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WITH A ROAR and a howl, she appeared out of total darkness. I was starting to learn her rhythms, though, and I didn’t jump as bad as I used to when I first started this grim work. Some of Them settled soon after They were captured, but she never did. She stood easily three heads taller than me, even when she was hunched over, scraping her enormous taloned claws across the stone floor of her cell, waiting for her chance. Her flesh was pallid and pale from never having seen sunlight, and her muscles and posture seemed uncomfortably human. The head could never be human, though. Her flattened, spade shaped skull and the dozens of gently waving feelers that erupted from what could only charitably be called her face unsettled the men in the extreme. Every other day Robinson and I had to persuade one of them not kill her in her cage. But they always backed down. We had authority on our side, however uneasily we wielded it.
The truth is, none of us knew why they occasionally brought back a living specimen, except that the chief, Inspector Gordon Craig, had ordered it. The men would call him ‘The Professor’ behind his back; he was always separate from them, his time with the New York Natural History Museum too dissimilar to their brutal, unenlightened history with the N.Y.P.D. The aging old guard told stories from the Great War, while the younger ones satisfied themselves with tales of hunts in the subway tunnels. Technically, they were still police. But it was common belief that the cops up on the surface would beg entry to a sanitarium if they knew even a whisper of what N.Y.P.D. Special Detail 1 saw in the subway tunnels north of 60th Street—what they hunted in the subway tunnels.
Or, more accurately, what hunted them.
The smell heralded Robinson’s arrival long before the click of his boots told me he entered the pitch dark room. There were some lanterns in the dungeon like barracks and observation rooms maintained by Special Detail 1, but in the enclosure, in here, you learned to navigate by other senses. The smell Robinson was bringing with him was my least favourite of all. Even now, well used to peculiarities of this job, I felt my stomach turn. It was feeding time, and thanks to a quiet agreement with the city morgue, there was no shortage of food. We weren’t quite police; Special Detail 1 always needed keepers who knew how to keep our mouths shut.
Robinson emptied the steel basin into the cage, taking care to keep his fingers well outside the bars. I tried not to discern the outlines of human limbs as she lumbered over to her dinner. When I stayed focused on her, on the immense force and surprising intelligence contained within her as she fed, I found myself more enraptured than horrified. Inspector Craig, ‘The Professor’, spoke of reports of similar creatures in remote parts of Syria and Russia, in the days when he left his office instead of just issuing orders in his deep voice over the state of the art radio system. But as far as I was concerned, Moira was one of a kind.
I’d named her after my grandmother. It seemed appropriate—some days, her silence felt almost like wisdom. All the same, I was glad of the sturdy steel bars between us. I didn’t know her sex, but somehow calling her ‘she’ felt more appropriate than ‘he’, or ‘it’. That was something she and I had in common. She snuffled at the bars of her cage, letting out a soft high pitched chitter.
Many things can hide in the dark. For me, it was the smudged traces of lipstick and rouge I hadn’t the heart to wipe away when I donned my sober black uniform. For Robinson, I believed—hoped—it was similar. One night, at a club safely hidden in Chelsea, I thought I saw his jawline. I knew he had a tattoo of a diamond on his forearm, but he didn’t have his shirtsleeves rolled up that night. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I had a lot of practice recognising him in the dark.
‘She’s singing again,’ Robinson said.
I never heard the singing, only ever the chittering. But Robinson described symphonies that he’d heard in the tunnels and heartbreaking solos from Moira in her cage.
There was a ringing crash as the enormous gate that led into the danger of the tunnels slammed open, then shut. That would be one of the hunting teams returning. Walker’s team, in all likelihood. Echoes of their raucous laughter preceded them through the tunnels; high spirits meant their massacre had been successful. They’d caught their quarry and hadn’t lost too many of their own. We hadn’t spotted one of them in several weeks, and the teams were getting bloodthirsty. A success tonight would mean bragging rights for weeks to come.
Several sets of footsteps came down the hall towards us. Louder, yet more muffled than Robinson’s careful stride. Something wet was clinging to the soles of their boots. It seemed that the revelry was to be shared with us.
The faint outline of Moira’s flattened, spade like head whirled around, the feelers that surmounted her face testing the air. Her whole enormous body tensed, and she shied away from the bars of the cage, deeper into the darkness. She smelled the inhuman blood on Walker’s uniform.
‘Well, lads, you’ll be relieved to know we’ve kept the city safe for yet another night!’ Walker’s nasal voice was over cheerful in the darkness. ‘That’s another kill for our record sheet. Of course, we could chalk up another one right now…’
His machine gun was cold and hard in the darkness.
‘Sure you could, if you don’t want Craig to toss you back into the tunnels without your boots or your weapon to find us a replacement to study.’ There was an edge in Robinson’s voice.
Walker snorted. ‘Yeah, well, at least I’d be back out hunting so you could fuck your boyfriend in peace.’
I moved back against the wall, mirroring Moira’s actions. Usually, a remark like that meant two of Walker’s lackeys were trying to manoeuvre behind me.
‘You’d better watch your mouth if you want to keep your teeth in it,’ Robinson snapped back. Bravado had never helped before, but I admired that he kept trying it.
‘You know what I think?’ Walker proclaimed, playing to the other police officers. ‘I think that’s the only reason you’re still here. The Professor only keeps you around because he’s a—’
The fight was over quickly. Two against seven, and they were already tense and wanting from the combat out in the tunnels. And then we were alone again. Robinson got up first. I felt his hand in mine, safe for just a moment before he hauled me to my feet.
It was strange to see his face in the light of the lantern just inside the gate, the cuts covered with gauze from the tiny first aid kit. It was only for small injuries incurred in the barracks. Out in the tunnels, their talons meant you were quickly beyond saving.
‘You seriously can’t hear it?’ Robinson asked again. He barely winced at the pain of the alcohol on his forehead. He blinked in the dim light; any brightness at all bothered him more than it did me.
I listened carefully, but didn’t hear anything except the faint high pitched chittering that signalled the creatures’ presence, deeper down the tunnel.
Robinson had stood up. He was listening, enraptured, stepping closer to the gate. ‘They’re singing.’
The dim lantern light caught him in silhouette. When was the last time I had seen Robinson in broad daylight? His arms were long, longer than seemed right for a person. His hands were twisted, still graceful but with longer nails that seemed to curve to jagged points. And his skull. It was flattened, spade like, not the shape of a man.
‘They’re singing to me.’
My heart pounded against my ribcage, seeking escape, safety, anything to return the world to the familiar pattern. Robinson and I. Together, in whatever form of companionship we could offer each other.
Robinson turned, an achingly difficult movement given that he still seemed pulled towards the gate that led out into the subway tunnels.
‘I’ll miss you. Come see me.’
Then he opened the gate and was gone.
Walker dragged the body in two weeks later. I’d been feeding Moira alone when he returned, that nasal voice piercing as he screamed out what he’d found. The dull sliding, scraping sound of something enormous dragged along the stone floors combined with Moira’s sudden shyness told me what I’d see.
Piled untidily in the hallway just inside the gate was one of their corpses, pockmarked by bullet holes. Officers crowded around it, clamouring, half-finished sandwiches and playing cards still clasped in sweaty hands. It took an unusually bright one to point out the obvious, the tattoo of a diamond on the creature’s inner arm.
I didn’t need the tattoo to recognise him.
Walker’s voice was rising as he stoked his own fear and rage. ‘Look what’s fucking happened now! I knew we shouldn’t have kept these monsters inside. Let’s hear what the Professor has to say about this!’
The shocked murmur of the crowd of officers turned to the low rumble of mutiny. I pressed myself back against the wall, my eyes still riveted on Robinson’s body. Walker met my eyes when he spoke again, evenly, voice cold with hate.
‘But first, it’s time to protect our own lines. We’ve been forced to live with an enemy, with one of them, for far too long.’
The uniformed mob swirled around me, and I was caught in their wake, dragged down the familiar hallway. One officer switched on the rusty overhead lamp, which flickered from disuse, throwing the pitch dark haven of Moira’s chamber into sharp brightness.
She screamed, covering her face with her long, taloned claws. Walker barked orders. Two officers stepped back, levelling their guns to ensure they could shoot through the bars.
In the back, nervous officers crowded together to try to watch. The pistols on their belts were left unattended, and it was trivially easy to grab one. My shot rang out just before Walker called the order to fire, and shards of glass rained down from the single overhead light.
Many things can hide in the dark.
I moved quickly, finding my way easily to Moira’s cage and feeling the familiar catch on the iron door. It was easy to open.
Machine gun fire illuminated the scene in brief, staccato patterns. An officer staggering away from Moira, half his head gone. An arm, separated from its owner. Her claws, slick and dripping red. The officers were packed in too tight, they couldn’t move, they couldn’t run, couldn’t even see. Moira didn’t need to see to carve a path to freedom.
In the light of a burst of gunfire, I saw her pale back, and I took my chance. I lunged towards her, wrapped my arms tight around her neck. I felt her lovely feelers wrinkle, and she didn’t try to throw me. She knew me. I pressed my face tight to her.
I could hear Walker screaming, the sharp edge of his rage and fear, but it faded quickly as Moira lurched out of her chamber.
Spot lamps, the kind the officers used to hunt in the tunnels, cast disorganised beams in front of us and across us. I could hear pounding footsteps behind. The halls of Special Detail 1’s base had become a labyrinth, and Moira chittered in panic as she scented for escape.
I heard a whisper split the darkness. The way the voice drew breath was almost a chitter. ‘This way! And hurry!’
Moira turned to follow immediately. There was no point worrying whether it was a trap. If it had been more of N.Y.P.D. Special Detail 1, they would’ve just opened fire. The whispering voice led us down the corridors and halls, speaking as much to Moira as it did to me. She would have followed with or without my goading.
I saw, glinting in the distant light of the spot lamps, the familiar iron door that led out into the subway tunnels.
‘You hear the singing too, eh?’ The voice wasn’t whispering any more, and I recognised it more clearly. The deep voice, obscured by radio static, that dictated the shift roster and announced the hunting parties. Inspector Gordon Craig. The Professor.
I lied and said yes.
He tore the gate open with long arms, and in that moment two piercing beams from the spot lamps caught him. He turned to shield himself from the light, and I caught the profile of his spade shaped skull. He caught my eye for a moment, and jerked his head out the door, then drew his pistol.
His two shots bit harmlessly into the stonework of the tunnel floor, and he cried, ‘This way, lads! Or they’ll escape!’
The ringing of his voice echoed behind me as Moira felt earth under her talons. She chittered and began to dig. As we sank into the soft, magnificent earth, I relaxed. We were safe.
I don’t think I’ll ever hear the singing. I don’t think I’ll ever really need to. I know I’m home down here.
Many things can hide in the dark.
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