Alten, Steve - Grim Reaper: End of Days by Alten Steve

Author:Alten, Steve
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

PART 4

Lower Hell

SIXTH CIRCLE

The Heretics

"And we our feet directed tow'rds the city, after those holy words all confident. Within we entered without any contest; and I, who inclination had to see what the condition such a fortress holds, soon as I was within, cast round mine eye, and see on every hand an ample plain, full of distress and torment terrible."

-- Dante's Inferno

December 21

Central Park

Manhattan

4:11 a.m.

(3 hours, 52 minutes before the prophesied End of Days)

Their arrival at the southeastern end of the reservoir had presented the journey's next hurdle, for the fence separating the jogging track from the southern retaining wal offered no exit point or weak link. Paolo continued paddling, fol owing the stone barrier as it circled to the west. Francesca's light final y revealed a break along the wal --a smal boat ramp--the incline partial y blocked by a large flatbed truck.

Climbing out first, Paolo dragged the bow of the raft up the cement ramp, then helped his pregnant wife out of the boat.

The truck's rusted metal flatbed was tilted at a thirty-degree angle to the reservoir, stained in frozen blood. Francesca wrapped her scarf across her face. "They must have used the truck to col ect the dead, dumping them right into the water. Why would they do such a thing?"

Paolo peered inside the window of the empty cab. "The more important question is, why did they stop?"

"The plague must have spread so fast, they couldn't dispose of the dead quickly enough." Shep searched the night sky. "We need to keep moving, before another drone tracks us down."

They continued on, fol owing a snow-covered bridle path, the bonfires glowing somewhere up ahead.

Central Park West

4:20 a.m.

David Kantor made his way south along Central Park West. Gun drawn, he moved in the shadow of stal ed vehicles. Cloaked in darkness, he was surrounded by death. It was slumped in the cars and sprawled on the sidewalk, rained from apartment windows to mangle awnings and decorate snow-covered lawns. Every fifteen seconds, he paused to make sure he was not being fol owed. The paranoia al owed him to stretch his hips and lower back, already aching from hauling his life-support equipment. I'll never make it to Gavi's school like this. I need to find another way.

He rested again. His stifling face mask col ected a pool of sweat. Pul ing open the rubber chin piece, he emptied the excess, his eyes locked in on the bizarre buildings on his right. The Rose Center for Earth and Space cast a diamond-shaped void against the lunar-lit heavens. The Museum of Natural History blotted the night like a medieval castle, its drawbridge guarded by the bronze statue of President Theodore Roosevelt on horseback.

The sight of the Rough Rider brought with it a memory of his youngest daughter's first visit to the facility. Gavi was only seven. Oren had come along, too, David's son insisting they skip the train and drive into the city so the boy could listen to the Yankees game on their way home.

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