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Laura gasped。 On…screen； something fell in the background。 Kirk ignored it； went back to his stats。
〃The evacuation routes are as follows；〃 he said。 〃From Windsor Township； take Route 615 south to Fulton。 From Upper Darien； take the Mifflinsburg Pike 。。。 〃
And then suddenly； the lights went out。 There was a pop。 The monitors went dead。 The overhead fluorescents sputtered abruptly。
And in less than an eyeblink； the room went black。
〃Ohgod ohgod 。。。 〃 Laura whispered； clamping down。 The room was almost totally enshrouded； its sole illumination a wan blue glow ing from the hall door。
〃It's okay；〃 she told the shadows。 〃It's just a blown transformer； or a downed line； or； uh 。。。 or 。。。 〃
There was a drinking fountain just outside the door； its white porcelain gleaming。 As she watched； the spigot suddenly spritzed to life； sending a little arc of water pooting forth； going pucketa pucketa pucketa pucketa 。。。
Upstairs the front doors wrenched open； the sound of metal ripping like paper； followed by crowd sounds； of many many things ing in and rooting around； casting bizarre shapes against the solitary shaft of light that filtered in from the head of the stairs。 It wasn't long at all until it was followed by the leathery slap of feet hitting the stairs； one by one by one。
At the other end of the room； something that walked upright for the first time ever stopped at the little fountain and took a refreshing gulp。
Then it turned and peered into the darkness。 Its many eyes made out Laura's huddled form and it gurgled； a sound of pleasant surprise。
It moved forward； one withered hand up for balance； dragging the rest of its parts behind； and closed the distance as if in perverse answer to her prayer。
And Laura was no longer alone。
High atop Mount Hope； the world premier of The Kirk Bogarde Show was ending just a little ahead of schedule。
It wasn't quite as he'd imagined it； but then what was？ The bad news was that the major east…west and north…south escape routes were hopelessly jammed with wrecks； as survivors of the first wave went manic； trying to get out of town。
The good news was that he could still do the weather。
The temperature was dropping rapidly； it was maybe thirty…five； definitely falling。 Atmospheric pressure intensified as the firestorm drew cold air in from all directions。 Water vapor condensed on the finer atmospheric particulate； bonding。
And the fog rolled in。
Kirk shivered in his linerless jacket； feeling the acid sting of the mist on his skin。 It's primal； he thought： weather for the dawn of time。
Or the end of the world。
His teeth chattered as he rattled off possible； even hopeful escape routes。 He didn't really believe in them anymore。 That wasn't the point。
Behind him and around him； pieces were falling： the tower was disassembling itself； strut by strut； in the high killer wind。 The last hunk to tumble was big as a refrigerator； it crashed into the ground less than ten feet away from the shed with a deafening mump； sent rainbow ruptures of agony throughout his leg。
Kirk blinked back tears。 And kept on going。
〃From Geetzerburg； take Route 232 to Hanlin；〃 he read。 〃And remember avoid Route 30 east over the river bridge。〃
He hobbled out of frame then； looked out the window。
Down on the Susquehanna； the flames were blooming yellow…gold where a tanker truck had collided with a stalled lane of traffic and ignited。 Flaming victims still tumbled to the rocky waterline； their tiny limbs thrashing wildly。
〃Repeat；〃 he reiterated； limping back into frame。 〃The river bridge is definitely out on Route 30。 Looks permanent； folks。〃
Just then the wind kicked up； and there was a great wrenching sound as it caught the lip of the shed's corrugated roof。 It peeled back like the lid on a sardine can。 Metal and junk rained down； a lug nut the size of a golf ball hit Kirk in the temple； knocking him out cold。
He came to in the wreckage an instant later； jump…charged by adrenaline and immeasurably worse off。 He had a concussion and a crushed rib； and his leg was broken in at least three more places。
〃Oh； fuck； not again；〃 he moaned。 He tried to move。
And found he could not。
Something was pressing against his chest； something huge and unforgiving。 Kirk opened his eyes and found he was pinned beneath the fallen tool shelf； half…buried in parts； staring up into roiling fog and endless； eternal night。 The remains of the tower teetered uncertainly。
The camera lay on its side against the workbench； the tripod toppled。 It was pointing at him； askew and just out of reach。 The 〃record〃 light still glowed red and merciless。
〃Unh；〃 he grunted。 The camera watched。 Kirk struggled under the buckled shelf； fighting down panic。 〃Having a little； unh 。。。 technical difficulty； here； folks。〃
He grunted and heaved； trying to budge the blunt edge of metal that pressed him into the floor like a bug in a science project。
High above； there came the pop pop pop of tension cables snapping like steel slingshots as something heavy broke free； began the long fast descent。 He strained to free himself； and something burst deep in his chest。
Kirk screamed。 His eyes went wide and locked on something ing； big and bright and spinning like a dervish。 A five…hundred…pound strut came pinwheeling down from out of the fog and straight for his face； like the ultimate 3…D effect。
Kirk screamed again。 The camera loved him。
It was a television first。
Fifty…Nine
The first contraction struck at three thirty…five； a tidal wave of ground glass and lethal venom aimed directly at Gwen Taylor's spine。 She'd felt it swell； amassing strength； for nearly thirty seconds before it hit。 She hadn't known what it was； what it meant； or what it held in store。
It hardly mattered。
Nothing in this life could have prepared her for that moment。
The pain was a ragged ratcheting metal fist； a screaming bonesaw violation so far beyond ordinary pain it boiled down endorphins and tortured the steam。 When she screamed； the sound it produced was the worst she could manage。
It wasn't enough。
Gwen stared up； through eyes of anguish； into the widening eyes of her friend。 She watched as Micki's irises dilated； made room for the terrible realization that everything was not okay； no； not even a little。
Gwen was going into labor。
She was going to have her baby。
Right now。
The contraction rode its peak for twenty agonizing seconds； then decayed far too slowly。 On the way back down； she felt her faculties return。 The pain had blowtorched her mind into crisp hyperclarity； for the first time in hours； it was pletely her own。
Oh my God； it whispered silently in her ears。 Watching the mobile spin above the shattered； capsized crib。 Watching the vines press； and squeeze； like an octopus attacking a glass…bottomed boat。
〃Oh my God；〃 she whispered aloud； as Micki wiped high…definition beads of perspiration off her brow。 Watching her dreams turn to rubble before her eyes。
〃Gwen 。。。 〃 All the color had drained from Micki's face。 She looked old in that moment； enfeebled by her terror。
Gwen reached up to touch Micki's face； Micki's hair； to convince herself that this wasn't real； that she hadn't awakened from a dreaming Hell only to find herself trapped in its inner circle。 She blinked her eyes； and the room was still there。 She shut them tight； and the delirium sounds remained。
〃What are we going to do？〃 she quietly implored。
And Micki's response was； 〃I don't know。〃
Behind the cacophonous wall of noise came a different voice： a distant； mounting growl。 A powerful metal avenging roar； angrily surging into sonic dominion。
It took her a moment。
But she recognized the sound。
Gary cried as he twisted the throttle in his hand； the hand that prickled and itched as if drugged to numbing sleep。 The Harley growled in response； engine revving out a mad frantic rhythm of speed and endurance。 His gloves were sodden； his jacket was so damp it felt like the leather would reanimate。 Sooty droplets of living condensation crawled across his visor； looking for a way in； Gary realized that Gwen's present had probably saved his life。 It made him love her all the more； made him want to tell her that。
If he ever saw her again。
Because there was a deathvoice in his head now； a hoarse soul cry shrieking late too late too late； feeding his fear and stoking his guilt as Gary gunned along； a solitary rider on the road to Hell。
Not Hell； he amended。 Hell was a ical conceit in which human beings really mattered。 Hell placed mankind； by simple proximity； at the center of Creation。
There were no such illusions as Gary rode； no fortable pantheon of gods and devils to fall back on。 This land held no place for them； living or dead。 The place that was his home now belonged to something else。
And he was the intruder。
Premature night had fallen like a shroud as the cloud cover thickened and the fog rolled in。 The pillar of fire was visible as a furious red…orange glow on the horizon； a false midnight sun that blotted out the rea