I don’t want a stray bullet to hit him.”

“We’ll throw the tear gas first. It’s formulated to create black smoke as well. Once they deploy, we’ll lay down some more fire in the platform’s direction, avoiding the left wall, where he was last.”

Smith slid the pack off his shoulder and took out the bombs. He fished around and removed the masks.

“Put this on.” He shoved one at Russell, donned his own, and removed the remaining pistol. Moving the pack out of his way, he hefted the bomb in his hand. “Howell’s going to hate this,” he said. “He doesn’t have a mask. Ready? One, two, three.” He pulled the pin on the bomb, stepped into the center of the tunnel and threw it as far as he could. There was a clanking sound as it landed on one of the rails, followed by a fizzing. He pulled the pin on the next, tossed that one, and then switched on the flashlight.

Smoked belched upward from the bombs, billowing into a black cloud. Smith jogged forward, his rifle aimed to the right. He began firing and Russell joined in with her Uzi. They were effectively blinded and Smith clenched his teeth on the thought that while they couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see them. One lucky shot and he was a dead man.

They kept moving, foot after foot, getting closer to the beginning of where Nolan said she’d placed the bacteria. Smith kept the outer edge of his left foot against the second rail, using it as a guide to keep him on track. It was all he had. He reached the beginning of where the bacteria should be and was thankful for the mask. He breathed heavily, sucking in air. Russell was near and kept a relentless pace, stalking ahead. Water dripped on his head, and he jumped at the cold contact. A second drop hit his back.

When the return fire came, it felt as though it was from all directions. Smith heard the higher pitched sound of the reports from the rifles and he dropped to the ground, doing his best to keep his weapon high. Water splashed up on his face and he felt it soak through his clothes. He crawled to the first rail and over it, keeping his gun pointed up and firing. A click told him that it was empty. Even on semiauto, he’d fired a lot of rounds. He pressed his back against the platform wall and felt in his waist pack for fresh ammunition.

While he slammed the magazine home he noticed that Russell, too, was out. She’d stopped firing. From somewhere farther down the tunnel he heard the report of a new shooter. Howell was back and firing high, a fact for which Smith was grateful. The smoke bombs caused severe facial pain along the lines of tear gas and the enclosed space would intensify it. Smith’s mask smelled of rubber and stale air, but at least his eyes and throat didn’t burn. He could only imagine what Howell was experiencing. The way the chemical made one’s eyes run, it would be tough to fire on a target with any real accuracy. The best Howell could do would be to blanket the area, just as Smith and Russell were doing. Smith kept low, among the rails. They were right where the bacteria began, and Smith was thankful for the mask for another reason. He wasn’t breathing in the toxin.

He bent around and resumed firing, keeping the shots high. He saw Russell’s muzzle flashes in his peripheral vision and was grateful that she had more ammunition. This was his last magazine.

A fresh onslaught of gunfire from the platform caught him by surprise. It was as though the number of attackers had doubled in the last few minutes. The noise in the tunnel became deafening. Smith’s heart was racing and his ears rang continuously. The smoke was beginning to clear and Smith wished he had another bomb. He focused on the muzzle flashes, firing directly at them in a staccato byplay. He heard Russell give a short yell, and her gun clattered at his feet. She stumbled against him.

“I’m out and hit. Right arm.”

Smith didn’t take his eyes from the target. “Get back in the tunnel. Howell and I will cover here.”

“Not on your life. You have another pistol?”

Smith fired two more rounds. Ten left, he thought.

“Yes. Shoulder holster.”

“That leave you with one?”

“No, that leaves me with none. I gave Nolan the other one.”

“Then I am heading to the tunnel. I’m not going to take your last weapon.”

She was gone before Smith could ask how badly she was injured. He kept shooting and started to count: eight, seven, six. Howell shot as well, but Smith couldn’t help but worry that Howell would also be down to his last few rounds. The attackers, though, with their renewed numbers and zeal seemed to have been given a fresh lease on death, firing round after round. As the smoke cleared, their muzzle flashes became sharper. Smith saw one shooter moving toward the ledge.

Four, three, two, Smith counted. Time to go, he thought. He bolted across the tracks, bent over, keeping between the first and second rail, but this time running in Howell’s direction. He saw a last flash, heard the report, and he knew it was Howell.

Smith fired his final round, slung the AK carrying strap over his shoulder and yanked the pistol out of his holster. The smoke had dissipated enough that he could once again see the blue signal lights glowing halfway into the tunnel. The attackers emerged from the blackness, appearing as darker shadows amid the smoky atmosphere. He ran forward, holding his breath until he cleared the wall and was protected from the shooters. Howell moved up flush with his left shoulder. Smith was inordinately happy to see the man.

“No more ammo?” Smith said.

“Correct,” Howell replied. He wiped the tears that streamed from his eyes. “You?”

“AK’s out, but I have a pistol. How’d you slip past them to get to me?”

“The heavy smoke helped.”

“Any idea how many are on that platform?” Smith kept jogging forward while he spoke. He kept glancing back to see if any additional attackers would crawl onto the tracks and shoot straight down the tunnel. When they did, he wanted to be safely inside an opening. The next alcove couldn’t come soon enough.

“Six at least. It was down to four but I think two joined in the last five minutes. You managed to drive them backward, so that’s a gain.” Howell stumbled and Smith grabbed his arm.

“Watch out, the third rail’s hot.”

“You sure?”

“I have no doubt.”

“Why?” There came a rumbling from in front of them, and a train’s headlights came into view.

“That’s why,” Smith said.