I wiped my sleeve across my forehead, relieving it of sweat. Then I marched into the urban battlefield. Fights raged all around us. I heard screams and metal smacking against exposed flesh. Blood sprayed on the pavement, on the vehicles, and all over my jacket.
I looked around for Saul. I didn’t see him, but I did see one of his followers. The guy lay on the ground, partially unmasked. His eyes were closed and he was curled up in the fetal position. I found myself wondering all over again how he and the others had managed to fight through the sound waves.
I ran to his side. Ignoring the stench of vodka, I peeled off his ski mask and studied his ears. Tiny bell-shaped plugs were buried within them. Gently, I pulled them out. They were made from a spongy material and looked expensive.
The earplugs explained how Saul and the others had fought through the sound waves. But how did they get them? Did they just happen to own matching pairs of high-tech earplugs? Or had they somehow known the riot was coming and purchased them in advance?
Graham darted to another fallen Berserker. Digging under the guy’s ski mask, he unearthed a similar set of earplugs. He studied them, then stuffed them into a pocket. I did the same.
“Ready?” Graham said.
“Hang on.” I reached into the guy’s pockets and extracted a smartphone.
“What are you doing?” he whispered.
I pressed my finger against the screen. “Hmm, password protected. Hey, get that guy’s phone for me.”
“What for?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Quickly, he dug into the other guy’s pockets and came up with a smartphone. He tossed it to me and I touched the screen.
Graham arched an eyebrow. “You’d better not be looking for dirty pics.”
“If I was, I’d be on your phone.” Opening the texting program, I saw a message, forwarded along to about a dozen people. They can’t run, the revolution has begun, I read quietly. Tonight. Madison in the 70s. Eight. Don’t be late.
All the clues were there. So, the message’s two final words shouldn’t have surprised me. But they still did.
Malware approved.
Chapter 9
“Malware planned this little party?” Twisting his neck, Graham watched as a Berserker relieved himself in the middle of the street. “Boy, I sure hope she’s got a clean-up crew ready to go.”
“Yeah, it’s called the Sanitation Department.” I scrolled through a series of texts. “There are other messages from her, all forwarded along by different people. It’s like one of those old fashioned phone trees, only with texts. And about a million more curse words.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Plenty. Looks like she started to spread the news of a riot last week. But the date, time, and location remained a secret until she sent this last message.”
“When was that?”
“It’s hard to say. It looks like it was forwarded along by someone else who probably got it from a third person and so on.” I checked the time stamp. “But this phone received it earlier tonight, at 7:26 p.m. That’s why all the stores are closed and most of the cars are gone. People knew this was coming.”
“A pre-planned riot.” He shook his head. “How disappointing. Where’s the spontaneity? Where’s the raw passion?”
I watched a masked guy chase some annoyed broads down the sidewalk, jeans around his ankles and waving the world’s tiniest sword for all to see. “Oh, the passion is raw alright. Raw and chock-full of disease.”
So, Malware, at the very least, had helped plan the riot. Was she behind the ones in other cities as well? If so, why? And what did it have to do with Beverly, with 1199 Madison Avenue?
Graham and I passed through the line of armored cars. We crossed E. 78th Street and snuck past more armored vehicles, equipped with now-disabled sonic cannons. Dozens of Berserkers were in the process of overwhelming a rapidly diminishing group of police officers.
Sticking to the sidewalk, we eased past the battle. A great mass of Berserkers lay before us. They fought the police and themselves. They tore down mailboxes, ravaged newspaper stands, and destroyed stores. Extending my gaze, I saw more Berserkers, far into the distance.
“It’s like a parade,” Graham said. “With degenerates instead of clowns.”
“Which is actually kind of an improvement when you think about it.”
The crowd thickened, growing denser by the second. A familiar chant rang out into the night.
“You can’t run, the revolution has begun! You can’t run, the revolution has begun!”
Graham and I, working together, pushed our way through the Berserkers. We passed E. 77th Street. As we approached E. 76th Street, I checked my satphone. 8:46 p.m. One and a half blocks to go and thirty-four minutes to cover the distance. Plenty of time. That is, assuming nothing else went wrong.
We crossed E. 76th Street, ready to keep moving forward. But the crowd hardened in front of us. People began to shove, to shout.
“No luck here.” Graham tried to squeeze through two Berserkers without success. “Looks like we’re stuck again.”
It was warm out and my tuxedo-laden armpits were drenched with sweat. Then, without warning, the temperature turned boiling hot. Sweat oozed down my face, sizzling against my skin like bacon in a pan.
The temperature rose another few notches and I nearly swooned. Berserkers shed their shirts, doused themselves with beer, anything to cool down.
“Why’s it so hot?” someone screamed.
“They’re using a directed-energy weapon,” another voice yelled back.
“A what?”
“A heat ray!”
Chapter 10
The heat intensified until I could barely breathe. A small part of me longed for sweet unconsciousness. But it didn’t come and instead, my nerves went into a frenzy and my senses grew razor sharp. I could feel every bit of the blazing heat as it engulfed me and wafted down my lungs. The sonic cannons had been torturous.
But this heat… this was the inner circle of hell.
Panic swept through the crowd. Berserkers started to run in all directions. People fell over. The lucky ones managed to get back to their feet with mere scrapes and bruises. The unlucky ones got trampled into dazed, bloody pulp.
People smacked into Graham. Elbows struck my sides, my back, my stomach. Heavy boots and shoes slammed into my feet, crunching my toes. We turned this way and that, prisoners to the animalistic whims of the crowd.
Graham pushed away one of the fleeing rioters, gaining us a bit of space. Then we ran toward the sidewalk. But by that time, it was oven-hot and we were gasping for air.
A stumbling Berserker bumped into us. Graham fell, landing hard on the pavement. I lumbered toward him and draped myself over his body, protecting it as best as I could. Fortunately, the rioters had run out of steam at that point. No longer capable of flight, they’d resorted to crawling around on their hands and knees. Unfortunately, I was no better off. The air was scalding hot. I couldn’t breathe and my eyeballs felt dry as bones. Dully, I felt my memories slip away, deep into the recesses of my mind. I forgot where I was, why I was there, and what I’d been doing.
A glint of light stung my pupils. The glint faded and then reappeared. Squinting, I noticed a small bag lying in the street, pressed tightly against the curb. I’d seen it before, but where?
I crawled off of Graham and grabbed the bag. It was a woman’s clutch purse, black and adorned with a handful of colorful jewels. My tired brain sought about, trying to place it.