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had a mouthful of wet washrags。 As blessings went； they were pretty skimpy； but he took what he could get。
A stiff bitter gale wind blew off the river； whipping the mountain ruthlessly on its way to the firestorm。 Thick strands of twisted steel whickered and thrummed like so many old rubber bands。 And Kirk took every snap personally。
PEMA evacuation manuals and a walkie…talkie sat bunched on his good leg。 He pored over them； trying to get a basic grasp of the material。 The battered action…cam was perched on a tripod； lens aimed at his head； on the workbench； a test monitor faced him； already generating bars and tone。
〃Ow； shit！〃 he muttered as the radio transceiver slipped off his lap and thudded onto the floor。 He struggled painfully to scoop it up。 〃Are you sure we can do this？〃
〃Don't know。〃 Gary shrugged and unreeled more coaxial cable。 〃The station went down because the micro wave only runs at thirteen gigawatts； and this soot could block out a bottom…feeder like that； no problem。〃
〃But the transmitter's still hot； which ain't bad。 And if this thing breaks the storm ceiling〃…he gestured to the tower overhead…〃I think we'll be in business。〃
Gary finished splicing an end on the cable with his knife。 He hunched down behind the monitor； laboring fiercely； the clock in his head banging away as he tightened the cable down。
〃Okay；〃 he said。 〃Here goes nothing。〃
The screen glitched； and Kirk's face came up： bloody； bruised； and badly lit。 〃Jesus；〃 he gasped。 〃I took like shit。〃 He grabbed the tail of his shirt； tried to wipe off some of the dried blood from his forehead gash。 Gary moved around the monitor as Kirk struggled to his feet。
〃Okay； listen up；〃 Gary said； concentrating on the work at hand。 〃Basically； you're set。 I rigged this so that you just hit 'record' and you're on the air。 Think you can handle it？〃
Kirk nodded； Gary took it as gospel。 Kirk hobbled around； checking the wiring and the only available light； a jerry…rigged clip…on spot with a hundred…watt bulb in it。 He clicked it on； its glow seemed feeble against the encroaching dark。 Hard to believe it was only three…thirty in the afternoon。
Outside； the wind hammered on the corrugated metal walls； making them sound both sharp and flimsy。 Cables whipped the air high above their heads。
〃You do understand；〃 Gary said； 〃that as of now； I'm out of here。〃
〃Uh…huh；〃 Kirk said； busily repositioning the light。
〃And when I leave；〃 Gary continued； 〃you're effectively stranded。〃 He chose his words carefully； there was no way to skirt the naked truth； 〃I can't be ing back for you。〃
It felt like he was sentencing Kirk to death； and though a half hour ago that would have seemed like a great idea； Gary's blood lust had long since been spent。 He half…expected Kirk to back down now； half…hoped that he was right。
But Kirk only cocked his head quizzically； a strange calm ing over his face。
〃You don't understand；〃 he said。 〃I'm not going anywhere。〃
〃I'm serious 。。。 〃
〃So am I。〃 Kirk's look was direct； and utterly clear。 〃I'm gonna ride this out from here； man。 Don't worry about me。〃
Gary took a good hard look at Kirk； as if seeing him through new eyes。 Or maybe it was Kirk who'd changed； grown up somehow。 Kinda hard to say。 〃Last chance 。。。 〃 he began； scarcely believing his own ears。 Kirk flipped him a wink； with just a flicker of wince。
〃What？〃 he said。 〃And give up showbiz？〃
Gary rolled his eyes； and Kirk hobbled toward him； making for his seat。 Gary came over and helped him onto the chair。 There was nothing left to say。 It didn't matter to Kirk if he lived another twenty years or another twenty minutes； just so long as they got this last broadcast on the air。 It was something he had to do…the best thing he could possibly do； under the circumstances。
And that was really all there was to it。
Across the valley； more storage vessels went up at Paradise Waste； feeding fresh waves of deathlight and sound into the serpentine pillar of flame。 The rumbling wind reached out for them across thirteen miles； slammed the walls of the shed like an angry fist。 Glass cracked； from a pane high overhead。 The two men flinched； but nothing followed。
Then Kirk turned his attention back to the camera； and Gary nodded once before turning to open the door。 For a moment； the roar of the world filled the shed； and Kirk could see him hesitate； for one long second's time； before stepping out into evernight。
And closing the door behind him。
Kirk held off for a minute； listening to the girders that creaked overhead while he waited for the Harley to fire。 When it did； he sighed relief； listening almost wistfully to the echoing sounds of its departure。
Only when it was lost in that howling sea of sound did he turn back to the camera； take a deep breath； and hit 〃record。〃
The red light winked on。
And the real show…The Kirk Bogarde Show…went on the air at last。
Fifty…Eight
Down in the newsroom； Laura had established a ritual all her own。 She； too； had locked herself in； padlocking the front double doors； sealing every conceivable entrance； holing herself up in the basement。 Holding down the fort。
And praying that the cavalry would e。
Outside； things were moving； she could hear the thuds and screams； the shrieking sirens； the distant and not…so…distant report of explosions and gunfire。
Worse； she could hear the other sounds； like nothing she'd ever heard before； grinding and slithering and slashing and withering everything in their paths。 She winced as what sounded like a pickup truck roared by； followed seconds later by something that whistled and whined like a hundred dentists' drills grinding into a whole roomful of teeth。 They screeched around the er； off King Street and onto Market； and blazed away。
The crash； when it came； was dull and wet； and seemed to last forever。
Laura blocked it out and pressed on： checking the scanners； checking the monitors； checking the phones； over and over and over。 At the head of each cycle she spent a solid minute on the radio； trying to raise the tower。
As rituals went it was short on style and long on utility； but it helped her keep her sanity。
〃WPAL to tower； this is WPAL calling tower； do you copy？ Kirk； do you copy？〃
There was no response。
〃This is WPAL； calling tower。 e in； please 。。。 〃
Nothing。
She dropped the transceiver； leaned over the scanners as their LED's strobed off； one by one： garbled cries being garbled hiss being nothing but garble at all； the lights cycling an endless flatline of silence。
Laura looked up： the monitors displayed an electronic winter wonderland of snow and static and white white noise。 The newsroom was barren。 Desolate。 Irrelevant。
She picked up the phone and hit the speed…dialer for home。 There was no answer。 Of course no one was there； she reasoned to herself。 How could they be？ They're in Philly at the game。
〃Please；〃 she prayed in her heart。 〃Please let them be safe。 Even if I never 。。。 if I can't 。。。 if 。。。 〃
Something inside her tore loose then； like a flock of blackbirds fluttering inside her ches