Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack) (36 page)

He spotted the door bar a few feet away. He stretched for it, got a grip, then swung it with all he had, once, twice, three times, crushing the creature’s head.

When its jaws stopped working, he eased his pressure on the door and let it slip to the floor. He quick-kicked it into the hall and then slammed the door. He leaned against it, gasping, waiting for his heart to slow.

He decided he didn’t need to be the first out and about.

He gave it another ten minutes, then stepped out into the hall again. But this time he stayed by the door, squinting left and right, listening for the sound of wings. A bit brighter now. And still quiet.

Taking a deep breath, he once again approached the corpse. As he neared he recognized Drexler. Well, sort of. If not for the white suit—now 90 percent red—he’d never have been able to tell. His body was shrunken, wizened, all his exposed skin shredded, chewed up but strangely bloodless. His eyes had been eaten out, leaving red, raw sockets.

How did you die, Drexie?

As if in answer, he heard a sound, something between a cluck and a gurgle. It seemed to come from the corpse. As he stared, he saw the throat work, the jaw move. But he couldn’t be alive!

And then Drexler’s mouth opened and Hank saw something moving inside. No, not inside anymore, slithering out. A flat, wide, pincered head, dark brown where it wasn’t bloody red, followed by a sinuous six-foot body as big around as a beer can, powered by countless fine, rubbery legs, all dripping red.

Some sort of giant millipede, squeezing out Drexler’s gullet and coming right for him. And it was
fast.

Hank yelped and backpedaled until his back slammed against the wall. He turned and tried to climb it.

But the thing wasn’t interested in him. It veered toward the doorway and raced down toward the lobby. Heading for the street and nearest hole, no doubt.

He’d never seen anything like that before. It had to be the latest addition to the bug horde.

Leaving Drexler’s remains behind, he slipped downstairs to the front lobby area. The big double doors stood open, the left half off its hinges. He eased through and stood on the front steps.

Monday morning. The sky looked funny. Not quite sunrise yet. Ordinarily the streets would have been jumping by now, clogged with cabs and cars and delivery trucks. But nothing moved. No, wait. Up the street he spotted a garbage-can-size beetle with a wicked set of mandibles spread wide before it, scuttling by at the corner, heading uptown; an occasional flying thing whizzed through the air, also in the general direction of Central Park. Except for those, the streets were empty. Where had the giant millipede gone? How could it have got around the corner so fast?

He went back inside. Where the hell was everyone? And then he remembered Drexler screaming through the door something about bugs in the cellar.

He hurried to the stairwell to the basement, and when he saw the smashed door, he knew what he’d find beyond it.

His in-house Kicker crew had been wiped out.

In that instant he saw his next move with perfect clarity: He had to get out of town. And he knew just where to go. During the summer he’d taken a few jaunts down to the Jersey Shore, to places like Asbury Park and Seaside Heights. Even rented a bungalow for a week in an oceanfront town called Chadwick Beach. Most of the houses there were little more than plywood boxes, but he remembered a couple of places that looked fairly sturdy, equipped with storm shutters and heat. They’d be empty now, the beaches and boardwalks all but deserted, waiting for the summer renters—renters who wouldn’t be coming. A perfect hideaway.

Had to get moving. The guys had left a couple of hand trucks in the lobby, and a van out back. He could fill that with cases of food and haul ass out of here. It would take a bunch of trips with the hand truck, but if he didn’t waste time, he could be on the road in less than an hour.

WFPW-FM

JO: Hi, this is Jo and Freddy. Yeah, I know we’re early but we’re the only ones left at the station. No one knows where the other guys are.

FREDDY: Headed for the hills, if they’re smart.

JO: Yeah. But we’re not smart. We’re sticking this out. In fact, we’re moving into the station. We’re living here, man, and we’re staying on the air as long as they let us. And since nobody else is around, that could be a long time.

FREDDY: Yeah. Jo and Freddy all day and all night.

JO: Right. So let’s get this started. It’s Monday morning, May twenty-second. The sun rose at 7:40
A.M.
According to the Sapir curve, it will set at 5:35 this afternoon, leaving us with a measly nine hours and fifty-five minutes of sunlight today.

FREDDY: So do what you have to do quick and get home soon. And be careful out there, folks. Be good to each other. We’re all we’ve got left.

JO: Hate to interrupt the Youngbloods, man, but you’re not gonna believe this: The Pentagon is … gone. I mean, gone, man. One of those holes opened under it during the night and it just ain’t there no more.

“Isn’t the sun coming up?” Bill said, looking out the window. The sky was brightening but no sun, just a strange yellow light.

Jack came up beside him. “Looks overcast.”

“But those aren’t clouds up there, or even haze. It’s like … I don’t know what it’s like. Looks like a yellow scum of some sort’s been poured over the sky.”

“Whatever,” Jack said. “We’ve waited long enough. The boogie beasts have called it a night and it’s time to roll. You ready?”

“Soon as I get back from Carol’s place. She needs to pick up some things.”

“All right. I’ve got a couple of stops to make myself. When I get back, you and I and the Amazing Criswell will all head out to the Ashe brothers’ airfield.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready.”

“Don’t get lost. There’s not a lot of time to spare.” He turned to go, then turned back. “How you getting there?”

“Car.”

Jack reached into his belt and pulled out a pistol. He held it out to Bill, grip first.

“Better take this.”

Bill stared at the thing. Its dark surface gleamed dully in the diffuse light from the window. It seemed as if some sort of alien creature had invaded the apartment.

“A gun? I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“I’ll show you. First you—”

“I couldn’t use it, Jack. Really.”

“It’s ugly out there, Bill. People were calling this city a jungle last week. They thought it was bad before the first hole opened up. They had no idea how bad it could get. Not much trouble right around here—the creeps are no more anxious to get near that hole than anyone else—but you get too far up- or downtown and you’ll run into spots that would make a jungle look like a Sunday afternoon drive. Take the gun. Just for show if nothing else.”

“All right.” Bill took the pistol and was surprised at its weight. “But what about you?”

Jack smiled. “Plenty more where that came from. Besides, I never carry just one.”

As Jack hurried off, Bill slipped the pistol under his belt and pulled his sweater down over it. Then he took the stairs down to the apartment where Carol had spent the night.

Jack found Julio’s open but damn near deserted. Half of the front windows were smashed, most of the dead plants had been ripped from their hangers. And worst of all, something had gnawed on the
Free Beer Tomorrow …
sign.

“Where is everybody?”

Julio paused in his sweeping up the glass fragments and shrugged. “Some hiding, some gone. You hear from Gia?”

“Yeah. Spoke to her during the night and this morning. They’re doing okay. No bugs out their way.”

Not yet, at least.

Gia had sounded on edge, but he’d expected that—ripped from her home, living in a bunker. He kept telling her it was all for the best. And he believed it.

“You planning on staying open?”

Another shrug. “Don’ know. Hate to give in to the bugs, but we spent last night in the cellar and it was scary. The power’s been off and on. If I got no power, I gotta serve warm beer. And that’s no good.”

“Close up and get some stuff together. I got a safe place for you—at least temporarily safe. We’ve got room. Whattaya say?”

He watched the muscular little man as he looked around the place that was his life, his livelihood. He knew how stubborn Julio could be. They’d been friends forever. Jack wanted to see him safe.

Finally Julio nodded. “Yeah, why not? But just at night. I stay open in the day. Every day.”

At least that’s something, Jack thought.

And who knew how many more days there’d be?

In the strange, shadowless yellow half-light that was passing for day, Bill skirted the park to the south and headed east across town in a borrowed Volvo. No roadblocks and no traffic to speak of. No police, either, and that concerned him. As he readied to turn uptown he glanced at the Queensboro Bridge.

“Carol!” he said as he screeched to a halt. “Look!”

“Oh, my God!”

A section of the span had broken up and now floated in the air, tethered to the rest of the bridge by twisted pieces of steel that groaned in the breeze.

“A gravity hole,” Carol said. “And it was such a beautiful bridge.”

“The engineers have been saying for years what poor shape the bridges were in. Now we know how right they were.”

Aiming for the Upper East Side, he drove along the middle of the street. With the exception of Glaeken’s building, it seemed as if almost every window in the city had been broken.

He eased to the left and upped their speed when he spotted a mob clustered around the front of a grocery store.

“Nelson and I used to grocery shop there.”

Nobody was shopping now. Pillaging was more like it. People were jumping in and out of the broken door and windows, looking for anything remotely edible. But with nothing left to pillage, the enraged mob was tearing out the empty shelves and hurling them into the street. Three men were brawling over what looked like a can of tuna fish.