Doomsday Warrior 10 - American Nightmare (24 page)

At the City Detention and Rehabilitation Center, the guards let out all the prisoners—who promptly rounded up the obliging guards and put
them
in the cells.

Chaos reigned throughout the city. The thought police—those who still had presence of mind due to a more-thorough programming than that given the average citizen—were powerless to stem the tide. Any officer who tried to discipline a citizen with his stick was jumped by dozens of vengeful men and women. Most of the police made a cursory effort to restore order and then fled for their lives. Duty went only so far!

At the Tabernacle the scene was no different. Guards dropped their weapons and roamed aimlessly, babbling a stream of nonsense syllables. Some rushed up to Runners, hugging and kissing them like long-lost brothers. Others just went crazy and staggered about with their hands in the air shouting, “I surrender! I surrender!”

Of all the people in the city, the only ones who did have control were the Runners, whose systems were free of drugs. A euphoric Barrelman shouted at his subordinates to seize the Tower itself. “Round up the guards—get their weapons! The city is ours! Winston—take the radio center and broadcast a message to the people! Tell them we’re all free! Tell them they can do
anything they want!”

Rockson went back out to the parapet at the top of the Tower and watched the disintegration of the Chessman’s regime, worried about what he was witnessing. The chaos and the abrupt change from night to day signaled a disruption in the time warp. Rockson seemed to be the only one aware of the time slip—everyone else, Runners included, preoccupied with the headiness of freedom.

Looking out across the city, Rockson could barely make out the clock on the city-government tower. Good God! The hands were moving—way too fast.

The city was out of the time warp, advancing to zero hour—the moment when nuclear bombs would devastate it, and kill the inhabitants.

Rockson was horrified. He had wanted only to free himself from the prison of the time warp, so that he could get back to his own continuum, and free the people from the living death of an oppressive dictator. But he had failed. Sure, they were free of the muzik, but they were entombed.

“The nukes will come!” he cried out to himself. “I can’t change history! Salt Lake City will be destroyed. It was bombed to ruins!”

There was no time to debate probables and possibles. One thing was certain: If Rockson couldn’t get through the Portal before the bombs hit—if he couldn’t get out of the time warp and back into the future—then he would perish along with everyone else. He could vanish into nothingness, a human being who never existed, the Doomsday Warrior who never was.

But he had to save more than himself. He owed survival to a few—the wife and children of his parallel personality, Theodore Rockman, and to Barrelman and the brave Runners, without whose help he would not have succeeded. He had to tell them what was happening—had to save them! Somehow.

Poor creatures, he thought with sadness, their freedom will be short-lived.

Could he convince them they were on the brink of a nuclear war? These oppressed souls who probably knew nothing of the outside world? Would any of them
listen
to him in their euphoria. Was stopping the muzik enough?

In the distance, the clock hands were moving faster.

Eighteen

R
ockson looked for the source of the sobbing. Kim was sitting on the floor trying to comfort her crying children, Teddy junior and Barbara.

“Kim, take the children! We’ve got to get out of here!”

Kim shrank away from him. “Don’t touch me, you monster! You’re not the Teddy I loved and married! I don’t know who you are! You’ve destroyed
everything!”

“Kim, you don’t understand—”

“I do understand! You went crazy and killed the Chessman. You’ve ruined our lives! Now what are we going to do?” Her anger dissolved into a torrent of tears. The children mimicked her and renewed their crying.

Rockson threw his hands up in the air. “For God’s sakes, pull yourself together! I haven’t got time to explain everything, but believe me, we must leave the city as fast as we can!”

Kim sniffled. “Of course you want to get out. The police will be after you. You want to take us hostage!”

“The police aren’t going after anyone. They’re laying down their weapons. Don’t you see? Everyone is free—there is no more mind programming. You can do as you please—whatever you want.”

“Do as I please?” said Kim, bewildered. “You mean I have to decide for myself what to do?”

“Not exactly,” said Rockson, exasperated. They were wasting precious time!
“I’ll
tell you what to do. Follow my instructions.”

“Oh, no, Teddy—you’re crazy. I don’t trust you anymore.” Fresh tears poured down her cheeks as she put her head in her hands.

Rockson bent down to comfort her, and gently pulled her to her feet. “Don’t do it for yourself—do it for the children. You want them to be all right, don’t you?”

Kim nodded.

“Then, take them and come with me. No one will harm them, or you.”

“But where will we go?”

“Away from the city.”

Teddy junior scrambled to his feet and looked defiantly up at Rockson. “Forget it,
Daddy-o.
You’re not making us go anywhere! I’m with Mom!” He glared up at Rock with his little fists clenched.

Rockson was astonished at the defiance of this pint-sized boy. Was this the same Teddy junior who had obediently followed every command, who had sat quietly through dinner and gone to bed early without complaint?

Barbara joined in with her older brother, scowling up at him with her lower lip stuck out in a nasty pout. “We’re gonna turn you over to the cops for being bad,” she hollered.

Rockson wanted to turn both of them over his knee and give them a good spanking. Free will
did
have its drawbacks.

If he had been in his own time continuum and these were free children, he would not have hesitated to give them a sound thrashing. But how did one discipline children who were supposed to be your own—who called you “Dad”? Rockson, every brawny inch of him, felt helpless in the face of this juvenile rebelliousness.

He was also angry that time was slipping by while his “family” squabbled. He screwed up his face and bellowed, “Do as I say if you know what’s good for you!”

Kim and the children blanched. Theodore Rockman, mild-mannered C.P.A., had never sounded so mean, so potentially
violent.

“Yes, dear,” Kim said in a meek voice. “Children, you heard your father.”

“That’s better,” grumbled Rockson, stalking to the barricaded door. He pushed aside the metal cabinet with one quick heave, his show of strength clearly impressing Kim and the kids. The rebellion was quickly forgotten.

“Wow!” said Teddy junior. “I wanna be like that when I grow up!”

If
he grows up, thought Rockson grimly. He kicked and battered open the door and motioned impatiently for them to step on it and get out.

Outside the chamber, the guards who had been trying to break in were standing around chatting and smoking as though nothing were wrong. “Hello, Mr. Rockman!” one of them boomed, taking off his helmet and making a sweeping bow. “And Mrs. Rockman and the little ones! Is there anything we can do for you?” Evidently these guards had lost their aggressiveness.

“Yes,” Rock said. “Get us safely out of the grounds and to a car.”

“Right this way,” the guard said, heading off down the hallway. “There should be plenty of cars parked around the square. You can have your pick!” He led them to an elevator, discovered it no longer worked, then ushered them to a stairwell. “It’s a long way down—I’ll carry the little one,” he offered.

The guard took Barbara while Rockson handled Teddy junior. They clumped down the spiral staircase. At ground level, legs aching, the men put the children down and the guard led them out of the compound, taking the shortest path.

Outside the walls, Rockson searched for Barrelman. He had to warn the Runners, talk them into leaving their victory and getting out of town.

But finding Barrelman or any of the Runners wasn’t going to be easy. Salt Lake City was burning.

The fear, panic, and disorientation of the freed citizens had erupted into full-scale pandemonium in sections of the city—particularly in the chessboard blocks that fanned out from the Tower Square. The controls were off, and no one knew how to restore order. The people were like children set free from over-controlling parents to run amok.

Throngs of wild-eyed looters were smashing into store windows, grabbing anything they could get their hands on. They reveled in the sheer joy of being berserk, not wanting what they stole, just taking things and hurling them onto the pavement. Self-appointed fire-starters with homemade torches dashed about the streets, igniting anything flammable that caught their eyes. Flames exploded windows and roared skyward. Fire was everywhere.

Rockson watched briefly as three thought police, desperately trying to stop looters, were backed into a wall by an angry mob that pounced on them and began beating them to death. Nearby, a lone rookie saw what was happening—and saw there was no escape from more angry people who were closing in. He put his gun to his head and fired.

Rockson grimaced and shielded the children as best as he could. The scenes around them were awful, but he was powerless to do anything about them.

Beside him, Kim reacted like a horse in a burning barn, not wanting to move; the children were growing wide-eyed with fear. He pulled on her arm. “Come on!” He herded the three of them across the boulevard and into the park, where he tucked them into the bushes that the Runners had used for cover as they sneaked around the Temple Square. “Stay here—don’t move,” he commanded. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“But where are you going?” shrieked Kim.

“I’ve got to find someone—a friend.”

“Don’t leave us!”

“I’ll be back!” Rockson took off at a lope, searching for Barrelman. The stocky revolutionary wouldn’t have left the area, he reasoned; he’d be too busy making sure the Chessman’s headquarters were all entirely neutralized. Rockson stopped several Runners and asked if they’d seen their leader. He also instructed them to go to the spot where he’d left Kim and the children. He had something important to disclose, he said.

At last Rockson found Barrelman, who was rounding up a group of docile guards who were to be held prisoner in the Tower until order was established.

“Rock!” he shouted when he sighted the Doomsday Warrior. “The fires—we’ve got to stop the burning! But there’s no one to man the fire trucks—they’ve all gone berserk!”

“Forget it. And leave them, too.” Rockson jerked a thumb at the guards, who were staring at him and Barrelman with moronic grins.

“What! I can’t leave them. What if one of them picks up a gun—”

“There’s no time to explain. Just
do
it. Get as many Runners as possible together and come with me.” Rockson was already pushing on the short, squat body, forcing Barrelman to go along with him. He took quick, long strides, and the little man stumbled to keep up with him.

“But, Rock—”

“Shut up.” Rockson’s tone was friendly but firm. “Once I had to trust you without explanation. Now you’ve got to do the same.”

Barrelman looked bewildered. “Okay, Rock.” He whistled at two Runners up ahead, motioning them to come along.

The chaos in the city continued unabated as Rockson gathered his small group near the park benches. The noise was punctuated by sounds of gunfire. Either ammunition was exploding in the flames or some of the wilder citizens were going on shooting sprees. Bullets whined through the air.

Rockson led his group to the safety of a building across the park that proved open but deserted. He pushed them all inside the door, shut it, and turned to face the group. “I’ve got something to tell you,” he began, speaking swiftly. “It’s hard to believe, but you must trust that I know the truth. You all know that I am not really one of you, that I am from another place—and time.

“The Veil that surrounds Salt Lake City is not a natural barrier, though that’s what you all think.” The faces around Rockson looked skeptical, but he went on. “For some reason, Salt Lake City got stuck in time—it’s hard to explain. I really can’t. But today is the day of World War Three. Today is Doomsday. A nuclear war will destroy not only this city, but nearly all the cities of the world. I hope we can escape back to where I come from—the world one hundred years after the bomb-blasts.”

A gasp rose up from his audience. Outside, the noise escalated, and Rockson had to raise his voice. “The death of the Chessman and the end of the muzik has jolted the city out of the time warp. The clock is moving forward, quickly, to zero hour. I’ve been in the Portal several times, and was transported through space, but not time. I believe it will become a
time portal
at the instant of zero hour. I hope I’m right. If so, some of us might be saved, if we go through.”

Barrelman grabbed his sleeve, gazing up into his face. “Rock! How can this be? Is this really true?”

“I don’t understand the whys myself—I just know what’s going to happen. You’ve got to believe me if you want to live!” There was no sense mentioning it might not work.

“But how can we survive nuclear missiles?”

“By getting out of the city and going through the Portal, like I said. Don’t try to understand, just do it.”

“When is zero hour? How much time do we have?”

“If I remember my history correctly, the missiles will strike at four minutes after six tonight. Time itself is altering; I don’t know how much time we have left to escape—the clocks are moving erratically, but faster and faster.”

“This is preposterous!” someone shouted. “I don’t believe it!” Others joined in the chorus of disbelief.

Rockson shrugged. “That is your decision. I can’t elaborate—you’ll have to take it on faith, those of you who want to believe. I’m leaving, and I’m taking Kim and the kids with me. I hope the rest of you will follow. Get a car, a truck—any vehicle you can find—and head for the dump at the outskirts of town, where the Portal is. Don’t stop to gather possessions, but take as many friends as you can.”