Robin Cook - Contagion

At that point an entrance to the park’s West Drive continued eastward into the park. Nearby was a sweeping stone stairway that rose up around a rocky outcropping. Lampposts partially lit the walkway before it disappeared into the blackness.

Reginald started up the stairs where he’d seen Jack go seconds earlier. Reginald was pleased. He couldn’t believe his luck. In fact, chasing his prey into the dark, deserted park was making the job almost too easy.

From Jack’s point of view at that moment the park’s desolate darkness was more a source of comfort than uneasiness, unlike when he’d crossed the park on his bike Friday night. He felt consolation in the fact that although his vision was hampered, so was everyone else’s. He firmly believed if the Black Kings were to harass him it would be in and around his apartment.

The terrain where Jack’s run began was surprisingly hilly and rocky. The area was called the Great Hill for good reason. He was following an asphalt walkway that twisted, turned, and tunneled beneath the leafless branches of the surrounding trees. The lights from the lampposts illuminated the branches in an eerie fashion, giving the impression the park was covered by a giant spider’s web.

Although he felt winded at first, Jack settled into a comfortable pace and began to relax. With the city out of view, he had a chance to think more clearly. He began to wonder if his crusade was based on his hatred for AmeriCare, as Chet and Bingham had implied. From his present perspective Jack had to agree it was possible. After all, the idea of the intentional spread of the four diseases was implausible if not preposterous. And if he found the people at the General defensive, maybe he’d made them respond that way. As Bingham had reminded him: Jack could be abrasive.

In the middle of his musings Jack became aware of a new sound that coincided with his own footfalls. It was a metallic click, as if his basketball shoes had heel-savers. Perplexed, Jack altered his pace. The sound went out of sync for a moment but then gradually merged back.

Jack hazarded a glance behind him. When he did, he saw a figure running in his direction and closing. At the moment Jack spotted the figure, the man was passing under a lamppost. Jack could see he was not dressed as a jogger. In fact, he was wearing black leather, and in his hand he brandished a gun!

Jack’s heart leaped in his chest. Aided by an adrenaline rush, he put on a burst of speed. Behind him he could hear his pursuer do likewise.

Jack frantically tried to figure the fastest way out of the park. If he was able to get among traffic and other people he might have a chance. All he knew for sure was that the closest way to the city was through the foliage to his right. He had no idea how far. It could have been a hundred feet or a hundred yards.

Sensing his pursuer was staying with him and perhaps even gaining, Jack veered right and plunged into the forest. Within the woods it was considerably darker than on the walkway. Jack could barely see where he was going as he stumbled up a steep grade. He was in a full panic, crashing over underbrush and scrambling through dense evergreens.

The hill leveled off at the summit and Jack burst through to an area with considerably less undergrowth. It was just as dark, but there were only dead leaves to contend with as he ran between the closely spaced tree trunks.

Happening upon a massive oak tree, Jack slipped behind and leaned against its rough surface. He was breathing hard. He tried to control his panting to listen. All he could hear was the sound of distant traffic that reverberated like the muffled roar of a waterfall. Only occasional car horns and undulating sirens punctuated the night.

Jack stayed behind the broad trunk of the oak for several minutes. Hearing no more footfalls, he pushed off the tree and continued heading west. Now he moved slowly and as silently as possible, nudging his feet forward in the leaves to keep the noise down. His heart was racing.

Jack’s foot hit up against something soft, and to his horror it seemed to explode in front of him. For a second Jack had no idea what was happening. With great commotion a phantom figure swathed in rags lurched out of the ground as if resurrecting itself from the dead. The creature whirled about like a dervish, flailing at the air and shouting “Bastards” over and over again.

Instantly another figure loomed up as well, equally frantic. “You’re not gonna get our shopping cart,” the second man yelled. “We’ll kill you first.”

Jack had only managed to take a single step backward when the first figure threw himself at him, smothering him with a wretched stench and ineffectual blows. Jack tried to push him away, but the man reached up and drew his fingernails down Jack’s face.

Jack marshaled his strength to rid himself of this fetid vagrant who clung to his chest. Before Jack could shake him loose, a burst of gunfire shattered the night. Jack felt himself sprayed with fluid as the tramp stiffened, then collapsed forward. Jack had to push him aside to keep from being knocked over backward.

The other vagrant’s keening brought forth a second burst of gunfire. His wails of grief were cut off suddenly with a gurgle.

Having seen the direction from which the second burst of gunfire had come, Jack turned and fled in the opposite direction. Once again he was in headlong flight despite the darkness and the obstacles. Suddenly the ground dropped off, and Jack stumbled down a steep hillside, barely keeping his feet under him until he plunged into a dense undergrowth of vines and thornbushes.

Jack clawed his way through the thick bushes until he burst out onto a walkway with such suddenness, he fell to his hands and knees. Ahead he could see a flight of dimly lit, granite stairs. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed toward the stairs and took them two at a time. As he neared the top a single shot rang out. A bullet ricocheted off the stone to Jack’s right and whined off into the night.

Trying to duck and weave, Jack reached the top of the stairs and emerged onto a terrace. A fountain that had been turned off for the winter stood empty in its center. Three sides of the terrace were enclosed by an arcade. In the center of the rear arcade was another stone stairway leading to another level.

Jack heard the rapid metallic clicks of his pursuer’s shoes start up the stone stairway behind him. He would be there in an instant. Jack knew he had no time to make it to the second stairway, so he ran into the interior of the arcade. Within the arched space the darkness was complete. Jack advanced blindly by holding his hands out in front of him.

The pounding footfalls on the first stairway abruptly stopped. Jack knew his pursuer had reached the terrace. Jack continued forward, moving faster, heading for the second run of stairs. To his horror he collided in the blackness with a metal trash can. The noise was loud and unmistakable as the can tipped over and rolled to a stop. Almost immediately a burst of gunfire sounded. The bullets entered the arcade and ricocheted wildly off the granite walls. Jack lay flat, clasping his arms over his head until the final shell whined off into the night.

Standing up again, Jack continued forward, more slowly this time. When he reached the corner he encountered more obstacles: bottles and beer cans were strewn on the floor with no way for Jack to avoid them.

Jack winced every time one of his feet struck an object and the resulting noise echoed in the arcade. But there was no stopping. Ahead a faint glow indicated where the second stairway rose up to the next level. As soon as Jack reached it, he started climbing, moving more quickly now that there was light enough to see where to put his feet.

Jack was almost to the top when a sharp, authoritative command rang out in the stillness.