Doomsday

wheel. “Hang on!”
The Hunster bucked into the air and came down with a crash.
It had cleared the first vehicle and started up the next. The crunch of metal was nearly continuous.
So were the oaths and yells.
Deepak glanced out the rear window. Somehow Slayne had managed to miss the drivers. Most were scrambling from their cars in terror. Without warning, Deepak’s seat tried to achieve orbit, and he grabbed hold of the roll bar.
“This is so cool!” Alf cried.
For Deepak it was horrific. He realized that Slayne intended to take him cross-country. He could only imagine how much havoc they would wreak. It was a nightmare made real.
Then suddenly it became a whole lot worse.
For Love of Family
Philadelphia
The Trudale Subdivision was a gated community in the heart of Richter Downs. High walls, cameras, guards on duty every hour of the day and night, hourly patrols; Trudale was a secure island of well-to-do in a sea of squalor.
Richter Downs, however, was considered a blight on urban sprawl. Once a mix of residential and business zones, it had sunk into disrepair and disrepute. Gangs claimed the parks, drugs flooded the streets and the alleys, and law-abiding folk stayed behind locked doors at night. Poverty became its middle name.
Some critics thought building an oasis of wealth in the middle of so much want was asking for trouble. But the moneymen behind Trudale had confidence in their security force.
Soren Anderson had driven through Richter Downs a thousand times. It was the only way to reach Trudale. But he had never seen it like this. Normally, the streets were quiet if squalid. Kids threw balls or played on the sidewalks. Teens hung out on street corners looking tough. Oldsters sat on their stoops or in rocking chairs.
Today there were three times as many people as usual. A lot were listening to the latest news on radios. They cast scowls and glares his way. It didn’t help that many were standing in the middle of the street, forcing Soren to use his horn to get through.
Traffic, thankfully, was light, and had been since he’d left the freeway. Again and again, he’d tried to reach Toril. He suspected that the phone lines were so overloaded, it would be a wonder if he got through.
Soren turned onto Ballard Street. Ahead was the imposing gate that led into Trudale. Most days, few people were in the vicinity. The dilapidated buildings usually sat neglected and grim. Today Soren had to brake.
People were shoulder to shoulder in the street. The sidewalks were jammed. Where they had all come from, Soren couldn’t imagine. Nor could he guess what they were all doing there. It seemed a strange place to come. He started forward and they got out of his way, but many gave him ugly looks, and one man flipped him the finger.
“What did I ever do?” Soren asked himself. He smiled at a woman holding two small children and she scowled.
Half a dozen uniformed guards were just inside the gate. In addition to the batons they carried, sidearms were strapped to their hips.
Captain Jeffors came out of the guard station and motioned for the gate to be opened. “Good afternoon, Mr. Anderson.”
Soren pulled through the gate and stopped. “Any trouble?” he asked. “I haven’t been able to get through to my wife.”
“Everything is fine, sir,” Jeffors said, but his tone and the look he gave the lurkers outside the gate suggested otherwise.
“It’s a madhouse in the city. I was lucky to make it out.”
Captain Jeffors absently nodded while still staring at the people thronging Ballard Street. “You made it just in time.
There’s been talk on the news of closing down the city as soon as the Guard is brought in.”
“How do you close down an entire city?” To Soren the idea was preposterous.
“By whatever means necessary,” Jeffors said, then snapped his head up at the wail of a siren in the distance. “That one’s an ambulance. Just a while ago it was the police.”
The sound jarred Soren. “Well, I better be going. My family will be worried.”
“Good luck, Mr. Anderson.”
“Odin preserve you.”
Captain Jeffors tore his gaze from the street. “Oh. That’s right.
You’re the one they call the Norse nut.” He smiled good-naturedly.
Soren could have explained that there was more to it than that.
A lot more. He could have told Jeffors that to him the Norse gods were more than myth; they were his religion. But he didn’t. It would only result in the same amused regard he was used to. He shifted his foot to the gas pedal and drove up the hill to Wyndemere Circle.
Three faces were pressed to the picture window. They were out the front door before he came to a stop in the driveway. Toril held back so he could hug Freya and Magni, then she was in his arms, warm and soft and smelling wonderful.
Soren had to swallow to speak. “I was so worried.” “So were we.
There’s been more shooting.” Toril looked toward the far-off high fence. “Are we safe, Soren?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” Soren yearned to smother her with kisses, but they were right out in the open and the kids were there. “Come on. Let’s go in.” “I still can’t reach Mother.”
Soren held the door for them. He thought he heard a loud cry from the vicinity of the gate. He looked, although he couldn’t see the gate for the intervening buildings. He listened, but the cry wasn’t repeated.
“Did you forget something?” Toril asked.
“No.” Soren closed the door and locked it. He followed them up the stairs to the living room. A picture window ran the length of one wall. Below spread the city. He liked the view. Most days it relaxed him. But today it filled him with unease. Or maybe it was the smoke and the sirens.
“I’m happy you came home early. The news makes ir sound bad out there.”
“It is.”
Soren put his arm around Toril and she rested her cheek on his chest. For all of a minute they stood