Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [115]
Somewhere a woman screamed, short and sharp. The background noise was screams and moans and thunder, thunder always, and very near. A brisk wind had risen. Two men were atop an intact car with a shoulder-carried television camera. No way to tell how long they'd been there, but they were all alone on an island of privacy. And so were Tim and Eileen.
"Rioters are publicity-shy," Tim said. "Glad to see you. I'd forgotten you work around here."
"Worked," Eileen said. She pointed toward the ruins of Corrigan's. "I don't suppose anyone will be selling plumbing supplies … "
"Not from Burbank," Tim said. "I am glad to see you. You know that, don't you? What do we do now?"
"You're the expert."
Lightning crackled nearby. The hills of Griffith Park were aflame with blue flashes.
"High ground," Tim said. "And fast."
Eileen looked puzzled. She pointed at the lightning.
"That might hit us," he agreed. "But we've a better chance out of this river valley. Feel the rain? And there may be … "
"Yes?"
"Tidal wave," Tim said.
"Jesus. It's real, isn't it? This way, then. Up into the Verdugo Hills. We can hike across. How much time do we have?"
"I don't know. Depends on where it hit. They hit, probably," Tim was surprised at how calm his voice was.
Eileen began walking. East on Alameda. The route led toward the head of the traffic jam, where the huddled bodies of the Wardens lay. As they got near, a car roared off through the intersection, into a filling station beyond, then onto the sidewalk. It squeezed through between a wall and a telephone pole, scraping paint off the right side.
The car that had been behind it was now clear, and it was unlocked. Keys dangled in the ignition. Eileen waved Tim toward it. "How good a driver are you?" she demanded.
"Okay."
"I'll drive," she said firmly. "I'm damned good at it." She got into the driver's seat and started the car. It was an elderly Chrysler, once a luxury car. Now the rugs were worn and it had ugly stains on the seat covers. When the motor turned over with a steady purr, Tim thought it the most beautiful car he'd ever seen.
Eileen took the route of the previous car. They drove over a white robe, bump; she didn't slow. The space between the telephone pole and the wall was narrow, but she went through it at speed, twenty miles an hour anyway, without worrying about it. Tim held his breath until they were through.
The street curved gently ahead of them. There were cars jammed in both lanes of traffic, and Eileen kept on the sidewalk, veering off into yards when she had to to avoid more utility poles. She drove through rose beds and manicured lawns until they were past the traffic jam.
"Lord God, you are a good driver," Tim said.
Eileen didn't look up. She was busy avoiding obstructions. Some of the obstructions were people. "Should we warn them?" she asked.
"Would it do any good? But yes," Tim said. He opened the window on his side. The rain was coming down hard now, and the salt stung his eyes. "Get to high ground," he shouted. "Tidal waves. Flood! Get to high ground," he shouted into the rising wind. People stared at him as they went by. A few looked around wildly, and once Tim saw a man grab a woman and dash for a car in sudden decision.
They turned a corner, and there were red flames. A whole block of houses was burning out of control, burning despite the rain. The wind blew flaming chips into the air.
Another time they slowed to avoid rubble in the street. A woman ran toward them carrying a bundled blanket. Before Eileen could accelerate, the woman had reached the car. She thrust the blanket in the window. "His name is John!" she shouted. "Take care of him!"
"But—don't you want—"
Tim couldn't finish. The woman had turned away. "Two more back there!" she screamed. "John. John Mason. Remember his name!"
Eileen speeded up again. Tim opened the bundle. There was a baby in it. It didn't move. Tim felt for a heartbeat, and his hand came out covered with blood. It was bright red, copper blood, and the smell filled the car despite