“I’m going running in the park,” Jack said.
Having bested Jack’s retort and willing to accept Jack’s refusal to meet his challenge as another victory, Warren bowed in recognition of his team’s cheering. He high-fived with one of them and then swaggered back onto the court. “Let’s run!” he yelled.
Jack smiled to himself, thinking how much the dynamics of the playground basketball court revealed about current intra-city society. Vaguely he wondered if any psychologist had ever thought about studying it from an academic point of view. He thought it would be fruitful indeed.
Jack stepped through the chain-link gate onto the sidewalk and started jogging. He ran due east. Ahead, at the end of the block he could see the dark silhouettes of jagged rocks and leafless trees. He knew that in a few minutes he’d leave behind the bustle of the city and enter the placid interior of Central Park. It was his favorite place to run.
Reginald had been stymied. There was no way he could have walked out into a playground in a hostile neighborhood. Having found the doc playing b-ball, he’d resigned himself to waiting in his Camaro. His hope was that Jack would separate himself from the crowd, perhaps by heading for one of the nearby delis for a drink.
When he’d seen Jack quit the game and pull on his sweater, he’d been encouraged enough to reach under the newspaper and snap the safety off the Tec. But then he heard Warren’s challenge and was sure he’d be sitting through at least another game.
He was wrong. To his delight, a few minutes later Jack came out of the playground. But he didn’t head west in the direction of the shops as Reginald had anticipated. Instead he headed east!
Cursing under his breath, Reginald had to make a U-turn right in the middle of all the traffic. A cabdriver complained bitterly by leaning on his horn. It was all Reginald could do to keep from reaching for the Tec. The cabdriver was one of those guys from the Far East whom Reginald would have loved to surprise with a couple of bursts.
Reginald’s disappointment turned back to delight when he became aware of Jack’s destination. As Jack sprinted across Central Park West, Reginald quickly parked. Leaping from the car, he grabbed the Tec along with the newspaper. Cradling the package in his hands, he, too, dashed across Central Park West, dodging the traffic.
At that point an entrance to the park’s West Drive continued eastward into the park. Nearby was a sweeping stone stairway that rose up around a rocky outcropping. Lampposts partially lit the walkway before it disappeared into the blackness.
Reginald started up the stairs where he’d seen Jack go seconds earlier. Reginald was pleased. He couldn’t believe his luck. In fact, chasing his prey into the dark, deserted park was making the job almost too easy.
From Jack’s point of view at that moment the park’s desolate darkness was more a source of comfort than uneasiness, unlike when he’d crossed the park on his bike Friday night. He felt consolation in the fact that although his vision was hampered, so was everyone else’s. He firmly believed if the Black Kings were to harass him it would be in and around his apartment.
The terrain where Jack’s run began was surprisingly hilly and rocky. The area was called the Great Hill for good reason. He was following an asphalt walkway that twisted, turned, and tunneled beneath the leafless branches of the surrounding trees. The lights from the lampposts illuminated the branches in an eerie fashion, giving the impression the park was covered by a giant spider’s web.
Although he felt winded at first, Jack settled into a comfortable pace and began to relax. With the city out of view, he had a chance to think more clearly. He began to wonder if his crusade was based on his hatred for AmeriCare, as Chet and Bingham had implied. From his present perspective Jack had to agree it was possible. After all, the idea of the intentional spread of the four diseases was implausible if not preposterous. And if he found the people at the General defensive, maybe he’d made them respond that way. As Bingham had reminded him: Jack could be abrasive.
In the middle of his musings Jack became aware of a new sound that coincided with his own footfalls. It was a metallic click, as if his basketball shoes had heel-savers. Perplexed, Jack altered his pace. The sound went out of sync for a moment but then gradually merged back.
Jack hazarded a glance behind him. When he did, he saw a figure running in his direction and closing. At the moment Jack spotted the figure, the man was passing under a lamppost. Jack could see he was not dressed as a jogger. In fact, he was wearing black leather, and in his hand he brandished a gun!
Jack’s heart leaped in his chest. Aided by an adrenaline rush, he put on a burst of speed. Behind him he could hear his pursuer do likewise.
Jack frantically tried to figure the fastest way out of the park. If he was able to get among traffic and other people he might have a chance. All he knew for sure was that the closest way to the city was through the foliage to his right. He had no idea how far. It could have been a hundred feet or a hundred yards.
Sensing his pursuer was staying with him and perhaps even gaining, Jack veered right and plunged into the forest. Within the woods it was considerably darker than on the walkway. Jack could barely see where he was going as he stumbled up a steep grade. He was in a full panic, crashing over underbrush and scrambling through dense evergreens.
The hill leveled off at the summit and Jack burst through to an area with considerably less undergrowth. It was just as dark, but there were only dead leaves to contend with as he ran between the closely spaced tree trunks.
Happening upon a massive oak tree, Jack slipped behind and leaned against its rough surface. He was breathing hard. He tried to control his panting to listen. All he could hear was the sound of distant traffic that reverberated like the muffled roar of a waterfall. Only occasional car horns and undulating sirens punctuated the night.
Jack stayed behind the broad trunk of the oak for several minutes. Hearing no more footfalls, he pushed off the tree and continued heading west. Now he moved slowly and as silently as possible, nudging his feet forward in the leaves to keep the noise down. His heart was racing.
Jack’s foot hit up against something soft, and to his horror it seemed to explode in front of him. For a second Jack had no idea what was happening. With great commotion a phantom figure swathed in rags lurched out of the ground as if resurrecting itself from the dead. The creature whirled about like a dervish, flailing at the air and shouting “Bastards” over and over again.
Instantly another figure loomed up as well, equally frantic. “You’re not gonna get our shopping cart,” the second man yelled. “We’ll kill you first.”
Jack had only managed to take a single step backward when the first figure threw himself at him, smothering him with a wretched stench and ineffectual blows. Jack tried to push him away, but the man reached up and drew his fingernails down Jack’s face.
Jack marshaled his strength to rid himself of this fetid vagrant who clung to his chest. Before Jack could shake him loose, a burst of gunfire shattered the night. Jack felt himself sprayed with fluid as the tramp stiffened, then collapsed forward. Jack had to push him aside to keep from being knocked over backward.
The other vagrant’s keening brought forth a second burst of gunfire. His wails of grief were cut off suddenly with a gurgle.
Having seen the direction from which the second burst of gunfire had come, Jack turned and fled in the opposite direction. Once again he was in headlong flight despite the darkness and the obstacles. Suddenly the ground dropped off, and Jack stumbled down a steep hillside, barely keeping his feet under him until he plunged into a dense undergrowth of vines and thornbushes.