Read Online As The World Burns by Roger Hayden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Roger Hayden
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bus. Why are we here? Where are we going? This is an injustice!" a man in a grease-stained blue jumpsuit shouted from the back of the bus.
Sacha recognized him from earlier. It was the mechanic, who wore the patch that read: Roy . He had smiled at Sacha when they were placed in the back of the police van outside the New York Stock Exchange following the Wall Street Bombing. Like Sacha, he was most likely a terrorist suspect. He had an air of authority to him that the other prisoners seemed to follow.
"Quiet down back there!" Sergeant Davis shouted.
A young, aggressive white gangsta-wannabe, seemingly American, with a face of hundred bar fights decided to chime in as well.
"This is bullshit. Fucking cops got no right to do this. I'll sue the shit out of the NYPD for this."
Davis took hip-hop's remarks personally. He stood up clutching the shotgun in his hand.
"Show some gratitude for the city giving a shit about any of you in the first place. We're evacuating you assholes so thank your lucky stars that you're on this bus."
"Go fuck yourself and your lucky stars," hip-hop replied.
"Pipe down or I'll slap some cuffs on ya', got it?" Davis threatened.
"Fuck you, bitch," hip-hop remarked.
"Why is the city being evacuated?" a stocky black man with a low, baritone voice yelled from the back.
"Didn't you hear? Someone's gonna hit New York City with a nuke," an aging hobo with stringy white hair said with a laugh. He was in his sixties, but rough living gave him the appearance of a man at least ten years older.
"It's only a rumor. Another way to bring hatred and suspicion towards my people," a young, middle-eastern man with short, dark hair and sunken eyes interjected.
"Get with the program, dude," the hobo said. "Someone hit Wall Street today. Blew the whole stock exchange building up. This shit is as real as it can be."
Sacha tried to stay out of the conversation and just stare out the window, past the overweight man with the thick black beard sitting next to him. They weren't going anywhere fast. One look at the disorder among New Yorkers, and the capabilities in conducting such a mass exodus proved limited. Lines of people walked alongside the bridge, clearly considering it the more practical measure. Police and military were in full force.
The sky lit up in a mass culmination of helicopter lights, spotlights, and flares. The city still had power, which couldn't be said for many other areas around the country. As Sacha watched from his seat, he felt oddly safe within the confines of the bus. As long as they were the responsibility of the NYPD, he felt nothing could go wrong.
Sergeant Davis held his hand to his ear, pushing in an ear piece connected to his handheld radio. His face was a tantamount of stoic concern, white in complexion. An expression of deep dismay flushed over him.
"Say that again," he said into the radio.
His eyes widened in deep concern.
"What do you mean gone?" he asked. Again his expression was one of deep dismay. He yanked the ear piece from his ear and looked to the Mel, the driver, and without thinking, he spoke.
"They hit Philadelphia," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Mel asked, trying to keep his focus on the road.
"I'm saying that they're saying that Philly got hit with a nuke. They say close to a million people dead. A million!"
"Nah. That don't sound right. No way that could happen," Mel replied while lighting up a cigarette.
"I'm telling ya' Mel, that's what they just told me. These are official channels here. We need to get the hell out of this city and I mean fast."
"Tell me something I don't know," Mel replied.
Sergeant Davis hit the wall next to him with his fist and shook his wrist in pain. "Shit. I just can't believe it. A fuckin' nuke."
"What about a nuke?" the black man with the deep voice asked from the back. He had been listening intently to Davis's conversation with Mel.
Sergeant Davis looked up quickly as if he, himself, had misspoke.
"Nothing," he
Sacha recognized him from earlier. It was the mechanic, who wore the patch that read: Roy . He had smiled at Sacha when they were placed in the back of the police van outside the New York Stock Exchange following the Wall Street Bombing. Like Sacha, he was most likely a terrorist suspect. He had an air of authority to him that the other prisoners seemed to follow.
"Quiet down back there!" Sergeant Davis shouted.
A young, aggressive white gangsta-wannabe, seemingly American, with a face of hundred bar fights decided to chime in as well.
"This is bullshit. Fucking cops got no right to do this. I'll sue the shit out of the NYPD for this."
Davis took hip-hop's remarks personally. He stood up clutching the shotgun in his hand.
"Show some gratitude for the city giving a shit about any of you in the first place. We're evacuating you assholes so thank your lucky stars that you're on this bus."
"Go fuck yourself and your lucky stars," hip-hop replied.
"Pipe down or I'll slap some cuffs on ya', got it?" Davis threatened.
"Fuck you, bitch," hip-hop remarked.
"Why is the city being evacuated?" a stocky black man with a low, baritone voice yelled from the back.
"Didn't you hear? Someone's gonna hit New York City with a nuke," an aging hobo with stringy white hair said with a laugh. He was in his sixties, but rough living gave him the appearance of a man at least ten years older.
"It's only a rumor. Another way to bring hatred and suspicion towards my people," a young, middle-eastern man with short, dark hair and sunken eyes interjected.
"Get with the program, dude," the hobo said. "Someone hit Wall Street today. Blew the whole stock exchange building up. This shit is as real as it can be."
Sacha tried to stay out of the conversation and just stare out the window, past the overweight man with the thick black beard sitting next to him. They weren't going anywhere fast. One look at the disorder among New Yorkers, and the capabilities in conducting such a mass exodus proved limited. Lines of people walked alongside the bridge, clearly considering it the more practical measure. Police and military were in full force.
The sky lit up in a mass culmination of helicopter lights, spotlights, and flares. The city still had power, which couldn't be said for many other areas around the country. As Sacha watched from his seat, he felt oddly safe within the confines of the bus. As long as they were the responsibility of the NYPD, he felt nothing could go wrong.
Sergeant Davis held his hand to his ear, pushing in an ear piece connected to his handheld radio. His face was a tantamount of stoic concern, white in complexion. An expression of deep dismay flushed over him.
"Say that again," he said into the radio.
His eyes widened in deep concern.
"What do you mean gone?" he asked. Again his expression was one of deep dismay. He yanked the ear piece from his ear and looked to the Mel, the driver, and without thinking, he spoke.
"They hit Philadelphia," he said.
"What are you talking about?" Mel asked, trying to keep his focus on the road.
"I'm saying that they're saying that Philly got hit with a nuke. They say close to a million people dead. A million!"
"Nah. That don't sound right. No way that could happen," Mel replied while lighting up a cigarette.
"I'm telling ya' Mel, that's what they just told me. These are official channels here. We need to get the hell out of this city and I mean fast."
"Tell me something I don't know," Mel replied.
Sergeant Davis hit the wall next to him with his fist and shook his wrist in pain. "Shit. I just can't believe it. A fuckin' nuke."
"What about a nuke?" the black man with the deep voice asked from the back. He had been listening intently to Davis's conversation with Mel.
Sergeant Davis looked up quickly as if he, himself, had misspoke.
"Nothing," he
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