Carol headed for the pasta aisle. Okay. She'd play along. If stockpiling some food would allay some of Hank's fears, she'd help him out. It was the least she could do.
He'd come around. She was sure of it. She just hoped it was soon. She didn't like this new Hank.
CNN:
—same in country after country around the globe: gigantic holes, seemingly bottomless, averaging two hundred feet across, opening one after the other throughout the day. The governments of Iran, China, and Cuba deny the existence of any of such holes within their borders, but aerial reconnaissance says otherwise. And the question on everyone's mind is: Is each of these holes going to release a horde of vicious creatures like those that were loosed on Manhattan last night? And if so, what can be done to stop them?
In Manhattan, preparations are under way…
Jack sat behind the counter of the Isher Sports Shop—one of the few places left on the Upper West Side that spelled shop with one P—and watched the people passing by on the other side of the window. Amsterdam Avenue was sunny and only slightly less crowded than usual for a Saturday afternoon.
Like nothing's changed.
But everything had changed. They just didn't realize it yet. Jack had an urge to run out there and start grabbing people by the collar and shout in their faces that last night wasn't an isolated incident or bizarre aberration. It was going to happen again. And worse. Tonight.
Abe Grossman, the owner, bustled in from the rear of the store carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to Jack and perched himself on the stool behind the cash register. Jack sipped and winced.
"Jeez, Abe. When did you make this?"
"This morning. Why?"
"It's not like wine, you know. It doesn't get better with age."
"I should waste it? With a microwave in the back, I should throw out perfectly good coffee because Mr. Repairman Jack suddenly has a delicate palate?"
The stool creaked as he adjusted the two-hundred-plus pounds he packed into a fifty-five-year-old, five-eight frame. He had receding gray hair and wore his usual black pleated-front pants, white shirt, and black tie. A bit of egg yolk from breakfast yellowed the breast pocket of his shirt; a red spot that looked like strawberry jelly clung to his tie; he had just finished sprinkling his entire shirt front with bits of finely chopped onion from the fresh bialies Jack had brought.
"Nu? he said when he was settled on his perch. "What have I been saying for so many years to the accompaniment of your derisive laughter? And now it's finally happening. The Collapse Of Civilization. It's all going to fall apart, right before our eyes, just as I've been saying."
Jack had expected this. He'd known that when he told Abe what Glaeken had said, he'd be in for an I-told-you-so lecture. But he had to let Abe know. He'd been Jack's friend, confidant, and arms supplier for most of his time in New York City. In fact it was Abe who had started calling him Repairman Jack.
"No offense, Abe, but you've been predicting an economic holocaust. You know, bank failures, runaway inflation, and so on. Remember?"
"And in Texas it almost happened back in—"
"This is different."
Abe stared at him over the rim of his coffee cup. "This Glaeken person's not a meshuggener, then? You really think this is going to happen?"
"Yeah," Jack said. "I really do."
Abe was silent a moment, then, "For some reason, I believe it too. Maybe because I've been preparing for this eventuality most of my adult life. Maybe because I'd feel like such a schlemiel if I'd been preparing for such a thing for so long and it never happened. But you know what, Jack? Now that the time has come, it's not such a vindication. Happy I'm not."
"You still have that hideaway?"
"Of course."
Abe, the world's dourest pessimist, had been preparing for The Collapse Of Civilization since the mid-seventies. Years ago he'd told Jack about his refuge in rural Pennsylvania, an overgrown farm with an underground bunker and deep stocks of water, weapons, and freeze-dried food. He'd said Jack was welcome there when the Big Crash came. He'd even told Jack where it was—something he'd never revealed to anyone else, even his own daughter.
"Go there, Abe. Get out of the city and hole yourself up there. Today, if possible."
"Today? Today I can't go. Tomorrow maybe."
"Not 'maybe,' Abe. If not today, then tomorrow for sure. For sure."
"You're really worried, aren't you. How bad we talking about, Jack?"
"Bad like you've never dreamed." Jack stopped and grinned. "Jeez, Abe. I'm around you half an hour and I start sounding like you."
"That's because you're part chameleon. But how bad is bad like I never dreamed? I dream pretty bad."
"Whatever you've dreamed, trust me: this'll be worse."
Scenes from the bloody carnage around the Sheep Meadow hole flashed before his eyes. And now there were more holes. Even if the predators from the holes remained limited to the two species he'd seen last night, the city would devolve into a nightmare. But Glaeken was saying that the things from the holes would get progressively bigger and more vicious each night.
Jack's mind shied away from envisioning the holocaust.
"But I'd like to ask a favor."
"Don't even ask," Abe said. "You show up here first thing tomorrow morning with Gia and that darling little girl of hers and we'll all head for the hills together."
"Thanks, Abe," feeling a burst of warmth for this dumpy gunrunner. "That means a lot. But I won't be coming along."
"I should go and you should stay?"
"There's a chance I can do something about the situation."
"Ah. The necklaces you mentioned. I remember the one you had. With the pre-Vedic inscriptions."
"Right. I need to get copies made. I was thinking about Walt Duran. What do you think?"
"Walt's as good as you could ask. Ashtarker in the world of engraving. And he could use the work."
"Really? What happened?"
"Desktop publishing is what happened. Putting honest counterfeiters out of business."
Jack had heard about that. High-definition scanners and color laser printers were doing in minutes what used to take old-time counterfeiters months of grueling, painstaking labor at a cost of ruined eyesight and a chronic stiff neck.
Walt was a stand-up guy, a hard worker. If he'd put his talents to work in the jewelry industry, he'd probably have made more money in the long run and wouldn't have had to do that stretch in the joint. But even so, Jack was glad to hear he'd fallen on hard times. That meant he could be goosed into high gear by the lure of a bonus for early delivery.
Because Walt was as slow as he was good.
"Okay," Abe said. "What's the plan?"
Jack choked down the rest of his coffee and stood up.
"Here's my advice. Gas up that van of yours and garage it for the night. Pack up your stuff this afternoon and get back here before nightfall. Spend the night in your basement here. No matter what you hear upstairs, don't come up to have a look. Stay down there. I'll have Gia and Vicky here right after sunrise. Sound okay?"
Abe frowned. "Sounds like you think things will be going downhill fast."
"Downhill?" Jack said as he headed for the door. "I think they're going to run off a cliff."
Okay, Jack thought as he drove his black-on-white Corvair convertible toward the East Side. Walt's on the job. Now all I've got to do is convince Gia that she's got to leave town.
Walt had been glad for the work. Ecstatic, actually. He'd been reduced to living in a tiny tenement studio in Hell's Kitchen. Jack had shown him the drawings, told him he wanted two copies on a one-to-one scale, and given him a down payment so he could go out and get the raw materials. Delivery time was a problem, though. Walt had said no way could he get it done by Monday morning. But when Jack promised a ten-thousand-dollar bonus, Walt reconsidered. Maybe he could have them by then.
Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he cruised along. Getting those necklaces out of Wal
t by Monday morning would be a breeze compared to getting Gia into Abe's van tomorrow. And he didn't have all that much time to persuade her. The afternoon was already on the wane. But if Glaeken was right about tonight being worse that last night, maybe he wouldn't have to convince her. He could let the things from the hole do it.
He swung up toward the Park to see how the clean-up was going. Jack was amazed at the transformation. The barricades were still up to keep cars off Central Park South, but the corpses were gone, the wrecked vehicles had been cleared, the pavements were washed clean. Car were restricted, but not pedestrians. A lot of people were about on the sidewalks and the fringe of the Park, the curious of all ages, come to see the notorious Sheep Meadow hole and check out the stories of bloody carnage they'd heard on the news.
Jack checked his watch. He had a little time to spare so he double-parked and jogged toward the Sheep Meadow to get another look at the hole.
The crowd was thick there. Everyone seemed to be watching something going on down by the hole. Over their heads he could see cranes dipping up and down. He wove through the press until he got to a decent-sized tree. He shimmied up the trunk to where he could see the Sheep Meadow.
The southern half of the hole was covered with some sort of steel mesh. Work crews were in the process of screening over the rest of the opening. Jack watched for a moment, then slid back to the ground.
"How's it going?" someone said.
Jack turned and saw a well-dressed young couple standing nearby with a baby carriage. The guy was smiling warily.
"Better than half done," Jack said.
The woman sighed and squeezed her husband's biceps with both hands and looked at Jack with uneasy doe eyes.
"Do you think those things will come back?"
"You can count on it," Jack said.
"Will the net work?"
Jack shrugged. "Maybe. But this isn't the only hole."
"I know," the guy said, nodding. "But this is the one that counts for us." He put an arm around his wife's shoulders. "I'm sure we'll be all right," he told her.
Jack looked down at the baby in the stroller. Eighteen months at the most, all in pink, sandy-haired, grinning up at him.
"You got a cellar where you live?" Jack said, staring into those two innocent blue eyes. "Someplace with no windows?"
"Uh, yes we do. There's a storage area down by the boiler room where—"
"Move in there before sunset. Bring everything you'll need until morning. Don't go upstairs until sunrise."
He tore his eyes away from the child and hurried off.
Gia and Vicky. Dammit, even if he had to sling Gia over his shoulder and dump her in the back of Abe's van, he'd see to it that they were on their way out of town tomorrow morning.
Monroe, Long Island
Sylvia stood in the driveway and watched the workmen swarming along the scaffolding they'd set up against Toad Hall's west wall.
"I think we're gonna make it," said Rudy Snyder as he stood at her side.
Sylvia looked at the sinking sun, the long shadows. The day was ending too quickly, as if winter were approaching instead of summer.
"You promised me, Rudy," she said. She and Alan had called all along the North Shore this morning and had finally coaxed Rudy out of Glen Cove. "You guaranteed me you'd have every window shuttered before sunset. I hope I'm not hearing the sound of someone beginning to hedge on a deal."
She tightened her fists to hide her anxiety. She didn't think she could stand another ordeal like last night.
"No way, Mrs. Nash," said Rudy. He wore a peaked cap with Giants across the front; he was tall and fat, with red hair and a veiny, bulbous nose. When he aided the work crew, he did so at ground level only. "We'll have them all in, just like I said. But they won't all be wired."
"I don't care about the wiring. You can do that tomorrow. Just get those shutters in good and tight, then pull them down and leave them down."
"You really think all this is necessary?" he said.
She glanced at him, then away. He thought she was a nut, overreacting to some wild stories out of the city.
"You've seen all those little teeth in the siding?"
"Hey, I'm not saying you didn't have a problem last night, but do you really think they'll come back again?"
"Unfortunately, I'm sure they will. Especially since they don't have to come all the way from Central Park this time."
"You mean because of that hole that opened up in Oyster Bay this morning? Whatta y' think's goin' on?"
"Don't you know? It's the end of the world." My world, at least.
Rudy's smile was wary. "No…really."
"Please finish the job," she said. She didn't feel like talking about it. "Seal the house up tight. That will earn you the bonus I mentioned."
"You got it."
He bustled off and began shouting at his workers to get their asses moving.
Sylvia sighed as she stared at Toad Hall. The old place's carefully maintained look of faded elegance was gone, destroyed by the rolling storm shutters. But they were good, tight, with heavy-duty slats of solid steel. The best. During the day they could be rolled up into the cylinders bolted above the windows; at sunset they'd slide down along tracks fastened to the window frames. They'd be cranked down by hand tonight, but after they were fully wired up tomorrow, Sylvia would be able to roll them all up and down with the flick a single switch. This particular model was designed to withstand storms of hurricane force. Tonight they were going to have to withstand a storm of a different sort. She prayed they'd be enough.
"The back's done," Alan said, rolling toward her. "They're moving around here to help finish up this side." His gaze followed Sylvia's to the anachronisms being attached to Toad Hall. "A shame, isn't it?"
Sylvia smiled, glad to know their thoughts were still in synch, even after the uncomfortable silence of the ride back from the city. Especially when Alan had told her what that nut had said as they were leaving. Only three will live to return. What an awful thing to say.
"I feel like I'm witnessing the end of an era."
"It might be the end of a lot more than that," Alan said.
Sylvia felt all her muscles tighten under her skin. She said nothing. She knew where Alan was leading and didn't want to go there. She'd been dreading this conversation since they left Glaeken's apartment.
"Talk to me, Sylvia. Why are you so angry?"
"I'm not angry."
"You're coiled like a steel spring."
Again she said nothing. I'm coiled, all right, she thought, but it's not anger. I wish it were. I can deal with anger.
"What do you think, Syl?" Alan said finally.
You're not going to give up, are you?
"About what?"
"About Glaeken. About what he said this morning."
"I haven't had time to think much about anything since this morning, least of all that old crank's ravings."
"I believe him," Alan said. "And so do you. I saw it in your eyes when you were listening. I know your expression when you think you're being bullshitted. You weren't wearing it back in Glaeken's apartment. So why don't you admit it?"
"All right," she said through tight lips. "I believe him too. Does that make you happy?"
She regretted that last sentence as soon as she said it, but it seemed to roll right off Alan.
"Good. Now we're getting somewhere. So I've got to ask you: If you believe him, why did you walk out?"
"Because I don't trust him. Don't misunderstand me on that," she added quickly. "I don't think he's lying to us. I think he's sincere, I…just…don't think he's as much in control of his end of things as he thinks he is…or wants us to believe he is."
"Maybe not. He was trying to sell us—you, especially—on something none of us is prepared to accept. The only reason we can accept it is that we've already had our lives turned upside down by something that ninety-nine per cent of rational humanity would swear is impossible."
"The Dat-tay-vao" S
ylvia said.
"Yeah. And if he says he needs the Dat-tay-vao to try to close up those holes and keep the days from shrinking to nothing and the world being overrun by those monstrosities from last night, why would you hold Jeffy away from him? Jeffy doesn't need the Dat-tay-vao."
"How do you know that?"
"Has it ever treated its carrier well? Look at Walter Erskine. Look at me. Remember the lines from the old song about the one who carries the Touch? '…He bears the weight of the balance that must be struck.'"
"But the Dat-tay-vao hasn't harmed Jeffy."
"Only because he hasn't used it—yet. He hasn't had an opportunity—yet. But what if he does find out, and does begin using it?"
Here it comes. She felt the pressure building up in her, edging past the point of control.
"And what if the Dat-tay-vao's relationship with Jeffy is different? Special?" she said.
Alan's eyes were puzzled as he searched her face.
"I don't—"
"What if the Dat-tay-vao's presence is keeping Jeffy like he is?" She tried to hold the tremor out of her voice but it grew, giving the words a jittery vibrato. "What if it's the reason he's been alert, responsive, laughing, singing, reading, playing with other kids—a normal boy—for the past year? Alan, what if that old man takes the Dat-tay-vao away for his focus or whatever he was talking about and Jeffy goes back to the way he was when I adopted him?" The tremor spread from her voice to her body now. She couldn't control the shaking in her hands and knees. "What if he becomes autistic again, Alan?"
Sylvia pressed her hands against her face, as much to hide as to catch the tears springing into her eyes.
"God, Alan, I'm so ashamed!"
Suddenly there was someone standing beside her. She felt a pair of arms slip around her and hold her close.
"Alan! You're standing!"
"Not very well, I'm afraid. But that's not the point. Watching you all morning, trying to figure out what's going on inside you, and never seeing how frightened you are. Christ, what a jerk."
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