Interrupt (21 page)

Ray dozed in a chair behind her. They were both exhausted, but Emily felt like waking him to apologize. More and more, it looked as if the two of them would be forced to endure together. Could she repair their relationship?

“You should help me,” she murmured. “Why can’t you—”

The silhouettes around the fire fell down. One man toppled into the edge of the flames. His hair caught fire. Then everyone stood up again as other people emerged from the gas station, yelling in confusion.

It was 9:24 p.m. Emily put her thumb on an iPhone, typing Laura’s number. There was no signal. She had the radio beside her, too, but it continued to squawk and buzz except for one loud screech of words:

“—shill law. In all cases—”

Martial law,
she thought. The voice sounded like the same man as before. Was it a recording? If so, who knew how long the message had played or if there were organized police or soldiers left to monitor the broadcast.

“What’s going on?” Ray asked.

“They’re awake. It stopped.”

The burning man thrashed as another guy fought with him, smothering his clothes, but the yelling was much bigger than thirty voices. The sound carried over the city like a high, moaning wind.

“I’m going out there,” she said.

LOS ANGELES

E
mily crept away from DNAllied as men shouted in the night. Their voices were an intimidating sound laced with despair and rage. Gripping her flashlight, which she didn’t dare turn on, Emily looked back at the door. It wasn’t too late to run inside before Ray rebuilt his barricade.

She hid behind a concrete planter as the wind made a muffled noise against her helmet. Each breath tasted like smoke. To the east and north, the fires gave off dull roars like ocean surf. The sky was black with clouds. There were no auroras.

Four shadows ran through the street in front of her, picking their way through the stalled traffic. “Don’t touch them!” a man said. “Don’t touch them!”

What was he yelling about?

Emily stayed behind the planter. Hiding was selfish, but she didn’t want to lead anyone into DNAllied. She had to protect their computers and equipment. Ultimately she’d come outside to meet people, but she
felt like a rabbit in a zoo where the cages had been opened. She was small and weak. Too many other survivors would be dangerous.

She ran to a Jetta that had stopped halfway on the sidewalk. She crouched there, then scurried to a minivan and knelt again.

Shoes littered the street—a white shirt—someone’s phone. It took her a moment to realize the minivan was contributing to her fear. When she leaned too close, her hair lifted inside her helmet. She’d felt the same bad energy alongside the Jetta.

Emily stood up. “Oh my God,” she said.

The city block formed a long, high canyon pooled in darkness, but the faint light of the fires reflected from the glass and steel of dozens of vehicles. Thousands more waited beyond them in the night.

Were the cars electrified by the effect? As a computer scientist, Emily knew basic engineering. Electricity traveled easily through water. Human beings were mostly liquid. Her sneakers had rubber soles, but she’d put her knee on the street when she hid beside the minivan. That simple act might have been a death sentence.

Already her resolve was fading as she hesitated in the dark.

It had occurred to Emily that the summer solstice and long hours of daylight might have something to do with the effect. She hoped Earth’s tilt was a factor, because it could mean that only the northern hemisphere was in trouble. Help would arrive faster if people were safe below the equator, but even if Brazil sent an army, they wouldn’t have enough men to stabilize more than a few cities.

You’re on your own,
she thought, willing herself forward.

The hospital was eleven blocks from DNAllied, practically a straight shot up Union Drive. Emily was going there even if she had to do it ten feet at a time.

She stepped around the minivan and paced toward the next vehicle. The crashed cars had rolled onto the sidewalk here, too, which left only the lawn of an office complex. She climbed through a hedge, then fell hard onto a patch of river rock.

Hidden by the brush, she heard more people behind her. Three shapes appeared in the night. One was sobbing—a woman. The other two seemed to be men. The first growled, “If that guy comes anywhere near us, I’ll kill him!”

His friend’s voice was more panicked. “Did you see what he did?”

“I’ll kill him!”

They slowed in the middle of the street.

Say something,
Emily told herself. At some point, she needed to take a chance. She needed allies.

She stood up.

But the trio moved away. They’d only paused to find another opening through the cars. Not quite chasing them, Emily marched twenty feet before she ducked into hiding again, this time against a thin pair of birch trees. Then she ran another fifty feet, stumbling through more empty shoes before she took cover beside a slick yellow Mustang.

She was heading northeast in the direction taken by P.J.’s group. Ahead, she saw a tall billboard advertising a popular kids’ show about living, talking flowers. A huge round outline in the corner was one character’s petals.

Could this giant picture have drawn P.J.’s group up Union Drive? Because they were curious? Five hours had passed since she’d seen them. By now, P.J. could be anywhere, but there would be others like him.

If she found them, would she have the courage to draw the blood samples she needed?

“I think it’s okay,” a man said behind her.

Emily leapt up. She banged her head against the Mustang, then wobbled in pain.

Other voices followed the first, hissing, “It’s a girl—”

“—on her head?”

Two flashlights cut across her body as Emily scrambled onto her feet. She yanked the pepper spray from her front pocket.

“Whoa,” a man said. “We won’t hurt you.”

Ten survivors had emerged from the office building’s underground garage, many of them tapping at cell phones and PDAs. Only a few of the devices had lit screens. The other gadgets were dead.

They were normal people. Their skin color ranged between white, black, and brown, which calmed Emily more than she would have believed.

Most of the group quickly sorted through the abandoned shoes and shoved on anything that would fit. Others gaped at the burning sky. The few women stayed behind the men except for a black-haired lady in her forties. She pushed in beside their leader, carrying a broken-off mop handle like a spear.

“Does your helmet work?” she asked.

“I thought…” Emily made a helpless gesture. “The effect might come back.”

“No way,” the leader said. “It’s dark.”

They’ve been having the same argument as Ray and I,
she thought.

His face was bruised at the hairline. Had he been hurt in an accident or a fight? At least two more of his people were wounded. One had a scraped cheek. Another man’s arm was crudely bandaged in a spare shirt. Emily could only guess what they’d been through with no food or water except what they might have found in a few cars inside the garage, no lights except car lights, and no way to look outside. Their hours underground must have been ugly and claustrophobic.

“I need to get to the hospital,” Emily said, hoping she could convince them to go with her. She also wanted blood samples. She needed a control group.

“There’ll be a million people at the hospital,” the leader said. “We have to find food before the sun comes up.”

“I heard a radio broadcast,” Emily said. “The Army is trying to put together emergency stations. The hospital will be one of them. Can you—”

All of them dropped when a gunshot echoed through the street. Much closer, they heard a rustling noise in the sky that made Emily push herself even closer to the ground until someone said, “Birds. The gun scared up some birds.”

They stood up again. “Let’s move,” another man said.

“You can stay with us,” the leader told Emily, openly studying her. “But we’re going for restaurants and stores.”

He wasn’t looking at her body. He was examining her helmet, lab glasses, and flashlight. If she ran, would he chase her?

“I’m a scientist,” she said. “I work in gene therapy. I think I know what’s happening and I need to get to a radio, the Army, anyone who’s still organized.”

“Gene therapy,” he repeated.

“I think I know why some people can think and talk during the effect—why they attack the rest.” Too late, she realized these people knew nothing about P.J.’s kind. They had been underground, and anyone who ventured outside either hadn’t come back or remembered nothing of what they’d seen. “I’d like to take blood samples from everyone here,” she said.

“We don’t have time for this,” the leader said, motioning for her to come closer.

Emily backed away. “I need to get to the hospital,” she said. But before she ran, she tried her best to warn them. “Don’t touch the cars.”

“She’s crazy,” someone said.

The leader nodded. “I want that flashlight,” he said an instant before he stopped and looked past her.

Other survivors had ventured into the street with three flashlights, talking in a loud hush. Emily saw the dynamic change among her smaller group. One man stepped forward, waving his arm, but the rest shrank back as if preparing for a fight.

Then a flashlight popped in the street, bursting apart with a metallic
snap.
It cast a searing white arc like lightning before its owner fell.
There were screams. Everyone stumbled away from the crackling light, but as they fled, two more survivors spasmed and dropped.

The cars were deathtraps—people were being electrocuted—and Emily turned and ran from both groups.

“Wait!” the black-haired lady said. “I’ll come with you.”

They hurried into the dark. The other woman was short and wore a business suit that couldn’t hide the extra pounds on her waist, but she seemed competent and tough.

Emily was grateful. “Don’t touch the cars!” she said. “Are you wearing shoes?”

“What difference does—”

Emily clutched her arm and looked down. The lady wore mismatched sneakers she’d scavenged from the street. “The insulation could save your life,” Emily said. “I think those people were barefoot.”

Ahead, a third mass of dark shapes filtered through the cars, many of them calling to each other. Others babbled or wept. Everywhere on the block, new people were merging with the distraught survivors who’d spent the day in the sun. That would complicate Emily’s mission. She was also going the wrong way. The majority of these survivors were headed south.

Walking against the human tide, Emily paused more often than she wanted to, allowing other people through the openings instead of forcing the issue. If someone pushed her into a car… If everyone understood the danger, and men used their weight against her…

They paused near the bulk of a van. “My name’s Michelle,” the black-haired woman said.

“Emily.”

“Are you really a scientist?”

“Yes.”

They started walking again. Emily kept her flashlight off and hid it down against her leg. What if someone jumped her for her equipment? Some of the people around them had put on bike helmets. One man
wore a Raiders helmet, probably an office trophy. Others had wrapped their heads in tinfoil or strapped pots or mixing bowls to their heads.

This group was loaded with supplies. They had water jugs from office coolers, briefcases, satchels, and a man on a stretcher. Someone grabbed Emily’s pack and she tried to twist free until she saw it was Michelle.

As they cleared the mob, Michelle called back to the strangers. “Where are you going?”

“West,” a man said. “Get away from the fires.”

If the wind stops, the fires might come back this way,
Emily realized. She wasn’t sure if the storms would let up, but new fires could start any time and carry through the city. They would be safest on the coast. Unfortunately, Emily didn’t believe private homes or condos would be sturdy enough to shield them from the effect. The steel structures and parking garages of the business district might be the only places to hide from the sun.