cleared the roof, and crashed down behind the car. An arm reached out through a side window of the car, someone inside whooped crazily, and the car sped off around the corner and out of sight.
The woman's skull had been dashed to pieces with the impact, so she would never move again, but one of the men had suffered only a broken leg, and he climbed awkwardly to his knees and listened. The woman who had screamed for the car to stop was still stumbling down the street, following the receding echoes with her arms extended in front of her. As her shoes clicked loudly on the pavement, the injured man took to stumbling after the sound. The woman bumped into the side of a building and took to groping along the wall toward the far corner, then she rounded the corner and was out of sight, and the last Mason saw of the lunatic with the broken leg was when he hobbled around the corner after her, following the sound of clicking heels and soft plaintive sobs. Behind him, the other man who'd been struck by the car followed at distance; back broken, but dutifully crawling along on his elbows, gnashing his teeth, and dragging his useless legs behind him like a grotesque pull-toy.
Mason thought he must have awoken into a nightmare. This can't be happening , he kept telling himself. This can't be happening…….this can't be happening… ….this can't be happening….…. But there was no denying it. It was happening. And it was happening all around him. A scream came from an open window across the street. As Mason watched, two dark forms converged, a splash of blood colored the fine lace curtains, and the screams died away as the dark figures sank from view. Another scream from down the street ended in a squelched gurgle. A man emerged from an alley a block away, staggering like a drunk and holding his intestines in his hands. Three different people came from three different directions, converging on the man and bringing him down like a wounded water buffalo.
And all the while, Mason stood against the wall of his building, frozen like a statue and breathing in shallow little gulps of air. He couldn't delude himself into believing that this was looting in the face of a city-wide blackout. This wasn't even a full-blown riot. This was the same phenomenon as on the airplane and in the stairwell, but on an epic scale. This, Mason concluded without the merest shadow of a doubt, was sheer insanity.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be back upstairs in his apartment. Home was safe. Home was his kingdom. Once inside, he could lock the door, throw the bolt, latch the chain, hunker down, and ride out this madness.
He turned back to the door, and was just about to grab for the handle when a face appeared inches away. He gave a startled gasp and shied back before he realized that the face was on the other side of the glass. And what a face it was. He recognized the old man as a fellow resident, but now the man's gray hair was disheveled, foam drooled from the corner of his mouth like a rabid dog, and his teeth were bared in an angry snarl. But it was the eyes that Mason found so disturbing. They were blank, dull, sightless, yet they stared through the glass as if burrowing directly into Mason's very soul.
He side-stepped slowly and quietly away from the glass and saw the eyes remain fixed straight ahead. Breathing a hushed sigh of relief, Mason eased as soundlessly as he could toward the doorman's little smoke-break hidey-hole, but then another face appeared out of the darkness beyond the glass, and he froze again. He recognized this face, too. He never knew the woman's name, but he'd smiled at her several times in passing. 10th floor, he remembered. She was divorced, with a couple of young kids. Now, she was in the same state as the other crazies; hair in disarray, wild, staring, sightless eyes, and mouth curled up into a snarl. But this pretty young thing dressed only in a baggy pajama top had been a busy little mongrel. Fresh blood
The woman's skull had been dashed to pieces with the impact, so she would never move again, but one of the men had suffered only a broken leg, and he climbed awkwardly to his knees and listened. The woman who had screamed for the car to stop was still stumbling down the street, following the receding echoes with her arms extended in front of her. As her shoes clicked loudly on the pavement, the injured man took to stumbling after the sound. The woman bumped into the side of a building and took to groping along the wall toward the far corner, then she rounded the corner and was out of sight, and the last Mason saw of the lunatic with the broken leg was when he hobbled around the corner after her, following the sound of clicking heels and soft plaintive sobs. Behind him, the other man who'd been struck by the car followed at distance; back broken, but dutifully crawling along on his elbows, gnashing his teeth, and dragging his useless legs behind him like a grotesque pull-toy.
Mason thought he must have awoken into a nightmare. This can't be happening , he kept telling himself. This can't be happening…….this can't be happening… ….this can't be happening….…. But there was no denying it. It was happening. And it was happening all around him. A scream came from an open window across the street. As Mason watched, two dark forms converged, a splash of blood colored the fine lace curtains, and the screams died away as the dark figures sank from view. Another scream from down the street ended in a squelched gurgle. A man emerged from an alley a block away, staggering like a drunk and holding his intestines in his hands. Three different people came from three different directions, converging on the man and bringing him down like a wounded water buffalo.
And all the while, Mason stood against the wall of his building, frozen like a statue and breathing in shallow little gulps of air. He couldn't delude himself into believing that this was looting in the face of a city-wide blackout. This wasn't even a full-blown riot. This was the same phenomenon as on the airplane and in the stairwell, but on an epic scale. This, Mason concluded without the merest shadow of a doubt, was sheer insanity.
Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to be back upstairs in his apartment. Home was safe. Home was his kingdom. Once inside, he could lock the door, throw the bolt, latch the chain, hunker down, and ride out this madness.
He turned back to the door, and was just about to grab for the handle when a face appeared inches away. He gave a startled gasp and shied back before he realized that the face was on the other side of the glass. And what a face it was. He recognized the old man as a fellow resident, but now the man's gray hair was disheveled, foam drooled from the corner of his mouth like a rabid dog, and his teeth were bared in an angry snarl. But it was the eyes that Mason found so disturbing. They were blank, dull, sightless, yet they stared through the glass as if burrowing directly into Mason's very soul.
He side-stepped slowly and quietly away from the glass and saw the eyes remain fixed straight ahead. Breathing a hushed sigh of relief, Mason eased as soundlessly as he could toward the doorman's little smoke-break hidey-hole, but then another face appeared out of the darkness beyond the glass, and he froze again. He recognized this face, too. He never knew the woman's name, but he'd smiled at her several times in passing. 10th floor, he remembered. She was divorced, with a couple of young kids. Now, she was in the same state as the other crazies; hair in disarray, wild, staring, sightless eyes, and mouth curled up into a snarl. But this pretty young thing dressed only in a baggy pajama top had been a busy little mongrel. Fresh blood
Similar Books
