Doomsday

want to be trapped in the city when martial law is imposed.
So an exodus is under way. New Yorkers are fleeing the city like rats fleeing a sinking ship.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Is that really how things are, mister?” Alf asked Slayne. “How will I get home? What will I do when I get there? I don’t have much food, either.”
The elevator pinged again and the doors hissed open. Rows of vehicles spread before them. Usually, the underground garage was orderly and peaceful. The only hectic moments were during the morning and evening rush hours. But now nearly everyone in the building who had a car was trying to leave at once, and the aisles were blocked.
Horns blared in a raucous din. Voices rose in the heat of anger.
“I was afraid of this,” Patrick Slayne said.
“We should forget it and wait until things calm down,” Deepak proposed. “Say, in half an hour or so.”
Slayne looked at him. “You don’t get it yet, Mr. Kapur. It will be a long time before things are ever calm again. This is the end of your world.”
“What’s he talking about?” Alf asked.
“Stay close,” Slayne said, and he bore to the right. He passed several rows of vehicles. In one row, two men were swearing at each other over who had the right of way. In another, it was two women. Farther on, a car had backed into a station wagon and the owners were about to come to blows.
Alf uttered a nervous laugh. “Like I always say, there’s a Neanderthal born every minute.”
Deepak rose onto his toes. He could just see the exit ramp. It was crammed, many of the drivers leaning on their horns. “We’ll never get out of here.”
“That’s what you think.” Slayne hurried them down an aisle to where a black Hunster took up two parking spaces. Three times as large as an average car, with tires correspondingly huge, the Hunsters were a new line for those who didn’t care about the cost of gas. Advertised as a “sportsman’s dinosaur” in commercials that featured a gorgeous blonde in a French maid’s uniform, they had been criticized by watchdog groups for their extravagant waste of fossil fuels.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Deepak said. Alf grinned like a kid in a candy shop. “I think it’s awesome. If I could afford it, I’d have one of these monsters.” Patrick Slayne ignored them. He took a small remote from his pocket and pressed a button. The Hunster burped and the driver’s door popped open. “Get in,” he said to Deepak. To Alf he said, “You’re on your own.”
“What? Wait. Can’t I come with you? Only up to the street? Then you can let me out.”
“No.”
“Damn it, Slayne. What’s the matter with you?” Deepak argued.
“He is not my responsibility. You are.” Slayne began to climb inside.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere with you unless Alf gets to come, too.”
Slayne sighed. “Fine,” he relented. “We’ll let him out on the street.
But after that, he’s on his own.”
“Sweet,” Alf said as he climbed into the back of the vehicle.
The driver’s seat resembled a cockpit. Slayne flicked switches and pushed buttons and turned a key. The Hunster rumbled to mechanical life with a roar that shook the walls.
“T-Rex, move over!” Alf said. “Listen to this beast! I’ve died and gone to heaven.”
“I didn’t know you were into muscle cars,” Deepak noted as he strapped himself in. He felt ridiculous sitting in a vehicle that was half as big as his apartment.
“Buddy, calling this a muscle car is like calling King Kong a monkey. This baby is a tank.”
Slayne glanced back and the suggestion of a smile touched his lips.
“I like the way you think.” He had placed the pistol on the console, but now he picked it up and slid it between his legs.
“What on earth ate you doing?” Deepak asked.
“I might need it quick.” Slayne shifted into reverse and backed out. He started toward the logjam at a crawl. Braking, he pressed a toggle switch. A loud whine came from underneath them and the Hunster began to rise.
“The hell!” Alf declared in delight.
“Hydraulics.”
Slayne worked another toggle switch and after a few seconds there were thunks from the front and the rear.
Deepak couldn’t resist. “What was that?”
“More hydraulics. The bumpers are realigning so I can use the battering ram.”
“Did you say battering ram?”
Alf giggled.
Patrick Slayne touched his earpiece. “It’s getting worse out there. Food riots have broken out. People are looting stores.
There’s a mob at the waterfront commandeering boats.”
“Dude, you rock,” Alf said.
Deepak was beginning to regret bringing him. “Don’t encourage the man. I hardly know him.”
Slayne put both hands on the steering wheel. “Hang on. And don’t worry. The armor plating will protect us from small arms fire. But yell if you see a bazooka.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Deepak said. The next instant he was slammed against his seat as the Hunster accelerated. To his astonishment, they drove up on top of the car in front of them and from there to the top of the next. Metal bent. The occupants screeched and cursed.
Alf let out a hearty laugh from the backseat.
Lunging forward, Deepak grabbed Slayne by the shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing? Stop! You’ll hurt someone.”
Slayne shrugged him off. “I need to concentrate.” “But you’re hurting people.”
“I’m doing my best not to crush anyone, but I’ve got to get you out of here.” Slayne paused. “Besides, how do you feel about the two thousand and seventy-six people who died for you today?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The task force that was nuked. That’s how many personnel were involved. Are you upset about them?” “I didn’t know them.”
“You don’t know these people, either.” Slayne gunned the engine and drove over a pickup and into the next aisle. He made for the logjam nearest the ramp. But instead of slowing, he went faster.
“Please, no,” Deepak pleaded. “I don’t want any deaths on my conscience.”
“Give me more credit. I’m not the heartless bastard you seem to think.” Slayne spun the steering