"personal demons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fowler Christopher)

He parked the car at a motel and took a walk through the thronging streets. A group of teenagers stood huddled together in the distance. As he approached, he saw that they were cutting the sign of Daniel into their right hands. At the next corner a sea of bloody palms passed lightly over him in a grisly wave of worship. He pushed against the rising tide of fanatics, all moving in a single direction, and passed a crowd gathered around a TV store window. On the multiscreens they stared at horrific footage of people rioting for food in the East; it appeared that the work of at least one of the horsemen had been carried out successfully. A newsreader announced that the new hard-right Chinese leader had taken advantage of this growing dissatisfaction with Western policies to stage a military coup against Russia, and would challenge the USA over the secret missile sites; clearly, a second horseman's work was paying off.
When the transmission fuzzed and dispersed across twenty identical screens, the international news footage was replaced by one of the 'lifestyle' cola commercials produced by Brett's company. The crowd hissed angrily.

The phonecall startled him. He felt in his jacket for the mobile and checked the number, but failed to recognise it.
'Brett, it's Lisa.'
'Lisa! Where are you? I went over to your apartment. I was worried sick.'
'I had to leave quickly - one of the neighbours - it was becoming too dangerous to stay there. I tried calling you but there was something wrong with the phone system.'
'I know, I had the same problem. Where are you now?'
'At my father's building downtown. There are mobs of people outside, just hanging around the entrance. There's been no trouble yet, but it's only a matter of time. Everyone's wearing these robes.'
'Give me your address, I'll come and get you.'
He reached the building a little before three, entering the deserted building from the underground carpark. The silence came as a shock after the chanting in the streets. Carefully, he made his way to the seventh floor. Lisa was there to meet him at the elevator bank, and rushed thankfully into his arms. She was clearly terrified.
'The world's going mad,' she said, 'I've been watching the news broadcasts. There was a report from the WHO about the new strain of bilharzia spreading overseas. All of the horsemen have been called into action except you.'
'In a few hours this - celestial deadline - is going to be met, and I still don't know what role I'm supposed to play.'
From below came a distant crash of sheet glass. 'We have to get out of LA,' he said, taking her hand. 'I have a car in the basement.' He looked around at the deserted office floor. 'Where the hell is everybody?'
Lisa shrugged as she stepped into the lift. 'The police chief has declared a state of emergency, and at the same time he's appealing for calm, don't you love this town? Everyone's been sent home. I heard someone say there are roadblocks all around the city. We'll need to cut through back roads. How's your driving?'
'Listen, Lisa, maybe you should leave by yourself. You're in danger so long as you're near me.'
She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the elevator. 'I'm not afraid of being with you.'

The new religious zealots were terrific with matters philosophical, but not so hot at building roadblocks. The Oldsmobile crashed through the oildrum-and-fencepost cordons that had been set up, and soon headed out on to the freeway, which was now curiously deserted. The road ahead was wide open and clear all the way. Los Angeles was disappearing in their rear-view mirror. As the sun started to set, Brett began to believe that the final part of the prophecy would not be fulfilled, and that they had averted the end of the world.
They kept the radio on as they drove. The US military had issued China with a deadline to declare all covert missile sites and chemical weapons factories. Clinton was demanding an immediate answer. The roads remained strangely empty. As night descended, the suburbs fell away and the desert appeared. On the other side of Palm Springs, Lisa took over the driving so that Brett could reread Elias's notes.
'We're going to need gas soon. Can't I slow down for a while?' she asked. 'This wheel is making my arms stiff. Surely we're safe now.'
'Use the cruise control. And keep your eyes on the road.'
As they drove, they saw vast burning pyres in the hills, signs that the population had instinctively prepared themselves for a cataclysmic event. He counted over a dozen glowing patches on the horizon.
The car radio was now their only link with the outside world. Its announcers continued to report on the deteriorating situation between the world powers. China had its missiles trained on Russia and was prepared to use them if their demands were not met.
The road ahead appeared ever more brightly lit. There were torches lining either side of the freeway, like burning spears on the approach to an ancient city. Puzzled, they sped on past the darkened countryside below.
'We have to stay in the desert until the deadline has passed,' said Brett. 'It's the only way to be sure. The priest said all four horsemen have to act or the Apocalypse can't occur. Where are we now?'
'The last time I looked we were about thirty miles east of some town called Plaster City. I can't read the map in this light and the glovebox bulb isn't working. Where on earth did you get this car?'
Around the next bend, crimson accident flares were spread before a stack of crushed vehicles spread across the road.
'Shit! Hold tight!'
Slamming on the brakes, Brett carommed the car side-on into the flames and veered off at a fast-approaching junction of the freeway. Suddenly there were people lining either side of the connecting road, waving, cheering and making the handsalute of the church. It felt as though Brett and Lisa were making their entry into Rome. In fact, they were about to enter the city of Phoenix.

The car radio had been operating below Brett's hearing threshold for several miles. Now it boomed into fresh life as the announcer spoke of one last hope for peace; a few minutes ago the Chinese had said that if they were provided with a positive, conciliatory gesture from the leader of the US military within the hour, they would halt their planned strike action on the Russian seaboard. So there was a slim chance of salvation!
'Did you hear that? There's still a hope!' He turned to Lisa, and one glance at her unguarded face told him all he needed to know.
No-one could look so disappointed at the news. He had been duped. She had deliberately led him out here. She saw him looking and stared blankly back.
'This is where you need to be in order to fulfil the prophecy,' she said simply.

He looked up at the road ahead, and saw that once again they had entered a deserted stretch of highway. A sign above him read YOU ARE NOW ENTERING PHOENIX CITY LIMITS. Puzzled, he accelerated - and suddenly on the ramp below the car he saw dozens of police motorbikes crossing in formation. A motorcade was passing beneath the empty road. Brett started to brake, trying to make sense of what he saw, but with a feral cry Lisa stamped her shoe over his, forcing his foot down. The Oldsmobile rocketed ahead to vault the off-ramp barrier and smash down on to the central passing limo of the motorcade, flipping both vehicles and turning one into a thundering ball of flame. A roar of triumphant applause grew from the reappearing crowds.
Hurled from the Oldsmobile, Brett spiralled away in a bellowing sea of flame-lit faces.

Slowly, painfully, he returned to consciousness.
He was stripped to the waist, lying on a warm granite slab that formed a dais in the middle of a field near the freeway. He was surrounded by thousands of celebrating people. Fires filled the horizon. He could smell barbecued chicken in the air.
Lisa, Mara and his son checked with each other to see who would go first, then stepped bashfully forward in turn. Davey's arms were unbandaged, and completely unmarked. He gave a Candid Camera kind of smile and shrugged. Brett's work colleagues were there. So were most of his friends and family.
'You did it, Brett!' Mara cried happily. 'You fulfilled your destiny as the Horseman of Death!' There were whoops and hollers. Everyone was joyous. The noise was like a hundred sitcom audiences cheering the entrance of a sexy woman.
'I don't understand,' he croaked weakly.
They tried to explain that he had hit the motorcade bringing the military heads back from Nevada. A simple accident on the road to Phoenix - that was all he had been needed for. They all talked at once, and weren't sure if he could hear them.
Now the only remaining moderate military leader was dead, Lisa explained. No answer could go back to the Chinese. She felt bad about killing Elias, but he'd had a good life. Hadn't it all turned out for the best? She poured him a plastic beaker of Californian champagne, but he knocked it out of her hand.
The apocalypse ran a little late. It was some time after midnight that the sky from the East began to light up with the arcing trails of the arriving missiles. Lisa gripped Brett's arm and told him not to worry.
'Your destiny isn't ours,' she said sadly. 'You and your three partners will live on, through destruction, death and decomposition. You'll see it through - right through - to a time of rebirth and regeneration. Then you'll be released from your earthly duty, to return to dust.'

As the world erupted around him, Brett demanded to know why he was chosen, out of anyone in the world.