The Dead and the Gone

  What difference did it make, he asked himself. All that mattered was that there was enough food for his sisters to make it until Monday. How long could a can of chicken soup and a dented can of string beans last? Why didn't he throw his shoes at that guy, and keep the pineapple for himself.

  Saturday, November 12

  "Where's the radio?" Alex asked, after searching the living room for it. If he'd been listening to the radio more regularly, he would have realized Friday was a national holiday and prepared for the possibility of no food line. His sisters' survival depended on his knowing as much as possible.

  Julie and Bri exchanged glances.

  "What?" he said to Julie. "You got rid of it? You traded it for lipstick? It's my radio and I need it, and you had no business even touching it."

  "You always blame me for everything!" Julie cried. "I hate you!" She raced into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  "I'm sick and tired of her doing that," Alex said. "Now what the hell did she do to my radio?"

  "She didn't do anything," Bri said. "I did. It's all my fault."

  "Don't take the blame for her," Alex said. "That won't help Julie any."

  "But it is my fault," Bri said. "When you go to school, it gets so lonely in here. So I turn on the radio. I don't even care what they say. I just want to hear voices. And sometimes I fall asleep and I forget to turn the radio off. The batteries died last week. I've been scared to tell you."

  Alex tried to remember if there were any more C batteries lying around. He was pretty sure he'd bartered them all.

  "I'm sorry," Bri said. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

  Get healthy, he thought. Get strong enough so we can leave this hellhole.

  "You do enough every day just being here," he said. "I'll go apologize to Julie now."

  Monday, November 14

  Alex met Kevin outside the building at seven in the morning, the way they always did on Mondays to go body shopping. It was getting harder to find good ones, but Alex needed whatever he could get.

  "I guess you'll be going soon," Alex said. "Someplace safe."

  Kevin shrugged. "I'm in no hurry," he said.

  "You're crazy, you know that?" Alex said. "Where will you go?"

  "I'm not sure," he said. "Mom won't leave without Dad, and there's still a lot of stuff to truck out of the city. It'll be awhile."

  "But when you leave, it won't be for an evacuation center," Alex said. "You'll go someplace good."

  Kevin looked as uncomfortable as Alex had ever seen him. "I asked Dad about you," he said. "And your sisters. Right after Julie's party. He said the evac centers weren't that bad, that you'd be okay there."

  "Thanks anyway," Alex said. "I wasn't expecting you to rescue us."

  "He doesn't care," Kevin said. "Not about Mom. Not about me. If he did, he would have made us leave months ago. That's how you know if people really love you. The ones who do let you go."

  Friday, November 18

  Alex, Kevin, and Julie spent five hours on the food line and ended up with enough food for the weekend, maybe Monday. Alex carried the food upstairs, then took three of Papi's cans of beer and the last bottle of scotch. He'd been holding off trading Papi's beer for as long as he could, but times were getting desperate. He was used to not eating supper, and Julie could get used to it if she had to, but there had to be some food for Bri.

  He looked in on Bri, lying in the sleeping bag, covered with blankets. She smiled at him.

  "I can't wave," she said. "It's too hard to get my arms out of here."

  "Don't bother," he said. "Stay warm. I'll be back in a little while with more food."

  "Take care," she said. "I love you, Alex."

  "Love you, too," he said.

  Alex put the liquor in his backpack, then put on the heavy wool coat Greg or Bob had left behind in June when nobody thought about constant cold. He was glad he'd held on to it. All the other coats were gone.

  He was more nervous than usual walking toward Harvey's, and he tried to make himself laugh by thinking of the beer cans as weapons. There'd been no sight of the guy who'd tried to take Julie, but that didn't mean he wasn't still around.

  But he made it without incident to Harvey's, and he was pleased to see Harvey hadn't lost any more teeth during the week.

  "I brought you my best stuff," Alex said, unloading the backpack.

  Harvey nodded thoughtfully. "I can always count on you, Alex," he said. "I got a half dozen cans of mixed vegetables, and look at this, four juice boxes—remember those?—and a nice bag of rice."

  "That's a start," Alex said, falling into the now-comfortable ritual. "I might trade the scotch for that. What'll you give me for the beer?"

  Harvey laughed. "I love ya, kid," he said. "Okay, I'll throw in two of my best cans of spinach, and just because I like you, a can of lima beans."

  "I hate lima beans," Alex said, remembering a time when he wouldn't even eat them.

  "Sorry," Harvey said. "Want some mushrooms instead?"

  Lima beans were more filling. "I'll stick with the lima beans," Alex said. "What else?"

  "You're killing me," Harvey said. "Okay, for you, the last known box of Cheerios."

  "Deal," Alex said. Between the Cheerios and the rice, they'd all be able to make it for a week or more.

  "Hold on, hold on." Harvey said. "I got another proposition for you."

  "Sure, what?" Alex said, not that anything was going to be better than Cheerios.

  "I didn't want to say anything last Friday, till I asked around," Harvey said. "See what I could find for you and your sick sister. Someplace safe and easy to get to, right?"

  "Right," Alex said. "Harvey, did you find someplace?"

  "It wasn't easy," Harvey said. "But the arrangements are all made. A van'll pick you up and take you direct to this place outside Gainesville, Florida. It's one of those safe towns for important people's families. Plenty of food. Electricity. Schools. Even a hospital. Wish I could get into a joint like that." He spit contemptuously. "I'd rather die here than in one of those evac centers," he said. "Glad you won't have that problem anymore."

  "Harvey, thank you," Alex said. "How soon can we go?"

  Harvey smiled. "How soon can you bring your sister to me? The cute little spitfire?" he asked.

  "Could the van pick us up at our apartment instead?" Alex asked. "I don't think Bri can walk this far."

  "No problem," Harvey said. "Let me know when you can get the spitfire up here, and the van'll be waiting to take you back to your place for the other one. This'll work out great for you, Alex. You and that sick sister of yours will be just fine, and you won't ever have to worry about the spitfire. I can't name names, but the man who's taking her is very well connected."

  Alex stared at Harvey. "You expect me to trade Julie?" he asked. "She's my sister."

  "So what?" Harvey said. "You have another."

  Alex wanted to strangle Harvey, choke him so hard his rotting teeth would fly out. But without Harvey there wouldn't be enough food for any of them to live.

  He pulled his lips apart in what he hoped resembled a smile. "I don't think so," he said. "Thanks anyway, Harvey. I appreciate the offer, but I can't accept." Harvey shrugged. "It was the best I could do," he said. "There'll always be a market for her, but I can't guarantee door-to-door service to Florida."

  "I understand," Alex said. He put his hand out to shake Harvey's. "No hard feelings?"

  "No hard feelings," Harvey said.

  Alex put the vegetables and the juice boxes and the spinach and the lima beans and the rice and the Cheerios into his backpack. "See you next week," he said, trying not to tremble as he put his coat back on.

  Harvey nodded.

  Alex walked out of the store and went around the corner. There was no food in his body, but that didn't stop him from heaving until he collapsed from horror and exhaustion.

  Monday, November 21

  Alex confessed his sins, including homicidal thoughts,
to Father Franco on Saturday and spent the rest of the day in silent prayer and fasting. He didn't eat again until after Mass on Sunday, and he used the twelve flights of stairs he climbed by Bri's side to meditate on the twelve stations of the cross.

  By Sunday night he'd made his plan. The only thing that had held him back for so long, he acknowledged, was his false pride. And nowadays, pride could kill.

  He didn't think twice about the easy deceptions of Monday morning. Body shopping with Kevin, neither one of them doing much talking. Going back to the apartment with the little he'd garnered. Saying hi to Bri, awake but still in bed. Urging Julie to get ready for school, since they always ran late on Mondays. Going into Vincent de Paul, placing his backpack in his locker, and leaving without a word to Father Mulrooney or any of his other teachers. Boys came in and out now, and no one seemed to care.

  He took out the card Chris Flynn had handed him so long ago, and checked the address, even though he'd committed it to memory. West Fifty-second Street, farther south than Alex had been since he'd gone to the Port Authority back in May.

  It felt weird to see the skyscrapers once brimming with life and now half dead. But even half dead was busier than his neighborhood, and the people he saw walked with purpose. They were the important people, he realized, the ones with connections, the ones whose families were safe. Everything about them was cleaner, even their face masks. And they still had flesh on their bodies; not a single one was a walking skeleton. Alex wondered what it must be like, not to be hungry and dirty and scared. Although if they were sane, they were scared.

  He hoped the people wouldn't notice he didn't belong and force him back uptown before he saw Mr. Flynn. All his life he'd had moments of feeling like an outsider—in his family because he loved school so much, at school because his family had so little money. But he'd never felt like an outsider in New York before. Now he did and it frightened him.

  As he walked south of Central Park, he found there were no corpses and no rats. Either people were healthier midtown or the body collecting was more efficient. Either way, it showed that there was more than one New York, and this was the one that counted.

  He fingered Mr. Flynn's business card like rosary beads. He couldn't even be sure Chris's father was still in New York. But there was no one left Alex could turn to who might possibly help. Bri's and Julie's lives depended on it. He paused for a moment outside the office building, prayed to Christ for strength and mercy, then straightened his tie and walked in.

  There was a sole security guard in the otherwise empty lobby. "Yeah?" he said.

  "I'm here to see Robert Flynn," Alex said. "Danforth Global Insurance. He's a vice president."

  "He expecting you?" the guard asked, his hand starting for the gun in his holster.

  "He knows who I am," Alex said. "I'm a friend of his son's. I have his business card."

  "Well, that means a lot," the guard said. "Let me frisk you."

  Alex walked over and stood absolutely still as the guard ran his hands over him. At least he wasn't armed with a can of pineapple.

  "Okay, I guess you won't kill him," the guard said. "Let me check. Yeah, Flynn's a level six. You'll find him on the sixth floor somewhere. Stairs are over there."

  "Are the elevators running?" Alex asked.

  "Don't matter," the guard said. "Elevators are only for executives. You take the stairs."

  "All right," Alex said. He walked over to where the guard had pointed and began the climb. So far so good.

  He opened the fire door to the sixth floor, then checked all the doors until he found one with a handwritten sign saying, DGI, ROBERT FLYNN. He knocked on the door.

  "Come in."

  Alex opened the door. He didn't know what to expect, but he'd thought there'd be some people, maybe a receptionist, waiting behind the door. Instead there was that same look of desertion he'd become accustomed to: no people, but boxes filled with papers covering the furniture and the floor. But the room was warm, maybe as warm as sixty-five. One office door was open and Alex walked over to it.

  "Mr. Flynn?" he asked, but there was no need. The man behind the desk looked like an older, much wearier version of Chris. It shook Alex up to see him, as though he'd caught a glimpse of what Chris was going to look like in thirty years. Assuming Chris was alive in thirty years.

  "Yes?"

  "My name is Alex Morales. I don't know if you remember, but I was in school with Chris. St. Vincent de Paul Academy?"

  Mr. Flynn stared at Alex. "Oh yes," he said. "Alex. Chris's friend. Chris spoke of you often."

  "How is Chris?" Alex asked. "Does he like South Carolina?"

  "Does anyone like anything these days?" Mr. Flynn replied. "He's fine, I suppose. I haven't heard anything in a while, but the last I knew he was in school. How are things at Vincent de Paul? Is it still open?"

  "Yes sir," Alex said. "There aren't a lot of teachers left, but we're still learning."

  "Good, good," Mr. Flynn said. "Sit down, Alex. I'll be sure to tell Chris I saw you."

  "Please do," Alex said. "I apologize for bothering you, sir, but Chris told me if I ever had a problem, a really big one, I could turn to you for help. That was right before he left."

  "I hope it's a problem I can solve," Mr. Flynn said. "It feels like a long time since I've been able to solve a problem."

  "It's my sisters," Alex said. "Briana and Julie. Bri's fifteen and she has asthma. It began this summer and it's left her very weak. Julie's thirteen and she's tough, but she's a girl, if you know what I mean, sir."

  "Where are your parents?" Mr. Flynn asked. "Can't they help?"

  "They're gone," Alex said, surprised at how much it still hurt to say it. "They've been gone since the beginning. We have a brother, but he's in the Marines. I'm the head of the family now."

  "You're just a kid yourself," Mr. Flynn said. "How old are you, eighteen?"

  "Next month," Alex replied. "We've been managing all right, up until now. Do you remember Chris's friend Kevin Daley? He's been a big help."

  "The weaselly one?" Mr. Flynn asked with a laugh. "I haven't thought about him in months. Is that it? Kevin's all you have?"

  "The church, too," Alex said. "But it's done all it can for us. I know there are evacuation centers, but Bri wouldn't survive in one, and Julie has to be protected. That's why I've come to you. I don't know where else to turn."

  Mr. Flynn nodded. "We have to move fast," he said. "For your sisters' sake and for your own."

  "I can stay on," Alex said. "I can manage on my own, especially if I know Bri and Julie are safe."

  "You might be all right now, but not for much longer," Mr. Flynn said. "Listen to me, Alex, as if I were your father. New York City is on life support. It's being kept alive for as long as it takes to get everything out of it that must be removed. Do you have any idea how complicated it is to transport things? Papers, computers, people? Scores of embassies, all of the United Nations? Every piece of art from the Metropolitan Museum and all the other museums we used to take for granted? Gutenberg Bibles. First Shakespeare folios. Cleopatra's Needle, for God's sake. You can't just carry a Rembrandt out of town. Everything has to be labeled and cataloged and shipped to a safe location. Originally the plan was to move New York City out to Nevada. The rich and the mighty, not people like you and your sisters. The president, the mayor, the heads of the Fortune 500: All those people debated where we should go and when and how. For better or worse, our president is an optimistic person. He didn't listen when the scientists said Nevada wasn't such a good idea. Then the volcanoes started to erupt and Nevada no longer worked, and then the cold set in, and no place seemed to work, but the rich and the mighty still had to go someplace, and so did the Rembrandts. So they're keeping New York alive a little longer. But as soon as they can, they'll pull the plug and let the city die. It will anyway. It's an island, Alex, and islands can't survive in this world, not anymore. Get out while you can."

  "Thank you," Alex said. "If you can get Bri and Julie to
a safe place, I'll leave New York. I can manage in an evac center, until I can figure out a way of getting us all back together."

  "That won't be necessary," Mr. Flynn said. "I can get all of you out if we move fast enough." He got up and walked over to the wall and removed a painting, revealing a wall safe. He spun the lock a few times, pulled out some envelopes, and then, finding the one he was looking for, put everything back in the safe, and hid it once again.

  Just like in the movies, Alex thought. A perfect place for a winning lottery ticket.

  "Here are three passes," Mr. Flynn said, handing Alex three cards. "They're guaranteed passage and housing for my three family members. I applied for them when this all happened, but I was able to get my wife and children out before the passes arrived. I've held on to them ever since, figuring they'd be valuable someday, and now they are."

  Alex stared at the three cards that would carry his sisters and himself to a place of safety.

  Mr. Flynn rifled through a sheet of papers. "People leave in convoys," he said. "I haven't kept track of where they're sending families now, because mine is safe and sound in South Carolina. But I know the safe towns are in the south, inland, and they have police and medical facilities and food and schools. That I can guarantee you. The next convoy leaves on November twenty-eighth, but reservations have to be made two weeks in advance, so that doesn't do us any good. Okay, the one after that is December twelfth. When's your birthday?"