A Gathering Gloom - Prologue. Prologue

Nick walked onto a bridge in the heart of Central Park just as the sun was beginning to rise. Overhead, a few high clouds blazed in full sunlight while around him the park remained, for the moment at least, cloaked in the last remnants of night. Below, a milky, translucent layer of mist hung just above the surface of a small lake, giving the morning an ethereal, fairy book feel. In the distance, a flock of ducks clumsily flew in the direction of the rising sun.

From the look of things, it was just the beginning of another day. But Nick knew otherwise. He paused a moment, leaned on the bridge railing and drew in a shaky, deep breath. Today was going to be the beginning of the end for life as anyone knew it, and he was the one who was going to set it all in motion.

Looking out on the calm, peaceful morning, the utter absurdity and downright audacity of what he was about to do hit him full force. He couldn’t do this. He had no right to do this. A wave of weakness swept through him and his vision blurred. He sagged against the railing as nausea churned in his stomach. If he had eaten any breakfast, he was sure it would have gone tumbling down to the water below, but there was nothing to come out. He coughed once, twice, and the feeling began to pass.

“You alright?” a middle-aged man jogging by stopped to ask. The sudden intrusion into his private anguish startled Nick. Weren’t all New Yorkers supposed to be rude and self-centered? Why this concern from a stranger? “Rough night?”

Nick collected himself and straightened up, one last cough escaping his lips. He managed a weak smile and nodded at the man. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Heading over to the parade? It’s going to be a great day for it. Just drink some water, grab a bite, and you’ll be feeling better in no time.” With that, the man moved along the path further into the park.

Around him, a growing number of people were starting to fill the pathways snaking through the park, an even mix between locals and tourists as far as Nick could tell. Many of them would be heading over to the parade route where they would enjoy the floats and performances, momentarily forgetting their common, ordinary existences at least for the morning. But then life would go on. The coming days, weeks, and months would be much like the ones before it, full of day to day commitments interspersed with the love of family and friends. Through it all, there would be laughter and tears, hopes and dreams, good days and bad. Who was he to take any of that away from them? Nick was tempted to reel again.

He took another deep, steadying breath. His mouth tasted bitter, and he decided to follow the man’s advice and get some water. There had to be a convenience store close by somewhere.

The sun crested the horizon and he gazed momentarily at its red dusky hue before moving on along the bridge. He overheard a young girl with her mother ask, “Will there be clowns? And dancing bears?” The mother laughed and replied, “No, honey, this isn’t the circus, but maybe …”

Nick tuned them out and set off at a brisk pace, heading into the city to find some water. He could always back out of this. He didn’t have to go through with this. The thought reassured him.

A quick check on his phone showed there was a 7-Eleven a few blocks down 8^th Avenue. Nick exited the park at Columbus Circle and began making his way down the street.

As he moved along the crowded city street, he noticed a few people were giving him sidelong, lingering glances. A sense of paranoia surged up within, threatening to overwhelm him. Were they on to him? Did they know? Or at least suspect? Would they alert the cops who would search him and discover what he was carrying? Nick could feel the tension written on his face, and he came to the sudden realization that people were looking at him weirdly because he was staring oddly at them in the first place. If he looked anything like he felt, he was sure the look he was giving them was more than a little unsettling. No wonder people were eyeing him nervously.

Nick consciously relaxed his face, forcing the corners of his mouth up slightly from their downward scowl and raising his eyebrows to lessen the severity of his expression. He was just another parade goer, here to enjoy the day and gawk at the city, nothing more. He willed people to ignore him. His mind control either worked or he was no longer acting suspiciously, because a half block later he no longer felt like the subject of any unwanted attention.

Seeing the multitudes coming together with all races and creeds represented, he realized this wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t some general conducting affairs from the confines of a secluded war room who, when the time came to give the order, never saw the lives that would fall at his command. He was looking his soon to be victims in the eyes, brushing against them as the crowds thickened, overhearing snippets of their conversations and their lives. He knew these people were not the problem. Nick had nothing against any of them.

Their only offense was that none of them was his beloved Ryan. An image of Ryan as he had last seen him, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, pale and lifeless, with a breathing tube down his throat and iv plugged into his arm, flashed before Nick’s eyes.

He stumbled as if he had been punched in the gut. Tears welled up in his eyes and he involuntarily cried out a soft, “Oh.” He sagged against the side of a building, and he didn’t care that once again people were looking at him. He had lost so much in his short life and there was no way he was going to lose the one, lone bright spot left as well. He had to go through with this. For Ryan. He pulled himself back together and stood up straight.

His resolve restored, he walked the remaining distance to the 7-Eleven. He entered just as five youngsters, probably seven to eight years old, came pouring out laughing and giggling. Another wave of uncertainty swept over him. If he went through with this, chances are none of those kids would still be alive in a few months. How could he live with himself if he did that?

He went to the refrigerated section, grabbed a water, and took a place in the checkout line. A plump, older lady in front of him reeked of cheap perfume, and he momentarily fought the urge to gag. An image of her on her deathbed, with sores on her face and blood leaking from her eyes, flashed unbidden before Nick’s eyes. Her odor would not be missed by anyone, he thought, and he suppressed the urge to break out in a nervous chuckle. Not all deaths would be bad, he supposed. As soon as he thought it, he mentally recoiled at the meanness of the notion. Who was he to judge? How were any of these people any better or worse than he was? Was he really going to go through with this?

His mind numb with indecision, he paid for his water and made his way over to the Avenue of the Americas. Though it was still two hours before the procession would pass, a good many people had already gathered, jockeying for the best possible viewing positions.

Looking up and down the street at the people, Nick realized the density of the crowd met the criteria he had been given. His instructions were simple. Once enough people had gathered along the route, he was to slip into the middle of the crowd, press a switch concealed within his coat’s cuff, and begin walking up and down the street covering as much distance as possible. Clever nozzles hidden in the shoulder panels of his jacket would begin spewing out a fine mist. The liquid from concealed stores sewn into his jacket and underlying vest would shoot up in an invisible fountain to then gently disperse and descend onto the crowd below, spreading the fluid’s viral contents.

The moment of truth had arrived. Nick placed his finger on the button, his heart pounding frantically in his chest.

To his left, a young girl, maybe four years old, suddenly erupted with a deafening, “Daddy! Daddy!”

A young man who didn’t look at all old enough to have any children rushed in and scooped the youngster up. “Hey, pumpkin.” The guy leaned over and kissed the young woman who was standing with the child. “Missed you, sugar.”

As he looked at the young family, Nick grunted and took his finger off the trigger. He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t about to sentence this young family and all these people to a death sentence. He had no right to do that. He turned to go.

Before he could take two steps, though, the image of a comatose Ryan flashed once more before his eyes. If he walked away now, the two of them would never be together again. There would be no more cozy moments, no more tender kisses, no love at all left in his life. A life without Ryan would be no life at all.

What was more important? His love for Ryan, or the lives and loves of everyone else in the world? The math problem was deceptively simple and the answer obvious. But his heart didn’t care about math, wasn’t impressed by the numbers. Nick stood with his finger on the trigger, conflicted.