Dead Harvest

  The glass had buckled outward, the pane a tangled web of cracks framing a hole the size of a quarter. I climbed atop the now-horizontal seat and braced my good leg against the window, my heel atop the hole, and my back pressed tight against the seatback. Then, with an animal cry, I pushed.

  The pane snapped free of its frame, not in a thousand tiny pieces as I expected, but all at once. It smacked into the surface of the water with a slap. Cool air kissed my face, and carried with it the sound of distant sirens. Been hearing those too often lately, I thought.

  "Grab his feet," I said, looping my arms under the pilot's arms and around his chest. "And mind that leg."

  Together, we wrestled him to the window and tossed him out. He splashed into the water about as gracelessly as the window had, bobbing face-down as we scampered after. The water was bitterly cold. It came up to my waist, and seeped into the knife wound in my thigh, bringing with it a dull, woozy ache that set my head reeling. I pushed past it, dragging the pilot to the shore and collapsing to the grass as Kate emerged dripping beside me. Just a couple dozen yards away, the Fifth Avenue traffic roared and honked, but I barely noticed. I was shivering and exhausted, and all I wanted to do was lay on this bed of grass and sleep. But Kate was having none of it.

  "Sam, c'mon, we've got to go." She grabbed my by the wrist and yanked. I stayed down. She tried again.

  "Sam, those sirens are getting closer. And we've got an audience."

  I raised my head and looked around. Dotting the park were a couple dozen onlookers, watching us with expressions of confusion and surprise. Then, one by one, their faces changed, each becoming a twisted mask of hatred. Black fire raged in their eyes. As one by one they began to approach, I found my feet, putting an arm around Kate and ushering her toward the low stone wall that marked the border of the park.

  "Sam, what's going on? Who are those guys?"

  "Demons – foot soldiers, I'd guess. Ever since I first failed to collect you, they've been watching me."

  "It doesn't look like they're content to watch you now."

  "No, it doesn't. Mu'an blamed me for the attack at Grand Central – for the war that's brewing now. I'm sure he's not the only one. I suspect they've tired of waiting for me to do my job."

  "So what happens if they catch us?" Kate asked.

  "Torture, death, an eternity of torment. You know, the usual."

  "Let's make sure they don't catch us then, OK?"

  "That's the plan."

  We reached the wall, and I helped her up and over. When she reached the other side, she gasped.

  "Oh, Jesus, Sam – they're gaining."

  A glance over my shoulder told me she was right. There were maybe a dozen of them, approaching at a brisk walk. I noticed then that they were not alone – the park was dotted with figures in suits and trench coats, fedoras worn low over faces obscured as if by an inner light. Angels. They weren't pursuing us like the demons were; they just hung back. Watching. Waiting. For what, I didn't know – and I wasn't about to stick around to find out.

  I vaulted over the wall, and hit the sidewalk at a run, dragging Kate along by the wrist. The pain in my leg wasn't so much forgotten as rendered unimportant. The promise of eternal torment does wonders in adjusting one's priorities.

  We darted into traffic amidst a squeal of brakes and a blast of horns. A dozen shouted curses hurled our way. I paid them no mind. Behind us, the demons had broken into a run, and were one by one hopping the wall, as graceful and powerful as a pride of jungle cats. As traffic resumed behind us, I headed south-west along Fifth. Across the street, our pursuers followed suit. As a delivery truck rumbled past, obscuring us from view, I reversed directions, darting north-east with Kate in tow. She let out a yelp as I jerked her arm, and then got wise to the plan, sprinting beside me with all she had.

  A roar of anger, guttural and animal, sounded from the other side of the street. The demons had spotted us, and once again followed. The truck had provided meager cover, and our head-start couldn't have been more than half a block. The demons ate into our lead with glee, scrabbling across the hoods and rooftops of the midtown traffic as easily as bricks on a walkway. As we reached the corner of Sixtieth, I felt a surge of adrenaline. Before us was a subway entrance, just two narrow sets of steps leading downward to the darkness below. If only we could catch a ride, I thought, we might just shake these guys. Together, Kate and I descended, our feet barely touching the steps, while behind us, the demons closed the gap.

  We were greeted by the warm breath of subway exhaust, stale and sickly sweet. As we descended, we passed beneath a mural of birds in flight – once no doubt brightly hued, they'd been beaten a dull graybrown by years and years of grime. They hovered like vultures, circling in anticipation of a meal soon coming. I hoped to God we'd disappoint them.