Bryce and Eddie stepped away from the tower and saw something sparkle about ten blocks away. It was a car glinting in the sun, and it seemed to be weaving all over the avenue as it slowly got closer.
Eddie turned to Ferguson and said, "Don't move. We'll be back." That was one of Eddie's more needless orders, Bryce thought: Ferguson looked much too weak to wander.
Bryce and Eddie went to the Cadillac as quickly as their oxygen-starved bodies would let them. Erin was watching the car through Eddie's binoculars. Eddie took his instrument, looked for a moment, then handed it to Bryce.
The car was a dusty blue Camaro around fifteen years old, give or take five. It weaved off to its right, barely missed a parked Mercedes, and mounted the sidewalk where it sheared a hydrant. Water sprayed around the car, then fountained as the car moved on. It crossed the oncoming lane and straddled the centerline for a while. Given that it was a little under a mile away, Bryce thought it might take three and a half to four minutes to reach them if it kept coming at its present rate.
Instead, it wandered to its right again, mounted the sidewalk . . .
And struck the outer pump island of Herman's Texaco, shearing off a pump before coming to rest against a pillar. The metallic bang of impact reached them four seconds later. There was no fire, but the angle and distance made it impossible to tell how much gasoline might be spreading . . . although Bryce remembered how shadowy the office had been and thought that the power was off.
He also remembered The Kid, whose deuce coupe had been parked very near to where the Camaro was now resting.
Eddie surely remembered, too. He turned to Erin, pointed at the M113 and said, "Stay with Ferguson. If that Kid shows, lock yourself in."
Bryce could hear shuddering hoots of breath from Erin's tube as he entered the Cadillac. Eddie started its engine and sent his car surging to the crash site. Bryce felt his heart race faster and faster.