“Where’s the crew?” Alf asked.
“You’re looking at it.”
Deepak wasn’t asked to help, and he didn’t. Slayne cast off the lines and climbed to the wheelhouse. Below decks the engine throbbed to life and the Kull edged toward a gigantic corrugated door. Just when Deepak was convinced they would smash into it, gears meshed, chains clanked and the door rose. With superb finesse, Patrick Slayne steered the darkened ferry out into the Hudson. Alf nudged Deepak. “Why isn’t he using running lights?”
Before Deepak could answer, the night reverberated to the blare of a ship’s horn and he looked up in horror to see a vessel bearing down on them.
8. Day of Wrath
Trudale was being looted. From his picture window on the second floor of his home, Soren Anderson saw men and women emerge from homes carrying laptops, stereo equipment and TV sets. One of the women carried a jewelry box under one arm and held a sparkling necklace.
“Why are they doing that?” Freya asked. “It’s not right.” Magni raised wide eyes to his parents. “Will they come in here, Dad? Will they take all our stuff?” Soren came to a quick decision. As yet, the looters were only at the turnoff into Wyndemere Circle. It would take them minutes yet to reach his place. Or so he hoped. “Grab your things and get in the truck. We’re leaving.”
“I haven’t finished packing,” Toril objected. “There’s more I’d like to take. Especially if we’re never coming back.”
“What?” Freya said.
The looters approached the Simmons residence. Soren knew the family well; they often came over. George Simmons blocked his front door and tried to prevent the mob from entering. Simmons was pushed and shoved but refused to give way. Finally a burly man in grubby jeans and a T-shirt knocked Simmons down and others kicked and punched him senseless. Another moment and they were in his house. A scream wavered on the air.
“Odin protect us,” Toril breathed. “Kids, do as your father says. Grab what you can and get to the truck.” She dashed off with them in tow.
Soren ran down the stairs and out into the driveway. More screams and wails came from all quarters. A window burst with a tremendous crash. In the distance gunfire crackled. He considered going to the Simmonses’ to see if he could help, but it would be folly to leave his own family unprotected. He turned to go back in.
Three human wolves were bounding along the hedge that bordered the next yard. In the lead was the same burly brute who had knocked down George Simmons. They came around the hedge, spotted Soren, and stopped.
“Nice truck you’ve got there, buddy,” the burly one said.
“Leave.”
The leader glanced at his companions, and the three spread out. One of them had a baseball bat. The third man flourished a folding knife with a six-inch blade.
Smiling smugly, the leader advanced and held out his hand. “Give us the keys and we’ll let you be.”
“No.” Soren brought Mjolnir from behind his leg.
All three of them stopped.
“What the hell is that? A hammer?” The burly man laughed a hollow laugh that was echoed by his friends.
“Mister, you give us any trouble, I swear to God I’ll take that from you and beat your brains out.”
“Go away.” Soren held Mjolnir low in front of him and turned slightly so he could keep his eye on all three. The other two had started to circle. “I’m warning you.’’
A piercing shriek testified to the spreading savagery.
“You hear that?” the burly man said. “You got a family? You want that to happen to them? Hand over the damn keys and you can walk away.”
Toril came running out, toting her suitcase. She stopped short and gasped. “Soren, what…?”
“Stay where you are,” Soren warned.
The three regarded her with glittering eyes. The burly one licked his lips and chuckled. “Well, now. This changes things. She’s a looker, your woman. Might be I want a taste of that for myself.” Toril said angrily, “You’re a pig.”
“Look around you, lady. This ain’t Disneyland no more. It’s everyone for himself. We take what we want, when we want it, and I want you.”
Soren had listened to enough. The insult to his wife made his blood boil. He moved between them and Toril. “This is your last chance.” The burly man reached behind him and when his hand reappeared he held a butcher knife. “Cutting you will be fun.”
Soren waited. His senses were incredibly acute: he could hear Toril’s heavy breathing behind him; he could see beads of sweat on the burly man’s brow; he saw the muscles on the arms of the man with the baseball bat tighten as the man prepared to attack.
They came in a rush. The bat arced at Soren’s head. Sidestepping, Soren swung. Mjolnir and the baseball bat smashed together and the bat shattered and splintered.
The man with the pocketknife tried to stab Soren in the neck, but spinning, Soren caught him in the ribs. Swearing luridly, the burly man darted in.
“Soren!” Toril cried.
Soren had seen him. Whirling, he swept his hammer up and around. The heavy steel head caught the man flush on his jaw. A loud crunch, an explosion of teeth and blood, and the burly man was down. Soren swiveled to face the guy who’d had the baseball bat, but he was fleeing pell-mell down Wyndemere Circle. A warm hand touched his.
“Are you all right? Did they cut you?”
Soren could barely think for the throbbing in his temples. “No,” he said thickly. “Get the kids. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Toril nodded and took a step but looked back at him and smiled. “You were magnificent.” Blood dripped from Mjolnir. Soren wiped the hammer clean on the burly man’s T-shirt and held it up to the sunlight so the metal gleamed brightly. “Sweet Asgard.” He shook himself and held Mjolnir higher.
“To the son of Odin I give thanks. Protect and deliver us from our enemies. A true son of Thor asks this in your name.”
Smiling grimly, Soren scanned Wyndemere Circle to be sure none of the other looters were near, then hurried inside to help Toril. He felt strangely elated. Newfound vitality coursed through his veins. Toril was shooing the kids ahead of her. Both had bulging backpacks and Magni was protesting, “But, Mom, I want my GamePro. And what about my skimboard?”
“Enough,” Soren said sternly. “You will do as your mother says without argument. Is that understood?” Magni was startled. “Sorry.”
Freya had been gnawing on her lower lip. “Where are we going, Dad? Do you know somewhere safe?”
“Anywhere is safer than here.” Soren hustled them to the pickup. He gave Magni and Freya a boost into the backseat.
A man holding a busted chair leg came running toward them but stopped at the sight of the crumpled forms in the driveway.
Soren climbed in. Toril had her hands clasped on her knees, her knuckles white. He set Mjolnir between them and gunned the engine.
“What will happen to us, Soren? Will we be all right?”
Soren patted Mjolnir. “We’ll be fine.”
Professor Diana Trevor reacted without thinking. In the blink of an eye she had the mace up and out and had pressed the stud.
Amos Stiggims had started to raise the tire iron when the spray caught him full in the face. He staggered back, screeching. “My eyes are burning!” Blinking and coughing, he stumbled, fell to one knee, and let go of the tire iron. “You had no call to do that.”