33
Jon pressed his eyes closed and shook his head, in case he was hallucinating, but when he looked back at the woman, it was still Mallory. And the older man she was cradling was her father…. He was recognizable even from this angle.
Jon threw caution to the wind, ignoring the danger of the cops in the street, and ran over to her.
“Mallory,” he said as he slowed his approach.
She squinted at him through tear-stained eyes, not recognizing him, and he realized that the sun was behind him. He moved sideways and closer until his shadow covered her head and she could see him better.
“It’s me, it’s Jon,” he said, holding up his hands, but then realizing the handcuffs didn’t look very good.
“Oh, fucking great,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t think this day could get worse.”
“What happened to your dad?” Jon asked, ignoring both what she said and the continuing gunshots and screams to his right.
“Too many people from the street were crowding into the bar, and he tried to stop them. They beat him really bad….” She choked up again. “I was taking him to CityMD on Twenty-Third, but I only got him halfway. He’s dead.” She looked up at Jon again, and her eyes went from grief to hatred in a moment. “This is what happens when your fucking Mayor is in charge!”
“She’s not my—” Jon started. “Listen, you were right about Render. It was Gant behind the murders. I tried to stop him, and the Mayor…. I kept you from being blown up.” He held up his cuffed hands again. “Look, the Mayor framed me…. I’m not on her side. I wasn’t, I mean…”
As Jon searched for words to mollify her, he glanced back at the street to see that the group of murderous cops was almost to his side of Fifth Avenue, though a bit south from where he was. He hoped they would turn farther south as they continued their sweep of the area.
“Did you say CityMD on Twenty-Third?” Jon suddenly asked, a weird look on his face. “Is that across the street from a big home store?”
“Yeah,” Mallory said, with her own odd look. “But… what the hell are you talking about?!” She started crying again.
Jon looked at the cops again to see which direction they were moving, and this time one of them looked back at him. Jon was sure the Blue Shirt recognized him when the cop started talking to his comrades and pointing toward him.
He felt a kind of panic he had never experienced before, and his chin started pulsating with the worst pain yet, which spread to the rest of his head. He had to force himself to think about whether he had implicated Mallory by talking to her, or whether the cops would ignore her if he ran away by himself. He was about the do the latter when the cop with the megaphone settled the issue with what seemed like a form of divine revelation.
“Hey, you,” the cop’s voice rang out. “Stay there, both of you!”
Since he said “both of you,” Jon took this as a sign, and reached down with his cuffed hands to pull Mallory to her feet.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, shrugging him off.
“Look, Mallory,” he blurted out, “see those cops coming our way? They will kill both of us. You have to trust me, and come with me now.”
“I’m not leaving my dad,” she said, but seemed conflicted because she could now see the cops, the look in their eyes, and the guns they were raising as the first of them cleared the last row of cars on the street. Though they were still at least a hundred feet away, the only thing that kept them from a clear shot at Jon and Mallory were the obstacle of the tables and downed umbrellas in the little square.
“Your dad would want you to stay alive,” Jon said, holding out his hands again. “Come on!”
She didn’t take his hand, but after a few moments of consideration, she laid her dad’s body gently down and stood up, staring in fear at the oncoming cops when she saw the one in the front raise his gun higher and point it directly at them, after nonchalantly blowing away a pedestrian who had gotten too close to him.
“This way,” Jon said, giving up trying to take her hand and diving into the jam of cars to his left on Broadway. As he navigated quickly through them to the other side of the street, he glanced back to make sure Mallory was behind him, and was glad to see that she was. He glanced back farther at the squad of cops, and was even more happy to see that a suicidal motorist had turned out of the left side of the jam and barreled into several of the tables and umbrellas, directly in the path of the cops. Jon didn’t know if the driver was angry at them after witnessing their street-shooting spree, or trying to save him or Mallory, or what. But whatever the reason, it was definitely suicidal, because the cops paused their pursuit to riddle the car and driver with bullets.
Jon and Mallory streaked through the last of the cars on Broadway and around the bank building on the corner of Twenty-Fourth Street. Jon pulled her against the wall on the other side and looked around the corner to see what was happening with the cops. Other motorists nearby had become enraged at their deranged brand of justice, or were trying to protect themselves, and they were pulling out of the jam and trying to run over them with their cars, or smash other cars into them. At least one of the cops was hit, and they all seemed occupied, at least for now, with firing into all the cars around them.
“Was this the way you were gonna go?” Jon hurriedly asked Mallory, panting for breath. “To the urgent care?”
“Yeah,” Mallory answered, still puzzled, “there’s an alley in the middle of the block that goes over to Twenty-Third.” She watched as John nodded, then added, “But my dad’s dead…. Where are we going?”
Jon peered back around the corner and saw that while three of the remaining Blue Shirts were still occupied in some way with the cars on the street, four of them had now broken away and were coming after him and Mallory.
He grabbed her arm and started pulling her down the sidewalk. She shrugged it off almost immediately, but did run after him. The sidewalk was almost empty, except for a few dead or injured bodies that they had to swerve around—most people by now had sought shelter inside buildings or vehicles. The street itself, however, was packed pretty tightly…. It was a one-way going west toward Broadway, with only one lane for cars trying to move between the ones parked on each side.
Jon left the sidewalk and ran into the middle of the cars after the murderous cops had rounded the corner behind them and could see where they were. Before he and Mallory could reach the left turn into the alley, some of them fired, their rounds sailing past them in the air or hitting the cars near them.
Jon and Mallory turned into the alley and ran into a small crowd of noticeably frightened people who were hanging there because it was in the shade of the buildings on each side. When the group saw his handcuffs, they gave him a wide berth, but he stopped abruptly after passing through and turned around to face them. He snarled maniacally and stepped forcefully toward them, which caused many of them to retreat back toward the north end of the alley, where the cops would soon be entering. Then he turned back around and ran toward the other end of the alley.
Due to her own feelings of disorientation, Mallory couldn’t see the method to Jon’s madness, and she was even more confused when he passed the urgent-care facility at the corner of the alley and Twenty-Third Street, and began crossing it toward the big home store on the other side.
“What’re you doing?” she called out.
She breathed heavily as she said the words, but noticed that she wasn’t nearly as tired as she thought she would be, after half-carrying her father for a block and running at full speed for another two. It occurred to her that this extra physical energy and adrenaline might be an effect of the sunlight.