HOMELAND: Falling Down (Part 1 of the HOMELAND Series) Page 11

  Angie whispered. “It’s Dante’s Inferno down there.”

  Eduardo nodded. “Don’t worry. We’ve got enough food and water to last a few days. We’ll stay here until it’s safe to move.”

  “Suits me just fine.” Sam sat on the sofa, examining the amateur stitch job Eduardo had done on his arm with a sewing kit found in Angie’s closet.

  Something caught Eduardo’s eye. It was bright, coming from the windows across the street. More fire. He looked closer. It was a reflection of their own building. A floor halfway between them and the ground was burning.

  “Everybody grab you packs. We have to go.”

  “But you just said…”

  “The building is on fire. We have to go. Right now. We have to escape Manhattan.”

  Sam pointed to the street. “We have to cross that?”

  Eduardo shouldered his bag and put his scarf back over his face. “Just part of it. Let’s go”

  They unblocked the door and crept to the pitch-black stairwell.

  Eduardo reminded them, “We have to feel our way down. Slowly. No lights. No sound. Don’t draw attention.” Sam and Angie nodded.

  The slightest sound rebounded up and down the stygian shaft as they descended in total darkness, one step at a time. Eduardo went first, then Angie with Sam taking up the rear. Each kept a hand on the shoulder of the person to their front. Their heartbeats pounded in their ears as they strained to hear any sign of danger, freezing in place at every sound and echo.

  Eduardo lost count of how far they’d gone in their descent to Hell after a few floors.

  Bodies blocked the way at several points, some still warm, some cold as the concrete. The group felt their way over the dead as quietly as possible and continued down, down, and down.

  The fumes grew thicker and the air warmed as they reached the burning floor. The bodies were thicker here too. The three of them choked and coughed, moving with more urgency the closer it came. An amber glow from under a steel door marked ‘27th floor’ was the first light they’d seen since leaving Angie’s level. Thankfully, it was closed. They felt the heat and heard the roar of the blaze through the metal.

  “Hurry.” Eduardo felt lightheaded. They had to get away from the smoke.

  As they passed the door, it burst open, slamming against the concrete wall. The crash resounded up and down the stairwell. Flames leapt from the portal as if reaching out for the three of them, fiery devil hands trying to pull them into the inferno.

  “Keep moving!” Eduardo shouted.

  A figure stumbled from the doorway, bathed in fire, screaming in that high-pitched soul rending way that only burning alive can cause. It hit the rail and went over, dropping like a torch into the abyss.

  They kept moving, faster now, floor by floor, down, down, down.

  After what felt like days, they reached the bottom. The seared corpse of the flaming being lay waiting for them on the ground floor. Eduardo couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The air here reeked of burning flesh. Beyond was the exit. Eduardo inched the door open and peeked into the lobby. Still empty.

  They scurried onto the sidewalk. Ashes fell like snow onto the gloomy street, making the scene an odd combination of Christmas Eve and Nine-Eleven.

  They made their way northward building by building, block by block, sprinting from shadow to shadow.

  They halted at the corner of Central Park South and Seventh Avenue. Eduardo said, “The Queensboro Bridge is a straight shot east.” He scanned the skyline. The firelight was less fierce in that direction. “It’s our best bet if it’s still open.”

  A car appeared from a side street to their front. The metal body was now scratched and beat to hell, but the bullet-pierced windshield of the luxury sedan was familiar enough. It began to roll silently toward the three of them.

  “Hey!” Angie yelled. “Over here! Help!”

  “No!” Eduardo put his hand over her mouth.

  The car sped toward them.

  “Run!” Eduardo yelled, “Into the park!” Bullets buzzed like angry hornets by his head as he hurried his friends into the dark grassy confines of Central Park. They ran until Sam fell to his hands and knees and vomited.

  “I can’t,” he heaved, “I can’t go any farther.”

  “C’mon, Sam. Don’t be such a pussy.” Eduardo spotted a dark patch of ground under a stand of trees nearby. “We can hide over there, but just long enough to catch our breath. We have to keep moving.”

  The park wasn’t crowded, but it was far from empty. Small groups wandered warily in the dark as shadowy figures slinked in and out of view. It was impossible for Eduardo to distinguish predator from prey in the gloom.

  “Eddie!” Angie screamed as a hand sprang from the darkness and clutched her throat.

  A voice hissed, “Gimme the backpacks.”

  Eduardo spotted the flash of a knife to Angie’s ribs. He put his hands up. “Take it easy. You don’t need to hurt anybody.”

  “The backpacks,” the man snarled. Angie whimpered as the blade pressed harder into her side.

  “Alright.” Eduardo took off his backpack and held it out. “Let her go and it’s yours.”

  The assailant moved forward slightly, allowing the moonlight to reveal his hooded form. “Nah,” he said. “I got a better idea.” He whistled over his shoulder. “Hey! Over here! I got some fresh meat!”

  His call was answered by whistles and whoops from all directions.

  He smelled Angie’s hair. “Yeah. We gonna have some fu—” The thug’s words turned to shrieks of pain as Eduardo’s steak knife stabbed deep into his forearm.

  Angie pulled the mace from her pocket and sprayed it into the hooded man’s face. He dropped his knife and crumpled to the ground in agony.

  They ran again, heading for the nearest way out of the park. Angry shouts from behind told them the hoodlum’s friends had found him. Eduardo saw a break in the trees ahead and hoped it was a way out. “There! Hurry!” A pop behind them sent a bullet whizzing in their direction, barely missing Sam’s head. More followed, shredding foliage and sparking on concrete. The projectiles hurtled past them into the city beyond. Glass shattered. Dogs barked.

  Eduardo glanced over his shoulder at the gang. The demonic silhouettes with their crude weapons and steamy breath were gaining fast.

  The three of them sprinted onto the street, their lungs near bursting. Eduardo knew they wouldn’t last much longer at this pace. He considered his options. The street was a deathtrap. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

  Sam said to Angie and Eduardo, “Run. I’ll hold them off.”

  “No.”

  “It’s the only way. I’ll try to buy you some time. Now go!”

  “No!” Eduardo yelled, “We’re not leaving you!”

  “Hey!” Someone called. “Hey! Buddy!” It came from a darkened storefront. “Over here!” an ebony-skinned man called out in a thick African accent.

  Eduardo spotted him in the half open door of a small convenience store.

  The man beckoned to them. “Hurry!”

  They used the last of their energy to dash into the store. The man pulled a thick metal rolling door down over the entire storefront and locked it shut as bullets slammed against its exterior. A heartbeat later, the door shuddered with the pounding of fists and bludgeons accompanied by howls and obscene taunts.

  Angie cowered in a corner, covering her ears.

  The shop owner comforted her. “Do not worry. They will not get in here. And even if they could, I am ready for them.” He held up a shotgun and opened his jacket to reveal two semiautomatic pistols tucked into his belt.

  Eduardo held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  The man took it. “You are welcome. My name is Kaafi.” He turned on a small battery powered lantern, reached into a wall cooler, and pulled out a bottle of water for Angie.

  Angie took the water with a trembling hand and began to cry.

  Eduardo sat next to her and took her in his arms. “It’s oka
y. They can’t get us in here.”

  She sobbed. “Why are they doing this?”

  Kaafi answered, “All men are savages. It has always been this way. It was true in my country. Now it is true here.”

  The pounding suddenly stopped, replaced by muffled curses as the besiegers withdrew in frustration.

  “Are all women savages, too?” Sam asked with a ring a sarcasm.

  The African smiled. “What do you think?”

  Eduardo said to Kaafi, “I’m Eddie.”

  “Eduardo Rivera. Yes, I know who you are.”

  “Please, call me Eddie. This is Angie and Sam. You saved our lives.”

  “As mine was once saved many years ago.” He opened some beers and gave one each to Eduardo and Sam. “Water is good for women and children, but I think you need something more. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Sam smiled and took the bottle. He took a swig and held it to his face. The cool glass felt good against his flushed skin.

  Kaafi said, “You are wounded.”

  Eduardo looked at Sam. “Must have busted your stitches.”

  “Not him. You.” Kaafi pointed to Eduardo’s arm left arm. Blood soaked his shirt from the triceps down.

  Eduardo suddenly became aware of stinging, throbbing pain.

  Kaafi tore the sleeve open. “Bullet. Passed through clean. Needs stitches.” He went to the back of the store and returned with a suture kit, rubbing alcohol, and clean bandages.

  Eduardo looked surprised. “Now?”

  “Life has taught me to be prepared.”

  Jaw and fists clinched tightly, Eduardo fought the urge to cry out as Kaafi cleaned the wound.

  Sam held up his own stitched arm and smiled. “C’mon, Eddie. Don’t be such a pussy.”

  “I am sorry. I have no pain medicine,” Kaafi said.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Eduardo asked through gritted teeth.

  “Where I am from we learn to fight when we learn to walk. We learn to treat wounds before learning to read.” Kaafi skillfully stitched and bandaged the torn flesh. “That will help. You should also take some antibiotics. Sadly, another medicine I do not have.”

  “You’ve already done more than we can repay.”

  “Help another when the time comes. Keep your humanity intact. That will be payment enough.” Kaafi turned on a portable radio on the shop counter. “Let us see what is happening outside.”

  The nation was in chaos. Authorities were helpless against looting and rioting on such a grand scale. Fires were everywhere. The cities were the worst hit.

  “My God,” Eduardo said, “The whole country is coming apart.”

  Kaafi gave blankets to the three of them. They tried to rest in spite of the terrifying sounds outside. Eduardo succumbed to exhaustion while listening to the news a few hours after Angie and Sam fell asleep. Thankfully, his was a dreamless sleep.

  He woke with a start in complete darkness.

  “Wake up!” Kaafi whispered.

  Eduardo sat up. The room was freezing. He asked, “What time is it?”

  “Shhhhhh. Someone is outside.”

  There was a rustling outside the shop. Not loud, but purposeful. Like an animal digging a hole. The jingle of chain links came next. Someone was up to something. Eduardo heard hushed voices through the door, muffled by the sheet metal.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Don’t know.”

  After he and Eduardo quietly woke the others and hurried them to the rear of the store, Kaafi grabbed his shotgun. He offered Eduardo a pistol.

  Eduardo declined. “I’m no killer.”

  “There comes a time when even civilized men must defend themselves.”

  Eduardo took the gun.

  The rustling stopped. Quick steps shuffled away from the shop.

  Eduardo sighed with relief. “They’re gone.”

  An engine started. It sounded like a truck. It revved. The steel door jerked. Someone was trying to pull it off.

  The truck backed up and tried again. The door buckled outward.

  The truck backed up once more.

  “There is a back door near the bathroom,” Kaafi said, “It leads to an alley behind the store. Get your friends and run.”

  Eduardo raised his pistol toward the intruders. “I’m staying.”

  “What do you think will happen to her if they get past us?”

  “Then come with us.”

  “No. I stay. This is my store. I am through running from animals like them.” He shoved Eduardo toward the back door. “Go!”

  Eduardo grabbed his backpack and led Angie into the alley. The squeal and crash of truck tires and rending metal followed them out the door. Shotgun blasts echoed down the narrow way as they ran for their lives for the third time that night.

  They emerged from the alley as the last shotgun report sounded. They hid behind a burned out van. Muffled pistol shots followed. Then all fell quite. Only hum of the idling truck remained.

  The city was black. The only light came from the glow of the fires and the icy rays of the late autumn moon.

  “Where’s Sam,” whispered Angie.

  “Stay here.” Eduardo rose to go back, but ducked again at the sound of Kaafi’s back door slamming open.

  Sam burst from the building with his pursuers only steps behind.

  Eduardo and Angie froze. They watched through the van’s broken windows as Sam was tackled to the pavement.

  One of attackers straddled Sam’s chest as more of his cohorts streamed into the alley and gathered around them.

  He put a knife in his face. “Too slow, old man.”

  The blade bit into flesh, sending blood trickled down Sam’s cheek.

  Sam spit in the man’s face.

  “Make him squeal!” a voice cried with glee.

  “Cut his head off!” cheered another.

  “Squeel, pig!”

  “Screw you!” Sam punched the thug in the gut.

  “You’re gonna pay for that.” The knife slid across Sam’s neck. Red spray covered both of them.

  Sam voiced a primal howl, struggling for his life as the metal sawed through his flesh.

  Eduardo whispered, “We have to help him.”

  “No. There are too many of them.” Angie covered her mouth to keep from screaming. “Oh, God.”

  Sam’s cries were cut short as the blade found his windpipe.

  “Yeah! Yeah! Cut his pig head off!”

  The thug continued to work the knife with macabre delight.

  Eduardo couldn’t be still any longer. He gripped Kaafi’s pistol, stood, and fired. The thug collapsed onto Sam’s corpse. He pulled Angie up by the arm. “Run!”

  They sprinted west across Broadway and ran several more blocks to the river’s edge, lungs afire and legs quivering.

  Echoing shouts from somewhere behind told them their pursuers were still on their trail. They ran again, but soon ran out of ground. They stood on a cement peer jutting into the Hudson River, trapped between the rampaging gang and the raging current.

  “We can swim for it.” Angie pointed to the far shore. “It doesn’t look that far.”

  “We’ll never make it.”

  Another shout from the gloom. “I found ‘em! Over here!”

  They were out of time.

  Eduardo looked into the water. He saw something bobbing in the shallows. He strained to make it out in the darkness. It was big. He hoped it was big enough.

  Silhouettes ran toward them, a hundred yards away and closing fast.

  “Jump.” Eduardo put a leg over the rail.

  “But you said…”

  “You were right. We can make it.”

  They leaped together into the night.

  9

  HANK

  The deputy ducked into his squad car for a moment’s respite from the dawn chill. He poured a cup of coffee from a battered thermos and cradled the warm beverage in both hands, making the best of the meager warmth it provided. He started the engine. The h
eater ate away at the morning frost on the vehicle’s windows as the feeling returned to his frozen fingers.

  He and two volunteer deputies had been there for twelve frigid hours, manning the roadblock on Interstate Forty, guarding the bridge spanning Lake Douglas on the Jefferson County line.

  He checked the time and keyed the hand microphone of his police radio. “700 this is checkpoint one, over.”

  Freeport Sherriff’s Department headquarters replied, “This is 700. Go ahead.”

  “Our relief is thirty minutes late. Tell ‘em to get a move on.”

  “Hold your horses,” another voice broke in, “I’m on my way. Just a few minutes out.”

  “Step on it. We’re freezin’ our chicken nuggets off out here.”

  “Checkpoint one.” It was 700 again. “Have you heard from 701?”

  “Negative. No sign of the sheriff.”

  There was a knock at the window. A volunteer deputy in padded brown coveralls cradling a scoped hunting rifle beckoned the officer out to the barricade.

  “Checkpoint one out.” The officer put down the mic and reluctantly left the warmth of the cruiser.

  Commandeered cars were parked end to end, blocking all four lanes of the highway on the far side of the bridge.

  The volunteer stood behind the makeshift barrier with two other deputized civilians. “Look there.” He pointed to something on the horizon.

  The deputy strained to see a figure on the road in the distance. No. Two figures. Walking toward them.

  “Here.” The volunteer handed him the rifle. The deputy looked through the scope.

  “It’s the sheriff. By God it’s him.”

  “Who’s that with him?”

  “Can’t tell.” The deputy rapped the top of the car in front of them. “Pull this thing outta the way.”

  He hopped in his cruiser and sped toward the pair. Details came into focus as he drew near. Both figures looked like dead men walking. Sheriff Sexton’s left arm hung limp and bloody at his side as he shuffled along, barely able to put one foot ahead of the other.

  The other person was smaller, male, and carried a rifle. It was the kid from the Walmart attack.

  The deputy stopped, jumped out of the car and pulled his sidearm. “On the ground, punk!”