30 Days of Night: Light of Day Read Online Free PDF Page A

He allowed a couple of them to slap his palm as he rushed toward the parking garage.
    James Callahan was the self-proclaimed Mayor of Real America, and as such he felt he had to take seriously the responsibility to be a man of the people. As a result, he declined the limo that the network would happily have provided him, and drove himself to and from work each day. It cut into his free time, but instead of reading or writing his show during the trip, he spent it listening to talk radio to get a sense of the public’s mood.
    The parking garage was quiet. It was guarded atall times, of course, and well lit, and his reserved space was only steps away from the elevator. He climbed into the H2 and started the engine. He loved the sense of power the big machine gave him, the steady growl of its motor, the elevation from the street. Callahan was not a tall man, although he had broad shoulders and a deep chest and he was a man people noticed when he swept into a room, so he liked being able to look down on pedestrians and most other motorists as he made his way to his Upper East Side Park Avenue brownstone.
    By the time he got there, Herman would have let Serena in and closeted himself in his quarters. She would have some candles lit, the bed turned down, a few toys out, and she would be wearing silk, or maybe leather, and not much of it, at that.
    He heard the first thump on the roof as he passed 60th. Callahan glanced at the ceiling. Maybe some punk had thrown a water balloon or something. It hadn’t sounded like a rock, fortunately. But if it was a paint balloon, or anything that would have caused real damage to the SUV, he would have the network’s security people all over that corner until they found the culprit. As soon as he was safely parked in his private garage, he would stand on the running board and take a look.
    A few blocks farther on he heard another noise. This one was softer, but unmistakable. Maybe he’d been wrong at first—maybe a squirrel or some other varmint had fallen from a tree and managed to hang on to the roof. He sped up a little, hoping to shake it off. Hecould handle another speeding ticket, if it came to that. Most cops gave him a pass, sometimes in exchange for an autograph, and those tickets he did receive he just handed over to a producer to be paid.
    Between 66th and 67th most of the street lamps were out. He would have to have Herman call the mayor about that. He liked the sidewalks to be well lit when he drove past—a person never knew who might be skulking around in the dark.
    Callahan recalled with fondness a cocktail party at the mayor’s home. He had met Marcella there. Submissive, slender, sexy Marcella had been one of his favorites. He was thinking about the way she used to shrug out of an evening gown when something darted from the shadowed sidewalk.
    He stomped on the brake. The Hummer fishtailed slightly as it lurched to a sudden halt.
    And a face appeared before the windshield, upside down. It stared in at him with malevolent eyes. Not a squirrel, then, or any other kind of urban wildlife. No, this was some sort of freak, a drug addict, most likely.
    Then he noticed the figure pinned in his headlights had a similar look. They both had long faces, open mouths full of teeth, flicking tongues. More of them scurried out of the darkness. Crackheads? Callahan always drove with the doors locked, so when they pawed at the handles, the sturdy SUV forbade them entry. He took his foot off the brake and pressed down on the accelerator. He would just have to run them down ifthey didn’t get out of his way. The street was empty for blocks—he would find if the creep on the roof could hang on at eighty or ninety miles per hour.
    But as he started to move forward, the driver’s door opened—no, that was the wrong word, the freak outside didn’t open the door but
ripped
it off, hinges and lock giving with a horrendous scraping, snapping sound. Callahan batted at clawed hands reaching toward