The Day After Tomorrow

146

OSBORN WALKED quickly back the way he had come. Now he saw the railroaders loading into the elevator at the far end of the Ice Palace. Walking even faster, he caught up with them just as the door was closing. Stopping it with his hand, he squeezed in among them.

“Sorry . . . ,” he lied, smiling.

The door closed and the elevator rose. What to do now? Osborn could feel the pump of blood through his carotid arteries. The thud! thud! thud! of it felt like a jackhammer. Abruptly the elevator stopped and the door opened out into a large self-service restaurant. Osborn had to step out first. Then he held back and tried to stay with the crowd. Outside it was almost dark. Through a bank of windows he could just make out the peaks at the far end of the sloping Aletsch glacier. Beyond them, in the eerie twilight, he could see weather clouds moving in.

“What’re you doin’ now?” Connie was walking beside him. Osborn looked at her and then started as a sudden gust of wind rattled across the windows.

“Doing?” Osborn’s eyes nervously swept the room as they followed the others toward the food service line. “I thought maybe I’d have a—cup of coffee.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Why would anything be the matter?”

“You in trouble or something? The police after you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“Then why’re you so nervous? You’re skitty as a newborn colt.”

Now they were at the food counter. Osborn looked back at the room. Some of the railroaders were already sitting down, pulling up chairs between two tables nearby. The family he’d seen at the souvenir shop was at another table, with the father pointing off toward the restrooms and the young boy in the Chicago Bulls jacket heading toward it. Two young men sat at a table near the door, smoking cigarettes and chatting earnestly.

“Sit over here with me and drink this.” They were already through the cashier and Connie was leading him to a table away from the railroaders.

“What is it?” Osborn looked at the glass Connie had set In front of him.

“Coffee with cognac. Now be a good guy and drink it.”

Osborn looked at her, then picked up the cup and drank. What to do? He thought. They’re here, in the building or outside it. I didn’t go after them. Which means they’ll come after me.

“Are you Doctor Osborn?”

Osborn looked up. The boy in the Chicago Bulls jacket was right there.

“Yes.”

“A man said to tell you he’s waiting outside.”

“Who is?” Connie’s bleached eyebrows furrowed together.

“By the dogsled run.”

“Clifford, what are you doin’? I thought you were goin’ to the lavatory.” The boy’s father was taking him by the hand. “Sorry,” he said to Osborn. “What’re you doin’ bothering those folks, huh?” he said to his son as they walked off.

Osborn saw his father on the sidewalk. Primal fear in his eyes. Terrified. His hand reaching up for his son to ease him into death. Suddenly he got up. Without looking at Connie, he stepped around the table and started for the door.