He was relieved that Hellboy and Liz now knew where Abby was, but that relief was countered by his frustration at not being able to reach her himself. The only thing he could do was head east ... and hope that somewhere he would get lucky.
The road was a chaos of parked cars. Most people watched the confusion in the distance from the perceived safety of their vehicles, but a few sat on their car roofs. The police roadblock at the end of the street prevented them from going any farther. Abe's intention now was to find a way through.
The Anderson Hotel rose way above any surrounding buildings, yet it was all but obscured by smoke, buzzed by helicopters ... and attacked by other things. Abe saw dark shapes dipping and weaving between the helicopters, playing with them the way a cat plays with a wounded bird. The sound of explosions and gunfire was muted by distance, and he had the distinct impression that the observers thought they were watching a movie being made. There was interest on their faces, not fear; excitement, not trepidation. If they were closer, maybe the explosions would scare them away. If they could see what was going on, understand its implications, perhaps the true seriousness of the situation would be brought home.
"You people need to wake up," Abe muttered.
And as if his wish had made it so, the wake-up call screamed down from the sky.
The helicopter was ablaze. Its rotors still spun, fanning the flames, and even through the smashed windscreen Abe could see the pilots grim expression as he fought with the controls. But it was a losing battle. The aircraft lost height, spewing fire and oily black smoke behind it, and its rear rotor suddenly stalled and broke away from the tail, smashing into the fifth floor of an office block across the street from where Abe stood.
He backed into a doorway, watching a few other people do the same. And still some of them thought staying in their cars would help.
The pilot managed to steer the doomed aircraft away from the packed street and into a building just beyond the police roadblock. It struck the glass-sided office block and exploded, sending a million shards of glass glittering across the road, spinning through the air, reflecting the helicopter's demise, and forming a brief rainbow of fire as they fell.
Abe ducked into the doorway and covered his head with his hands. The sound of the crash went on and on, the helicopter's remains tumbling to the road and bringing half of the buildings fa?ade down with it. When he looked again, the whole street beyond the roadblock was aflame. It all but obscured the view of the Anderson.
"That was close," he muttered. And then the dragon came through the flames and brought the danger closer.
It was small — perhaps the size of a small hatchback car — but when it breathed flames they were white-hot. It swayed its head left to right across the roadblock, and the police cars erupted into flame, policemen scattering and falling beneath it. A gas tank went, then another, and the dragon hopped from one burning car to the next.
"Get out!" Abe yelled. People were still in their cars. Some of them were taking pictures with their mobile phones. "Get out, get away!"
The dragon hovered for a few seconds and landed on a Range Rover. It stared through the windscreen at the occupants. The driver leaned back in his seat, but the passenger stretched forward, now separated from the dragons breath only by a sheet of safety glass.
Then the creature reared up and gushed flame straight into the Range Rover, incinerating its interior in one fiery breath.
Abe ran. There was nothing he could do here. The chaos was spreading, and he was just one man. He found an alley, worked his way in between buildings — a service yard, a parking lot, a delivery area — and when he emerged again, he found himself on an empty street. To his left lay London, to his right, revealed in all its blazing glory, the Anderson Hotel. From here he could see the areas around the hotel, and what he saw was all bad.