“I’m good to go.”
Ben shifted and pulled out, the big rig sluggish until he got up to speed. The first few blocks were strangely deserted. Not a living soul in sight. Then he came to an intersection, started to turn, and slammed on the brakes.
Ahead was trouble. A man with a rifle was waving it at every vehicle. Drivers had stopped, some hunched over their steering wheels in what Ben took to be fear, as the man screamed and raved.
Ben had no idea what was going on but he couldn’t afford a delay. He gave Semper Fi gas. The man heard him and raised his rifle. Ben waited until he was close enough to be sure and then braked. He smiled to give the impression he was friendly. His window was already down so all he had to do was lean out and holler, “What’s going on, buddy?”
“I shot them and I’ll shoot you if you’re not careful!”
Ben looked at the stopped vehicles again, at the drivers hunched over their steering wheels, and a sick feeling came over him. Blood dripped from the chin of an elderly woman. A man had had one eye and part of its socket blown away. “Why?”
The man cackled. “Haven’t you heard? It’s the end of the world.” And with that, he aimed his rifle at Ben.
A Pale Horse
New York City
Deepak Kapur was as astonished as everyone else when Patrick Slayne drew a pistol. Deepak had no idea what kind it was. His knowledge of firearms was limited to those he saw on TV and at the movies. Most of the time he had no idea what they were.
A woman was the first to find her voice. “Are you a policeman?”
“No.” Slayne punched a button on the elevator panel.
“Then what gives you the right to tell us we can’t take the elevator?” the same woman demanded.
Slayne wagged the pistol.
A man with thick sideburns shoved to the front. “I have half a mind to take that popgun away.”
“You’re right,” Slayne said.
“I am?”
“You have half a mind.”
The man took a half step, clearly tempted to try. But then he locked eyes with Parick Slayne and something he saw made him step back and lower his fist.
The elevator arrived with a ping, and the door opened. Slayne beckoned to Deepak.
“Let’s go. The streets will be a mad house soon if they’re not already. We must get out of the city before we’re trapped here.”
Deepak felt he had to say something to show his disapproval. “I can’t say as I care much for your methods.”
“My job is to get you to the compound any way I can. You’re considered essential.”
“No one told me.”
The people cramming the hall started to mutter and whisper. Hostility was writ on nearly every face.
Slayne beckoned again. “If you please, Mr. Kapur. We don’t have all night.”
Reluctantly, Deepak started toward the elevator, only to be violently shoved by another man who tried to slip past. Slayne’s arm moved too fast for Deepak to follow; there was the sound of a blow, and the man folded at the knees and sprawled onto the tiles, unconscious.
Some of the onlookers covered their mouths in shock. Deepak stared, aghast. He believed that violence was the last resort of those too feeble-minded to solve their problems a better way.
More muttering occurred. A big man shoved to the front and said in a loud, brave voice, “Are we going to let one guy stop us? Or haven’t you heard that the news has been saying New York is going to be nuked?”
“Let’s rush him!”
“I’m with you!”
Slayne pointed his pistol at the instigator. “If they try, you’re the first one I’ll shoot.”
Deepak and everyone else heard a click. The brave man suddenly wasn’t as brave and backed off.
“We’re wasting time.”
Slayne grabbed Deepak’s wrist and pulled him toward the elevator. They were inside and the doors were starting to shut when Alf Richardson stuck a hand in front of one. Instantly, Slayne trained his pistol on Alf.
“Don’t shoot me!”
“No!” Now it was Deepak who grabbed Slayne’s wrist. “He’s a friend of mine. He works in the same department. Let him come.”
“Your call.”
Deepak didn’t know what to make of the man. He moved aside so Alf could join them.
Slayne stood barring the doors until they closed, then he pressed a button and the car pinged into motion.
“That wasn’t the lobby you pressed,” Alf said. “I need to get off at the lobby.”
“We’re not stopping until the underground garage.”
“What is your problem?” Deepak came to Alf’s aid. “Press the L and we’ll let him out.”
“No.”
It was rare for Deepak to lose his temper. As a child in New Delhi, living on the raw edge of poverty, he had learned the importance of self-control. When his belly had been so empty it wouldn’t stop hurting, he had learned to ignore it. When he had become so sick he couldn’t stand up, he had learned to endure it. When he had been told by an uncle that he would never amount to much, he had quivered with the need to be someone. “You just said you’d do what ever I want.”
“What you want to do,” Slayne clarified. “Not what your friend wants to do.”
“But what can it hurt?”
“A naval task force has been obliterated by a nuclear missile. There’s a report San Diego has been hit. The National Guard is being called up, and the president is expected to go before Congress tomorrow and ask for a declaration of war.” Slayne put a hand to his ear and seemed to listen intently.
“What are you doing?” Seepak had to know.
“Adjusting the frequency.”
“The what?”
Slayne moved the hair that hung over his left ear, revealing an earpiece. “I’m listening to emergency ser vices.”
“You’re sure full of tricks,” Deepak said, and not by way of praise.
“It’s my job.”
“Cool,” Alf said. “You’re some kind of security guy, right? That’s why you have the gun and stuff.”
Slayne held up a hand for quiet. He was listening to his earpiece. “It’s starting to unravel,” he told Deepak.
“What is?”
“The infrastructure. People are on the verge of panic. They’re being told to stay in their homes. But a lot of them don’t have any food. Or they don’t want to be trapped in the city when martial law is imposed. So an exodus is under way. New Yorkers are fleeing the city like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Is that really how things are, mister?” Alf asked Slayne. “How will I get home? What will I do when I get there? I don’t have much food, either.”
The elevator pinged again and the doors hissed open. Rows of vehicles spread before them. Usually, the underground garage was orderly and peaceful. The only hectic moments were during the morning and evening rush hours. But now nearly everyone in the building who had a car was trying to leave at once, and the aisles were blocked. Horns blared in a raucous din. Voices rose in the heat of anger.
“I was afraid of this,” Patrick Slayne said.
“We should forget it and wait until things calm down,” Deepak proposed. “Say, in half an hour or so.”
Slayne looked at him. “You don’t get it yet, Mr. Kapur. It will be a long time before things are ever calm again. This is the end of your world.”
“What’s he talking about?” Alf asked.
“Stay close,” Slayne said, and he bore to the right. He passed several rows of vehicles. In one row, two men were swearing at each other over who had the right of way. In another, it was two women. Farther on, a car had backed into a station wagon and the owners were about to come to blows.
Alf uttered a nervous laugh. “Like I always say, there’s a Neanderthal born every minute.”
Deepak rose onto his toes. He could just see the exit ramp. It was crammed, many of the drivers leaning on their ho
rns. “We’ll never get out of here.”
“That’s what you think.” Slayne hurried them down an aisle to where a black Hunster took up two parking spaces. Three times as large as an average car, with tires correspondingly huge, the Hunsters were a new line for those who didn’t care about the cost of gas. Advertised as a “sportsman’s dinosaur” in commercials that featured a gorgeous blonde in a French maid’s uniform, they had been criticized by watchdog groups for their extravagant waste of fossil fuels.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Deepak said.
Alf grinned like a kid in a candy shop. “I think it’s awesome. If I could afford it, I’d have one of these monsters.”
Patrick Slayne ignored them. He took a small remote from his pocket and pressed a button. The Hunster burped and the driver’s door popped open. “Get in,” he said to Deepak. To Alf he said, “You’re on your own.”
“What? Wait. Can’t I come with you? Only up to the street? Then you can let me out.”
“No.”
“Damn it, Slayne. What’s the matter with you?” Deepak argued.
“He is not my responsibility. You are.” Slayne began to climb inside.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere with you unless Alf gets to come, too.”
Slayne sighed. “Fine,” he relented. “We’ll let him out on the street. But after that, he’s on his own.”
“Sweet,” Alf said as he climbed into the back of the vehicle.
The driver’s seat resembled a cockpit. Slayne flicked switches and pushed buttons and turned a key. The Hunster rumbled to mechanical life with a roar that shook the walls.
“T-Rex, move over!” Alf said. “Listen to this beast! I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“I didn’t know you were into muscle cars,” Deepak noted as he strapped himself in. He felt ridiculous sitting in a vehicle that was half as big as his apartment.
“Buddy, calling this a muscle car is like calling King Kong a monkey. This baby is a tank.”
Slayne glanced back and the suggestion of a smile touched his lips. “I like the way you think.” He had placed the pistol on the console, but now he picked it up and slid it between his legs.
“What on earth are you doing?” Deepak asked.
“I might need it quick.” Slayne shifted into reverse and backed out. He started toward the logjam at a crawl. Braking, he pressed a toggle switch. A loud whine came from underneath them and the Hunster began to rise.
“The hell!” Alf declared in delight.
“Hydraulics.”
Slayne worked another toggle switch and after a few seconds there were thunks from the front and the rear.
Deepak couldn’t resist. “What was that?”
“More hydraulics. The bumpers are realigning so I can use the battering ram.”
“Did you say battering ram?”
Alf giggled.
Patrick Slayne touched his earpiece. “It’s getting worse out there. Food riots have broken out. People are looting stores. There’s a mob at the waterfront commandeering boats.”
“Dude, you rock,” Alf said.
Deepak was beginning to regret bringing him. “Don’t encourage the man. I hardly know him.”
Slayne put both hands on the steering wheel. “Hang on. And don’t worry. The armor plating will protect us from small arms fire. But yell if you see a bazooka.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Deepak said. The next instant he was slammed against his seat as the Hunster accelerated. To his astonishment, they drove up on top of the car in front of them and from there to the top of the next. Metal bent. The occupants screeched and cursed.
Alf let out a hearty laugh from the backseat.
Lunging forward, Deepak grabbed Slayne by the shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing? Stop! You’ll hurt someone.”
Slayne shrugged him off. “I need to concentrate.”
“But you’re hurting people.”
“I’m doing my best not to crush anyone, but I’ve got to get you out of here.” Slayne paused. “Besides, how do you feel about the two thousand and seventy-six people who died for you today?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The task force that was nuked. That’s how many personnel were involved. Are you upset about them?”
“I didn’t know them.”
“You don’t know these people, either.” Slayne gunned the engine and drove over a pickup and into the next aisle. He made for the logjam nearest the ramp. But instead of slowing, he went faster.
“Please, no,” Deepak pleaded. “I don’t want any deaths on my conscience.”
“Give me more credit. I’m not the heartless bastard you seem to think.” Slayne spun the steering wheel. “Hang on!”
The Hunster bucked into the air and came down with a crash. It had cleared the first vehicle and started up the next. The crunch of metal was nearly continuous.
So were the oaths and yells.
Deepak glanced out the rear window. Somehow Slayne had managed to miss the drivers. Most were scrambling from their cars in terror. Without warning, Deepak’s seat tried to achieve orbit, and he grabbed hold of the roll bar.
“This is so cool!” Alf cried.
For Deepak it was horrific. He realized that Slayne intended to take him cross-country. He could only imagine how much havoc they would wreak. It was a nightmare made real.
Then suddenly it became a whole lot worse.
For Love of Family
Philadelphia
The Trudale Subdivision was a gated community in the heart of Richter Downs. High walls, cameras, guards on duty every hour of the day and night, hourly patrols; Trudale was a secure island of well-to-do in a sea of squalor.
Richter Downs, however, was considered a blight on urban sprawl. Once a mix of residential and business zones, it had sunk into disrepair and disrepute. Gangs claimed the parks, drugs flooded the streets and the alleys, and law-abiding folk stayed behind locked doors at night. Poverty became its middle name.
Some critics thought building an oasis of wealth in the middle of so much want was asking for trouble. But the moneymen behind Trudale had confidence in their security force.
Soren Anderson had driven through Richter Downs a thousand times. It was the only way to reach Trudale. But he had never seen it like this. Normally, the streets were quiet if squalid. Kids threw balls or played on the sidewalks. Teens hung out on street corners looking tough. Oldsters sat on their stoops or in rocking chairs.
Today there were three times as many people as usual. A lot were listening to the latest news on radios. They cast scowls and glares his way. It didn’t help that many were standing in the middle of the street, forcing Soren to use his horn to get through. Traffic, thankfully, was light, and had been since he’d left the freeway. Again and again, he’d tried to reach Toril. He suspected that the phone lines were so overloaded, it would be a wonder if he got through.
Soren turned onto Ballard Street. Ahead was the imposing gate that led into Trudale. Most days, few people were in the vicinity. The dilapidated buildings usually sat neglected and grim. Today Soren had to brake.
People were shoulder to shoulder in the street. The sidewalks were jammed. Where they had all come from, Soren couldn’t imagine. Nor could he guess what they were all doing there. It seemed a strange place to come. He started forward and they got out of his way, but many gave him ugly looks, and one man flipped him the finger.
“What did I ever do?” Soren asked himself. He smiled at a woman holding two small children and she scowled.
Half a dozen uniformed guards were just inside the gate. In addition to the batons they carried, sidearms were strapped to their hips.
Captain Jeffors came out of the guard station and motioned for the gate to be opened. “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson.”
Soren pulled through the gate and stopped. “Any trouble?” he asked. “I haven’t been able to get through to my wife.”
“Everything is fine, sir,”
Jeffors said, but his tone and the look he gave the lurkers outside the gate suggested otherwise.
“It’s a mad house in the city. I was lucky to make it out.”
Captain Jeffors absently nodded while still staring at the people thronging Ballard Street. “You made it just in time. There’s been talk on the news of closing down the city as soon as the Guard is brought in.”
“How do you close down an entire city?” To Soren the idea was preposterous.
“By what ever means necessary,” Jeffors said, then snapped his head up at the wail of a siren in the distance. “That one’s an ambulance. Just a while ago it was the police.”
The sound jarred Soren. “Well, I better be going. My family will be worried.”
“Good luck, Mr. Anderson.”
“Odin preserve you.”
Captain Jeffors tore his gaze from the street. “Oh. That’s right. You’re the one they call the Norse nut.” He smiled good-naturedly.
Soren could have explained that there was more to it than that. A lot more. He could have told Jeffors that to him the Norse gods were more than myth; they were his religion. But he didn’t. It would only result in the same amused regard he was used to. He shifted his foot to the gas pedal and drove up the hill to Wyndemere Circle.
Three faces were pressed to the picture window. They were out the front door before he came to a stop in the driveway. Toril held back so he could hug Freya and Magni, then she was in his arms, warm and soft and smelling wonderful.
Soren had to swallow to speak. “I was so worried.”
“So were we. There’s been more shooting.” Toril looked toward the far-off high fence. “Are we safe, Soren?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Soren yearned to smother her with kisses, but they were right out in the open and the kids were there. “Come on. Let’s go in.”
“I still can’t reach Mother.”
Soren held the door for them. He thought he heard a loud cry from the vicinity of the gate. He looked, although he couldn’t see the gate for the intervening buildings. He listened, but the cry wasn’t repeated.
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