Doomsday

3. A Pale Horse

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 madhouse 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 whatever 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 services.”

“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 horns. “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 ate 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.