“Saving my friend, if you don’t mind,” Wyatt said, and helped Ethan up onto the hood.
“Now wait a minute!” yelled the driver and came up to them.
In an instant, Wyatt had the brass knuckles on and cocked his fist back.
The driver stopped with his hands up. “Whoa, easy now. No need for that.” He looked at the knuckles with apprehension.
Wyatt glared at him, daring him to try something.
Ethan half-crawled, half-slid across the sedan’s hood, leaving a trail of blood. He eased off onto his feet at the other side.
Ignoring the driver, Wyatt jumped onto the hood and walked across it, then dropped down.
“You did great, buddy,” Wyatt said, hoisting him up again. “We got a few more to go.”
“I’d say this is kinda of fun if I wasn’t dying.”
Wyatt took him over to the next vehicle that had a profile low enough for them to cross. It was an old style Cadillac, its hood practically an acre of metal.
As they both slid and crawled across the sun warmed hood, Ethan saw a woman staring at them with horror from the driver’s seat. “Sorry I got blood on your car, lady,” Ethan said, and then slid off the other side and flopped to the ground.
Wyatt hurried over to lean down next to him. “You okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Just my ego,” Ethan said. “It was too big to begin with.”
The next car crossing got them to the ambulance, right in the center of the intersection.
Wyatt and Ethan stopped to lean against it, panting and sweating.
Ethan patted the ambulance weakly. “Look, we made it.”
“This isn’t our stop. We’re going to the clinic.” It may be the only way to save your life, Wyatt thought.
“Oh, we forgot the water bottle,” Ethan said.
“No, I got it right here. Don’t you worry,” Wyatt said, fishing the bottle out of his backpack. There was barely a finger full at the bottom.
He helped Ethan put it to his lips.
“This is a very odd situation, don’t you think?” Ethan said when he finished drinking.
Wyatt looked around them. They were in the middle of an intersection surrounded by a sea of cars. Not a place he ever expected to find himself in. “Yeah, this is pretty damned odd. No argument there.”
The people nearby looked despondent. Each one at a compete loss as to what to do. Leave their cars here? Go home? Go to work? Go crazy?
Wyatt tried to feel bad for them, but that lasted all of two seconds. “Screw ’em,” he said, his temper still pulsing hot in his head. “What good are they, anyhow? No one is even trying to help.”
“Hey, now,” Ethan said. “You know I’d join you in that world hating chorus, but that guy did help us.”
“What guy?”
“The guy back there, the one who gave you that wad of cash.”
“Oh, right,” Wyatt shook his head. “Man, things must really be bad if we’ve switched roles.”
“Roles?”
“Now I’m cynical about people and you’re not.”
Ethan offered a feeble laugh. “Must be the end of the world.”
Wyatt stood. “Okay, we need to get the rest of the way before we melt out here.” He tugged at Ethan’s arms.
Ethan tried to protest, but he no longer had the strength.
Over the next ten minutes they crossed the other lanes of dead traffic. No one protested or put up a fuss. Either they didn’t want to mess with the angry blood-covered hobo, or they didn’t care.
Finally, they slid off the last hood and made it to the other sidewalk. Wyatt guided Ethan over to the only bit of empty shade under a tree not occupied and eased him to the ground.
Ethan was exhausted and horrifically pale.
Wyatt, gasping for breath and tired beyond reason, was about to sit down next to him for a brief rest. Then he had a good look at Ethan’s complexion.
“Your friend doesn’t look too good,” a man sitting nearby said.
Wyatt gently slapped at Ethan’s face, trying to get him to open his eyes. “Wake up, buddy. No time to be sleeping on the job. We’re almost there.”
He shook Ethan and kept slapping lightly at his face. Ethan only groaned.
“Shit,” Wyatt said, and stood. With surprising strength, he pulled Ethan up onto his feet, then put him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
Ethan was heavy, but it was manageable. Having a body draped over his shoulder brought back memories of a darker time. He shoved them aside and focused at the task at hand.
He moved as quickly as he could down the sidewalk, barking at people to get out of his way.
Fear clutched his heart. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. He had to get Ethan to the clinic and fast.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Getting across the city was a major chore by car, let alone on a bicycle. By late afternoon, Nate had made it through two districts and only by avoiding the major roadways completely.
The highways were chaotic death-traps filled with thousands of vehicles and people. He’d considered riding up along the sides avoiding the carnage in the middle. But just looking at all that craziness made Nate shiver. Let those idiots sort it out amongst themselves. He wouldn’t go near it.
Which meant he had to travel by side-roads and these were little better than the highways.
He rode up on a shopping mall. Here the vehicles had reason to be parked, but that didn’t mean the people couldn’t loiter about in confusion. With no more air-conditioning, folks left the mall in droves and formed huge crowds outside the entrances. It was like a rock concert without the music. Never mind the highways, that was real chaos.
The streets around the mall were just as jammed as the parking lot. Nate kept to the opposite side of the street and managed to pass by. He pulled off down a lane and looked for a particular apartment building.
When he found it, he spotted a young punk outside, sitting in the shade of a tree. Nate rode up.
“Hey, man,” Nate said as he stopped in front of him. “How they hanging?”
The punk’s eyes widened slightly at Nate, but then kept his face neutral. “Oh, hey, Nate. They’re hanging low and large. You?”
Nate got off his bike and propped it up against the tree. “Same,” he said and looked around.
This was a residential area made of low income apartments. Because of the lack of power, people had taken to standing on their tiny balconies or out on the street in whatever shade they could find.
He asked the punk, “What’s your name again?”
“David,” he said, showing no offense at not being remembered. “But peeps call me Dee.”
“Peeps, huh?” Nate said with a grin. “Who’s crew do you run with?”
Dee scratched his chin, and Nate spotted a small pistol cinched in his waistband under his shirt. “I was with Caleb for a while, but now I’m with Granger.” He didn’t sound thrilled about the change in management.
“Granger, right,” Nate said. “He kicking around?”
Dee considered the question for a moment, weighing which answer would get him in the least amount of trouble. Looking at Nate, the decision was easy. “Yeah, he’s up on the fourth, room 412.”
As Nate turned away, Dee held up a dead cell phone. “Hey, you know what the hell’s going on? It’s like nothing works now.”
“I heard it was the aliens,” Nate said, and walked to the apartment building.
The front entrance door was propped open to prevent people from breaking its glass because the buzzer system didn’t work. He cruised in and found the stairs.
Nobody had bothered to prop open the stairway doors, so he was enveloped in complete darkness. He kept his hand on the rail as he slowly ascended, counting the floors.
On the fourth floor, he walked down the murky hall looking at room numbers. He heard conversations through doors and someone having what sounded like an orgy behind door 406. Maybe he’d join in later.