Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [98]
On either side of the human chain an infinite variety of cars were packed like sardines. Old Ford station wagons, for grocery shopping; chauffeured Mercedeses—stars or studio executives; campers, pickup trucks, new Japanese imports, Chevies and Plymouth Dusters, all packed together, and all immobile. A few drivers were still trying to get out, but most had given up. A horde of robed preachers moved through the matrix of cars. They stopped to speak with each driver, and they preached. Some of the drivers were screaming at them. A few listened. One or two even got out and knelt in prayer.
"Some show, eh?" Corrigan said. "Why the hell didn't they pick some place else?"
"With NBC practically next door? If the comet goes past without smashing anything, they'll take credit for saving the world. Haven't we seen a few of those nuts on TV for years?"
Corrigan nodded. "Looks like they hit the big time with this one. Here come the TV cameras."
The preachers redoubled their efforts when they saw the cameramen. The hymn stopped for a moment, then began again: "Nearer My God to Thee." The preachers had to talk fast, and sometimes they broke off in midspeech to avoid the police. Blue uniforms chased white robes through the honking cars and screaming drivers.
"A day to remember," Corrigan said.
"They may just have to pave the whole thing over."
"Yep." For a fact that traffic jam was going to be there a long time. Too many cars had been abandoned. He could see more civilians darting among the cars, flowered sports shirts and gray flannel suits among the white robes and blue uniforms. And coveralled drivers. Many were bent on murder. More had locked their cars and gone looking for a coffee shop. The supermarket next door was doing a land-office business in Coors beer. Even so, a fair number were clustered oh the sidewalks, praying.
Two policemen came into the store. Eileen and Corrigan greeted them. Both had regular beats in the neighborhood, and the younger, Eric Larsen, often joined Eileen for coffee at the local Orange Julius. He reminded Eileen of her younger brother.
"Got any bolt cutters?" Investigator Harris was all business. "Big heavy jobs."
"Think so," Corrigan said. He lifted a phone and pushed a button. He waited. Nothing happened. "Goddam warehouse crew's out watching the show. I'll get them." He went back through the office.
"No keys?" Eileen asked.
"No." Larsen smiled at her. "They chucked them before they came here." Then he shook his head sadly. "If we don't get those crazies out of here pretty soon, there'll be a riot. No way to protect them."
The other cop snorted. "You can tell Joe to take his time for all I care," he said. "They're stupid. Sometimes I think the stupid will inherit the Earth."
"Sure." Eric Larsen stood at the window watching the Wardens. Idly he whistled "Onward Christian Soldiers" through his teeth.
Eileen giggled. "What are you thinking about, Eric?"
"Huh?" He looked sheepish.
"The Professor's writing a movie script," Harris said.
Eric shrugged. "TV. Imagine James Garner marooned out there. He's looking for a killer. One of the drivers is out to commit murder. He does it, pulls out a sheet and a chain, and we come take him away before Garner can find him … "
"Jesus," Harris said.
"I thought it was pretty good," Eileen said. "Who does he kill?"
"Uh, actually, you."
"Oh."
"I saw enough pretty girls killed last night to last me twenty years," Harris muttered. For a moment Eric looked like he'd been rabbit-punched.
Joe Corrigan came back with four pairs of long-handled bolt cutters. The policemen thanked him. Harris scribbled his name and badge number on a receipt, and handed two pairs to Eric Larsen. They carried them out to distribute to the other policemen, and blue uniforms moved along the chain, cutting the white robes free, then chaining them again with handcuffs. They jostled the Wardens toward the sidewalk. Few of the robed ones fought, but a good many went