Davey followed safely after her.
Jack came last. As soon as he was on the bridge, there was, of course,
no one holding the far end of it. However, his weight held it in place,
and he didn’t scramble completely off until there was another lull in
the wind.
Then he helped Rebecca drag the plywood back onto the roof.
“Now what?” she asked.
“One building’s not enough,” he said. “We’ve got to put more distance
between us and them.”
Using the plywood, they crossed the gulf between the second and third
apartment houses, went from the third roof to the fourth, then from the
fourth to the fifth. The next building was ten or twelve stories higher
than this one. Their roof-hopping had come to an end, which was just as
well, since their arms were beginning to ache from dragging and lifting
the heavy sheet of plywood.
At the rear of the fourth brownstone, Rebecca leaned over the parapet
and looked down into the alley, four stories below. There was some
light down there: a streetlamp at each end of the block, another in the
middle, plus the glow that came from all the windows of the first-floor
apartments. She couldn’t see any goblins in the alley, or any other
living creatures for that matterjust snow in blankets and mounds, snow
twirling in small and short-lived tornadoes, snow in vaguely
phosphorescent sheets like the gowns of ghosts racing in front of the
wind. Maybe there were goblins crouching in the shadows somewhere, but
she didn’t really think so because she couldn’t see any glowing white
eyes.
A black, iron, switchback fire escape descended to the alley in a
zig-zag path along the rear face of the building. Jack went down first,
stopping at each landing to wait for Penny and Davey; he was prepared to
break their fall if they slipped on the cold, snow-covered, and
occasionally ice-sheathed steps.
Rebecca was the last off the roof. At each landing on the fire escape,
she paused to look down at the alley, and each time she expected to see
strange, threatening creatures loping through the snow toward the foot
of the iron steps. But each time, she saw nothing.
When they were all in the alley, they turned right, away from the row of
brownstones, and ran as fast as they could toward the cross street. When
they reached the street, already slowing from a run to a fast walk, they
turned away from Third Avenue and headed back toward the center of the
city.
Nothing followed them.
Nothing came out of the dark doorways they passed.
For the moment they seemed safe. But more than that . . . they
seemed to have the entire metropolis to themselves, as if they were the
only four survivors of doomsday.
Rebecca had never seen it snow this hard. This was a rampaging,
lashing, hammering storm more suitable to the savage polar ice fields
than to New York. Her face was numb, and her eyes were watering, and
she ached in every joint and muscle from the constant struggle required
to resist the insistent wind.
Two-thirds of the way to Lexington Avenue, Davey stumbled and fell and
simply couldn’t find the energy to continue on his own. Jack carried
him.
From the look of her, Penny was rapidly using up the last of her
reserves, as well. Soon, Rebecca would have to take Davey, so Jack
could then carry Penny.
And how far and how fast could they expect to travel under those
circumstances? Not far. Not very damned fast. They needed to find
transportation within the next few minutes.
They reached the avenue, and Jack led them to a large steel grate which
was set in the pavement and from which issued clouds of steam. It was a
vent from one sort of underground tunnel or another, most likely from
the subway system. Jack put Davey down, and the boy was able to stand
on his own feet. But it was obvious that he would still have to be
carried when they started out again. He looked terrible; his small face
was drawn, pinched, and very pale except for enormous dark circles