It’s pandemonium, and Elliott wonders if he should find another way home. If the city were under a terrorist attack, then the subway system would be a primary target. But there’s no time to leave before the doors open and he’s pushed, even lifted, along with the crowd onto the train. He grabs a pole and it’s impossible to move; people are packed so tightly around him that he has trouble taking a breath. In contrast to the people on the platform, everyone on the train is quiet; an eerie, unnerving quiet prevails until a boy around twelve says, “Where’d Mom go?”
“Shh,” the man with him says.
“Where’d she go?”
The man’s face is pale as he looks at his son. “I don’t know.”
“It’s terrorists!” A man barks in the father’s face. “Just tell him the truth, for God’s sake!”
“How is it terrorists?” the father says, shaking. “How did they make her disappear?”
The man is red-faced and angry. “Chemical weapons!”
“It was Satan,” an elderly woman says, her hands trembling on her purse strap. “He and his demons have been let loose.” The hair stands up on the back of Elliott’s neck.
People begin to panic, but there’s nowhere to go. Shouts and curses fill the train before fright and anxiety strangle each passenger, and the father pulls his son closer to him. In his mind Elliott sees the empty graves again and his body begins to shiver, while the muffled cries around him continue.
Brooklyn, NY
Even if she wanted to, Emma couldn’t get to the subway platform. People are overflowing into the streets and trying to get down the stairs, while another flood of them run up the stairs, stumbling and falling over each other at word of the subway’s closure. Emma finds herself in the midst of them, being carried along in the wave of hysteria and chaos in the middle of the street. Her ears have not stopped ringing since Mrs. Ramos disappeared and it’s hard to catch her breath. Gridlock in the street makes running difficult; people fight their way to taxicabs or nearby vehicles. Sirens, alarms, shouts, and crying fill the air, pressing down on her chest, and she tries to take a breath. She is jostled on every side and clings to her bag and Mrs. Ramos’s purse.
The door to a restaurant is open ahead and she pushes her way through the crowd, heading toward it. She needs to get out of this sea of people to call Matt. She has to hear his voice and have him tell her that everything will be okay. She breaks from the crowd and stumbles toward the open door, but a few workers inside the restaurant are pushing people away from the door as they try to close it, keeping them out. “Get out!” A man in a black apron yells. “Get away from the door! Get out!” Three people fall to the sidewalk as the man inside slams the door, locking it behind him.
There’s nothing left to do but continue running, and Emma reaches inside her bag for her phone. She touches Matt’s phone number and presses the phone to her ear. It doesn’t ring but goes directly to an automated message about being unable to connect the call at this time. Panic rises to her throat and she shoves the phone into her purse, clutching it to her chest, and running toward the next subway station, hoping it’s open.
Brawls are breaking out as people try to push their way down the stairs for the subway. A growing fear sets in when word spreads that the entire subway system has been shut down. An elderly man and woman lose their footing in front of Emma and fall to the sidewalk. “Here,” Emma says, helping the woman to her feet before reaching for her husband. “Get away from this crowd,” she yells, grabbing the woman’s arm and leading them away from the stairs. She maneuvers her way to the front of a building and looks at the old man and woman. They are shaken and stunned, and Emma wonders what in the world will happen to them.
“What’s going on?” the old man asks. Emma shakes her head. The lump in her throat claims her voice. The old man’s voice is trembling as he says, “How will we ever get out of here?”
Emma is knocked from behind and falls toward them. “You can’t try to walk through this right now. Stay here. Tight against this wall,” she says.
The old couple looks so vulnerable and afraid. She touches the woman’s purse. “Tuck your wallet under your bra.” She stands in front of her and the woman’s wrinkled hands shake as she lifts her wallet from her purse and slips it under her shirt. Emma helps remove the woman’s sweater and moves the purse so that it is behind her back instead of at her side, then pulls her sweater over the strap so it can’t be seen.
“Now it’s harder for someone to get your purse, and even if they did, your wallet won’t be in it.” The woman’s eyes are wide as she looks at her. “The crowd will eventually thin out and then you get home as quickly as you can.”
The old man nods and grabs her hand. “Thank you. We’ll be fine.”
He said that for her sake and for the sake of the old woman, and she covers her mouth to keep from screaming as she turns away from them.
As soon as the doors closed on the subway, the entire system was shut down and evacuated, forcing everyone off the trains. Elliott found himself among the stampede for the stairs leading up to the streets. It is a madness he’s never seen before. Fear has gripped the entire city. Chaos and confusion have erupted in the streets; people are fighting over abandoned cars and battling for taxis. Elliott gasps for breath as he races toward the next block. If he can just keep running from one block to the next, he’ll make it back to his apartment, he tells himself. The streets are sheer pandemonium, and it doesn’t take long before people begin to plunder businesses and restaurants. This isn’t a simple case of confusion or disorder. It isn’t even rioting, but anarchy. Police are trying to control the situation, but even they don’t know what the situation is or what’s happening. Elliott has a hard time breathing, and he realizes he can feel his heart pounding in his ears. He stops for a moment to take a breath.
Another fight breaks out, this time as a man tries to drag a taxi driver from behind the wheel of the cab. Elliott watches and in moments seven or eight people are in the melee, extracting the driver and his passengers and waging war on one another for ownership of the taxi. One man lays crumpled and bloodied on the ground as the riot accelerates around him.
Elliott backs away but as he turns to begin his race to the end of the block, a man with the composition of a steel post runs into him, leveling him to the ground. The side of his face grinds into the asphalt, making his glasses fall off; in his mouth he can taste blood. In the charge he is kicked and stepped on, and he struggles to get to his feet. Elliott shouts into the pavement, scrambling to put his glasses back on. He feels arms swooping in from behind him, lifting him to his feet, and setting him on course to run again. There is no chance to see who helped him or to shout out a word of thanks. More and more people are trying to commandeer taxicabs and other vehicles. His left eye and mouth are bleeding and his ribs ache with every step, but he tells himself again, Just one more block. Go one more block.
Israel
Zerah looks up from his notes at the sound of the door opening. It’s Gila, one of the administrative assistants for the department. “Apologies for the interruption,” Gila says. Her voice has lost all inflection. “Several people are missing from the building.”
“What do you mean people are missing?” Dr. Benjamin asks, a tinge of annoyance in his voice at being interrupted.
Her face looks stricken. “I don’t understand it myself, Dr. Benjamin,” she says, her voice losing strength. “But many staff and patients are gone.” The team around the table jump to their feet.
“Dr. Haas!” Zerah whispers, looking at Dr. Benjamin.
“It’s on the news. It’s happening all around the world,” Gila says, her voice quivering now.
“What?” Dr. Benjamin says, clicking on the television. When the images on the screen are in view, each doctor stands and walks closer to the TV.
“Change the channel,” Zerah says, hoping that this is nothing more than a TV publicity stunt. But the coverage on every channel is the same: a horrible, unimagin
able scenario is taking place all around the world.
“All nonessential personnel have been asked to evacuate,” Gila says.
Zerah has the frame of mind to grab his computer before running for the door. “Who else is missing?” he asks Gila as the others in the room scramble past them.
She shakes her head, fear filling her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Dr. Haas wasn’t here for the meeting. Is she one of them?”
A tear falls down one of Gila’s cheeks and she swipes it away. “I don’t know,” she says again, her voice breaking.
He nods. “Get home, Gila. Go be with your family.”
As Gila runs down the hall, Zerah can see her shoulders shaking. He makes his way down the hall that leads to his office; when he passes Dr. Haas’s door he stops, pushing it open. Stepping to her desk, he scans the top of it for anything that might be out of order, but the books and files and computer are all in their usual places. He opens the drawers of the desk and of the credenza behind it. Her purse is in one of the credenza drawers. He opens it and spots her car keys inside before closing it and shutting it back inside the drawer. People hurry past the door and he walks to it, looking for any familiar faces. “Amsel,” he says, waving at one of the young computer techs for his department.
“Dr. Adler,” Amsel responds, crossing through people to get to him. His large brown eyes are dark with fear and his eyebrows furrowed in worry.
Zerah pulls him into the doorway. “Amsel, have you seen Dr. Haas?”
Amsel shakes his head. “Not since this morning.” The realization settles on him. “Is she one of the missing?”
“I don’t know. Do you know of any others who are missing from the department?”
Amsel’s voice breaks. “Dr. Sokolof was testing a new patient when…” The young man gropes for the right words.
“What?” Zerah snaps, his voice tightening.
“I was working in an office down the hall when I heard the scream. Several of us rushed toward the sound. When we opened the door, the patient was standing in the middle of the room screaming. His wife was slumped in a chair next to him, looking as if she’d seen a dead man that had come back to life.”
“And Dr. Sokolof?”
Amsel looks away as if trying to piece together a long-forgotten memory. “He vanished. He was there in the room with them, and then…he was gone.”
CHAPTER 6
Queens, NY
Emma has run or walked the nearly thirteen miles to get back to her apartment and is exhausted when she spots a delivery truck with a Queens address on the side, making its way at a snail’s pace through the street. It’s the kind of truck where both the driver and passenger doors are gone. She can’t see the driver’s side, but the passenger side is filled with a large, beefy man who is quick to kick off anyone who tries to climb inside. She is desperate to get off the streets and before the truck makes its way past her, she breaks out into a run, pleading with the bulky man filling up the door. “Please, I live in Queens,” Emma says, lifting her hand toward him.
“Get away!” he shouts, his hand gripping a box cutter.
She jogs alongside the truck, grateful for the slow pace of traffic. “Please! All I want to do is get home. I have money. I’ll pay you whatever I have in my purse.”
He reaches down and pulls her inside, shoving her past him to the back of the truck, packed with thirty or so people who look back at her. She reaches inside her purse and pulls out forty-two dollars, but he swats away the money, keeping his body positioned at the door. Another man is on the other side of the driver, watching that door, ready to fight off anyone who would try to hijack them. Emma tucks herself just inside the doorway, trying to make herself small in case anyone else comes aboard. The air is stifling with so many people on top of one another, but no one says a word. With the exception of crying, fear has turned each one of them mute. It’s clear that they’re all in this together, even the guards at the door: They just want to get home. It feels like another world inside the truck, as if for a moment these steel walls shelter them from the mayhem and horror on the streets. Emma tries to call Matt again but puts the phone away when she hears the same automated message.
Her eyes catch those of a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boy who is looking at her. She tries to see who is with him, but there doesn’t appear to be any closeness between him and any of the people crowding against him. She wonders if he’s alone and trying to find his way home. The thought of being alone without her mother is terrifying and fills her with incomprehensible sadness. She convinces herself that the boy ran from school when people disappeared, and his mom or dad or both are waiting for him at home. He keeps watching her with brown eyes drenched in sorrow, and her thoughts overwhelm her; she can’t imagine being a child right now.
The mile or so inside the truck gets her closer to home, but when gridlock prevents them from moving any further, Emma and many others decide to jump out through the back doors. When she’s on the ground, Emma looks for the teenage boy who jumped out ahead of her, but he’s gone. “Headed home,” she says, trying to convince herself.
Elliott runs into his apartment and slams the door, locking it. He ran the twelve miles from Midtown back to Queens, terrified for his life. He reaches for a bottle of gin from his kitchen cabinet and opens it, drinking it straight as he turns on the TV. He has been trying to call and text his parents in Ohio for hours with no luck; cell towers are unable to keep up with the demand. Every email and text has bounced back.
As he stands in front of the TV he realizes that his body is throbbing. He listens as a local news anchor delivers the unfathomable news of the disappearance of what seems to be millions, if not billions, of people around the world. Widespread panic has created the biggest stock market crash in history. Planes have been circling airports for hours due to the absence of air traffic controllers. All planes have been ordered grounded for fear of terrorism, leaving millions stranded at airports around the world. Buses, commuter and freight trains, taxis, semitrailer trucks, barges, ships, and cars around the globe sit abandoned or with a skeletal crew. Many prisons are on lockdown, while several are dealing with prison breaks.
“Reports are coming in from as far away as Iceland,” the anchor says. “It has been reported that in some parts of Africa, entire villages are gone. At this time there are thousands, perhaps millions, missing from New York City alone. It is impossible to track.” The anchor looks weary as he reads his notes. “We have several colleagues who are no longer here,” he says, clearing his throat. “And we’re working with a smaller crew today. Please forgive the quality of this broadcast as we try to make sense of what…” His voice trails off and his co-anchor takes over. Her voice isn’t bold and smooth as it normally is, but hesitant and small with an uncertain tone.
Elliott flips to a national news channel that features reports of world governments in turmoil, the US National Guard and military branches being mobilized but missing many among their troops, chaos in the streets, and the global stock markets crashing. The world is on the brink of disaster and his own city is in mayhem. He’s never felt such terror and loneliness in his life. He takes another drink and sinks into a chair, trying again to call his parents. He receives the same message as before: “Unable to connect your call at this time”; he throws his phone, crying for the first time today.
He switches to another national news channel and is stunned by the report. “The first lady has vanished along with the president’s two young children. His two college-aged children with his former wife were discovered safe at college. Vice President Sanchez and his wife, Marguerite, have vanished, and at this time it appears that nearly sixty members of Congress and at least ten governors are also missing. Numbers are also coming in from the Justice Department, the State Department, the Pentagon, the president’s cabinet, the Armed Forces, the NSA, CIA, FBI, and the Supreme Court.” The anchor pauses and clears his throat. “I keep hoping this is a nightmare or a hallucination and
that we’ll all wake up, but the news keeps pouring in from all over the globe.”
Elliott clicks the channel button on the remote because he can’t listen anymore. Another network features a panel of experts who are tossing out a barrage of theories: One panelist suggests it was biological warfare that spread a virus, bacteria, or some form of germ into the water or air; the next claims entomological warfare disintegrated humans after the bite or several bites from an insect carrying an infected pathogen; another asserts that aliens abducted people from around the world and raided graves in order to populate other planets; and still another panelist believes there has been a great cleansing of the earth as Mother Gaia rids herself of the poisonous religious fanatics that have inhabited her planet for far too long.
Jumping on that thought, the final panelist hints that it was Jesus Christ himself who called his people to heaven. The panel of moderators, thankfully, jumps on his ignorance. “Maybe it was Satan,” one of them says, mocking him.
“They’ve said it for centuries,” the man says, shouting them down.
“Who is they?” asks the Mother Gaia theorist, an attractive blonde wearing a form-fitting blue dress.
“Christians,” the man says. “They’ve been saying that one day Christ would take all his followers into heaven.”
Elliott shakes his head, disgusted and angry. People needed real answers, not make-believe.
“I’ve never heard anybody say that,” the biological warfare panelist says.
“You’re just pandering,” the woman says. “Preying on weakness and fear, what Christians have done for years, and exactly what people don’t need right now!”
“I’m not saying it’s true,” the man yells. “I’m just saying it’s what Christians have said for over two millennia.”
The Time of Jacob's Trouble Page 4