Dayfall

by Michael David Ares

  This made sense to Jon, and he really didn’t know what other options he had at this point, so he put his arms out in front of him and let Hegde put the handcuffs on him. At least they weren’t cuffed in the back, so he would still have some ability to use them in a fight if he needed to for some reason, or to go for someone’s gun.

  With the two cops on each side of Jon, they stepped up and out into Madison Square. The Flatiron was ahead of them as they came out of the exit, and they could see people filing out of the left side of the historic building and crossing the large patio area there to make their way into the park, presumably because it was farther from the endangered building and had a lot of open space for standing and waiting. As Jon scanned the procession of evacuees, he noticed the tall thin tower of One Madison behind them, and the two MetLife Buildings farther to the left, across the park—the one with the clock tower and the shorter one that served as the Gotham Security headquarters.

  Hegde and Dixon guided him in that direction, because the person on their staff who had contacted them had said he was in the middle of the park. As they moved that way, Jon started to become overly conscious of how many police were milling about in the park, along with the many civilians. Presumably most of them had come from inside their headquarters and were waiting for the all clear to go back in, and thankfully very few of them even looked at John, let alone noticed who he was. Almost all of them, as well as most of the civilians, were watching one of the two large TV screens, which stood at the north and south ends of the park.

  When they got closer, Jon was able to take a good look at one of the screens, and could tell by the text at the bottom that the public announcement by the Mayor and Gareth Render was about to be broadcast. A room with glass walls that looked vaguely familiar to Jon was filled with reporters and cameras, as they waited for the two power brokers to step up to the currently empty podium.

  “Isn’t that—?” said a man who greeted Hegde and Dixon, and pointed at Jon.

  “Yes,” Hegde answered, “this is Detective Phillips, and he is voluntarily in our custody. Jon, this is one of our men, Malachi Croft. What’s going on, Mal?”

  “Well,” the man said nervously, “we were all told just before the sun came out, by the Mayor’s office, to relax because the Dayfall scare was all a hoax, the science was bogus, etc. But in the last hour we’ve been getting some reports from around the city about unrest and violence, and then we got the word to evacuate, so everyone out here was really tense for a while. It was really weird, and I have to admit I got a little scared. But then the tension seemed to ease a bit when the press conference came on.… Now everyone here’s preoccupied with that.”

  He gestured in the direction of the screen at the south end of the park, toward which he was facing, and Jon and the others turned to look. The Mayor and Render hadn’t started talking yet, but from some more of the words at the bottom of the screen Jon was able to tell why the room seemed familiar to him. It was the big living room in Render’s condo at the top of One Madison, where Jon and Halladay had visited the Gotham Security boss. Jon guessed that the Mayor, who was completely in the driver’s seat right now, had chosen that location for the announcement because of the threat to the Flatiron, but also probably to make a statement and stick it to Render by humbling him in his own residence.

  Jon looked beyond the top left side of the big screen at the very tall and thin skyscraper itself, and noticed that the sun was just to its left, and a little more than halfway up its height. The skinny shadow of One Madison stretched across the street running in front of it and the southern tip of the park. But because there were no other very tall buildings immediately behind it, and because there weren’t as many trees in the park as there had once been, most of the police and civilians in the center of it were standing in direct sunlight.

  Jon was accustomed to seeing the sun, of course, because the total darkness of nuclear night had not reached as far as his home area in Pennsylvania. But he had to admit, as he looked around at the crowd, and down at his own slightly shaking hands, that there did seem to be something weird going on in the atmosphere. There could have been tension in the crowd merely from the evacuation threat, and in him because of the handcuffs and being around so many cops, but the feeling didn’t seem to be that easily explained. And maybe there would have been more fear and panic happening if there weren’t so many police there, making people feel safe.

  Jon looked back at the screen and saw that Mayor King was now behind the small lecture stand that had been placed in front of the glass wall in the condo. Gareth Render took up a spot just behind her and to her left, looking more like a subservient minion than the proud man who had wanted to replace her. And behind both of them was the clock tower of the MetLife Building, shining with its first sunlight in more than ten years.

  The Mayor wasted no time, but began speaking directly about how Render had agreed to back out of the referendum and why there was no reason to fear Dayfall. The apocalyptic theories about it had been proven to be false, she said, and there had already been several hours of daylight this morning without incident.

  “Not what I’m hearing,” Croft commented to all three of them, holding up his radio. Jon wondered if the Mayor didn’t know about the reports yet, or was simply ignoring or minimizing them.

  But no one would find out, at least not from her, because at that moment several loud cracks and the shattering of glass could be heard both from the TV screen and from the tops of the buildings behind it. On the screen Jon could see the Mayor going down in a spray of blood, the transparent wall behind her breached by several bullets. Then he looked up and could see that the shattered glass was on the side of the penthouse that faced the MetLife tower, so the shots had probably come from the archways just under the big clock.

  A loud wave of shocked gasps surged through the crowd in the park, and the tension suddenly became much more palpable than before. But no one moved yet, because on the TV screen Gareth Render could now be seen standing upright in front of all the panicked members of the press, who were pressed against the floor or clinging to one another in an effort to protect themselves.

  Jon immediately thought, as did many of the others watching, that the Gotham boss had brazenly ordered the Mayor’s assassination, and was now about to declare himself the Dictator of Manhattan.

  But then Jon noticed that the look on Render’s face was not triumph or madness, but bewilderment. The graying older man turned around to face the tower from which the sniper’s rounds had come, and spread his hands as if say, Why?

  Then half his head disappeared as several more shots rang out, and his big body toppled to the floor next to the Mayor’s.

  And then all hell broke loose in the park, and in the rest of the city.

  32

  More shocked gasps from the civilians quickly turned into panic as it now seemed that no one could keep them safe. Some clutched at and huddled with their loved ones, others impulsively ran for the shelter of shade or a building, and still others started demanding explanations or help from the police in the Square.

  Many of the cops instinctively pulled out their sidearms and started scanning the park, especially when civilians approached them. Jon noticed a few of them fixing their eyes on him and moving in his direction. He looked at Hegde and Dixon in a plea for his own protection, holding his cuffed hands out in front of him. But the normally laid back, even lackadaisical pair of detectives had their own guns lifted halfway and pointed in Jon’s direction. And they both had a wild-eyed look that Jon had never seen on their faces before.

  “What did you do?!” Dixon shouted at him.

  “Me? What?!” Jon shouted back, waving his cuffed hands, which were shaking a lot more now. “It’s Gant! He obviously he didn’t want to be sidelined, or leave the city. Despite the best efforts of his old friend to protect him. He’s the villain here.… We need to find him and take him in!”

  As he blurted this out, Jon watched as the two or three co
ps who had recognized him and moved in his direction had trouble navigating the panicked crowd that surrounded them. One of them was confronted by an angry couple and had to deal with them, and another was knocked off his feet by a family of three, holding hands and frantically trying to find their other child. A third cop managed to make it to their little group, and now stood in a tense pose behind Jon with his gun pointed at Jon’s back.

  “Whoa, hold on,” the officer named Malachi Croft said, stepping closer to Jon with his hands up and his gun still in its holster. He seemed to be a lot more rational than the others, and confirmed it when he said, “Put those away and let’s talk.”

  A gunshot suddenly rang out not far from them, all the cops around Jon ducked, and the noise and chaos multiplied intensely in the park.

  A screaming Goth girl ran over to Croft, randomly it seemed, and tried to liberate his gun from its holster. When he pushed her hand away from the leather clasp, she yelled, “Help me!” and clung to his arm. Two young men appeared from the direction she had come.

  “Kitty, come on,” one of them said as they approached, “We just want to keep you safe.”

  The Goth girl screamed again, and the uniformed cop who had joined their group swiveled and pointed his gun at the two other men. Jon could see that he was sweating profusely and the veins were standing out on his forehead.

  “Come on, man,” one of the young men said, also noticeably sweating. As he did, he very unwisely moved toward the overwrought policeman.

  “Guys!” Croft yelled. “Settle down!”

  A big dog, with a leash trailing behind it, ran straight through the uneasy gathering, and in the confusion, the young man accidentally veered even closer to the cop, and the cop shot him. The Goth girl screamed even louder than before, and Croft finally did unclasp his holster.

  As a large group of freaked-out people migrated into the space where Hegde and Dixon were standing, and his captors became preoccupied with them, Jon took off running to the west, in the direction of Mallory’s bar. He half-expected to be shot in the back for the first twenty seconds or so of his flight, and regretted that he couldn’t swing his arms freely to run faster. He heard several gunshots from various directions, but didn’t feel anything hit him and kept moving as rapidly as he could.

  He slowed when he realized he was near the big bronze sculptures where Sturm had attacked him with a knife. He ran behind one of them and risked a look back. The Goth girl had managed to get Croft’s sidearm, or someone else’s, and was waving it wildly around her, fending off a small group of people that no longer included Hegde or Dixon, as far as he could tell. It was hard to see because people kept running by between him and that spot, but he wondered if the Chaos Crimes cops were fleeing the scene, too.

  He took a moment to scan the park and its vicinity, and noticed other seemingly random scenes of bedlam and mayhem. He noticed how the largest groups of people were crowding into the buildings around the Square, or at least attempting to. Whether or not the sunlight was actually having a physical or psychological effect on them, they definitely wanted to get out of it.

  One particular mob scene was taking place at the Gotham Security headquarters at Eleven Madison, on the east side of the park. Jon could see police and civilians, who were in the sun, shouting at the security guards who had formed a ragged line in the shade at the entrance to the building. Some of the civilians were throwing various objects in their direction. There hadn’t been any gunfire yet, probably because the GS sentries were ready to engage in it if needed.

  Knowing that no such security existed at The Office, and that no one was currently pursuing him, Jon pushed himself off the statue and headed toward Mallory’s bar.

  When he reached Fifth Avenue, on the west side of the park, he stopped to figure out the best way to get to her. The street was jammed both ways with cars and taxis, some of them occupied because people thought they would be safer inside of them, and some of them unoccupied because people thought they would be safer in a building. Horns were blaring, creating a cacophony of noise that almost drowned out the one created by screams of panic and shouts of rage. While studying the street, Jon could see some of the fearful citizens climbing into unoccupied cars, and even some trying to get into ones that were occupied, causing more chaos and violence.

  To his left, the traffic jam at the intersection of Fifth and Broadway had spilled over into the large pedestrian patio called Flatiron Plaza. Motorists trying to bypass the jam had driven up onto the cement there, smashing into tables and chairs and umbrellas, and at least one pedestrian. Jon could see the victim’s body lying on the left side of the Plaza, since the cars were giving it space and jostling for other paths through the intersection. As Jon instinctively moved forward to help, one of the cars in the jam decided it didn’t want to wait any longer. It swerved out of the crowd of cars and ran right over the body, just to gain fifty feet or so on the others.

  To Jon’s right there were several different-sized mobs fighting to get into the stores and restaurants to the north on Fifth Avenue, so it seemed that going straight across the street from where he was, and passing through General Worth Square, was the easiest way to get up Broadway to the bar. He took a deep breath and waded into the river of cars, jumping back at the sudden movements some of them made when space opened up ahead, and trying to steer clear of the altercations happening at others.

  Jon made it through to the other side without incident, but then looked back across the street to see a greater danger approaching. Coming from inside the park, and moving in his general direction, was a group of about seven or eight uniformed cops who had banded together to restore order, or whatever passed as order in their strained psyches. They had formed a phalanx of sorts in order to be able to protect themselves from all directions, but also to do more than just protect themselves. One of the cops shouted into a small megaphone that “anyone perpetrating acts of violence will be shot on sight,” but they were shooting more than just violent people. As Jon watched, a woman in a Gotham Security uniform approached them peacefully from the left, as if she just wanted to talk to them, and two of the cops on that side fired about five rounds into her, without any hesitation.

  Jon wasn’t sure where the cops were heading, but it occurred to him that they might be making a wide circle around the Flatiron in an attempt to restore some degree of control to the area. Whatever their intent, which was probably capricious because of the effects Dayfall was having on them, Jon knew that he didn’t want them to see his handcuffs or recognize him, because he doubted he would survive the encounter. So he looked around for a hiding place, and ducked behind a big umbrella that had provided cover for one of the tables in the little square and had fallen on its side.

  As he crouched behind the umbrella, and tried over the din to hear signs of which direction the cops might be moving, he starting noticing for the first time that the wound beneath his chin was throbbing, and it seemed now to become more and more painful as he thought about it. He reached up and touched it gingerly, finding that it wasn’t bleeding out, but was decidedly moist and sticky. It hurt even more when he touched it, and especially when his head jerked down involuntarily because a series of gunshots split the air not far from him. He peered out carefully from the side of the umbrella and saw that the vigilante cops were now in the middle of Fifth Avenue, and were shooting anybody who was jostling to get into a car, or trying to move theirs in an aggressive fashion.

  Jon turned away from the carnage on the street and thought about making a run for it from behind the umbrella, toward Mallory’s bar. He looked for other cover in that direction and saw the big monument to General Worth, from whom the little square had gotten its name. It was a fifty-foot high granite obelisk with a thick base that had two bronze reliefs, one of a man on a horse and one of something else that Jon couldn’t identify. The monument was surrounded by a little patch of grass with a small cast-iron fence around the outside of it. And right in front of the fence sat a young wo
man who was sobbing and cradling the body of an older man.

  Jon tensed his body and readied to leave his crouch and hiding place, planning to run to the other side of the monument as fast as he could. But then he looked back at the young woman on the ground at the foot of the monument.

  It was Mallory.

  33

  Jon pressed his eyes closed and shook his head, in case he was hallucinating, but when he looked back at the woman, it was still Mallory. And the older man she was cradling was her father.… He was recognizable even from this angle.

  Jon threw caution to the wind, ignoring the danger of the cops in the street, and ran over to her.

  “Mallory,” he said as he slowed his approach.

  She squinted at him through tear-stained eyes, not recognizing him, and he realized that the sun was behind him. He moved sideways and closer until his shadow covered her head and she could see him better.

  “It’s me, it’s Jon,” he said, holding up his hands, but then realizing the handcuffs didn’t look very good.

  “Oh, fucking great,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think this day could get worse.”

  “What happened to your dad?” Jon asked, ignoring both what she said and the continuing gunshots and screams to his right.

  “Too many people from the street were crowding into the bar, and he tried to stop them. They beat him really bad.…” She choked up again. “I was taking him to CityMD on Twenty-Third, but I only got him halfway. He’s dead.” She looked up at Jon again, and her eyes went from grief to hatred in a moment. “This is what happens when your fucking Mayor is in charge!”

  “She’s not my—” Jon started. “Listen, you were right about Render. It was Gant behind the murders. I tried to stop him, and the Mayor.… I kept you from being blown up.” He held up his cuffed hands again. “Look, the Mayor framed me.… I’m not on her side. I wasn’t, I mean…”