Нора Робертс - Year One

In full panic, she pressed her hands to the sides of her head. “I don’t know what I did. I was terrified.”

He spun the wheel, spun it back, bumped over an already flattened messenger bike. “Scared now? Knock them back, Lana. Knock them back or I don’t know if we’ll make it.”

A bullet hit the rear window, shattering glass. Lana threw out her hand. Threw her fear with it.

The front wheel of the bike shot straight up; the rear lifted. As it began to flip, the girl flew off. Lana heard her screaming before she slammed onto the hood of a car. The man held on, fighting for control. But the motorcycle tumbled, flipped, and then both it and its driver skidded and rolled over the street.

“God, I killed them! Did I kill them?”

“You saved us.”

He slowed a little, weaving across town. He had to take a jog north at Broadway as a clog of wrecked cars blocked the east-side route. Behind them, Times Square, once a crowded, chaotic world of its own, stood silent as a grave.

He slowed at every intersection, checking to see if the way held clear. Turned east.

How many times, Lana wondered, how many times had she taken a cab or the subway to Midtown to shop or have lunch or go to the theater?

A sale at Barneys, a hunt through the shoe paradise of Saks’s eighth floor. A stroll in Central Park with Max.

Over now, only memories now.

Of the few signs of life she did see, people moved furtively, not with that brisk, I’ve-got-places-to-go New York pace. No tourists with their heads tipped back marveling at skyscrapers.

Smashed windows, overturned trash cans, broken streetlights, a dog, so thin its ribs showed, hunting for food. Would he go feral, she wondered, hunt for human flesh?

“I don’t know the population of New York.”

“It was closing in on nine million,” Max told her.

“We’ve come nearly fifty blocks, and I haven’t seen fifty people. Not even one person a block.” She took a breath, tried to steady herself. “I didn’t believe you when you said they weren’t reporting all the dead. I do now. Why did that girl want us dead, Max? Why did they come after us that way, try to kill us?”

“Let me get us out of the city first.”

He turned onto Park. The wide avenue gave them no clearer path, only provided more room for more cars. She imagined the panic that had caused the pileups, the rage that had overturned buses, cars, the fear that had boarded up windows, even six and seven stories above the streets and sidewalks.

A corner food cart on its side was picked to the bone. A limo burned out to a husk still smoked. Abandoned cranes rose and swayed like giant skeletons. Max threaded through it all, hands tight on the wheel, eyes tracking.

“A little clearer now,” he said. “Most would’ve headed for the tunnels, the bridges, even after they put up barricades.”

“It’s still beautiful.” Lana’s throat tightened on the words. “The old brownstones, the mansions.”

Even with doors ripped off hinges, windows shattered, the beauty held stubbornly on.

Eyes scanning, Max drove quickly down the wide, once gracious avenue. “It’ll come back,” he said. “Humans are too stubborn not to rebuild, not to resettle a city like New York.”

“Are we human?”

“Of course we are.” To comfort both of them, he covered her hand with his. “Don’t let the fear and suspicion of the brutal and ignorant make you doubt yourself. We’ll get out of Manhattan, and then we’ll head north, north and west, until we find a clear way over the river. The farther away from urban areas, the better the chances.”

When she only nodded, he squeezed her hand. “If we can’t find a way over, we’ll find somewhere safe to settle in until spring. Trust me, Lana.”

“I do.”

“Less than twenty blocks now before the bridge.” He flicked a glance at the rearview, frowned. “There’s a car moving back there, coming up fast.”

In response, Max increased their speed.

Swiveling, Lana looked back. “I think it’s the police. The lights—and now sirens. It’s the police, Max, you should pull over.”

Instead, he gunned it. “Old rules don’t apply anymore. Some cops are rounding up people like us.”

“No. I haven’t heard any reports of that. Max! You’re driving too fast.”

“I’m not taking any chances. I’ve talked to others like us, and we’re being rounded up when they can find us. That girl’s not the only one blaming us. We’re nearly there.”

“But even once we—” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut when he whipped around a flipped-over truck.

“Slow them down,” he snapped.

“I don’t—”

“Do what you did before, but less. Slow them down.”

With her heart banging in her throat, she held up a hand, tried to imagine pushing the car back, just pushing it backward.

She saw it fishtail, then miraculously slow. How is this happening? she thought. A few weeks ago she could barely light a candle, and now … now she was the one burning with light.

“Keep it up. Just hold it. We only need a couple minutes.”

“I’m afraid if I … It could be like the motorcycle. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Just hold steady, there’s the bridge. And fuck me! They’ve lifted the span. I didn’t think of it. I should’ve thought of it.”

Losing her focus, she turned and saw the span of the lift bridge raised high. And the gap between it and the road.

“We have to turn off!”

“No. We have to lower it.” He gripped her hand again. “Together. We can do it together. Focus, Lana, you know how. Focus on bringing it down, or we’re done.”

He thought too much of her abilities, of her spine. But his hand held tight to hers, and she felt his power vibrate. Whatever she had, she pushed toward him.

She trembled from the effort, felt everything inside her shift and … expand. And with a jolt, like blowing on a candle, the span began to lower.

“It’s working. But—”

“Stay focused. We’re going to make it.”

But they were going too fast, and the span was lowering so slowly. Behind them, sirens screamed.

Together, she thought. Live or die. Closing her eyes, she pushed harder.

She heard a thud , felt the car jump and shake.

“Lift it!” Max shouted.

Through the buzzing in her ears, the buzzing through her body, she pushed again. Opened her eyes. For a moment, she thought they were flying.

She whipped around, saw the span lifting, foot by foot behind them. The pursuing car screeched to a stop at the far edge.

“Max. Where is this coming from? How can we do these things? This power, this kind of power, it’s terrifying and…”

“Exhilarating? A shift of balance, an opening. I don’t know, but can’t you feel it?”

“Yes. Yes.” An opening, she thought, and so much more.

“We got out,” Max reassured her. He brought her hand to his lips, but didn’t slow down as they zoomed over the tracks. “We’ll find a way over. Get some water out of the pack, take some deep breaths. You’re shaky.”

“People … people are trying to kill us.”

“We won’t let them.” When he turned his head to look at her, his eyes burned dark gray and fierce. “We’ve got a long way to go, Lana, but we’re going to make it.”

She let her head fall back against the headrest, closed her eyes to try to steady her pulse, to clear the fear haze from her mind.

“It’s so strange,” she murmured. “All the time I’ve lived in New York, this is the first time I’ve been to the Bronx.”

His laugh surprised her as it rolled out, so rich, so easy. “Well, it’s a hell of a first trip.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Jonah Vorhies wandered the chaos of the ER. People still streamed or stumbled in, as if the building itself offered miracles. They came in hacking and puking, bleeding and dying. Most from the Doom, some from the Doom’s by-product of violence.