Part 10 (1/2)

Simon didn't argue. He thanked the man and started for the back of the truck.

Instead, the driver of that one waved to him. ”Up here. Sit in the cab with us. There is room.” Staring through the frost-covered window, Simon saw Leah looking back at him.

”Hurry,” the driver said. ”There are people much in need of these supplies.”

Reluctantly, Simon opened the door and clambered inside. Leah scooted over, but there was still barely enough room.

”It's going to be a tight fit,” Simon said. ”I can sit in the back.”

”Nonsense. We'll be fine.” The driver engaged the gears. ”Perhaps a little more warm than we otherwise might have been.” He smiled beneath his mustache. ”Lucky for you we came along, eh?”

Simon nodded and looked out the window at the two men they'd left with the truck.Not so lucky for them. Then he breathed out and the window fogged, erasing them from view.

Hours later, Simon came awake as the truck driver changed gears and pulled off the main road. A sign beside the road announcedCoquelles.

Leah slept beside Simon. Her head rested against his arm, rocking gently with the sway of the truck. ”Not much longer,” the driver said.

Simon looked down at Leah and thought about waking her. In the end he decided against it, thinking there was no reason for her to dread what she was about to find out.

”You're planning to go to England?” the driver asked. ”Yes.”

”You have family there?” ”My father.”

The driver glanced at Simon. ”Things over there...they're not so good, you know.” Concern showed in his weathered face. ”I know.”

”Perhaps your father, he will be in the refugee camp. One can hope so, eh?” ”Sure,” Simon said. ”Maybe he will be.”

But Thomas Cross wasn't at the refugee camp.

The camp was a collection of featureless prefab buildings plunked down all around the small town that lay at the other end of the channel tunnel. For a time the underground and underwater railway line had been nicknamed theChunnel but the name hadn't stuck.

The prefab buildings had been added when the survivors first started coming over from England. From the stories Simon gathered, many of them had come over by the tube, almost reaching the other end from Folkestone, Kent, before the power had gone off. For days, several others had trickled through on foot, till finally the monsters had shut down all egress through the channel tunnel. Monsters.

That was what they were calling them now. Simon knew the name fit. He'd read about them in the Underground nearly every day of his life.

The survivors were lost and traumatized. Most of them were still awaiting word of family and friends, but hope dimmed with each pa.s.sing hour. Boats and s.h.i.+ps seldom made pa.s.sage across the English Channel now. More often than not, captains brave enough to take their vessels across the water were getting sunk. And there were precious few survivors left to pick up along the coast. Themonsters hunted there as well.

With dawn breaking in the east, a golden glow in a vague dirty-cotton sky, Simon found the man he'd been told about. Bolivar Patel was a salvage expert who'd plied his trade in the frigid North Sea and in the English Channel. Tanned and fit, he was in his early fifties, spry and fierce. His East Indian heritage showed in his dark skin and hawkish nose.

Simon found the man in the cantina after hearing he'd arrived less than an hour earlier with a boatload of survivors. Most of them were children whose parents had stayed behind.

The cantina was crowded, serving out soup and bread to hundreds that came up with bowl and mug in hand. They had their choice between tea and water.

”Captain Patel?” Simon called.

The captain turned to look at him.

Simon knew his size made him stand out immediately.

”Do I know you?” Patel stood with a bowl of soup and bread in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. He wore dungarees, a khaki s.h.i.+rt, a thick woolen coat and a winter hat. A burn stood out against his left cheek.

”No, sir.” Quietly, Simon told Patel about his need to get to England, and of Horner's message.

”Get something to eat,” Patel said, ”then join me over there.” He waved toward a table in the corner where five men sat hunkered together.

Simon hesitated, then went and stood in line till he was served. He joined the men in the corner.

Patel quickly made introductions, identifying each of the men as part of his crew. Most of them had finished eating and now sat smoking.

”You'd have to be a fool to want to go there.” Patel pushed a chunk of bread across the bottom of his bowl to get at the last of the soup.

Anger stirred within Simon, but he kept it tightly under control. ”My father is there.”

Patel eyed him warily. ”Your father-” He sighed tiredly and wiped at his dark eyes. ”You'll have to forgive my bluntness, Mr. Cross. I've not much use for politeness these days.”

”I understand.”

”I hope so.” Patel chewed and swallowed. ”But the sad truth of the matter is that your father is most likely dead.”

”I have to know.”

Patel stared at him a little while longer. ”Can you use a rifle, Mr. Cross?”

”I can. And well.”

”We'll see.” Patel grinned slightly, but there was no mirth in the effort. ”These...creaturesare almost unkillable.”

With what you're using, yes.Simon ate his soup, finding it warm and tasty.

”If we see them, if we engage them, the guns we have are there only to slow them down long enough for us to escape. If I should be faced with the dilemma of you not leaving the boat to make room for a woman or child when we reach the other side of the Channel, you should know that I will kill you to make that happen.”

Looking into the man's cold, dead eyes, Simon believed him. ”There won't be a problem,” Simon a.s.sured him.

”Then be at the dock an hour before sunset.” ”Thank you, Captain Patel.”

Scowling, Patel stood and took his bowl with him. ”Don't thank me, Mr. Cross. By allowing you to do this, I've very probably just signed your death warrant.”

Ten.

DOWNTOWN LONDON, ENGLAND.

Conscious of the night around him, Warren stood across the street from the building. The address matched what had been on the piece of paper the woman had given him. Trepidation, confusion, and curiosity warred within him. Curiosity was winning out, but he didn't give in to it easily.

There was so much he wanted to know. And so much he was afraid of.

Remembering his mother's curiosity about the arcane held him back. The interest had transcended, became more than curiosity and turned into obsession. In the end, it had gotten her killed. It had almost gotten Warren killed too.