“Forget him, Saul.” One of the followers clutched his side and managed to stop laughing. “We’ve got a job to do.”
Saul sneered. Ignoring the advice, he stalked toward me, waving his hands, beckoning me to throw a punch.
And so I did.
My left fist crashed into his jaw. His head bounced up and down like a bobblehead doll and he twisted toward the taxicab. He struck the side and fell in a heap. The pissing dudes turned to look and in the process, sprayed him with streams of urine.
Roaring, Saul leapt to his feet. He threw himself at the nearest dude. A fist to the stomach and another one to the face sent the dude into dreamland.
Saul’s friends turned toward me. But a quick push from Graham sent them stumbling into each other and they went down like so many bowling pins.
We were on the clock and anyway, there wasn’t much to gain by sticking around. So, Graham and I started forward again, sliding into open spaces and nudging people to the sides. It wasn’t hard to forge a path through the crowd.
As it turned out, we weren’t the only ones using it.
“Aww, that’s sweet,” Graham said after we’d traversed a short distance. “It looks like you’ve got yourself a fan club.”
“Great.” I glanced over my shoulder. Saul and his gang trailed us by about twenty feet, slinking through the crowd, moving at an almost leisurely pace. “But why do they have to be so creepy?”
We crossed E. 79th Street. The crowd thickened and grew increasingly boisterous as Graham and I approached E. 78th Street. A familiar chant rang out in unison from all sides.
“Eat the rich. Eat the rich. Eat the rich…”
But the chant was dying and soon gave way to a series of others.
“Banks got bailed out, we got sold out! Banks got bailed out, we got sold out!”
“Whose country? Our country! Whose country? Our country!”
“We won’t move ‘til things improve! We won’t move ‘til things improve!”
Those chants soon faded away. A new chant, rising from the ashes, erupted as Berserkers joined their voices together, shouting until they turned blue in the face.
“You can’t run, the revolution has begun! You can’t run, the revolution has begun!”
The chant turned deafening and the street felt like it was quaking under my shoes. I looked over my shoulder. Saul and his gang of masked men were still twenty feet away, slithering like snakes through the ever-thickening crowd.
I tried to push my way forward. But the crowd was like a solid block of pulsing, unemployed life.
Berserkers began to notice my tux. A few of them laughed, flashed me the thumbs-up. Like I was making some kind of political statement. Others stared knives at me. Like I was some insanely-stupid rich guy, so eager to flaunt my wealth I’d even dress up for a riot.
I pulled off my bowtie, stuffed it in my pocket. I was tempted to ditch the jacket since it was so hot out. But I unbuttoned my dress shirt instead and checked my satphone. It was 8:35 p.m., which meant I’d already spent fifteen of my sixty minutes.
Rising to my toes, I peered over rows of hooded and capped heads. I saw a wall of blue. NYPD officers were stretched across Madison Avenue, blocking access to E. 78th Street. They wore riot gear and carried batons.
I’d dealt with my fair share of police officers over the years. I’d been hounded, chased, and even arrested on trumped-up charges all over the globe. So, as a rule I didn’t trust cops. And I didn’t want to be anywhere near them in a situation like this one. They weren’t there to help people like me, innocents caught up in a crazy situation. No, they were there to end the riot.
By any means necessary.
Again, I rose up on my toes. Behind the officers, I saw a line of mid-sized armored cars. Circular satellite-like devices, three feet in diameter, were mounted on the roof of each car.
“You can’t run, the revolution has begun! You can’t run, the revolution has begun!”
Off to the side, I saw Saul and his buddies. They were shoving their way through the Berserkers, but on the opposite side of the street.
Saul must’ve felt my gaze because he stopped. Swiveled in my direction. Forming a gun with his fingers, he pantomimed shooting me.
I caught his imaginary bullet in my hand and, with a big grin, crumbled it into imaginary dust.
His face flushed and he ground his teeth together in fury. But as he started toward me, one of his followers whispered in his ear. Saul exhaled. Turning away, he continued his trek toward the police.
One of the rioters broke ranks. Using a baton, an officer struck the man’s head. The man was unconscious before he hit the pavement. But the fuse had been lit and the Berserkers, fueled on stupidity or alcohol or maybe both, surged forward. Scuffles broke out all around me.
A loud whistle shrieked. The air morphed and I felt a wave of anxiety. My stomach quaked.
The chant died off. Groans and screams, strangely dull, filled the air. My ears started to ring. As I covered them, I saw others holding their ears as well. Some of the Berserkers vomited. Others crumpled to the ground and went still.
Fighting off the pain, I lifted my gaze. The police seemed immune to whatever had struck the crowd. Instead, they swung their batons, smashing heads with quiet menace.
The ringing noise intensified, pounding away at the inside of my skull. My knees weakened. Graham fell to the street. As my balance faded, I caught a glimpse of the armored cars, of those circular satellites. They hummed and vibrated and a realization came over me.
They weren’t satellites… they were sonic cannons.
Chapter 8
My consciousness ebbed. I sank to my knees. My torso toppled over and my hands hit pavement. I tried to get up, to move backward. But a dizzy spell stopped me cold.
My brain went to work, recalling everything it knew about sonic cannons. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much. They worked by emitting high-power sound waves. At low levels, those waves caused nausea and irritation. At higher ones, they brought about extreme pain and loss of balance. They could even destroy a person’s eardrums.
My saliva dried up, leaving me parched. Tiny vibrations shook my eyes, causing my vision to blur. I tried to lift my hands, to block my ears. But my muscles refused to respond.
Abruptly, the infernal ringing noise morphed. It was still in my skull, just less intense. Strength flooded back into my body. Shifting my heavy head, I looked up. Through somewhat-hazy vision, I saw Berserkers — including Saul and his gang — engaged in hand-to-hand combat with the NYPD. The NYPD was better — trained, but they were fighting a much larger force. Meanwhile, other Berserkers scaled the various armored cars. Using a variety of tools, they systematically disabled the sonic cannons.
“Wow.” Graham stirred, sat up. “What was that?”
“Sonic cannons.” I rubbed my stinging ears. “A whole bunch of them.”
“Well, that’s one way to kill a street party.”
“Could’ve been worse. At least they didn’t hit us with techno music.”
Rising to my feet, I watched a group of Berserkers working together, coordinating efforts, fighting to overcome the technologically superior police force. How had they managed to stay on their feet? How had they withstood the sound waves? Were their senses dulled by giggle juice and goofballs?
More sonic cannons fell under the onslaught. The ringing noise faded away. Gradually, the other Berserkers recovered. I half-expected them to flee the area. Instead, they stumbled forward, crashing into the blue wall. The officers, now devoid of their sonic artillery, fell back. Within moments, the rioters swarmed them, throwing them to the streets.
Cracking noises and screams rang out as frenzied Berserkers attacked the fallen cops with their own batons. More officers appeared out of nowhere. Armed with electroshock weapons, they went after the Berserkers. Rioters began to topple over, writhing uncontrollably.