Delaplane stood outside the bus, shouting largely ineffectual commands into her radio. The monster, having knocked the helicopter from the sky, was now cruising the length of Whitaker Street, flying low. She heard an eruption of gunfire from the direction of the Methodist church. Two people were clinging to a ladder bolted to the steeple, firing at the brute. From this distance she couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the two FBI agents. Christ, they were brave. The monster, annoyed by the gunfire, swooped back around, smashing the steeple with its wings and sending it toppling into the street. Then it clawed at the church’s façade, violently flapping its wings in a fury. Many people had taken refuge in the church, and now they came streaming out like ants from a burning log.
She got back on the radio. “Where the hell is the National Guard?” she screamed. “We need more firepower!”
The hopeless dispatcher said the guard couldn’t get through; the streets were jammed.
“Have them get out of the damned vehicles and hoof it!” She paused. “Put me through directly!”
A few seconds later, a Guardsman from Operations got on the line. What she wanted wasn’t possible, he said; it was against protocol to abandon their backup firearms, ammo, and equipment in the vehicles.
“Fly them in on choppers, then!”
The man told her that Black Hawks, loaded with troops and missiles, were being scrambled and would be in the air in fifteen minutes.
The eerily calm voice infuriated her. “Fifteen minutes?” she said, hoarse from yelling. “I want them now! And where the hell are those MRAPs you said were on their way?”
They were, she was told, trying to clear passageways from the interstate through to West Gaston Street and from the Truman Parkway through East President to Bay, but both routes were blocked by deserted vehicles and were taking time to clear.
“Bring troops up the river, then!”
They were working on that, she was told, but it wasn’t a simple thing, and—
With a curse, Delaplane cut off the transmission, holstered the radio, and turned to the officers who had responded to her call. Only twelve. But they were all good men and women — and they were awaiting her orders.
“Listen up!” she said as she looked down the line. “The National Guard’s on its way. But we can’t wait. Until they get through, we’ve got to take this bitch down ourselves. You all ready?”
There was a ripple of silent nods.
“That’s what I like to hear!” She raised the shotgun, ratcheted a shell into the chamber. “Lock and load!”
70
Pendergast raced down Whitaker Street through a hurricane of chaos. Ignoring the shrieks of the creature circling above, he navigated among the half-burnt vehicles until he saw the bulk of the Chandler House ahead and to the left, through the smoke.
The upper floor of the building was wrecked, and the structure looked unstable, with great cracks running down the façade. Pendergast entered to find the lobby empty and lightless, a pall of dust hanging in the fetid air, the structure still groaning and settling from the damage. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out a small Fenix flashlight from his suit pocket and switched it on. Moving quickly, he made his way to the service door and descended into the basement, then raced down the long corridor past the off-limits sign, into the graveyard of hotel furniture. It was much quieter down here, the clamor above almost inaudible; much louder were the occasional creaks of the hotel’s old timbers, complaining of the recent assault. Pendergast reached the large wardrobe in the far wall and threw open the door, entering the secret room. A phrase of Constance’s echoed in his mind: Those parallel universes are stacked like membranes on each other. Constance was holding something back... and now he thought he knew what it was.
Once in Ellerby’s lab, he turned on the light, relieved to see the hotel’s backup power was working. Everything appeared as he and Coldmoon had left it. He saw that the device was off, the knife switch open, the dial twisted all the way counterclockwise.
Thank God Constance had not gotten here before him. He was certain she realized what he now did.
He checked his weapon: a round in the chamber and a spare mag. He threw the knife switch to activate it, turned the power switch to the first position, and waited while it hummed to life. When the portal appeared between the two poles — shimmering, streaming with light — he moved the switch to the second position. Turning back to the portal, he filled his lungs with air, took one hesitating step, then abruptly walked into it.
There was a crackle of lightning; blue arcs of electricity shot out of the portal, and he felt himself thrown backward and onto the floor.
Slowly, he stood up again, gathering his wits. What had gone wrong? He’d seen plenty of insects come through the portal. The beast had clearly come through the portal. Why couldn’t he make a reverse journey?
As he went back over his thoughts of the evening, his own words returned to him. The “hole” Ellerby poked became larger and larger as the machine grew more powerful; Ellerby made more and more money on the market... and then it happened. The hole grew big enough for something to come through it. Something from the other side.
But Ellerby had been using the machine at the higher setting for weeks already, looking an hour into the future. The creature had not come through the portal until recently; the last time, in fact, that Ellerby fired the machine into life...
And then he understood. Ellerby, possessed by greed or curiosity, had decided to push the machine farther, past its second setting... and in doing so, created a portal wide enough for something much larger than insects...
He glanced quickly down at the dial that controlled the main power. Grasping the knob, Pendergast rapidly twisted it past the II mark.
The hum of the machine rose almost to a scream. The portal brightened, its edges beginning to flicker with a furious intensity. The view of Times Square, which had just stabilized across the portal, now faded into a shimmering tunnel, with the Square itself attenuated to a small image at the far end. Those parallel universes are visible as you look down the tunnel.
Pendergast extended his hand. This time, he was able to pierce the membrane. But he pulled his hand back instinctively when he felt a crawling sensation.
Once again, he took a deep breath. Then, without allowing himself time to think any further, he tensed and strode into the portal.
71
Delaplane led her officers across the park and toward the beast, which was now battering down another church, this one on Drayton Street. Seeing its furious assault on a Christian icon just made her more certain this was a creature from hell itself. She wondered if she might be witnessing the Apocalypse — with this the beast of destruction, the dark angel of the bottomless pit as described in Revelation. But whether it was the end or not, she still had a duty to carry out. She’d always been a believer, tried to live as a Christian, and whatever happened to her, God would sort things out. Right now, she had a responsibility to fulfill — to protect the people and kill that bitch monster.
She led her officers past the burning platform and to the north end of the park, where the brute was now flying up from the ruins of the church. With a screech it banked north toward the river, and she thought for a moment that perhaps it might just fly off. But no such luck: it came back around, huge wings flapping as it gained speed. It was heading in straight and low, following a path that would take it along Drayton Street. As it swung lower, its wings clipped a power pole, sending it down in a shower of sparks.