Rivers was relieved when he crossed tramlines and joined one of the Red Routes through the city, for traffic flowed more smoothly in these designated main arteries and would quickly take him away from the depressingly drab quarters. Not for the first time he wondered what London would have been like had not the 'altemate-week' system for vehicles been introduced: no doubt by now the city would have developed into one huge car park where nothing on four wheels could move more than two miles per hour.
Tower Bridge loomed up ahead, its dignity long since diminished by the garish red, white and blues of its painted girders. Traffic slowed, as if each driver was wary of the split in the old bridge's middle section; the tyre sounds took on a different tone as vehicles crossed. To the right lay the over-developed docklands area, its offices and abodes still half empty despite various government business incentive schemes and initiatives over the past ten years or so. Amidst the new-dawn architecture stood the Canary Wharf Tower, at one time the tallest tower block in Europe, and now a landmark to apathy. The constant cycle of recession had speeded up, the wheel turning ever faster because long-term investment in the swift-changing world was not merely unattractive, but nowadays deemed extreme folly. To the left was the Tower of London itself, rendered almost incongruous in these times with its backdrop of skyscraper buildings, these bastions of the city's financial quarter. Below, the Thames flowed sluggishly, its depths thick with sludge once more, the brief return to purity a decade before having become a folklore memory.
The route led him into the City itself, the capital's fiscal focus, the pecuniary precincts, through which the world's money continued to flow. The ambience changed dramatically in these canyons, for here the pace was brisk, the attire less casual. Shirts might have been short sleeved, but they were complemented by ties; even when short trousers were worn, they were of suit material. The women were bolder in dress, their light summer-wear contrasting brightly against the dull concrete environs.
It was drawing towards the end of the lunch-hour and the streets were busy, diesel taxis everywhere, vans, buses and automobiles crawling along at moderate pace. Like a tarnished monument to self-aggrandizement, the Lloyd's Insurance building rose high ahead, its steel and chrome architecture rendered even more unappealing by blemishes and grime. The conduits and piping of the building's exposed 'innards' were in an even more wretched state than the once silvery ramparts, their surfaces rust-stained and blackened. God only knew what was in the atmosphere to cause such deterioration, thought Rivers, but an architect's dream had degenerated into an occupier's nightmare. Unfortunately, massive insurance losses over recent years due to environmental damage and natural disasters, together with the escalation of crime-related claims and general incompetence had seriously eroded the corporation's financial base (and Names, those outside members whose money covered all risks, were almost impossible to attract nowadays), so that the 'cleansing' of the building itself was a low priority. There were some who took satisfaction in the knowledge that the Lutine Bell, rung whenever a ship was lost at sea, had rung metaphorically for Lloyd's itself.
Rivers slowed to a halt, allowing a group of giggling office girls trapped in the centre of the road to cross. One waved a thank you and was nudged by her companion, who cheekily stuck out a tongue at him. He managed a smile, then closed the gap between his car and the one in front when the girls were through.
Lights ahead had stopped the traffic's flow. He checked the computerized TIME-WAIT indicator set in the lamppost by the side of the road and turned off the engine when he saw that the lights would be on red for three minutes, fifteen seconds, just over the limit for engine-running in congested city areas. The hydrogen-powered vehicle was still having teething troubles (or so it was alleged: Rivers wondered how much bribery and sabotage by the big oil companies had delayed the mass-introduction of the water-drinking fuel-cell engine). He leaned forward to press the radio button, then decided against it: he'd had enough bad news. He slumped in his seat and rested an elbow on the door frame, his fingers scratching the stubble of his chin. What to do with himself for the rest of the week? Take Sheridan's advice and get away somewhere? Leave the problems behind, give his head a rest. Not such a bad idea at that. Find somewhere quiet, peaceful, let the world get on with its own predicament for a while. After all, he was only one, insignificant doctor of physics, so what difference would it make to the global plan? Besides-
Jesus!
His hands gripped the steering wheel.
What was that?
He looked around. People in the street had stopped dead. They, too, were looking around, bewilderment on their faces. A woman nearby clutched at her partner. The man said something to her, probably a reassurance that everything was all right, although his own expression was hardly convincing.
It came again. A kind of lurch. As if the earth itself had given a small hiccup.
A paralyzing coldness rushed through Rivers and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the plastic steering wheel even more tightly. His eyes blinked against a sudden glare, but there was nothing bright before him; the image-a round ball of light -somehow had appeared on the retinas of his eyes without being physically present. It was a thought, he quickly rationalized, a strong memory induced by shock. But so real. And so swiftly gone.
The people were beginning to move again, looking askance at one another, shaking their heads in disbelief. Someone laughed, but there was a hollowness to the sound. One of the girls who had just passed before Rivers' car started to cry. An elderly man, smartly dressed in a dark blue messenger's uniform, rested a hand against the side of a building to steady himself. Rivers noticed that the green digits of the TIME-WAIT indicator were flashing rapidly.
A low, ominous rumbling began.
He felt it rising through the floor of the car, rocking the suspension, causing the bodywork to vibrate. The initial sound was familiar, the kind of deep heavy rolling noise that a lorry passing through the night might make, but its increasing intensity-and subdued violence-was unworldly. Rivers understood what was about to happen, for he had studied recordings and films of earth tremors many times during the last few years; but nothing had prepared him for the sheer unnerving violence of the earth's sudden shift. The car began to tremble as the rumbling from below swelled to a deep roaring. The lamppost nearby began to oscillate. People out there in the street became unsteady on their feet; some reached for the nearest support. He saw huge plate-glass windows beginning to warp.
Then something pushed hard against the floor of the car, an abrupt, powerful shove that lifted him from his seat, only the seat-belt preventing his head from hitting the roof. Screams and yells came through the closed windows. Men and women sprawled on the concrete pavements, while others clung to posts or pedestrian barriers. Another wave shook the ground and Rivers' car was shunted into the vehicle in front. He jerked back into his seat and, amazed, watched the roadway outside ripple. Vein-like cracks began to appear in its surface.
The world seemed to settle once more, and the rumbling softened; but the lull did not last long.
The fearsome sound deepened, became a thunderous abyssal roaring that shook the landscape and sent people reeling for the second time. A van in the opposite lane tilted crazily as the road rose beneath it. The driver hastily slid the door back and scrambled out, crawling away as fast as his hands and knees would take him. The van failed to topple, but settled back on top of the fresh-risen mound. The glass wall of an office block's reception area further along the street split from top to bottom as people inside fled through the wide doors next to it. More poured from other doorways, panic-stricken, afraid of being caught inside collapsing buildings.
The trembling of the earth continued, its awful sound almost drowning the human cries. Some drivers and passengers were leaving their vehicles, perhaps wary of becoming trapped inside them, but Rivers stayed where he was, realizing what could happen next.
It sounded like a heavy shower or hailstones striking the car's rooftop at first, then larger fragments of glass began to fall. Pieces of masonry and metal bounced off the road and pavements. Larger sheets of glass, popped or shaken from distorted frames, shattered against concrete and bodies alike. His windscreen became an instant myriad of spiderweb lines as a missile exploded against the toughened glass. Still the ground thundered.
Rivers flinched every time something heavy clattered against his metal shelter, yet he was mesmerized by the scene outside. Through the side window he watched the panic as people desperately sought cover, some heading back inside the buildings they had just left, while others clung to anything solid or crawled into doorways. Many lay prone, knees curled up to their chests, their faces buried into their hands.
A man and a woman-the same two he had noticed earlier -came stumbling towards his car. The man, dressed in a beige, lightweight summer suit, shouted something at him, perhaps an appeal to open one of the passenger doors. For a second or two Rivers was motionless, too overwhelmed by what was happening-and its implications-to move. But the terror on the couple's faces galvanized him into action and he reached over his seat to pull at the door handle. His fingers froze on the latch as a huge sheet of plate glass, dislodged from an office tower's upper windows, smashed on to the pavement outside.
But before it had shattered into a million fragments, the toughened glass had sliced into the running man's left shoulder and scythed through the length of his body. Bizarrely, the woman held on to her companion as the rest of his body toppled away, and she looked into the eyes that still flickered with astonished life. The remaining portion of human flesh soon crumpled, leaving the woman clawing at her own face in shocked disbelief.
Glass mixed with blood had spattered the car's windows, a sickening split-second after-effect. He watched as the woman slowly sank to her knees beside the cloven corpse. Another sheet of glass smashed to the ground close by, missing her by only three or four feet, broken pieces flying lethally outwards. Water burst through the fissure in the roadway, a high-pressured fountain that drenched anyone in close proximity. Droplets pattered against the rooftop over Rivers' head.
The car was shaking again, and this time he held on to both seat and steering wheel to steady himself. Screams and the clattering of falling stonework merged with the deep rumbling from below, creating a nightmarish discord that was as potent as the juddering movement itself. In the distance, he could see the great tower building of a national bank swaying as if gently rocked by phenomenal winds. From somewhere further down the street there came a muffled explosion, soon followed by black plumes of smoke spewing out of vents in the ground.
Rivers felt a queasiness in his stomach, a feathery shifting as though the car were skidding on sheet ice; he swallowed hard, afraid he would be sick. The excessive shaking suddenly reduced to a kind of rolling vibration, but this lessening only increased the pandemonium in the street. Those who had fallen scrambled to their feet and began running unsteadily in all directions. More poured from the buildings, sweeping aside those who were trying to return. A red cab tore down the road from the opposite direction in which Rivers' vehicle was facing, mounting the kerb when it reached the angled van that was blocking the way. Sparks flew when metal grated against the wall as the cab squeezed past the obstruction without dropping speed. The driver yanked the wheel hard in a bid to get back on the road, but he was unable to avoid the office workers streaming out on to the pavement and into his path. The crowd scattered, but there were too many and the vehicle was moving too fast. The cab ploughed into them, sending bodies tumbling in the air, bumping over others who had fallen. It slewed back on to the road, tyres screeching on the now wet surface, and smashed into the side of a bus. The cab door flew open and the driver fell out, his eyes wide with panic; he scrabbled around on his knees as if seeking a place to hide.
A thump from the front of his car diverted Rivers' attention. He turned to see the distraught woman whose companion had been so hideously killed leaning over the bonnet, her face a red mask of blood. He could see a long sliver of glass protruding from her forehead, but he couldn't tell if it was pain or terror that made her drum her fists against the metal. Rivers pushed open his door and got out.
The noise, now unhindered, swept over him, an assault that heightened his own dread. A young man lay in the gutter only a few feet away, screeching but making no attempt to flee. A lamppost groaned as it tilted at an impossible angle. Someone-it could have been a man or a woman so hysterical was the voice-called a name repeatedly, while other voices wailed for help. The jutting facade of a nearby building began to crack, fissures starting at its base and stretching upwards, branching into dozens of jagged lines as they ascended, sharp cannon sounds announcing each fresh break. Another explosion, this time from somewhere far away. Smoke billowed from one of the side turnings.
The vibration from beneath the ground felt even more strange to Rivers now that it was coming up through the soles of his feet; it seemed to run through his whole body like a continuous but painless electric current. It was impossible to think straight, for the fact that London itself was undergoing an earthquake was difficult enough to come to terms with, and the shuddering of the ground and the noise and mayhem around him induced panic rather than reason. Something struck his back-it might have been a piece of glass or it might have been stonework-and jolted him enough to get him moving.