End of Days (28 page)

The television and Internet had been dominated by
images of the migration. Millions of people—families, small children, entire cities—in motion. And the exodus was jagged and cruel and desperate and deadly. The crowds travelled without shelter or food or water, and left in their wake destruction, debris, and thousands of bodies, lives cut short of the few days that remained. When times were so desperate and life so short, there was no shortage of savagery.

More than once Sheppard had thought that informing the public was perhaps his greatest mistake. He should have listened to those advisers—people like Parker—who had cautioned him to keep the truth secret. But he felt there had been too many secrets for too long. It was better for truth to live as long as it could.

“Strange, they believed you about the points of impact, but they didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that they’re going to die no matter what,” Parker said.

“There are reports of large-scale violence as groups defend their territory against those attempting to move in,” Sheppard said.

“I guess they didn’t listen to that ‘God is watching’ part, either,” Parker said.

“I imagine this is the point where you should say ‘I told you so’?”

“Not me,” Parker replied. “When you start looking to me for moral guidance you’ve reached a new level of desperation.”

“You know that isn’t true. What is true is that I just made things worse … far worse.”

“That’s not your fault either. You were just working with false information.”

“What do you mean?” Sheppard asked.

“Your problem is that you believe people are basically good. Me, I always knew better. I believe that civilization is at best nothing more than a very thin veneer. People are full of manners and follow rules, and pretend they care for their fellow man, but when push comes to shove my own grandmother would put a knife in my back.”

“Your grandmother?” Sheppard asked.

“You’ve never met my grandmother … she’s a tough old bird. That’s just how people are.”

Sheppard shook his head. “Not all. I would never do that to you, or to anybody else.”

“And that’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. But, really, look around.”

He gestured to the images on the screen. It showed a large urban area, debris on the streets, smoke rising from buildings on fire, abandoned cars. Sheppard turned away.

“Organized suicides are taking place all over the world. Couples taking poison, parents taking the lives of their children, whole families dying together,” Parker said.

“I can’t believe it,” Sheppard said.

“I think it makes perfect sense,” Parker replied. “Better to control your death, plan it in a good way, than allow it to unfold in a bad way.”

“You’ve never struck me as a candidate for suicide.”

“I’m not. I’m planning on living. And you?”

Sheppard didn’t answer.

“It’s not just getting worse out there every day,” Parker said. “It’s getting worse in
here
. More and more staff, including security, are deserting.”

“And that’s why you have the rifle, right?”

Parker nodded. “A pistol isn’t necessarily enough. I think it’s just a matter of time until we’re overrun. The crowds are getting bigger outside the walls, and at the same time our forces are getting smaller and less able to keep them at bay.”

“They can’t
all
want to kill me.”

“No, most of them just want in. They believe that we’ve built an underground facility here that will withstand the impacts.”

“Well, they’ll be deeply disappointed,” Sheppard said. “And how long before you leave?”

“I guess the question is how long before
you
leave?” Parker asked.

“I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

“Funny, you never struck me as the suicidal type either,” Parker said.

“I’m not going to commit suicide,” Sheppard said.

“Call it what you want, but whether the asteroid gets you or somebody else before that, it’s still suicide. You’re making a choice to die when you have an option to live.”

“I don’t see how I can, in good conscience, exercise that option,” Sheppard said.

“Because billions are going to die? Well, every one of those billions would kill you or almost anybody else in a second if it meant that they, or maybe their children, could have what you’re turning down. If you think about it, your
choice is almost insulting to those who don’t want to die,” Parker said.

“I don’t want to die either.”

“So what is this, then? Is it all about your misguided sense of guilt?” Parker asked. “You didn’t perform the miracle, so you want to die to punish yourself?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“A captain doesn’t desert a sinking ship,” Sheppard said.

“Sure, he does. He just gets off last, and we’re basically at that stage. You know, I should just make you leave. I could tie you up or hit you on the head or put something in your tea to knock you out. You’d wake up out of here, safe and sound.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Sheppard said.

“I
could
, and you couldn’t stop me. You’d even thank me … eventually.”

“But you won’t.”

Parker looked disgusted. “No, I won’t, and that’s the part that’s most annoying. It’s too late for me to have these sudden bouts of conscience. That sort of soppy sentimentality could cost me my life.”

“I’m not asking you to stay.”

“No, you’re practically
ordering
me to stay,” Parker snapped.

“That isn’t my intent. You’re free to go,” Sheppard said.

“You know, it would be kinder for me to put a bullet in your head before I go than to leave you unguarded.”

“I just want you to come and say goodbye, so that I can thank you for all that you’ve done.”

“Look, what I’m saying is that I’m not going to say goodbye … or put a bullet in your head. My job was—
is—
to protect you, and that job isn’t over yet. I
always
finish my assignments. I’m here as long as you’re here.”

“You can’t make me responsible for your death,” Sheppard said.

“Why not? You already feel responsible for the impending deaths of nine billion people, so what’s one extra life?” Parker asked. “Look, all I’m asking you to do is not close the door to this idea. There’s still time.”

“How much time?” Sheppard asked.

“A few days if we’re lucky … maybe five … maybe seven, but that would be pushing it.” Parker leaned over and turned off the screen. “You didn’t cause what’s happening out there and you can’t control it. They’re going to die, whether you and I live or not. Those are independent factors.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol, and for a split second Sheppard had a flickering thought about that bullet in his head.

“I want you to keep this with you at all times,” Parker said as he placed it on the desk in front of Sheppard.

“I’ve never even
held
a gun. I wouldn’t know how to use it. If I tried I’d probably blow my own foot off.”

“You’re a pretty smart guy, so I think you can figure out how to use it. I’ll give you a little lesson.”

He picked up the gun and practically forced it into Sheppard’s hand.

“Click off the safety, right there beside your thumb,” Parker said. “Do it!”

Sheppard clicked it off.

“Now, just point at the target—aim for the chest, no trick shots—and pull the trigger. Pretty simple. I want you to promise me you’ll keep this with you at all times from now on.”

“I don’t think I could actually shoot anybody.”

“You’d be surprised what you can do if somebody is getting ready to kill you. I’ll leave you to think,” Parker said, and he left the room.

Sheppard sat alone, the gun in his hand. He held it firmly, hefting its weight. He’d never held a pistol before, never even wanted to hold one. But somehow … it felt good.

The building’s alarm shrieked and Sheppard sat bolt upright in bed. It was probably nothing—it had been going off intermittently for days. But he still had to check. He reached over to turn on the bedside lamp, but nothing happened, no light. Of course. They’d taken to turning off the generator at night to save the precious little fuel they still had. With the generator off, the air-conditioning and the air-circulation systems weren’t functioning either. It was hot and sticky and the air was stale and still.

He fumbled around the top of the night table and his fingers brushed against the pistol first and then the flashlight. He flicked it on, opening up a small patch of light in the darkness.

Sheppard looked at his watch. It was just after three in the morning. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet. He was already wearing clothes and his shoes
and his glasses—a habit that had come back to him over the past few weeks. It was as though he was subconsciously preparing to flee, even if there was no place to flee to.

He needed to know what was going on. He started for the door, then stopped, spun around, and grabbed the pistol. He clicked the safety on. At night it was always off, ready to fire. He started for the door and—There was a loud pounding and he froze in his tracks.

“Daniel! Open up!”

He recognized the voice instantly. It was Parker.

He rushed to the door and unlocked it. Parker was standing there, his hair wild, wearing only a T-shirt and pants, without shoes, an assault rifle in his hand. Behind him in the hall others were moving about, weapons in hand, flashlight beams bobbing along in front of them as they ran.

“The complex wall has been breached,” Parker said.

“Who is it?”

“Does it matter? There are hundreds, and some of them have weapons. They’ve come in through the main gate and over the wall.”

“Will we be able to repel them?” Sheppard asked.

“Nobody is even trying. Everybody is leaving. We have to leave.”

“And go where?”

“You know where,” Parker said.

“Is there still time for us to get there?” Suddenly, now, with the end in sight, he realized that he didn’t want the end to come.

“There will be if we can get out of here. Do you want to live?”

“Yes,” Sheppard instantly replied. His quick answer surprised him, but not Parker.

“Then follow me.”

“I just have to grab some things and—”

Parker grabbed him and spun him around as he tried to go back into his room. “You already have your gun,” he said. “There’s nothing else you’ll need.”

He kept his hand on Sheppard’s shoulder and started to drag him away. Sheppard was tired and scared and confused, but he didn’t resist.

The corridor was crowded. People Sheppard knew or recognized were standing or moving, but there seemed to be no point or direction or purpose to their movement. In quick glimpses of flashlight-illuminated faces he could see their confusion and fear.

Parker moved quickly, pushing people aside and making space for Sheppard to follow. He was obviously moving with a purpose. He knew where they were going.

Suddenly the quiet murmur of movement and voices was overwhelmed by the sound of gunfire. Parker dropped to his knees and pulled Sheppard down with him. People all around were doing the same thing—no, they were falling … people had been shot! Bullets whizzed by their heads, ricocheting off the metal walls, and he could see flashes ahead—gun flashes.

Sheppard jumped at an explosion of sound beside him, and Parker fired his weapon into the corridor ahead—two long, loud rapid-fire bursts. And then there was silence.
Whoever had been firing at them was either gone or dead.

“Get up!” Parker yelled, and his strong hands pulled Sheppard to his feet.

He led them off in the opposite direction, and Sheppard realized that he was now tripping over bodies that littered the floor. He stopped himself from looking down. There was nothing he could do to help. He didn’t know if he himself would be dead in seconds or minutes, and he couldn’t bear to think that his last act might be trampling over a dead or dying colleague.

In the dark and the confusion Sheppard couldn’t tell where they were going, but Parker seemed certain. They took a turn down a small secondary corridor and left behind the people and the panic. But where were they going? It was almost pitch-black and Parker was moving without a flashlight, but fast enough that he would have left Sheppard behind in his dust if he hadn’t been dragging him along by—

The lights flickered on and then off and on again, getting bright, filling the corridor with bright light. The two men froze in place.

“That’s better. At least we can see where we’re going now,” Sheppard said.

“And everybody else can see us. We have to move quickly or he’ll leave without us.”

“Who will leave?”

Before Parker could answer, a group of men flooded into the passage ahead, blocking the way!

“Stop!” one of the men yelled. He was carrying a large
club, and the other men with him had pieces of pipe. One of them had a rifle!

In the blink of an eye Parker raised his gun and fired a volley at the men, cutting them down so they fell like kindling to the floor!

Parker didn’t even break stride, and his grip on Sheppard propelled him along as well. The bloodied bodies of the men formed a partial barrier that they stepped over and around. In the now brightly lit corridor, Sheppard had no choice but to see their stricken faces. He was relieved to realize that they weren’t people he knew.

“Who were they?” he gasped as they passed.

“I don’t know. They were in our way and that’s all that matters.”

“But you just killed them.”

“If I hadn’t killed them they would have killed us,” Parker said. His voice was calm, very matter-of-fact.

“Maybe we could have talked to them or—”

“Do you think they came here to talk?” Parker asked. “Why do you think they had weapons if they didn’t mean to use them? Our only hope to live is to act, not react, and certainly not to talk.”

Behind them they heard voices—yelling, screaming—and then came the unmistakable sound of gunfire. It was hard to tell in the confines of the corridor, but it sounded as though it was coming from in front of
and
behind them. Were they trapped?